The Match (Closed, Cornellian Nations Only, other TG)

[New Edom]

OOC Thread

Saint Luke’s Arena, Fineberg, New Edom
Fanfare

The referee was dramatically waving his hands in the air, both men were almost staggering back to their corners, faces swollen, puffing like bulls in heat, drenched with sweat; their managers and trainers huddled around them like squires around knights, offering towels and water, examining eyes and hands and faces. The crowd were chanting, shouting, intent on the ring, the smell of sweat and violence sharp in the air. They still eyed one another, unable to take their eyes off the prize: the New Edomite National Middleweight Champion Belt.

Sergeant Joseph “The Hammer” Thomas flexed his powerful shoulders. The blood ran in a steady stream from his broken nose. His chief trainer held a quickly red stained towel to the Hammer’s nose, and squeezed firmly to try to stop the flow. He stared at his opponent, Chief Gunner’s Mate 2/C Zachary Tobias, who stared back like a recently caged Griffon ready to spring out on a goat, his nostrils flaring, his tough jaw clenching. Blood was in the air; the crowd were charged. They were mostly a crowd of men and women in naval and army uniform, but also many naked and painted civilians painted blue or green as the case might be, many mistresses and whores in the crowds tonight too.

“With a new carrier group on the way for the Feminazis, we need to rethink the Magna Lacuna situation.” Admiral Button said, leaning over to Perrin Pahath-Moab, himself wearing an elegantly painted uniform but only tough rubber sandals. He smelled like cigarillo smoke and brandy.

“Why do we need to rethink it? The Deas are surrounded by us politically and physically. They didn’t even dare make a peep about Gloria Regis. Why provoke them?” Perrin Pahath-Moab, who was in light tropicals, beret tucked in epaulet, pointed out, eyes on the fight.

“I agree with you,” the Chief of Naval Staff said, “But that’s only on the purest practical level. The fact is, we can’t divide that lake. It is historically New Edomite.”

“It’s not just that, there are concerns about the EIO choosing to provoke us again, only this time they’d be doing it with And we need to be realistic about one thing at least: our capabilities are very comparable on either side of the lake. They have more ground forces, though we have more long range attack capability. Right now it would be a standoff.” Button pointed out.

Pahath-Moab gave him an ironic glance. “How terrible. You know, the fight’s about to start again.” He leaned forward in the box.

“Yes, but the thing is, they are improving their military situation…”

“In response to what happened with TECT. We have vastly more force projection. We haven’t had the slightest amount of a peep from them, about Gloria Regis, about their plan involving Norvenia which thank God we nipped in the bud—why is this even an issue?” Pahath-Moab said.

General Benajah spoke for the first time, drawing on his cigar first and slowly puffing out smoke, speaking in his careful, deliberate way. “What we’re proposing, sir, is that we prepare a plan—just a plan—that’s all—to reinforce Raith Immel and Teman. One division each. An Etrurian division, say, and another mechanized division, and draw up a plan for intense bombardment of their defensive capabilities on the other side of the lake. And that we have a plan for crossing it if need be. Probably with paras, but we can also use barges defended by patrol and aircraft.”

“And we need to put mini subs in the lake,” added Button.

“A plan. Draw up a plan and let me see it. Now let me watch the damn fight. And try to keep Kiron and Adams out of this, the last thing I want is them spoiling at the bit to restore the historic claims of David the Landstrider.” Pahath-Moab said.

“That would be very popular with the Monarchists,” quipped Benajah with a faint smile. The bell went off and for the immediate present the matter was forgotten as the two men in the ring rose like gladiators, and the Chief of the General Military Staff and Chief of Naval Staff each began to argue and bet on their respective men, who would be champion today. People cheered and roared, drinks were spilled and voices raised in exultation as the Hammer lived up to his name and pounded a fist at Tobias, who took it on his strong jaw though wet flew in a spray and jabbed fast as a striking snake at the ribs one two fast at his opponent…

PRELIMINARY STUDY ON THE EVENTUALITY OF DEADORAN AGGRESSION IN EASTERN NEW EDOM AND MAGNA LACUNA

To: Brigadier-General Perrin Pahath-Moab, President of the Council of Ministers, Minister of National Defense; Colleen Fish, Undersecretary of National Defense, Lieutenant-General Sidney Harcourt, Minister of Police
From:General of Infantry Martin Benajah, Chief of the General Military Staff; Admiral James Button, Chief of Naval Staff
Encryption: To be hand delivered from the Adjutant to the Chief of Military Staff to the desk of the President, Eyes Only.

Administrative Operations District 2
The mission of AOD 2 is to defend western Deadora from threats originating from New Edom, Gehenna Tartarus, and the Elwe States. The cities of Triadenon and Fedic both have populations exceeding 1 million, while Rik'Shor is over 600,000 people. Discordia, Legirahn, and Eluria are the other permanent communities of note, with populations ranging from 50,000 to 150,000. Smaller rural communities are scattered off the main highways, and there is a transient population of Nadirii hunter tribes in the mountains along the northwestern border.

Geographically, AOD 2 has significant north-south variation. The Nadir mountains form the border with Tartarus, then abruptly turn south and extend all the way to the northern shores of Magna Lacuna alongside the border with the Elwe states and northern Raith Immel (commonly called "the Hook"). The Discord Pass and Hadik Pass are the only significantly traversable routes through the range, and both exit into the northern region of the Ordet Plateau near Triadenon. South of Fedic is the edge of the Plateau, a sheer wall of rock with an average elevation of 1500m. From here until the edge of the southern desert is the Delgado Steppe, characterized by flat, fertile plains that fade into arid grassland south of Eluria. It stretches from tip-to-tip of Magna Lacuna, and reaches eastward all the way to the coast.

As the largest port on Magna Lacuna. Rik'Shor has heavily invested in modern port facilities in order to facilitate lake trade. The city is also the intersection of two major highways, one stretching along the shore of Magna Lacuna while the other runs east into the interior. Both Rik'Shor and Fedic have international airports. The economy is primarily driven by fishing, agriculture, refining raw resources, and mining (on the Plateau). As with the rest of the Empire, Internal Security maintains armed checkpoints on all major roadways leading out of the AOD, which also compose Deadora's missile defense network.

