War is Cruelty. You cannot reform it (Open Diplo/Mil RP)

[Roania]

The Governor nodded, and his retinue gathered up the desertkin pair, both of whom were wailing. "Yes, quite right! I think that is everything. But I will return! This is not the last you have heard of it."

The Roanian governor did, however, feel it necessary to hurry his retinue, plus the baron, to the cars. The welcome was obviously wearing out.

[The Boundless Legion]

The Union destroyers and support fleet coming up on the Impetus' s back quarter were detected, and after they'd come within range, the Captain sent them a cordial hail.

"Unknown vessels, this is Captain Aurelok of the Boundless Legion Dreadnought Impetus. Would you kindly declare your allegiances and intentions? It would help to know who we're fighting with."

Nyima thought being a little cheeky could cut tension a little. Leaving a memorable first impression was everything, you know.

[Scolopendra]

Desefica

The Baron of course followed along in the intersected style of dutiful and stately, no matter the speed. Once he was safely in the car, he quickly scanned his notebook page with his dataslate, tore the page from his notebook, and handed the original to the governor with a wry half-smile. "After all," he said, "other than that last... social excuse, I do not deal in untruths. Now you have evidence that your duties are in order, no?

"Additionally, if I may excuse myself at the first opportunity, I do believe that's enough adventure for one day--unless, of course, Your Excellency requires my further presence." Always let the man who is theoretically in charge think that he is.

[Roania]

The Governor nodded slightly. "Yes, yes." He mopped his brow and shook his head. "I do wish I knew what was going on in there." He looked back at the recently departed camp. "But with the imperial seal..." He sighed and shook his head again. They drove back to the city in silence, and the Baron was dropped off at the shuttleport with a warning that it may be for the best if the foreigner who was asking questions got away from the 16th banner before higher officers heard about his presence.

[Scolopendra]

Desefica, In Rear-View

Baron Utkin, with a polite bow and an honest smile, thanked the governor for both his trouble and his foresight and went on his way on the next ship outbound for Rudan Prime. While the fate of the children were still a mystery he would have liked to shed light on, he could tell he'd found out as much as he reasonably could. He wasn't a real spy, after all; if the Sword and Shield wanted information, they'd get as much as his readers. No more, no less--that was the consequence of sending a journalist.

In a tremendous lack of forward planning, he noted that he'd failed to install any High Roanian translation applications on his dataslate. He must have been losing his touch, or perhaps his mind, or perhaps he simply expected the official government to be far less accommodating than it had turned out to be. He did note that he was not quite out of the woods yet, and so took precautions: scans of his notebook pages, encrypted copies of all pertinent files, and additional encrypted copies placed on one of the small datasticks that were part and parcel of his trade. A moment in the lavatory, and a raid of the usual first-aid kit that was practically standard issue in such places for some bandage tape, did a good enough job of hiding the datastick on his person.

The Radiant Empire did not strike him as the sort to go in for strip searches. If they did, and he wasn't able to bluff his way into keeping his briefs on, they most certainly didn't strike him as the kind of people wanting to move anything around just to make sure.

He'd wait until he was back on route for Triumvirate space on a liner flying a friendly flag before beginning to write his report. It struck Varlam as prudent.

[Sunset]

Ninh Bình Prefecture, Sometime After Midnight...

In the dark of the night the only thing visible as the squat, charcoal gray craft approached the small village were the red and green dots of the navigation lights, each alternately appearing and disappearing as the craft swung in a long arc high above the rooftops before sweeping in to come to a hovering halt above the clear ground of the village crossroads. It was only then, when the craft was motionless, that another quartet of lights gradually brightened to illuminate the swirling sunburst of a flag on the doors and the silver and gold of a roundel near the nose. The door slid open and dark figures jumped down, nearly invisible in their own gray uniforms, and even still these were quiet and still until the first faces began to appear out of the darkness.

They came in groups or alone, children ushered forward in silence by mothers as fathers waited in the shadows, or a lone child or a pair urged forward by an older sibling. Each story was different but all were treated the same; A moment's recognition, a whispered question in the darkness, and the tiny whirl of the device each officer held. This was no weapon but rather assurance as a printed picture emerged, a badge to identify those who belonged together, with one handed to the mother or eldest child or pressed into the hand of the youngest who raced back to a stoic father to be pressed into a hand while silent tears gathered in the dim light. The hope of all was that this would help reunite those that stayed with those that left rather than the unspoken last memento of those who might never be seen again.

These would do for now. Later they would be updated with names and other information but in the darkness it was best to keep things simple. Bags and boxes were stacked aboard, sometimes with nervous mothers or young children sitting next to them protectively. It was understandable; A way to focus their anxiety into something else in the simple act of keeping track of their belongings. Where would these people take them? There was no time to ask, nor time to answer, with each group being whisked through as quickly as possible before strong arms helped them aboard. The long rows of seats filled up, their hard backs and multiple clips normally meant for soldiers but now the uncomfortable home of a scared child or whimpering baby held by a new mother.

Minutes passed, and then an hour, and the starting trickle went to a steady stream and then back down again as the word passed through the village and then died away in the jungle. They had learned to come at night; During the day a crowd gathered and scowls, sneers, and jeers had turned away many who might otherwise have fled to safety. In the wee hours of the night there were none of these; The overly brave slept soundly while the fearful and the young scurried from house to house until they reached the crossroads and found only more of their own. Sometimes backs went straight as fathers ushered their families across but sometimes they still scurried, afraid at who might see them and judge them for the universal desire to keep their children safe.

Rarely a father, or even a young man, joined the newforged refugees, but when all were counted young children outnumbered all others as they had in so many other villages that night. Doors slid shut, whispered assurances that they would return for the rest were given, and the ship lifted into the night to join a steady stream crossing the stars. Above them other lights shined boldly to illuminate unfamiliar names; Nyoma, Noldo, Torvalds, Un'Sur'Ox. It was the fervent hope of those who waited to welcome them that the unfamiliar might not grow too much the familiar before they could be returned to their homes.

With Prime Minister Niwat...

"The Penguin is standing by," the Ambassador replied. "And my shuttle is outside."

In other circumstances, it would have a lavishly appointed interior suitable for entertaining high ranking guests, but with the sudden request and the urgency of the situation Demi had seen the return trip to the planet as another opportunity to rescue those who were willing. Instead of upholstered chairs and a bar with glittering tumblers of exotic liquors, there were women and children huddled around boxes and bags while a young female officer knelt and asked questions of a middle-aged woman and her children before moving on to another Tonhi, a young woman younger than herself who seemed to be traveling alone. Whisking the Prime Minister past, she ushered her into the forward crew compartment where only the pilot and another woman waited.

She appeared to be a local woman with the same subtly Roanian features of the Tonhi as well as the darker skin tones, but both her posture and her attitude were all wrong. Leaning up against a bulkhead in one corner of the compartment, she looked as though she intended to hold the whole thing up and somehow could, despite her slender build. With a glance, she looked the Prime Minister over and this too was odd. There was no question of social status, nor was it sexual interest, or even whether her clothes were in fashion. It was the cold calculation of a predator; Whether this one would be hunter, hunted, or an obstacle to be removed.

A moment later, the young officer from the passenger space joined them to take a seat next to the pilot. The pilot, Niwat's first encounter with a non-human officer in the form of a purple-skinned ArAreBee with the enormous black eyes characteristic of his people, looked over his shoulder to the Ambassador and she nodded before turning to the Prime Minister.

"Prime Minister Niwat," she looked over to the woman in the corner, "This is Attache Meli. She'll be accompanying us."

They were already off the ground and within minutes the skies began to darken as the shuttle made orbit and the distant shape of the Penguin grew closer. There were other ships as well and to and from these more shuttles streamed and, just as they swept under the rounded dorsal section of their destination, one suddenly stretched and vanished as it sped away with its precious cargo.

[Roania]

When the call came through, Alessa responded unhurriedly. She was well-aware of what was going on in the galaxy. How could she be otherwise? She was, after all, living in Sol, in Sunset itself. Did she have any regrets about stepping down and leaving her son to fend for himself in the capital? None that were visible, though there was a certain tension about her eyes. Tiredness, too. Retirement suited her very well indeed, but even the luxurious surroundings and quiet lifestyle did not ameliorate the exhaustion that was visible in every move she made.

No, she had no advice for Damalin about the current situation. It was not her place to provide advice to the current Emperor, as she did not receive anything more than passing reports on the situation. And she didn't even read much of them, either. About her own rule she was less reticent -- yes, she had been content to let Thanh-Tonh and the Barakans stew in their own juices -- the former quite happily, as she had never wanted to rule the Empire, let alone people who didn't even want to be part of the Empire; the latter she despised, quite simply -- but not to the extent of wishing them harm, just thinking that they should be left to, as said, stew in their own juices.