There are three major military installations; Fort Natalie, Fort Tavares, and Fort Shume. Fort Natalie controls the Hadik Pass into Tartarus, and is a base for Light Infantry and Mountain warfare units. Fort Tavares is Deadora's only naval base on Magna Lacuna, providing a port for the Lake Patrol Fleet and airstrips for two squadrons of fighters for patrol and reconnaissance. Fort Shume is the largest, serving as HQ for AOD 2 and full sized armoured and mechanized divisions, as well as airstrips for the Air Force.

Lake Patrol Fleet
2 x Falchion class corvettes
8 x Kenning class patrol boats
4 x MkI SARC
10 x MkII PARC
1 x Littoral Fleet Tender

Fort Tavares Naval Base
34 x MiG-29K fighters
15 x Mil Mi-17 transport helicopters
2 x Mil Mi-26 heavy transport helicopters
3 x Tupolev Tu-142 maritime patrol aircraft
2 x AWACS
10 x Cirrus Electronic Intelligence Airship
4th Air Calvary Regiment (The Feral Fourth)
11th Air Defense Brigade

Fort Shume
102 x MiG-29M fighters
34 x Su-27 fighters
34 x Su-34 fighters
8 x AWACS
3rd Heavy Armour Division
3rd Mechanized Division
5th Motorised Infantry Division

Fort Natalie
2nd Air Cavalry Regiment
22nd Air Defense Brigade
3rd Mountain Division (Light Infantry)

Additional Army Units
9th Mountain Regiment (Light Infantry specialized in mountain and cold climate combat - based out of Discordia; 'Discordia's Devils")
1st Elurian Brigade (independent infantry brigade with attached armour, mechanized, artillery, engineer and aviation forces)

In addition, the 2nd, 3rd, and 6th Internal Security Divisions are based out of and deployed in Fedic, Triadenon, and Rik'Shor respectively. While their primary role is that of policing and law enforcement, they are military units comparable to an Infantry Division. In wartime, they are utilized primarily in defensive and occupational roles, and specialize in all types of Urban Operations.

Observations
The activities of Deadoran naval special forces in the area are currently unknown. As of the present, Council Police activities have largely been focused on the EIO and the Branches of the Elwe militia as they have been integrated into the Armed Forces. It is strongly recommended that military and MoP policy be shifted towards foreign security with regard particularly towards Deadora special and intelligence operations.

Air Force Base Units
Note: the list below comprises units which are based out of Gone AFB, Silver River AFB, Brightwater AFB and Military District of Fineberg.
169 tactical fighters
50 tactical bombers
6 ABMS-1 battalions
6 Skyguard Batteries
1 ARES gun battery (3 x superguns; their location is hidden and a closely kept military secret)
180 long range artillery batteries (missile systems)
12 AWACS

Task Force Nixie (Lake Patrol Force)
3 x Audentia Class Corvette
6 x Creodont Class Patrol Ship
18 x PBR
1 Littoral Fleet Tender

Durkland Naval Base
(located in Teman Province, on the lake bordering Deadora)
1 Oiler
20x Sparrhowhawk Multi-Role fighter
4x Sparrowhawk Elec. War/EW models
20 x Naga helicopter
4 x Osprey VTOL planes
4 x P-20 Maritime Patrol Aircraft
Army Forces

The 1st Army has at HQs special forces units, combat and construction engineers, air defense artillery, helicopter aviation, supply, logistics, military police and admin.

1 x Mechanized Infantry Division (12th; it has seen action in Gloria Regis during the Nova Samnite invasion last year, was sent to Bara for rest and refit. Would likely be deployed to defend Teman or Raith Immel in the event of an invasion. consists of armour, mechanized infantry, artillery, engineers and aviation.)

2 x Light Infantry Divisions (The Teman and Raith Immel Divisions are light--they have some trucks for supply use, some light vehicles like land rovers for patrol and light transport duty, but are mostly foot units locally deployed as militias, made up largely of Elwe or Halfers. They are excellent trackers, hunters and bush fighters. Light artillery heavy weapons and personal weapons mostly)

1 x Armoured Cavalry Regiment (The 14th Hussars is one of the best units in the regular army; on patrol duties in northern Bara, it would likely be deployed to help defend Raith Immel. Its officers and NCOs are highly experienced with service in New Edom and abroad; nearly every soldier is a veteran. They are a composite brigade consisting of armour, mechanized, artillery, engineer and aviation forces)

Observations
The factor that hardly anyone wants to concede is that New Edom’s army is stretched thin. However there are nearly 40,000 Damoclean troops who could be brought from Damoclea to serve our purposes. It is recommended that a plan for swift implementation be proposed.

respectfully submitted by
General of Infantry Martin Benajah
Chief of the General Military Staff
Admiral James Button,
Chief of Navy Staff

[New Edom]

Code: Select all

To: the Foreign Ministry of the Kingdom of McNernia
From: The New Edomite Foreign Ministry, Office of the Undersecretary for Pythonian Affairs
Subject: Southern Damoclea
Encryption: Maximum

A joint command is unthinkable; it would create chaos. The situation is already chaotic. What is needed is a single command which will have the power to negotiate, secure and maintain. There is only one force in the Pythonian Region which is capable of this, which has the reputation and the ability, that is the New Edomite Expeditionary Force.

If we are agreed about the other points, I would like to suggest that this be presented to the belligerents as soon as possible, by a joint statement composed through our respective offices.

Sincerely,
Basil Jerome,
Undersecretary, Office of Pythonian Afairs

Basil Jerome was a bit of a rare thing—a fat New Edomite. He had a bloated belly but had the appearance of a human frog—a swollen abdomen and a soft chest, but rather stringy arms and bandy legs, giving him the look of a frog that swallowed a golf ball, perhaps. He had a round face like an aged baby, readily sour of expression, with thin hair swept by a comb over a balding pate, an incongruously sharp pointed nose and wore horn rimmed spectacles. His voice was soft and as Levi Dathan had remarked once “sounded obscene.”