As for Damalin's character -- Alessa thought he was handsome, clever, and all those other things doting mothers think of high-achieving sons. She did allow that he was probably a bit high-strung at times; and he of course fancied himself quite the warrior-poet, with all that implied. She believed, or at least she said she believed, that he would be a fine Emperor.

If the idea of returning to Rudan Prime, or openly making a statement, was floated, it was politely, but firmly, shot down. "I'm tired." She said, and the words were full of meaning. "I don't believe there is anything I can do that would really help."

A message? She was safe and well, meeting old friends from her Martian days and leading an otherwise quiet life. Selevar was still grumpy over being shot, but was up and around. He would have all sorts of things to say about the current situation, but an old man has his foibles, and he was good enough to admit that part of it was just distaste for Riziel. She clammed up on that, though. "Riziel is a good and dutiful man who believes firmly in serving the Empire." She said, and it was a rote response.

About her youngest son, who was visiting his little friend Rihyl in Roania (the present environment had made it seem prudent for him to not be in a nursery school in progressive Sunset), she was much happier to talk about. He was doing well; growing up so fast it seemed. She missed her children terribly, and was proud of Damalin.

Ramiel, on the other hand, was full of things to say about the current situation, and was all too happy to vent them.

Ramiel was, of course, free to speak his mind -- being rich and famous and having connections meant a great deal even in Roania. But his opinion was... "Who wants Thanh-Tonh? I've been there. The people are pretty but you can't get a decent drink and they pour fish sauce on everything." The Desertkin crisis? "We had received that 'Prefecture Government for the Tribes' white paper a decade ago. We sat on it because who cares what they do? They weren't harming anyone but themselves, and the current campaign seems to be doing them a fair bit more harm than they were."

For Riziel himself... "The man's a nut. Real hardline conservative. I'd told the Lady of Ten Thousand... forgive me, the 'Retired Empress' that sending The Prince of Much Rejoicing... forgive me, the 'Lord of Ten Thousand Years'," Ramiel rolled his eyes, "to the 16th banner was a mistake, but nothing would do for them but that Damalin receive his martial education in the same arena that Selevar had his. 35 years ago. Things change." Ramiel laughed bitterly. "I'm proof of that."

How was retirement suiting him? He didn't consider himself retired. He was receiving regular information, fed to him by "Never you mind", and was enmeshed deeply in Secretariat politics. Doubtless he was still having an effect on imperial politics, at least domestically. "He purged my men out of foreign affairs and the military, of course. But he doesn't give a damn about anything else right now. Just as well. If I wasn't involved... one shudders to think." This could, of course, just be bitterness. Would he share any of his information with her? For certain favors, but only if necessary. Did he approve of the peace initiative Niwat was engaged in? Absolutely, but he didn't expect it to get anywhere. "Riziel believes that he's the one who's going to restore the glory of the Empire." Ramiel snorted a little at that. "I think we were doing pretty well for ourselves under my stewardship, but no, we're harking back to days that were actually pretty bad for everyone but those in the know."

Of Damalin himself? Here, his open mouth clamped shut. "I have the highest respect for the Lord of Ten Thousand Years." He would repeat it again, no matter how the question was phrased. He did, however, have certain advice for Niwat and Demi. "When you arrive on Rudan Prime, ask for hospitality from Prince Nesar. That's the safest place for you both, I think. I would offer you my own accommodations, but... well, being too close to me may cause Niwat trouble." He paused and spoke lower. "By the way. If you do wrangle a meeting with the Emperor, dress for 'success'." His eye flickered in a wink, and then he signed off.

[Thanh-Tonh]

"Splendid." The Tonhi Prime Minister rose to her feet and rang a little bell. "AiChien," she called out. "We are leaving for the Radiant Empire." A young woman entered the room. "Ambassador Demi, I would like to introduce AiChien, my legislative aide. She volunteered to travel with me should you accept my request. After all, it would look strange were I unaccompanied."

AiChien certainly seemed young enough to be a legislative page, however Thanh-Tonh's parliamentary system worked. She was delicately built (more-so than Niwat, certainly), with a fine figure that promised further development. Below her left eye she had a lotus flower delicately tattooed. "I'm ready, Prime Minister." She said in a soft voice, giving Demi an appraising look.

"Excellent. Shall we be on our way?"

Once on board the ship, the two followed where they were led. Niwat smiled serenely at the strange woman, placing her hands together and bowing slightly. AiChien did the same, a trifle slower, a look of surprise on her features "Bao che, Meli." She greeted her, then looked around at the room. The ArArebee received a similar bow, though not a personal greeting. Niwat had never met a 'true' alien before, but she handled the meeting quite well -- this was part and parcel of entering the broader galaxy, and she had known before that Sunset contained teeming multitudes of different races. AiChien, again, was slow to follow, though she did eventually bow to the ArArebee, drawing closer to Niwat and seeking protection.

"You are taking my people away," Niwat said conversationally to the Ambassador. "I thank you for it. In the past, when war came, we would take to the hills and jungles, but... this is more civilized." Niwat laughed bitterly. "In truth, I am escaping as well. The Emperor knows I approved of your people's offer. He would almost prefer subjugation to it." She sighed. "He cannot execute me -- I am accountable to the people first, to him second. But my presence has made him... uncomfortable, and it is well I will be away. Even amongst my enemies."

She sighed and fell into a chair if it was offered. Evidently, it suited her to speak at the moment. "It is... strange to travel to Roania. I have been there before, in happier times. You may think us similar, but we do not understand one another." Niwat shook her head and rested her chin in her hand. "But the attempt must be made, for good or for ill, as I told AiChien before you arrived."

"You did, Prime Minister." AiChien murmured, standing behind Niwat with the air of a girl ready to leap into action. She couldn't keep her eyes off of Meli, and there was definitely curiosity in there. But she kept herself silent.

[The Boundless Legion]

Within minutes, the Defiant left the Desefica system. Shortly after, they dropped from warp for scant minutes while they transmitted the raw data back to the First Fleet, where Commander Montmartre would store the information in several of the Legion's Grand Library Cruisers.

Immediately afterwards, the information was sorted and relevantly compiled into a couple of archaic .zip folders, and beamed to select representatives within the Akashan Union, the Grummian and Sunset polities, and the Federated Segments of Scolopendra. It was the same message throughout:

To our Allies,

Enclosed in this message are the longitudinal coordinates and occupancy data of twenty locations on the planet Desefica where the local Barakan population has been indefinitely interned, in violation of sapient rights agreements and the general accepted sentiments of welfare expressed across the Galaxy.
I do not make these statements with undue hyperbole. The orbital investigation contains video feeds that corroborate the previously released statement that accuses the Roanian state of practicing internment and cleansing.
Within this context, it must be asked: what fate is to befall Thanh-Tonh should we stand aside, and declare this "an internal affair"?
It must end here.

--Marcus,
Captain, Dreadnought Defiant

[Scolopendra]

Rudan Prime, In Rear View

"It says here you planned to stay for a week."

"My business concluded more quickly than I expected."

A shrug, and a wamp-wamp-wamp of stamps.

That was all the trouble the Baron had getting out of the country. In fact, he mused on the liner back towards 'Triumvirate space,' as much of a misnomer as that was, he almost suspected that the governor had called ahead to be on the lookout for him just in order to get him out of the country faster. That was misplaced comic thought, however. Varlam decided, in the end, that the Radiant Empire just still wasn't used to foreign tourists and therefore conflicting attributes of their culture--hospitality and xenophobia--had not quite found a balance yet. Good, good, come in, please don't mind the slightly disdainful look, oh, you must go? how sad thank Light he's gone.

Certainly he had gone through the customs checks with a haute aloofness, but it was both his shtick and his defense. Customs agents and law-enforcement types were always on the lookout for people looking out of sorts, nervous, worried. Stride through like you owned the place--and not only that, but be relatively known for doing so--and not a single glance will turn your way, much less a second. The professional paranoia of the investigative journalist still kept him on edge inside, heightened by the fact that he wasn't just a journalist. He was a spy, and he imagined that the Radiant Empire did not consider foreign espionage a trivial offense whose dues were merely a slap on the wrist and extradition home. It didn't matter if he didn't really discover anything truly secret. It was being kept quiet, and making it not-quiet would have been enough.

It wasn't until he was safely aboard the friendly-flagged ship until he finally relaxed, and only then did he really notice that the bandage tape he'd acquired on the first return leg of his trip was starting to tug uncomfortably on a follicle or two. Another trip to a different lavatory--and a quick hiss after momentarily grumbling that he didn't have any shears--and this issue was resolved. He almost managed to completely mask the inevitable limp as he returned to his seat, quietly coughed into his fist to get some color back into his face, and retrieved his dataslate.

First things first was to download from the YutLink a High Roanian plug-in for his dataslate's translator application and set that to work on the optical character recognition map of his doodle-copy:

"Secretariat Internal Directive: The matter of the Desertkin children is removed from the standard authority of the Desefican Governorate, and Transferred to the oversight of the Great Secretary of Edification and Enlightenment."

Fair enough. Exactly what it said on the tin. Next was to look up the mentioned Great Secretary, one Onn HaiLo. Data official and unofficial on that fellow didn't turn up anything interesting; the Edification and Enlightenment department would be called 'Education' anywhere else (except for, of course, the Segments, who insisted on putting it under the Science Section).That could suggest re-education, which would make sense, but it wasn't a smoking gun. More importantly, HaiLo's signature looked nothing like what Varlam remembered from the original copy of the orders; it was too loopy and not angular enough.

Next was to quickly scan through official documents ordered by officials. Looking for the juiciest story, the Baron started at the top of the pyramid. Emperor Damalin's signature wasn't on record, which made sense; he had a seal. Next down was the Grand Secretary, some Riziel charact--

Angular, blocky, hastily compressed. That looked exactly like what he'd remembered.

Just to check, he went on down the line that would eventually get him to the Great Secretary of Edification, or of military authorities. No, Roanians much preferred curvier, signatures, it seemed. Grand Secretary Riziel's signature was quite unique. This meant it went all the way to the top.

Juicy. All that was left was to write it.

Barakan 'civilizing campaign:' confusion on the ground

by Baron Varlam Utkin (Colonel, Berserker Royal Militia)

DESEFICA, RADIANT EMPIRE -- The spaceport and capital of Desefica, homeworld of the Barakans and subject world of the Radiant Empire, is a ghost town in the making. Streets intended for bustling traffic are instead quiet; the open malls that would normally be the setting for bazaars and markets are empty. The dust in the air does not settle on the ground, for it is not allowed to; the industrious street sweepers of the local government keep everything tidy and then themselves lounge about for there is too much staff for too little detritus. No one has really any idea what to make of it, no more than they have any idea to make of the foreigner asking questions. In the unhealthily quiet shops, taverns, and cafes, hospitality is the order of the day, as it always is.

"Yes, it's usually much busier than this," says a Roanian man idly dusting his counter for the third time in half an hour, having nothing else to do. (Due to the sensitive nature of this story, I am protecting the privacy of all sources.) He stops suddenly at the sound of pop-pop-pop-pop wafting in distantly from the open door, followed by the distinctive hissing crack of high-power energy weapons. "It's that," he continues after a moment.

"The fighting's made all the Roanians run away," corroborates a felinoid I meet hanging out in the shade of an alley--not because the alley is a surreptitious place to do business, but because the alley is in the shade. "Which means the rest of us don't have much to do, or much money. We work for them, run odd jobs, so when they're gone... what do we do?"

"They've gone out of fear," says a Barakan--the people known locally and to themselves as Desertkin--within the city walls. I learn that quite a few Barakans have already bought into the system, well before the Imperial Circular announcing a campaign to 'civilize' their people. They are fully urbanized, erudite merchants wearing the latest fashions from Rudan Prime. The men, at least, do; the silent hooded and robed figures of their women standing well to the background evoke the fundamentalism of Dar-al-Din and comment on how in some ways their culture continues to survive being fully assimilated into the local Roanian mainstream. They do not have kind words for their rural brethren: "They're savages, treating their women like animals or furniture or worse, and... and they want to kill us. They think we're traitors. If the Roanians had told us this would happen, we would've left too!"

An urbanization campaign leaving a ghost city in its wake, a ghost city with walls. "It is not permitted to leave," says the soldier at the gate. "It is not permitted to walk the walls," say the soldiers patrolling the battlements. Much is not permitted, and on duty, the soldiers are stern, official. Some are sympathetic all the same, adding "it is not safe" to "it is not permitted." Off duty, though, in the bars and in the shade, they are as soldiers everywhere are: a combination of excited or disenchanted depending on how long they've been "in the dust." They are the soldiers of the Sixteenth Banner, and all are proud to announce that the Emperor himself was once a cadet in their ranks within a year past. Those who remember seeing him themselves are particularly proud, and none seem to have philosophical issue with their deployment.

"Our platoon went outside the wall to engage a camp of Braks" explains what had to be the equivalent of a lance corporal, using the shortened terms that wars always invent, "out along a series of little sandy trenches. Wadis, I think they're called; they're way too small to be canyons. We're too close to the city for fire support, and, well, you can hear the fighting here. Sensors say that Braks are camping in Wadi Three-Fifty-Six so we have to break 'em up. Wadis are great places for ambushes, though, so we're advancing carefully, y'know, snake-crawling parallel to 'em with the intent of slithering on in and flushing 'em out. We get into the trenches, start crouching, affixed bayonets and everything and... there's no one there. Not a soul.

"So ___ sticks his head up to have a look around and pop-pop-pop-pop chuk-chuk-chuk-chuk--the side of the wadi caves in with spurts of sand and ___ loses his head." The soldier makes an expansive gesture with his hands whilst puffing his cheeks, every warfighter's pantomime of an explosion. "Turns out the bastards were in Wadi Three-Fifty-Seven three hundred meters north, and they've got heavy machine guns from somewhere..."

The story ends, so I ask why he thought he was there. "Well, we've got to protect the cities, right? And secure the Post. Can't let the Braks kill the city folk or release those on post."

The 'Post,' I was to learn, was the shorthand for the camp outside the city. When I ask the purpose of the Post, the answer is universally a variation of "to civilize the Braks, I guess" when there is an answer. More often they simply look at me as though I am growing a new limb out of my neck. The Post is there because those in charge said it has to be, and it does what it does, whatever that is.

The fully staffed and underworked civil service of the ghost city say little more about it, but not out of reticence. "I have no idea what goes on out there," says a minor functionary behind a desk in a licensing office. "No one's allowed outside and the soldiers aren't talking." Many of his peers in that office and elsewhere express that things were better before the camp existed; the rural Barakans were occasionally annoying but never a problem and things were vibrant and peaceful. Still, none questions the will of the Emperor.

I visit the governor of Desefica, a rotund man who is at first defensive. "I know why you're here!" Even with an accusatory tone, he leads me by the hand to an overstuffed chair in his office on the highest floor of the tallest tower in the city. "Well, it isn't true, whatever you're thinking of me! I know nothing! You can go back and tell your readers, journalist, that everything is perfectly in order here, as far as the governor knows, because that's the truth!" As it is. He pours me a drink, and he confirms what his subordinates had said: the military isn't talking, things were better previously, and he's received no instruction on what to do. He's had posters advertising the civilization campaign--the civil campaign of the Circular--put up all over the city, just as he was told to, but beyond that, he has no orders. His previous attempts to visit the camp were rebuffed with the explanation of "military necessity."

The governor believes in his duty, however, and the Circular does state that it was a civil operation and therefore under his authority. Gaining a new will, he says that we will find out together and so we do, passing through the gates together to the camp. "My staff and I want to see what is being done here!" he says with authority to the guard. "On this planet, I am the will of the Emperor! Deny me, and I will appeal to the Emperor directly!" This gets us inside.

The camp is a very military place, built to field-manual precision out of prefabricated parts and earthworks. Simple structures inside its walls are arranged in concentric arcs centered around watchtowers on the walls, with radial 'streets' between them. The purpose of this, to my military experience, is so soldiers in the watchtowers can clearly see--and if need be, shoot--down the 'streets' and between the buildings. The tops of the walls are lined on the inside with razor wire fences canted concavely over the yard; this prevents anyone inside from attempting to climb out. It smells of field latrines: effective, but not 'civilized,' sanitation. There are no sounds of work, menial or back-breaking; it is, for the most part, even more silent than the city. The entire camp stands in three sections: the first for Barakan men, the second for Barakan women, and the third for Barakan children.

We start in the first sub-camp. The men there are listless, weary, even more idle than the inhabitants of the city. There are occasional curses echoing from somewhere else in the subcamp, soldiers shouting at a momentary insult or insubordination of a Barakan prisoner. I use the word with caution; they are prisoners, but they are not chained. They appear free to move about at will. They simply have nothing to do.