He had recently set his cap at the discarded fiancée of Colonel Solomon Cain, the Minister of Culture. While not titled, he was a very wealthy man, was of the highest society, and when not at the Foreign Ministry he dressed superbly. His father, a doddering invalid, was a man of Senatorial ancient family from Etruria Majora, and the family were the staunchest patriots.

Count Nabal’s family wee not poor like that of Count Domris; they weren’t fabulously wealthy either, they only had two homes, one in Teman, the other in Quality Bay near Fineberg, but they made up for that in influence. However they had spoiled their pretty daughter Lavinia. Ah, Lavinia.

Possessed of an innate sense of grace, Lavinia fairly floated whether she was walking or dancing, she could hold a steady curtsy for hours, her skill at pouring a cup of mint tea was the envy of all the other students, and she was a rather dashing rider on a horse. She excelled at the piano, archery, dancing, embroidery, water colors and was the most sought-after partner for any game of charades. The only things she seemed to struggle with were Latin and math. She couldn't conjugate a verb to save her life.But she had had an affair with an art student from Fineberg University, had cheated Cain of her virginity. She was a slut. But he knew very well how a reputation was an elastic thing, and how public opinion, like consent, could be manufactured.

Nabal’s family were whispered about; what kind of man could not control his daughter? She had to be married off, and fast, or the Dowagers would never let her be a lady in waiting, that would curtail swiftly their desire to have influence in both the Monarchist and Free Congress camps.

When he was taking a break from corresponding with the McNernian Foreign Ministry, he wrote a letter to Count and Countess Nabal, expressing his compassion, his concern…and offering a solution…

The Nabal Townhouse, Fineberg, New Edom

Soft music was playing, deep couches were placed around the room, large cushions had been placed in corners and the lighting was subdued giving a pink glow which heightened the feeling of intimac and friendliness.

“Isn’t this nice,” said Countess Nabal, graciously, approaching Basil Jerome. “I truly feel the civil wars are behind us, and we are all friends together.”.

Linking her arm in his she moved over to the drinks table. "Perhaps you be so kind as to pour me a cognac" she said. After he had poured out two Remy Martin she led him to one of the couches at the side of the room.

Countess Lavinia Nabal heard snatches of conversation, but she was out of her depth and felt bored, lost and frustrated, grief diminishing a bit—if her boyfriend had really loved her, he would have sought her, fought for her wouldn’t he? Had he just been using her? So the conversation flitted around her like passing moths at night time.

Now and again, there was laughter, a joke shared, a witty quip. It grew in volume as wine flowed. Men and women in uniform, gleaming medals, flash of coloured ribbons, gold braid. Lavinia sighed quietly and toyed with a vase of flowers near her. She was always either with her parents or at the school now. General Martin Benajah’s wife approached her, smiling, telling her about how she had known her when she was ‘this big’ with a bright eyed look. Meanwhile her husband, a medium height, neat man with hair still very dark though balding, his moustache short and like two triangles on his upper lip, was talking to ‘some other squarehead’ as Lavinia thought, desperately maintaining a smile in response to the General’s wife.

Colonel Josiah Adoraim was an Adjutant to the Chief of the General Military Staff, had been on his staff when he was a division and later a corps commander in Raith Immel, had been with him in peace and in war. His main talents were organizational, but he was also a good intelligence officer, good enough that he would be able to, as Benajah saw it, review current standing intel on the Deadorans and add to a report.

So when they went a little distance into the sitting room nearby, Benajah knew that someone might overhear—he didn’t mind. Let them wonder why he wanted the report done. Adoraim was told he would be released from regular duties for two weeks for this purpose.

Adoraim was clean shaven, handsome but not so much that he would startle people, enough that people relaxed with him and felt their own confidence increase. He had a warm engaging manner, was bright enough but had no delusions of genius or fetishes; he was, Benajah felt, dependable. For Benajah, this was the height of military praise. Adoraim was typically young for a senior officer, a common thing in New Edom, but had matured due to his responsibilities, was married six years to a good woman from a good family, had 2 children, was a steady fellow. Benajah felt completely satisfied with this appointment.

Colonel Josiah Adoraim

The problem, the Colonel felt as he sat in his study, reviewing the materials while he smoked a cigarillo and sipped some pepper vodka, was that intelligence about Deadora was all recent. The old Royal Intelligence Service was gone, destroyed during the civil wars, swept away, only tattered remnants existing. The Deadoran situation had been one of containment for so many years, for generations.

First, there was the problem of getting human intelligence. It was such a shockingly different society, and it was only in the last two generations female agents were recruited to any large extent at all. A special office within the Council Police existed to deal with Deadora—it was 2 years old. From what he understood from a general overview, agents on the ground were scant. There were also Elwe agents but they were not considered reliable; interpreting their information was like trying to interpret cuneiform, apparently.

Second, there was an attitude of defeatism. The last and only major attempt at getting forces across the lake had been in 1913, the Lake Expeditionary Force’s attempt to invade Deadora. It had taken 4 days to cross the lake to a supposedly secure landing zone, organize forces to advance, only to find that the Deadorans had not opposed the landing in order to trap them there, surrounding them with improved fortifications, with their own fleet swooping down to attack the gunboats and monitors escorting the transports. The besieged Edomties ran out of ammunition and food, their supplies even in Raith Immel under constant attack from Elwe independence fighters and their fleet immobilized; they finally managed to retreat some of their forces while others surrendered. Tales of their humiliation and torment were infamous.

Of course modern views had to change with changes in technology, such as aviation’s improvements. But the Deadorans kept their measure. It had been of course observed that the Deadorans were unable to capitalize on their victory—for generations it was more about raids, spies, sabotage and the war for the hearts and minds of the Elwe.

This war for hearts and minds had been won. Somewhat. There were suspicious weak links—the White Thorns, for instance, led by the ferocious Nennog. He wondered if anyone could prove a connection between Deadora and the EIO succinctly? That had been a primary concern—just holding Raith Immel and Teman.