The governor tells me that he'd "never seen Deserkin men so worn out", then calls over a random Barakan man who, after a pause, walks over. The governor gives the man his explicit protection and asks the man--who never gives his name--what it is like in the camp. The prisoner obliges: "I was separated from my wife and children by the soldiers. They told me I would never see them again. Now I am here. At dawn, every dawn, the soldiers gather up the men and march us out into the sun. We sit in the sand until dusk. Then we are marched back. They feed us dinner. It is our only meal of the day, just some rice and limp vegetables. I do not think this is enough. Many of us don't. Those who say so are beaten and told that they were fortunate to get what they did.

"The soldiers say that they have been ordered to feed us the least we need to survive and that this is all we will have.

"If we do not do what the soldiers say, they punish us with beatings. We have had worse in the desert, but it is enough for hungry men. If we do what they say, then they do not beat us. It is enough." He spat on the ground. "Our hope is that our brothers will free us, and we can repay the Roanians in their own coin."

At that a guard shouts: "You dog! You have been fortunate to be granted life!" He runs up and hits the Barakan over the head with the butt of his rifle. This infuriates the governor: "Stop! This man is under my protection!" The governor takes the soldier's weapon and declares that the Barakan is coming with us.

"My wife and children, I will not leave without them," the prisoner says from the ground, bleeding from a cut on the side of his head.

"Then we shall collect them," the governor replies, "but first, a word with this oh-so-impudent man who dared to deny my authority as the Emperor's representative." He turns on the soldier and says: "You dare to beat a man I offered protection to? Is my word nothing?" Then he calls out another soldier. "You, there! Do you recognize my authority as a representative of Our Glorious Lord?"

When the second guard nods, the governor gives the order and the offending guard's head disappears much as ___'s must have.

We then go to the women's sub-camp. It is no different in construction, but the women are cloaked much as the women of the city are. They are apparently forbidden by their culture to speak to men not of their family, so the Barakan man we rescued acts as our interlocutor to his wife. She corroborates his story: being taken away, separated, marched into the desert, fed too little, that her children were taken from her and she was nearly mad with grief. The governor takes her under his protection too, and we continue to the children's sub-camp.

Where we are not admitted entrance. The guard tells the governor that his authority does not extend there, and upon demanding proof in orders, the governor receives it: the guards retrieve a sheet of paper with a green wax seal on it; impressed onto the wax is the image of a dragon. At the sight of the seal the governor physically recoils, calling it "the Imperial Seal!" He hands it to me; I cannot read High Roanian, but I draw a copy, reproduced below:

[scanned notebook page]

Translated, it reads: "Secretariat Internal Directive: The matter of the Desertkin children is removed from the standard authority of the Desefican Governorate, and Transferred to the oversight of the Great Secretary of Edification and Enlightenment."

Other than the seal, it is signed with a blocky, angular signature that looks squeezed together and rushed. I give the orders back to the governor and, with one man already cooling on the ground, it is recommended that I leave. I do, leaving unknown what is going on in the childrens' sub-camp.

The Great Secretary of Edification and Enlightenment is one Onn HaiLo, whom I was unable to interview for this report, given the hasty nature of my exit from the Radiant Empire. From all available material that I have researched, the Edification and Enlightenment bureau is a conventional education department. I will not speculate what this means for the Barakan children; I will only transmit the facts I have found.

Later in my research for this report I investigated the signatures of Radiant Empire officials. I cannot and do not make any comment on the authenticity of the seal, but the signature is certainly that of Great Secretary Riziel, the vizier of the Radiant Empire and the right hand of the Emperor. He has a distinctive blocky, edgy signature that contrasts sharply with the more conventional curving and looping signatures of other members of the Roanian Secretariat.

We have, therefore: a Circular that reports the diktat of the Emperor being a peaceful civil campaign of education. Official orders bearing the Emperor's seal and the signature of his Great Secretary that indicate that the education of the children, at least, is out of the hands of local authorities. An armed conflict prosecuted by the military of the Radiant Empire against the Barakans that have not been interned--the existence of which is indisputable, even if the severity of the fighting is unknown.

These official facts do not agree, and so there is confusion.

After a quick proofreading scan the Baron saved his work and transmitted it to three places, two of which were standard operating procedure: his editor and his blog (to keep his editor honest). The third place is, of course, the Sword and Shield.

*-*-*

Internal Communication

Akashan voice: "So, this Captain Marcus fellow and his intelligence."

Scolopendran voice: "Preachy. Sounds like us back in the Extraction Campaigns and the Ardan Cold War."

Akashan voice: "We were perhaps thinking of leaking it, perhaps with some snarky 'unofficial' diplomatic commentary added by Vikesh Anders--"

Scolopendran voice: "Could you please not? At least, without the snark."

Akashan voice: "Humph."

Scolopendran voice: "'Could you please not' isn't 'no.' We just don't think it's a good idea."

Akashan voice: "To us, dealing with the Roanians at all is a bad idea."

Scolopendran voice: "Dealing how?"

Akashan voice: "In any fashion."

Scolopendran voice: "So... total disengagement?"

Akashan voice: "Mostly. The Roanians will not reform in any sense, they seem to see fit to have family drama in international functions--so they don't exactly do diplomacy very well--and there doesn't seem to be much we stand to gain besides. In cases like the Tonhi crisis, we engage to try and defuse them, but beyond that we should avoid much interaction."

Scolopendran voice: "Counterargument: if we disengage, we lose all capacity to reform them and gain responsibility for what they do through silence--silence being tacit agreement. By establishing ourselves as a 'friendly opposition' we can at least lead by example and influence by the gentle pressure of mere presence. Quiet, constant presence has worked so far to move the Radiant Empire away from constantly assuming that we're about to invade them any other instant now. A 'crisis only' mode of engagement is also a diplomacy of shocks: since we are not there to constantly remind of our standards and expectations, any time we intervene is something of a surprise and always negative."

Akashan voice: "That's fair if they're reformable."

Scolopendran voice: "That's not a very progressive attitude. 'They're lost and will always be lost, let them rot?'"

Akashan voice: Hah. More to the point, it's specifically their idea of racial superiority, which seems a barrier to any changes in attitudes. Most societies abandon such notions if they appear to be technologically or materially behind, which isn't the case here... so it's less 'they're lost and will always be lost, let them rot' and more 'shit, we don't know how to disabuse them of their racism, so unless anyone has any ideas it seems like a Quixotic task.'"

Scolopendran voice: "We've had luck with Alessa and Mballa says we're making inroads into Damalin. They're also a horribly sexist culture but that is changing as well. Therefore, the idea is to lead by example and continue to slowly expose their culture to exemplars from our own through trade and business. It may be cultural imperialism, but since we think our culture is better on these matters... is that not the point?"

Akashan voice: "Of course. Problem is, we don't see evidence of Damalin's attitudes towards foreigners and women changing and we've no experience with Alessa."

Scolopendran voice: "That's because you got to the party late. Trust us."

Akashan voice: [sigh] "We have doubts, but unions are built on trust. We'll trust you, if not the Roanians." [pause] "I'll get you a beer."

*-*-*

Pen Pals

Emperor:

(I'm going to be less formal in this one. Kraisee would hate that, because it's even more delicate and important. Fact of the matter is, well, you know me. Old warhorse. I think more clearly in plain speech, so please forgive an uncouth old woman her ways and I hope you don't take offense if my tone's too familiar.)

Another day, another few drops into the crisis bucket. Baron Varlam Utkin, one of our freelance journalists, took the liberty of taking advantage of the freedom of movement you promulgated in your first Circular to go visit Desefica and see things for himself. He has written a report that he's uploaded to his blog on the YutLink. I've attached it below. Additionally, some 'Captain Marcus' I've never heard of, commanding the dreadnought Defiant, has passed along surface scans of Desefica he apparently made surreptitiously. I've attached that below too.

To summarize, both support the hypothesis that there are internment camps of some sort on Desefica. I can't speak for Captain Marcus; I've never personally heard of him before though my Advisors in the Intelligence and Foot-to-Ass Sections say he's part of a highly idealistic 'mercenary' force called the Boundless Legion. We would probably call them knights-errant (and, luckily, we've been able so far to keep them from getting needlessly involved, but I can't promise that no... excessively idealistic individuals might not try to inject themselves into the situation--it's a drawback of a pluralistic society). Captain Marcus, in his message to us, appears to be calling for some sort of action, both in this and in Thanh-Tonh.

To be certain: the official statement of the Akapendran Union that I signed stands. As a nation, we believe diplomacy is the best course of action. As your friend, I just want to help sort out the question of why your orders don't appear to be making it to Desefica intact. What you're getting right now, in this letter, is the action I think my nation should take--every attempt to help make things right.

Baron Utkin is a minor noble in Berserker, one of the Segments Executive of Scolopendra. I've not met him; Barons there are like mayors and there's thousands (maybe) of them. I do know of him, however; he tends to be critical of me in his news articles, but he never fabricates, as far as I'm aware. I would believe his report to be accurate, as he saw it.

And of course the elephant in the room: does this change the measurement of things on my side? Not yet, no. Nationally we don't like the idea of internment camps; personally I know such things aren't what you wanted. There will be people on my side clamoring for something to be done, but I'll take the fire for being hesitant since the Foot-to-Ass Section doesn't move except on my order (or a LegU authorization, which would take time). I'll also lean on the International Relations Section to keep its rhetoric modest and moderate; we may state we're displeased (and nationally we are) but I'll try to make it so we both save face. 'Internment' isn't enough for us to be forced to act by treaty, but depending on the conditions it can get dangerously close.

I do have one thought, and this may cross the line into the old barbarian woman giving you advice. I trust your judgment in the matter, so make of it what you will: it appears that information from you--your orders--isn't making it down the command chain. It's possible that information also isn't making it all the way back up the chain. It happens all the time in bureaucracies; it happens in mine on occasion, so--forgive me--I wouldn't be surprised if it happens in yours from time to time. The big question is whether or not it was just a mistake or whether someone has an agenda.

Either way that goes, it's truly an internal affair and I've no right to tell you what should happen next. It is your decision.

Closing the drop tube for this time, Bill the Cat is back to being his normal self. Even took a swipe at me when I tried to adjust that plastic cone they put on animals so they don't interfere with the stitches. He of course missed, having no depth perception, but it was the thought that counts.

As always,

~Mballa Ipolla

(Attachment 1 of 2: Boundless Legion transmission)
(Attachment 2 of 2: Utkin news article)

[Roania]

Public Announcement
By Order of the Most Esteemed Grand Secretary, and the Emperor, we announce that a thorough investigation into the treatment of the Barakans has been carried out. The results are as followed:

Contrary to Imperial Command, a policy of minimum rations was put in place for the Barakans currently residing in temporary encampments. This has been rectified. By direct command of the Lord of a Million Blessings, whose Munificence knows no bounds, the residents of the temporary encampments will be fed three meals a day, with the intent of providing a full nutritional and caloric regime.

Contrary to Imperial Command, the encampments were ordered to be entrenched permanently. This has been rectified. By direct command of the Lord of Ten Thousand Years, whose Munificience knows no bounds, construction will immediately begin on permanent settlements for the people of Desefica.

Contrary to Imperial Command, familes were broken up. This has been rectified. By direct command of the Lord of the Stars, families will be reunited and parents will be permitted to see their children.

We regret that these lamentable incidents occurred. They were not our intent. Unfortunately, the guilty parties -- the Governor of Desefica and his co-conspirators -- sent themselves to meet their ancestors. Investigations are ongoing to see who, if anyone, else remains that is responsible for this breach of Imperial Trust.

With Faith in the Emperor,

Grand Secretary Riziel

[New Sovietskiy]

“Sir sensor drones are reporting a regular influx of ship traffic inbound for Thahn-Tohn, they’re unloading shuttles and seem to be evacuating Tonhi citizens.” reported the officer running the scan banks in the bridge of the.

Vasiliy nodded and pondered for a moment, he wanted to have the cargo ships and transports unload without aggravating the Roanians, these ships provided the perfect opportunity for him.

“Order the cargo ships and the transports forward, have them alter skins to a light gray and with a white star insignia, once they near the planet have them observe the ships evacuating the refugees and time their shuttle disembarkment with theirs.”

Vasiliy wanted to avoid a shooting war in space as much as possible, he had limited resources and no reinforcements to call upon if the Roanians suddenly jumped in while the lightly armed transports were undefended, no for the time being he would hold his combat ships at the edge of the system to keep from provoking anyone into a firefight.

The scan reports indicated there was a variety of ships present in the system, most seemed to be taking part in the evacuation however there were more than a few warships from what appeared to be multiple parties lingering about. This fact gave a the Admiral a slight uneasy feeling.

“All combat ships are to be at the ready at all times as well, any sailor found to be derelict of duty is to be remanded to the brig immediately.” the Admiral ordered, he intended the order to be more of a reminder to the sailors in the fleet to keep on their toes in these tense times then an actual threat to keep them cowered.

The Soviet ship formation broke apart momentarily and allowed the cargo ships and transports to leave the main fleet. The ships engines surged to full power and they pulled away from the warships that sat idle, once they were free the warships formed back into a different formation that was better suited for defending themselves without worrying about the unarmed ships they were escorting. As they cruised across the black empty space their outer shell shimmered as the nanites on the exterior of the cargo and transport ships changed their color from the black, that was typical of Soviet ships entering combat areas, to a lighter gray. The red hammer and sickle insignia also altered into a more neutral white star to cover up the ship’s origins.

As they neared the planet the Soviet transports held position some distance from the Sunsetii ships and waited for the next shuttle departure from them. Locks unlocked from cargo freighter shuttles headed planetside as well the assault boats aboard the transport ships. As the Sunsetii shuttles disembarked the Soviet craft paralleled their flight pattern into the planet’s atmosphere, once there they altered course and headed for the destinations the Tonhi had provided them.

[New Naggoroth]

Guess I'll have to cancel those damned dinner plans...

Lord Seraphon Nyvan, Consul of Naggarond, groaned to himself as he read through the C'tani missive for the third time. he was alone in the great receiving hall, sitting to the right of the long table's head. His lunch sat nearby, untouched, just as it had for the last several hours. As his lean, hawkish face twisted in consternation, he groaned aloud to himself. He honestly wanted nothing to do with it. Malekith, he knew, could not be counted upon to do anything. The king hadn't spoken with his anyone in the last few days, as had become the trend for the last number of years since Aesta Veracrux. Malekith was taken ill and indisposed,which left the Consul in charge. Which left him to deal with another disaster waiting to happen.

Which was the absolute last thing that Lord Nyvan wanted to do when he had dinner plans with his wife.

Author: Lord Seraphon Nyvan, Consul of Naggarond
Destination:Telissat Amris Arnstorana of the Great Civilization of the C’tan
Subject: Roanian Desefican Policy
Security: High Priority Secure Dispatch

Regretfully, Lord Arnstorana, my master is unavailable to deal with this ongoing situation. In his stead, I will be acting as the royal representative in my capabilities as Consul of Naggarond. I have full authority to do whatever is required to support the needs of the Crown.

With regards to this situation on Desefica, my intelligence sources inside the Radiant Empire have not given me any cause for alarm; it seems the Roanians are acting within the bounds of the law, though perhaps not those of popular sentiment or good taste. Until such a time as verifiable evidence is presented demonstrating any actual crimes, we have no desire to interfere with an internal matter of a close ally. We will, however, continue to monitor the situation.

Since, as the saying going, 'when it rains it pours', I believe that the more pressing situation is the one developing in the Tonh Prefecture. While previously the Roanians seem to have been beneficent enough to allow the Tonhi a degree of latitude in self-governing in the past, it would seem that with the new regime that beneficence has come to an end. It is our position that the Tonhi government has been unduly antagonistic of late and, furthermore, their recruiting of foreign combatants and acquisition of foreign arms constitutes a clear and dangerous provocation of the legitimate Imperial government.

Bluntly, we believe war is inevitable. Mercenaries and opportunists are already in violation of established and internationally recognized Roanian borders. It is only a matter of time before the Imperial Banners are on the march, and we can hardly find fault in such an action.

At the moment, no mobilization of Kingdom reserve forces has been undertaken, but active assets are on alert. We have, however, mobilized intelligence assets to monitor the situation in the Tonh Prefecture, and if required we will intervene in any conflict to defend our allies. The Consulate Court will be convened to discuss the matter further within the week. If you wish, I will keep you informed of any decisions that come from that meeting.

I cannot promise action otherwise. It is not our place to interfere with the internal affairs of our allies. However, if you wish to discuss the application of Naggorothi "soft power", I suggest contacting our ambassador, Lady Ellenith Drakharn. As the acting Custodian, all of the intelligence that reaches us here in Anlec goes through her. I believe that she grew up on Rudan Prime and, despite the recent indiscretions of her sister, should still be welcome in the Imperial Palace. She may be more sympathetic to your aims, and possibly able to act outside of official capacity.