In the 1990s, the Elwe had exploded into action in Teman, but were suppressed harshly by then Prince Mark. Again in 2011, suppressed by the Touchstone government. So there was a general tendency to be defensive in views on dealing with Deadora—New Edomite concerns first, keep to our side of the lake. The détente supported this.

In the modern age, the problem would add in air and surface lake patrols, long range radar and sonar, air defense, and the simple fact that New Edom had no large industrial port on Magna Lacuna. No one had wanted to invest in one until very recently, because of the Elwe problems. But without one invading Deadora was impracticable. He understood that this was all theoretical, which he enjoyed in a way, but they’d have to virtually repeat the 1913 campaign, or do it by air somehow.

At the end of the day, he couldn’t think of any means by which Deadora could be invaded via Magna Lacuna save by severely softening up all military targets on the other side of the lake. It would have to start with a strong air, missile, and special ops sabotage campaign in order to make it possible to get troops safely across. And then they’d face greater odds, so that would also require an intense bombing campaign to pin down the enemy ground forces, ideally damage their capacity to attack.

[Deadora]

Calla-Gold Palace
Bryn Tegna

"You are sure that it is her?" The Empress asked simply. Many feelings rushed through her, hidden beneath the false calm. Anger, incredulity, hurt. They were the emotions a Empress could not show her Matriarchs, and so she tried to push them away and feel nothing at all.

They were in the Empress's office behind the cavernous throne room. Unlike the study beneath them, it had been redesigned with a more modern vision in mind. The stone walls were smooth and grey, and gave that same shade to the bright sunlight that came in through the window, which seemed to leech the colour from everything inside.

"Absolutely." Matriarch Hera responded tonelessly. She resisted the urge to shift in her seat. The Matriarch of the Office of Intelligence and Observation was not an easy woman to make nervous, but right now she was. There were a number of unspoken rules for those in government service, and she was close to breaking the most important one of them all: never interfere with the Family. But she had a duty to perform, and so here she was anyways, pointing the finger at the Empress's cousin. "It was Jacqueline. Through proxies of course, but the directive came from her."

"Who did you break?"

"Princess D'Bhati of Legirahn. I suspect that once she realized the OIO was aware of her mother's private association with the Matriarch Princess, she sought to distance herself from the fallout."

"I never thought she would move against you so boldly." General D'Chenti said with a furrowed brow. Her sharp dress uniform struck quite the contrast with the dark suits of the Matriarchs.

"Surprising in swiftness if not in deed. Something like this was going to happen eventually, I just never thought she'd turn to New Edom. . ." Jennifer trailed off, looking at the other women in the room. She could feel the headache coming on, building up behind her eyes; a dull throb that could become a deafening roar.

All the Matriarchs glanced at each other, united by the nervous desire to bring this meeting to a swift close. They could all see the dark clouds on the horizon, and none wanted to be present for the storm. Only D'Chenti looked at the Empress with concern, but she'd known the woman since she was a girl, and had never been known to suffer her fury. Silence stretched on for a moment, then two. It threatened a third, but the Matriarch of Foreign Affairs finally cleared her throat. "That leaves us with the question of where do we go from here."

Jennifer's eyes snapped to Nessic's face, bright and threatening. "I will handle Jacqueline personally."

Nessic could not help but flinch beneath that blazing gaze or lashing tongue. "Of course my Empress. I only mean to know what you would have me tell the New Edomites. They will expect to be informed of a resolution to this situation."

Matriarch Zshæl chimed in: "We could tell them. They certainly wouldn't be able to question our commitment to justice."

"I disagree." Nessic turned to Zshæl to briefly meet gazes, then turned back to the Empress, mindful to keep her eyes beneath the chin. "With respect, Empress, our ability to work with New Edom is driven by the amicable relationship between yourself and General Pahath-Moab. Should that relationship break down, should he be given any reason to suspect the integrity of your intentions, all the goodwill we've worked to build could be lost. His regime has proven clever and effective at turning every situation to their advantage, and I suggest giving them as little to work with as possible."

"I agree," Hera said. "We need to insulate you as much as possible, Empress. We already have a list of Jacqueline's supporters. It should be no problem to select one with access to the necessary resources to follow through with Jacqueline's offer. They'll have no grounds to accuse us of not being forthright."

"Queen D'Bhati then. I'm sure her daughter will be pleased to inherit the estate."

The three Matriarchs: Nessic, Hera, and Zshæl, all said the same words, voices overlapping near-perfect. "A wise decision, Empress." All three lowered their gaze and turned their face towards their left shoulders. Having bared their necks, the three women got up and quietly exited the office.

There was a marble bust on Jennifer's desk. It depicted her grandmother Daniela, daughter of Ornellia. The first sound after the door closed was it shattering against the wall. "That bitch!" Jennifer screamed, blood draining from her clenched knuckles even as her face took on a furious flush. She stood and started pacing. "I'll end her. I'll cut off her fingers and feed them to her, or tie her to a post and let the fucking dogs take her. I'll. . ."

"Jennifer," D'Chenti tried to soothe. "This doesn't do any good." The Empress whirled on the older woman, eyes blazing, but the General met them. "Do what you will with Jacqueline, but her disobedience is neither unexpected nor crippling. If she wants to get under your skin, the best thing you could do is deny her."

The Empress's look of fury did not change. Slowly she stalked to where D'Chenti was sitting and bent down until they were almost nose-to-nose. Her fingers brushed D'Chenti's throat, black painted nails pressing little dimples into her skin. After a moment the General lowered her eyes, and only then did Jennifer's expression soften. "Of course you are right." She stood and moved to lean against her desk. "You did not speak much. I would hear your concerns."

"Of course, Empress. I agree with Matriarch Nessic. We can't give Perrin any more than we need to. He'll be sure to push it to his advantage as far as he can."

"You think he will try something?"

D'Chenti shrugged. "It would be as good an opportunity he's likely to get if he plans on sinking a knife into our back, given your inclination towards cooperation."

"You disagree with detente?"

"No, but I am less optimistic about its success. Some scars won't go away. We ought to be prepared for the worst"

"Very well. I'll meet with AOD 2's Administrative Matriarch and order a review of readiness. I want you to go to Kehrahn and do the same. The success of our cooperative ventures with Nalaya may mean we can redistribute some of our presence on the southern border. Dismissed."