If you have any other concerns, please make them known. I look forward to working with the Great Civilization, and the Radiant Empire, to keep events under control.

Regards,
Seraphon Nyvan
Consul of Naggarond and Regent of New Anlec

The letter left a bad taste in his mouth. He really, really wanted nothing to do with Roanian internal affairs, especially after he had to restrain his fellow Consul from demanding reprisals against those same Roanians for the arrest of his granddaughter some months previous. Bizarre, backwards people he thought, but they were bound by treaty, and thus honour demanded that something be done. With luck, it wouldn't cost naggorothi soldiers their lives.

"But if it comes to that," Seraphon thought as he began drafting deployment orders for his surveillance assets, "We shall not be found wanting."

[Sunset]

Rudan Prime...

"...it is, I will admit, one of the few things I specifically had on my 'No' list when we were looking for a house," Demi laughed as she related the story of one too many flavors of peach anything to the Prime Minister. "No peach trees, no peach paint, no... You get the idea!"

It was a way to pass the time during the short flight between the spaceport on the far outskirts of the Imperial City and Prince Nesar's estate on the other side. In a phrase taken from late Earth history, they were engaged in literal shuttle diplomacy as the faceted arrowhead of the little Flare-Class with its familiar sunburst flag and silver and gold roundel sped across the city. Normally they would be nearly alone; The Roanians were not a people for casual travel, as were the people of Sunset, but now the skies were as crowded as any Martian city with the comings and goings of military transports of all types.

"We will not have much time," Demi noted, more for Attache Swartzendruber than for the Prime Minister. "Enough to freshen up and change before we leave."

They'd leave the shuttle at the Prince's palace; Arriving at the meeting in separate ground vehicles would serve better to keep the mental gap between the mediator and those she would be serving, though both cars would be traveling together for the practical purpose of not getting caught separately in the Imperial City's notorious traffic.

On the way there, she'd relayed to Prime Minister Niwat what she thought appropriate about her conversations with the Retired Empress and with the former Grand Secretary, though neither was mentioned as the source. There was a bit of a question as to Ramiel's final remark; Ambassador Love had no problem with showing a little skin, but there was the question of relaying this to the Prime Minister. In the end she went with the simple approach, referencing other events that had previously become known.

"One last thing," she began as the shuttle made its approach, "He is sixteen and from all reports he enjoys the company of and particularly the visual pleasures of attractive women. If we do meet with the Emperor directly, it might be best to dress to distract."

Though there was the question of what exactly that meant in the context of Roanian culture and even further inside Damalin's head. A nice 'v' neck, a knee-length cut in the skirt? Or full-blown Tanya Zaldano Death-By-Nosebleed? This was one area where she'd have to follow the Prime Minister's lead, though she did have some toys that would make their chances better.

[Thanh-Tonh]

Niwat considered her options carefully. While not known for showing as much skin as the Roanians, the Tonhi were hardly prudish. If Ambassador Love recommended they show some skin to amuse and distract the Boy-Emperor, then show some skin she would. She stood in her shower, humming as the water washed down her curves. By the Living Prophet's Words, they had traveled fast. She'd never known space travel as anything other than a tedious intermission.

Her people could learn so much from the outsiders, she mused as her fingers traced liquid soap over a round, high breast. Especially in how eager they were to work for peace, to defend what was right... if only she had more time to get to know Demi -- if only this crisis hadn't been the first time in centuries Thanh-Tonh had reached out to the worlds beyond.

Once she finished showering, she sat naked on the bench, working with the hair dryer and brush to fix her long, lustrous hair. Amazing, really, how difficult it could be. She knew, vaguely, that in some cultures women were not required to have hair that hung down to their hips -- it seemed rare even among the Roanian women she had known, in fact. But Thanh-Tonh's traditions dictated the rhythm of her life, at least externally. She was forced by circumstances to behave in a manner that was contrary to her desires.

Now, how to dress... Nesar's wife could doubtless provide assistance in that regard, but she didn't feel comfortable trusting any Roanian at present. Besides, she represented Thanh-Tonh. She should wear her own realm's costume, to show their independence. More, she was the Prime Minister. She had her pride. She would do much for her country, but not compromise on that score.

AiChien, however... well, she had volunteered, and that made it easier to prescribe orders for the young woman and her clothing. "AiChien, dear..." Wrapping a towel around herself, she peeked outside to find the young woman sitting on her bed in the room they shared, half-undressed for her own shower.

And so it was that the Tonhi ambassador, and her assistant, entered the foyer dressed in different fashions. Niwat wore a dress that hung down to her knees. A tight wrap around her waist accentuated her bust and hips, but the primary feature was a slit down her cleavage. It wasn't an ideal clothing choice, but it would hopefully do.

AiChien, meanwhile, was dressed to attract attention. The short turquoise skirt hung to mid-thigh, revealing long tanned legs. The top, a diamond of light blue fabric, had no slit at the cleavage, but it was cut sheer enough, and tight enough, that that wasn't to be missed by any male observers. It neatly overlapped the skirt, though didn't cover any more flesh. Her arms were bare up to the shoulders, which were covered instead by her artfully arranged hair. "Prime Minister, I don't think this costume is appropriate..."

"I'd agree. But you're doing it for your country, AiChien." Niwat smiled and bowed slightly. "And, well, their silly Emperor won't know what hit him when he sees you. Hopefully, that will give us the advantage we need here."

[Sunset]

SDF-Core I, Outside Thanh-Tonh Space...

"Even with the Barackan situation tentatively," and the Station Commander did mean tentatively, "Resolved and the Ambassador on her way to Rudan Prime to mediate, the Secretary-General still wants us to proceed as thought things are heading towards war."

It was Morning - relative to the enormous station's own timekeeping - Meeting time though it was a little more crowded than normal. For the everyday it would just be him and his own officers and section heads; The people in charge of keeping the space-going refugee center functioning as smoothly as one might expect for a station who's population was always shifting along with the accompanying environmental needs, sustenance (not everyone ate food, as such), and even more petty things like entertainment.

"We're to process the refugees as quickly as possible and send them onward to their destinations in Yut-Space. Even if it's less likely, the Council wants us to be ready for mass civilian evacuation, which means keeping every bit of space open."

This was not only directed at his own crews, but at the officers from the allied fleets who had offered their services as well. Right outside the window he could see the white block-shape of an Akashan Vaccination-Class. The Medical Cruiser had just arrived to ferry those who had need, or potential need, of medical services to the Union's colony world of Grand Kachin Expanse. A good number - and considering the population of the Thanh-Tonh region ran into the billions that meant 'a lot' - of the single women who had come aboard had turned out to be both not single, and not single. Often the wives of soldiers and sailors, they were carrying the next generation of their people away in the safety of their wombs.

For the moment there were only two destinations, though there were ships from nearly every Triumvirate nation there. Grand Kachin Expanse was one, and N'Xypndiltn the other. Both had been selected because they were tropical worlds and colonies as well. The refugees would have something of a familiar environment rather than the more heavily urbanized and ultra-technological core worlds. It was possible that they might arrive and have to turn around almost immediately, but the world of international diplomacy was a shifting thing; Tentative might just turn into impossible.

"The other thing that has been noted is that if this really blows up - and we all hope it doesn't - then we might be pulling people out of more than just Thanh-Tonh. The Roanians have heavily fortified Rudan Prime over everything else, which means if something were to happen their other worlds would be more obvious targets. Presuming we stay out of it, or even if we didn't, we're going to want to keep the two sides civilians apart so keep that in mind for your mid-term planning."

[Roania]

Nesar bowed slightly as the two Tonhi came down the stairs. "Ravishing, my friends, simply ravishing." He smiled at the uncomfortable AiChien, and then at Niwat, keeping his eyes on their faces (apart from a momentary glance to show that he had indeed noticed how they were dressed. Just a glance, though. He was a happily married man, and his wife was scarier than he was). He moved closer to Niwat, and lowered his voice. "I was telling Ambassador Love that you all should be on your guards. Damalin, that is to say the Emperor, is young and foolish, especially when women are concerned. But don't think that he's your opponent, or that the people who are your enemies are going to be so easily put off by an inch or two, or 32," this last was said with a grin at AiChien, "of flesh."

[Roania]

While the two Tonhi traveled from Nesar's residence to the imperial palace...

Tanh-Tonh's capital

The explosion would shake the very walls of the city. But it was a peculiarly localized explosion -- it only took out the Roanian ministry in Thanh-Tonh, plus a few of the closer protesters, and scorched the nearer buildings.. The entire embassy went up in smoke and flames, though, as did all of the staff and the ambassador.

Imperial City

So it was a curiously hostile welcome that the Tonhi emissaries received from the Roanian authorities when they arrived at the palace. They were led into the room before the receiving hall and patted down roughly, without a word of explanation being given. Then the small, bending doors were opened, forcing the Tonhi almost to kneel just to walk inside. If Demi refused, they would open the other doors for her, but the Tonhi were given no choice in the matter.

Damalin was sitting on his throne, his head in his hands. He looked like a very small boy to be sitting in such a large seat. By his side, Riziel, dressed all in green, knelt down and whispered into his ear. There was an obvious argument going on, though it was very one-sided. Finally, the tall, grey-haired and bearded old man rose to his full, towering height and pointed at Niwat. "Approximately half-an-hour ago," he intoned, "The Imperial Ministry on Thanh-Tonh was attacked and destroyed by your people. There have been no survivors, according to our sources." He clapped his hands, and an image appeared in the middle of the hall -- the crater where the embassy had once stood, surrounded by emergency crews. "I assume you have come to tender submission and beg forgiveness from the glorious Lord of Ten Thousand Years? Or have you come to deliver a tardy declaration of war? Either way, your mission is at an end. There will be no negotiation with murderers, with traitors, or with rebels."

Damalin sat there, keeping his eyes covered. He was pale as a ghost, and even from this distance they could see the anxiety he was suffering. He didn't even look up at them. Riziel glanced back at him, then turned to Demi. "I regret that you have come all this way to learn that the ones who hired you as a mediator were the worst variety of scum. I'm sure I speak for the Emperor when I say you will be compensated for your time. But in the meanwhile, Guards!"

"That's ridiculous." Said Nesar from where he had insinuated himself into the coterie, before he stepped out into the middle of the room, between Riziel and the Tonhi. "Even if the Tonhi detonated the embassy, Prime Minister Niwat would hardly have come all this way and delivered herself into your hands were she responsible." His hand went to his belt. "Any guard that takes a move towards any of the people under my hospitality will answer to me at a time and date of my choosing." He locked eyes with Riziel.

Riziel didn't wilt under the stare, instead squaring himself. The two men glowered at one another, but it could only have one ending. The Grand Secretary looked away first. "Even if Prime Minister Niwat is not responsible, the destruction of the ministry building is a crime that must be answered for. She is a convenient representative of the criminals in question. No one respects hospitality more than I do, but you cannot expect it to take a priority over justice."

Nesar went to his knees before the Emperor. "Lord of Ten Thousand Years," He said, swiftly, "I beg you in the name of your ancestors not to let this become a court of summary justice. A crime has been committed, but the law must be obeyed, an investigation must be launched, and guests who came here in your name and with your permission should be honored as such, not handed over to be dealt with like dogs. You would dishonor the Empire, and you would dishonor me."

Damalin sighed and looked up at the heavens, then around the room. He didn't seem to want to answer Nesar's appeal. Finally, in a soft, quiet, strained voice he asked, "What do you want me to do, Nesar?"

"Hear Miss Gandhara out, Lord of Ten Thousand Years. If you can reach an agreement with her, millions of lives could be saved. If you cannot, then all that has been delayed is your ultimate victory." Nesar bowed low and spread his hands out. "I am sure Niwat is as eager as any to know who would dare attack our ministry when things are so tense between our two states?"

"Our one state, Prince Nesar." Riziel said, warningly.

"Why, didn't I say that?" Nesar smiled sweetly.

Damalin made no response for a few minutes. Finally, he looked up at Niwat and AiChien. "...I suppose that would be acceptable."

"My lord, I strongly recommend against this course of action." Riziel began, adapting a tone of command.

"You've done the right thing, regardless of what anyone says." Nesar began at the same time.

Damalin snapped. "Both of you be quiet!!" The Emperor rose to his feet and pointed with his scepter at Niwat. "You. Speak. Now. Why should I hear you out?"

[Thanh-Tonh]

Niwat swayed as if struck when the news hit her, while AiChien covered her mouth with a delicate hand. If they were part of some evil conspiracy to blow up the imperial embassy on Tonh, they were also consummate actors. Niwat put one hand on AiChien's shoulder to comfort the younger girl when the threat of the guards was made clear, but she was otherwise in complete shock.

The argument between the two Roanians, even though it concerned her fate, meant nothing to her. Her mission had... no, this couldn't... it didn't make any sense to her! Why would someone do such a thing? And... and... the boy was talking to her. By the Living Prophet! "I... I came on a mission of peace, between my people and yours." She mumbled, her voice breaking with her own stress and anxiety. "This just makes it all the more important that we find some understanding, some common ground."

Unconsciously, her voice slipped into the mode she used while haranguing opponents in parliament. "For too long, we have lived in the face of a threat; the threat of war. This is just a... a... a..." words momentarily failed her. "A symptom of how bad things are. These deaths, my people and your people, or if you prefer, our common people, should not be in vain. I beg you, Your Majesty, hear us out. In the names of those that have died, please." She threw herself to the ground, and after a moment AiChien did the same.

[Sunset]

SNN Nightly News with Tanya Zaldano...

"Ambassador Penguin," Tanya began, a cross of the leg and a sweep of the hair before she leaned forward to look intently at the animal that sat opposite her, "An explosion just leveled the Roanian Embassy on Thanh-Tonh. What's your initial reaction?"

"Tanya," the penguin leaned back and folded his flippers across his stomach in a move reminiscent of one F. Lee Bailey, "If I were face to face with whoever in the Roanian government decided to pull that stunt..."

"Wait, Roanian? You're saying you feel the Roanians did this?"

"Feel? Fuck, they might as well have run up a giant false flag outside the Embassy and put up a dozen plywood cutouts. I feel sorry for the poor bastards they killed to try to pull this off."

"And what makes you so sure?"

"Don't get your panties in a knot, though I'm pretty sure you're not wearing any. No lines. Thong? Anyway, as I was saying, if I were face to face with whoever planned this," he turned and looked directly into the camera, "'Yer dumb and should feel dumb. You've just had a press release about how your people weren't doing what they said they were doing. And we know that you made a scapegoat of the Governor."

"So yeah," he continued, "Ain't falling for it. No one with half a brain and tits like that goes and blows up an Embassy when they are on their way to negotiations where they are the distinct underdog. Counter-productive isn't just the word of the day, it's the word of the decade."

"Uh," Tanya paused, "You are aware this is live, right?"

The camera then switched back to Ambassador Penguin, who was now standing on his stool wearing cheap sunglasses and flashing gang signs at a mysterious someone in the non-existent studio audience, "Yeah, bitch. Now, we good for that date later? I wanna show my dawgs my new ho!"

"I, uh, yeah?"

"Ko."

With that, the penguin launched himself off the stool and into her lap where he took her startled face in both hands, planted a long kiss on her lips, and then dropped to the ground and flashed the finger at the camera before walking off-set.

"Eleven thirty, bring some mad dog!"

[New Sovietskiy]

The Soviet shuttles were beginning to just unload when it happened, a huge explosion rocked the city, its shockwave was felt all the way to the spaceport. Several of the “advisers” moved towards cover and raised their weapons, unsure whether the city was suddenly under attack or not. General Pavel Kasakov received word from the transport ships holding formation that their sensor scan indicated it was a localized blast centered around to Roanian embassy.

“Sluchilas huynya.” muttered Pavel when he fully realized what had happened, something seemed fishy about the incident. While it was true that there were Tonhi demonstrations outside the embassy, they seemed to have little desire for an all out war with the Roanians, which is precisely what this incident would provoke.

“I want these shuttles unloaded double time, have them off the ground in under an hour and headed back up to bring the rest of the supplies and soldiers, mobilize whatever medical units that are on the ground right now and head for the blast site, once there they are to set up trauma tents to help any wounded there are. I want whatever transport VTOLs we have unloaded and off the ground five minutes ago to help transport any critically wounded to whatever intensive care centers there are nearby that the trauma tents can not handle, everything else is to be mobilized now and moving out on the double.” the General ordered to his command.

Things moved swiftly after that, trucks emblazoned with a red cross roared out of the space port and headed towards the explosion site, the high whir of VTOL craft became prominent as they took to the air and headed to the site as well, each one loaded with whatever medical personnel that couldn’t be fitted into a truck. The remaining forces loaded into their vehicles as well, armored vehicles engines roared to life and units quickly formed up and awaited orders as to where to head.

Pavel knew there would soon be a war headed his way, he intended to be as prepared as possible.

[Sunset]

The Imperial Court...