D'Chenti stood and bared her neck, then headed for the door. Before she left, she looked over her shoulder at the young Empress. "She still loves you." But she was answered only with silence.

---

Official Communique of the Feminist Empire of Deadora

---

TO: The Minister of Foreign Affairs, Benjamin Kent
FROM: Arlenica Nessic, Matriarch of Foreign Affairs
ENCRYPTION: Highest

---

Minister,

The Empress wishes to communicate to your government the discovery of the identity of the insurgent responsible for the illicit communication with rebels in Gloria Regis. The guilty party is Queen Asha D'Bhati of Legirahn. Her efforts to betray the Empress were revealed through the joint investigation conducted by a number of government Offices. The traitor faces execution.

As it is understood that this is a matter of some concern to your government, the Empress hopes this soothes any cause for worry, and expresses her deepest regret that such disobedience struck the gravest insult at a time our nations have been building good will with one another. Attached is the confession of the traitor to the crimes, both in writing and in video.

Yours,
Arlenica Nessic
Matriarch of the Office of Foreign Affairs.

[Deadora]

News for the People

---

Queen D'Bhati Executed for Treason!

Investigation reveals ties to Anarchists!

Lass Utam
Reporter

Legirahn, Deadora. Bystanders gathered in outrage along streetsides as the former Queen Asha D'Bhati was escorted from her estate by Internal Security earlier this week. Many expressed both shock and grief as they saw their former leader led into the armoured prisoner transport. The Kehrahnii Queen had been good for the city during her fifteen year reign. Low taxes, a lenient stance on crime, what could such a woman possibly do to deserve being dragged from her own home in irons?

Treason.

Following the end of New Edom's Second Civil War in which the sinister threat of international Anarchism and Communism reared their bloody faces, the Empress launched a multi-Office investigation to route the seeds of Anarcho-Communism before they could be planted on our soil. Knowledge of this operation was restricted to the highest levels of Government, and carried out in the utmost secrecy. Its fruits are shocking and, as some would argue, obscene.

As peace and security continued to thrive in New Edom under the Perrin government, Anarcho-communists needed a new home for their so called revolution. They chose Gloria Regis, an island protectorate of the Allied States. Once there they initiated a hostile takeover of the local feminist movement, and the province quickly degenerated into street violence and banditry. Enter Asha D'Bhati, leader of a seditious cabal with the sole aim of undermining the Empress. In her Hubris, Asha believed herself capable of toppling this historic era of detente and goodwill between the Empire and New Edom. She contacted the Anarchist leaders, promising weapons and equipment in return for their support of a coup here in the Empire. Fortunately order was restored to Gloria Regis before she could make good on her offer, and her guilt was revealed soon after.

Outrage turned to jubilance at the Executioners block. Treason carries the penalty of death by beheading, and a great cheer swept through Legirahn's Death Plaza as the blade descended towards the neck of their former Queen. Only Baela D'Bhati, Asha's daughter, stood silent and unsmiling next to the guillotine that took her mother's head. "This is not how I wished to succeed my mother." D'Bhati said to the crowd. "I never thought the degeneracy of anarchism could be so pervasive. But the Empress is right. This is a threat to all nations, and we must work with our allies to protect ourselves."

Matriarch Empress Thrall herself will be travelling to Legirahn to formally appoint Baela as the new Queen of the city and the D'Bhati family.

[New Edom]

Stonehaven Prison, Fineberg, New Edom

The prison had had some modernization done. Better lighting, better ventilation, better camera and motion security systems, chem and bio sniffers, a improved shipping, parking and staff areas. However the cell doors were still only possible to open through a mechanical device directly operated from outside. Teams of three were used to handle each prisoner. It was possible if there was a fire (not likely in a building made of concrete and metal) to evacuate prisoners to courtyards by section where they would find themselves in a dead end. But ultimately the view was “if a fire or disaster causes chaos, let them die.”

It was masonry and concrete structure with sub levels. The sub-levels had some state-of-the art equipment. The grim granite simplistic architecture had an aura of despair and depression. The prison was built originally before the era of indoor plumbing. Several alcoves were retrofitted; however, cells in the main cell area are extremely Spartan.

The individual cells had no bedding, running water, or toilets, though there were drains in the floor. Periodically the cells were cleaned and disinfected. Since the climate is mild, the inmates were able to sleep on the bare concrete using only a thin blanket without serious health issues.

Fifty Feminist Collective and Communist Party of Gloria Regis as well as a few other prisoners had been brought there following martial law being put into effect in Gloria Regis, shipped with great care and caution by air and then brought hooded, under cover of darkness, into an underground parking area and moved by vehicle to Stonehaven where they were processed.

All prisoners were moved in an unhurried way to a room with faded tiles which had old and relatively new bloodstains. This was largely for effect but the prisoners didn’t know that; one thing Kohath had devised as an interrogation trick was to slaughter a young pig in a nearby room with human voice recordings mingled with it so that people would think that horrible tortures and murders took place in a room where you would soon after or hours or days after process a prisoner. Few but the bravest of the brave would not be daunted by this, he had found. Shaved of all bodily hair, scrubbed down, none were permitted clothing after their arrival; they were given an alpha numerical name by which they would be referred by all but a precious few who knew their actual identities. Prisoners were regularly humiliated though in a rather brisk, cold way, without overt sadism. Forced to defecate and urinate into the open sewer drains that served as toilets, force to eat tasteless food without utensils, forced to speak only at certain times. They were less beaten and kicked around and more treated like cattle; they were always hooded outside their cells, hobbled with chains outside their cells with their arms in a device like a straightjacket. Escape had never occurred save once—and everyone in the know knew it had been faked to raise security after the panic.

“All of them small fish,” General Ashdod said, rubbing his balding head as he finished making his report in the office of the Governor-General of Prisons, where he was meeting with Perrin Pahath-Moab and Sidney Harcourt. The room stank of cigarette smoke. It was a sour little room little better than that of one of the section officers; a wire protected window, plain desk made cheaply, a weapons rack on the wall, a tiled floor that had seen better days. “No big fish at all. The main ones—Barberina, Ferrovius, Macro, Romain, Moss, the exiles—they’re dead or gone. We’re still sifting through assisted by Army intel, but nothing thus far.”