Something in Demi's head chirped and almost at the same moment another, shorter message followed the first to arrive in her augmented inbox with its own, rather more distinctive chime tone.

'Sorry this is late; Some facts took some time to verify. Use at your own discretion.'

~♡Erika

Moving back to the first message, she found that it was a set of documents accompanied by a high-quality recording. Only a few moments of playback was required before a grim smile spread across her face and she moved to walk between the two bowing Tonhi.

"Lord of Ten Thousand Years, Prince Nesar, Grand Secretary Riziel..." She began, "Those prostrated before you have asked that I come with them to help mediate and intercede for them but," she paused and looked to the Grand Secretary for a moment before returning to Damalin, "I do not believe it is they who shall be begging for your mercy by the end of the day. Allow me to show you the events leading up to the destruction of the Ministry and I will leave it in your most capable hands to decide who deserves mercy and instead who should beg for it."

Her own hologram appeared, sharp and crisp, showing the city as it was and then in a blur of motion as it had been. The building stood in it's proper place with banners flying in the breeze. It was day out, bright but windy, and the images so detailed that the tiny crowd of protesters outside could clearly been seen along with the stern-faced guards standing at their posts.

"This is a composite of the sensor feeds from three of our vessels which were in orbit when the explosion occurred. As a matter of course, their sensor feeds were recorded and these archives have been compared and analyzed and you will find that they have been forwarded to the Eternal Empire's military attache on Mars for further inspection."

As she spoke, a shuttle could be seen drifting down over the city to swing wide around the building and land in the open courtyard. It was a small transport; A standard design that might ferry officers to another ship or down to the ground but instead of discharging these it stood silent.

"Nearly an hour passes;" Images sped past of tiny figures coming and going and the occasional questioning look and then it slowed to a crawl, "Before..."

The shuttle exploded in a slow-motion rush. Frame by frame the shock wave blossomed first with the air visibly distorted, followed by a coal-black wave of shrapnel and then a ripple of red fire that expanded to fill first the courtyard and then rip upward through the building to where it stopped, frozen in place.

"But perhaps what happened earlier is more important..."

The fire reversed, and the shuttle lifted off into the air again to trace it's own path back through the sky and up to the very heavens where it dropped out of one of the smaller auxiliary bays of a majestic Roanian cruiser. Clearly visible on the side was the name of the vessel and after a moment the scene replayed except this time the shuttle dropped away and the recording stayed focused on the cruiser. Around it time passed; Another vessel appeared and sailed past, blocky and flying the winged banner of the Akashan Union. This too disgorged several shuttles but these raced away towards the dark line of midnight that was slowly circling the jungle planet. Then the cruiser turned and, gathering speed, disappeared in a burst of light.

"Captain Tsen's vessel. A loyal son of the Empire, he was quite vocal in expressing his displeasure at the unwelcome intercession of some military forces by certain parties. Some research conducted after the fact has raised an interesting point, shared in conversation with several of his local counter-parts. He claims to have once been a part of the 16th Banner; A doubtless important posting," she looked from the Emperor to Riziel. "Given how much it has been in the news as of late..."

Nodding, she stepped back behind the two women to place them front and center once again.

"May the Emperor's Will be done..."

[Roania]

Damalin's eyes widened, and a choking sound left his throat. Riziel, however, was having none of it. "Yes, I'm sure we're all very impressed with Yut lies." The Grand Secretary scoffed. "You expect the Lord of Ten Thousand Years to believe that one of his subjects would dare to destroy our own embassy, just to furnish some cheap pretext for war?" Riziel waved his hand. "I am rather more curious about why there are Yut vessels within our, that is to say, the Emperor's, territory." He turned to face Damalin. "Surely the Lord of Ten Thousand Years won't fall for such cheap trickery. For all we know, the people of Sunset set up this attack in order to justify their own intervention."

The Emperor sank back into his throne, trembling. "I... it seems so..." His voice came from a long way away. "I don't think..." Facts warred in his mind, and he dropped his head into his hands for a moment.

Riziel decided to press the advantage while he thought he had it. "Guards! The mediator has shown herself to be a tool of the Tonhi. I believe we should take her into temporary custody along with her companions."

"The first man who moves to touch any of these women dies." Nesar said, coolly examining the court room. The guards shrank from his gaze.

"Threats against the Emperor's own security, Prince Nesar? You go too far. We'll see how bold you are while you're rotting in a dungeon." Riziel waved his hand. "Take them all away."

"Wait." Damalin whispered. "No one is going anywhere." The Emperor shuddered and rose to his feet. He swayed, and looked very unwell, but he managed to project his voice clear. "I... I am not sure what to make of it, but I do know that negotiations should proceed. The honor of my people and of my empire demand... demand... demand a fair hearing for the Tonhi, especially with this new information. Even if it turns out they are responsible, the person of emissaries is sacred to the Light. We can hardly seize them..."

"Foreign emissaries, Lord of Ten Thousand Years." Riziel snapped, his voice growing agitated. "Not rebels and traitors. You cannot seriously intend to hear them out. For all we know, this is a trick to distract us while they strengthen their position and bring in Yut allies. The Tonhi are without honor."

"I... I can and I do. As Prince Nesar said, there is no question in my mind that we can defeat the Tonhi and whatever allies they sweep together, provided we act with righteousness and justice." Damalin's voice picked up some strength. "Our victory is assured. Surely there should be a way to seek what is ours through peaceful negotiation, rather than through war?" Riziel retreated behind the Emperor, but his expression was absolutely venomous as he looked at Damalin.

The Emperor stepped forward and held out his hand to Niwat and Aichien. "Come with me to a conference room and we will begin to seek peace." It suited Damalin at moments like these to consider himself a great Emperor, whose mercy and beneficience should be known throughout the worlds. It helped get him through the day. And occasionally, he lived up to his own vision of himself. And sometimes he didn't. "Riziel, send an investigatory team to Thanh-Tonh to help us establish the truth of what happened there."

Riziel bowed low, keeping his face hidden. "Of course, Lord of Ten Thousand Years."

Thanh-Tonh

The crater would be dangerous for a few hours yet. The rocks still glowed, and occasional secondary explosives went off as fuel and ammo caches that had been stored in the basement went off.

[Thanh-Tonh]

AiChien frowned, but took Damalin's hand and went to stand next to him. She stood at least seven inches shorter than the Roanian Emperor, but made up for her lack of height by having more than a generous allotment of curves, all of which were on display under her sheer black top. She managed a weak smile, though, up at the boy.

"AiChien!" Niwat said, shocked. "I don't think that is what the Emperor had in mind."

"My father means to take his hand when he reaches out like that." AiChien said, pertly. "And all Emperors everywhere are the same, are they not?"

Niwat muttered an oath. "That was meant to be a secret, AiChien. And no, not all Emperor... this is not the time or the place for this discussion."

AiChien, who was still holding Damalin's hand, released it and bowed slightly. "Well, then forgive me if I offended you, Emperor Damalin." She crossed her arms in front of her chest and bowed slightly.

[Roania]

Damalin's cheeks had turned red without him realizing it when the under-dressed Tonhi girl took his hand. "I... uh... um." His previous thoughts had fled from his mind at her approach, and it took him a moment to regain his poise. Despite everything, the approach of an attractive young woman had an immediate effect on him, and his jaw dropped slightly. "That is to say, I... I was just indicating..."

And then he found out she was a princess. A princess who dressed like... was that Tonhi traditional costume? God, he could see almost everything. "Oh, I... it's fine. Just... um... hardly the right time or the right place." Damalin shuddered as he tried to collect himself and regain some sense of equilibrium. He didn't quite think to let AiChien let go of his hand, though he didn't hold on too tightly.

His mind had momentarily drifted from the deaths and destruction and the threat of war, and it was with some difficulty that he turned back to his official duties. "Shall the five of us retire to a conference room?" He spoke in a deeper voice than he normally affected, trying to seem like he was in control of both himself and the situation.

Soon, Riziel, Damalin, the Tonhi and Demi were in a private sitting room, sitting around a long rectangular table. Despite his status, Damalin sat off to the side, across from AiChien, while Riziel and Niwat sat towards the front of the table, while Demi stood at the head. Riziel didn't seem too happy, though. "Lord of Ten Thousand Years, surely this trivial matter is beneath you."

"Peace and war can never be beneath me. How could it be?" Damalin coughed, trying to deepen his voice again. There were three very attractive women in his room with him and he wanted to be impressive. "Now, Ambassador Love, if you would like to begin?" The effect was somewhat spoiled by his eyes staying locked on AiChien's top.