“And now this other fish has escaped through that borne from which no traveler returns,” said Harcourt, coughing a little as he ground out one cigarette with one hand while already fishing for another. “The Queen who planned to help a revolt. Yes, I know that their press release and their letter pushes all the right buttons, says all the right things, but the fact is, we have so little on this matter. It was a honey pot, we all know that, we three. But is this the end of it in Deadora? How involved were they really? Is this Asha D'Bhati a scapegoat or the real thing?” he lit up, inhaled, and sighed. “The honey pot drew the Norvenians, the Mickeys, and various Reds. It put the Shrais in their place. But…” he grinned a yellowish grin. “I have such a naturally suspicious mind, you see.”

The other three men laughed. The Governor-General, Hiram Shoco, with his long face, seamed skin, large sad eyes, had a rather gravelly laugh; when you saw him in civilian clothes or naked he looked like someone’s middle aged father. Many of the refinements of the prison had been his, including the naming system. He toyed with a gold ring he wore. “You never know, sir,” he said to Harcourt. “Small fish are sometimes big fish in disguise. And we need to sift through those in the prison camp still in Gloria Regis and the prison there.”

“And exercise patience in doing so. We have a system, a web of information and those who interpret it for a reason,” Perrin said. “There are a few logical places for the traitors to have fled to if they did flee. Let’s try to find out where, try to follow the money and information trails and go from there, and scour the city nevertheless..” He stood up, the others did as well. Perrin thanked the Governor-General, bows were exchanged, pleasantries and promises of barbecue ad sports events promised, and the three visitors left him to his job.

To: Arlenica Nessic, Matriarch of Foreign Affairs
From: Benjamin Kent, Minister of Foreign Affairs
Subject: Recent Message
Encryption: Delivered in sealed pouch through the Deadoran Embassy

---

Dear Matriarch,

Thank you very much for your message in response to the President’s inquiries in Sevan. It is a great pleasure to see how our détente is already leading to greater cooperation.

While it is unfortunate that your government suffers from such treasonable persons as Asha D'Bhati. Shocking that such a thing could have happened, but how fortunate that your government was so able to act upon it so quickly. You have, on behalf of my government, the warmest congratulations.

I am advised that I should ask what information did exist about this cabal with regard to Gloria Regis, and if you could make sure it is forwarded to my office by the most secure means possible, by the soonest possible. You will understand that we want to make sure that the conspirators are fully dealt with down to the least detail.

I have the honour to be
Benjamin Kent,
Minister of Foreign Affairs

[New Edom]

Stonehaven Prison

Sergeant Rehoboam Lubim was tasked with doing prisoner intakes and daily inspections in “A” block. . As such, he was able to assign cells to the incoming prisoners. He assigned one new one to cell A3, and another to cell A4 and so on. A decimal would be added to indicate the prisoner’s identity, and he and the other guards would only know these names. They would not discuss the prisoners’ real names or identities. Only the CPHSO (Home Office) or CPISO (Foreign Office) officers were permitted to know the actual identities of these prisoners.

Lubim saw them as his charges, and he was a strong believer in the regimen that was adopted. He was proud of his job and was confident in doing it; he had been doing this duty for four years. Regular exercise, feeding of just enough food or just too little food were regular regimens; time confusion was a requirement, and sometimes varied depending on what the officers assigned to the prison recommended. Regular medical examinations were not his duty but he was required to prepare the prisoners for that. He always paid attention to detail, often did pop inspections or quizzes o the guards, used his own private reward and punishment system which seemed to produce great efficiency. There were also regular cavity searches and genital inspections to maintain the prisoners’ health.

The Block Sergeant punished abuse of the prisoners strongly; he would report instantly even the most veteran guard for a rape or molestation of male or female—that was not what they were there for. They had a perfectly good Council Police brothel for that. Sinful but after all one must deal with the sinful urges dealing with such animals as the prisoners.

This day, he had an interrogation to prepare for. This required the full deal—depilation, full inspection and search, cleaning, and the prisoner to be fully emptied beforehand. They also had to have one of the corridors (you never took the prisoner, hooded or not, down the same corridor twice in a row) rigged for sound—sometimes the prisoners had hoods that also prevented them from hearing anything, but sometimes the bosses wanted them to hear disturbing noises. It varied—screams, shouts, the sound of machinery, electrical hums. Sometimes they wanted to have the fans blasting cold air. Sometimes he was curious about why, but he had so much work to do he could rarely find an occasion to ask, and the officers did not socialize with the NCOs or Guards.

Today his assistant was Cora, one of the medics. Cora had a tendency to get a bit emotional about her work, and he was going to have to watch that. She liked to make a pet of certain prisoners if she could, usually the soft ones—male or female, she didn’t care. Her latest was a youth who softly recited poetry in his cell. Cora took some kind of pleasure into comforting them here and there, slipping them a bit of extra food. He had reported it, but the Level Commander had advised him to monitor it and do nothing for the time being. Lubim knew this game—it meant Cora was going to be possibly very vulnerable to the Commander in due course and made a puppet. He didn’t pity her—he’d warned them all. Don’t get close to the prisoners. Don’t learn their real names. Don’t get angry with them, don’t love them. Just do your duty. Leave judgement, good or ill, for the high command and God.

Cora, short neat hair framing a boyishly handsome face, trim in her dark uniform, was at least good at the rest of her duties. Two other guards were simply there for the transfer to the preparation area. “A3.2?” she asked, consulting a clipboard.

“Yes. Alright everyone, remember the drill.” Lubim and the other three went down the hallway to the cell. They weren’t allowed to gossip or discuss things—not football scores, not nothing. It was tempting, because the work after a while became tedious, but it was dangerous with any prisoner to get too relaxed.

The process—ordering the prisoner to stand spread eagled facing the wall, hands tied behind the back with plastic ties, hooded, hobbled—was a bit lengthy but necessary. This prisoner, A3.2 was one of the new ones, and he secretly liked her. She was a tall willowy woman with fair skin, probably a Cornellian with those pretty brown eyes, and she had come exhausted, her voice when she spoke hoarse as though she’d been shouting a lot, her body bruised here and there, and she had softly begged him, “Friend, I want to live.” He had ignored her, but it had been hard to—her eyes appealed to him.

So he felt, oddly, like he wondered Cora might. Maybe Cora was wiser—her little outlets maybe gave her a sense of relief. For he knew this woman, in a few humble ways. He knew that her daily cavity inspections deeply humiliated her; she wasn’t getting used to them at all. She wasn’t learning that he would not reply to any but a few questions, and never would converse with her. He knew her not through knowing her name or her favourite kind of tea but by the way she wept and protested in an anguish of degradation of outrage at the intrusion of his lubricated fingers. He knew her by the way that she was in despair at not being able to hide the voiding of her body’s wastes in the indent drain in the middle of her cell, knowing she was watched constantly. Her hair was gone, and was smoothed again now, her skin smooth all over, and she wept at that too. Yet there was a curious strength in her; she didn’t sob like someone avoiding her situation, but as one facing it and grieving nevertheless. She had a face not beautiful but angular, yet somehow beautiful for all that.

The water was tepid, never warm never freezing, but just enough to clean her; chained to the wall of the shower cubicle she was scrubbed briskly—not gently but not with intention to hurt—by two of the staff, disinfected, and then hooded, hobbled, sent to the interrogation room.

It was Captain Anderman today. Bookish, slim, with the air of a fussy accountant, he was apparently one of the best. Lubim barely knew what that meant except that he got results.

The door closed, Lubim waited outside to be called. Other guards took over—ones who had come with Anderman. They exchanged curt nods of dim respect; they had little to do with one another.

Anderman was a decent officer; he always appreciated Lubim’s work, had mentioned him a few times praisingly. It was nice to be appreciated.

The Questions

“Beulah Carmichael,” said Anderman pleasantly. “How many enjoyable times we have met together. I understand that in the new system the cavity searches have already taken place. Do you want another? I recall you craving them.”

“You bastard, no, I never did, I never did, you just always said that…and you said I’d never have to come back.” Beulah said sharply, shuddering, looking at him.

“My dear, I barely understand you. Have a sip of water.”

One of the guards offered her a glass. She knew better than not to drink it; he was perfectly capable of having a tube down her throat.

“Why am I back here—“

The guard’s punch came at a signal she barely saw; it hit her so hard in the solar plexus she thought she’d die. Later she would remember and think that this was why they had had made her purge so thoroughly. Rolling her body in agony, she was eventually able to speak again. She was terrified something had been ruptured; even when she could speak her breath was shallow.

“I’m sorry, that was overzealous, but I hope you remember that you don’t ask the questions.” Anderman grimaced and shook his head at the guard. “Now, let me ask you: why did you not report to us on the final whereabouts of Livia Barberina, Carlotta Moss, Theodora Ferrovius and other leading members of the Feminist Collective?”

“I couldn’t…couldn’t find them…it was crazy, the power was out and everything, and I was with Julianna but I got separated from her.” Beulah gasped out.

“What about possibilities?” Anderman asked her. “Name some.”

“I…I think there was a plan to slip them out of the city in small groups, I remember that, but I didn’t learn how.” Beulah said, his face somehow swimming before her. Even though she had little in her belly she had a painful urge to throw up.

“Who made the plan?” Anderman asked.

“Th-Theodora Ferrovius and Samuel Love.” Beulah stammered. “They were working together.”

“Yes, I realize there was a general cabal of traitors, and you were sympathetic to them. Perhaps a little too sympathetic. When did you last speak to Livia Barberina?” Anderman began to ask her about the last two days, his questions coming briskly. She was exhausted, in pain, ad emotionally in shock, the prison was worse than when she had last been in it.

“—Deadoran..” Anderman said.

“Wait…I don’t remember any Deadorans.” Beulah exclaimed, surprised.

Anderman frowned. “Really? No, you’re lying. Of course there were, why lie so stupidly?”

Beulah gasped, “No, I swear to God, I’m not, never!”

Anderman looked displeased, which frightened her. “Very well. I need to corroborate your story. You can go back to your cell for now, we’ll talk again later. Call the sergeant,” he said. Her protests dimmed quickly—in a way she was more frightened of Lubim than Anderman—though not by much.

Lubim focused on the process of taking her back to her cell, which was a reversal of the previous--you still had to do another cavity search...

[Deadora]

Legirahn

A stiff wind from the West brought with it the stench of the fishdocks, and beyond that there were foreboding black clouds drifting determinedly from New Edom. The skies on the Deadoran side of the Lake were still serenely blue and graced with the springtime warmth of the sun, but would no doubt become just as chaotic and dark if the pressure from the Edomite cold front did not cease. It was, all things considered, perhaps not the best day to have a coronation if you wanted to associate the event with gravitas and dignity.

So thought Baela D'Bhati, standing in the maroon puddle of her mother's dried blood under the watchful gaze of her pike-mounted head and the assembled crowd of the city's petty aristocrats and well-to-do citizens. It was disgusting, forced to stand in the filth of dishonor. Bad enough that the woman's seditious friendship with the Matriarch Princess had denied her the burial that was their family's right, but to have it so blatantly mark the day of her own Ascension was a disgrace bordering on outright punishment. But when the Empress Herself picked the day to appoint you Queen of an entire city there wasn't any rescheduling. She knew better than to be visibly upset. The Empress wanted to make an example, which meant doing things Her way. The Nadirii way.

The wind pulled at her golden hair. She tried to avoid looking at the pale corpse-face of her mother. The assembled crowd looked at her. They all waited. Just when she was starting to quell the first pangs of impatience, she caught the distant buzz of an engine, which quickly grew into a throaty growl. Three cars pulled into the plaza. The center one was an armored limousine bearing the crest of the Empress, a black snake swallowing the stem of a rose on a field of white. Women of the Imperial Guard exited the other vehicles, forming two lines right towards her. The crowd parted around them like water around the bow of a ship. Then She stepped out.

Baela remembered visiting Bryn Tegna as a child alongside her mother at the invitation of the previous Empress. She had met Jennifer then, recalled the streak of cruelty She reveled in even at that tender age. Time had done nothing but hone it, and it showed. When their eyes met, Hers went to the bloody pike while Baela began to drop hers. She saw the smirk widen into a true smile exposing just a flash of perfect white. Her gaze continued to fall, following the flawless, graceful arc of Her throat, the shadow of cleavage and swell of breasts. Beneath the black robe, she knew, would be a taught and lightly muscled stomach. Arrogant hips swayed. Lower still. . .

Baela wrenched her gaze away, falling to her knees with her neck exposed in utter vulnerability. Everyone save the Imperial Guard did the same. Her breath hitched and heaved in her chest. Some cold and slick Terror was uncoiling in her gut at the same time an aching warm wetness was waking between her legs.

It seemed like forever there was nothing but the rush of blood through her ears and sick death-lust in her loins. She kept squeezing her eyes shut waiting for the eternity to end. Fingertips brushed against her neck and sent shivers racing along her skin, the little hairs of her body standing on end as if electrified.

"Baela D'Bhati," the Empress said. "If you are ready to become Queen of Legirahn stand, and let your Empress take your measure." Her voice seemed to fill Baela's veins with lead. This was the woman who had killed her mother on a whim! Who was forcing her to kneel in a puddle of her mother's blood beneath the gaze of her mother's severed head! And here she was, quivering like a kitten. Disgraceful.

Something long dormant inside her, some hot and ancient pride leftover from a land that seemed far too distant at this moment, welled up and demanded she show defiance in the face of such arrogance and insult. It was matched with a simple, pragmatic realization.

This is the price of power.

She rose, and looked Thrall in the eye. They were standing so close that Baela could smell the hot-sweet scent of her skin. Her legs seemed filled with water, but she didn't dare look away. Time stretched between them. Her eyes began to itch, yet Thrall's face was as beautiful and calm as if she were looking at nothing at all. Everything rested on this moment. Princess or not, if the cruel emerald eyes of this northern succubus found her wanting, she would rule nothing. Failure was to be cast out, kicked from the table of nobility. Deadora was not kind to fallen Queens, or their daughters.

Finally she could bear it no more; she looked away. The crowd murmured, but whether in approval or disapproval she could not tell. When Thrall's gentle palm cupped her face, however, there was no mistaking the excited tremble that ran through them all, nor the approving timbre of the Empress's voice. "Make your Oath."

Baela knew the words. Every girl did. They wrote them in the margins of their schoolbooks or whispered them as a mantra to fall asleep. And while it was known that only a Princess could take the Oath of Queens, there was that implicit hope that if she could just be ruthless enough, cunning enough, then any girl could claim lordship.

"On the Blood of those that came before; on the honour of the Dead that forged it; I swear fealty. To the Empire and her Empress, to the Tower and its Rose. I will abide neither weakness or mercy, nor tolerate disloyalty and indecision. To the faults that plague all hearts I will be blind and see only the ends of my own ambitions. I will be cold. I will be unyielding. In service to the Empire, in service to my Empress. By the face of my Mother, this is my Oath."

The sudden roar crashed over her like a breaking wave. Thunder boomed on the horizon, but was drowned out by a storm of the city's own making. Cheers and shouts bounced from wall to wall of the Plaza, the ground shook with the stomping of feet. The Imperial Guard tightened ranks against the throng, but there was no need. People streamed out of the Plaza arm-in-arm. A new Queen had been recognized by the Empress! The day would be one of drink and celebration, of fellowship and sisterhood under the glory of their Monarchs. And when night fell? Blood would drip from windowsills to gutters, knives would fly from unexpected shadows to find the hearts of those that thought themselves protected. For the city had a new Queen, and the old allegiances meant nothing.

The new Queen D'Bhati felt her own elation rise with the sound of the city's acceptance of her rule. It fell when she turned once again to Thrall, seeing only that coy and gleeful grin that promised all the sadism for which She was renowned. "Come with me." Thrall said, and Baela was once more aware of the icy slick pit in her stomach. The trials of becoming a Queen had only just begun.

[Deadora]

Official Communique of the Feminist Empire of Deadora

---

TO: The Minister of Foreign Affairs, Benjamin Kent
FROM: The Matriarch of Foreign Affairs, Arlenica Nessic
ENCRYPTION: Highest

---

Minister,

Your congratulations are received warmly by the Empress. It is indeed unfortunate that such malignant individuals may, on very rare occasion, be able to rise to such positions of influence, but the corruption of human hearts can often prove impossible to predict. This holds especially true for those women who came into their titles under the rule of the previous Empress, who took a lenient hand to her Queens. The new Queen Baela enjoys the full confidence of Empress Thrall, and truly embraces submission to Her Will.

Regarding information as it relates to New Edom's own traitors in Gloria Regis, there is sadly little we can offer that would be unknown to your own government. Communication records we seized lack the names or identifying details of parties from both sides, likely in anticipation of this very scenario. Much of what was discussed is concerned with the logistics of carrying out Asha's promise of assistance, including the smuggling of key individuals from Gloria Regis to the Empire. A log will be attached to this communique.
If, perhaps, you were willing to provide more specific inquiries I would be able to respond with more satisfactory answers.

Yours,
Arlenica Nessic
Matriarch of the Office of Foreign Affairs

---

Falchion-Class Corvette ANS Flint
Patrolling the Dea-Edomi Maritime Border
Deadoran 2005 claim, "The Red Line"

The sleek corvette sliced through the choppy waves of Magna Lacuna at an easy 20 knots, accompanied by the two Kenning-class patrol boats that were joining it on this particular patrol. The Flint may not have been the pride of the Imperial Navy, but it was one of the most modern ships in the fleet; on the cutting edge of naval technology. With a top speed over 40 knots, 20 VLS tubes, and a host of defensive system ranging from heavy machine guns, short range missiles, and an electronic warfare suite, the small ship packed considerable punch.

Ordinarily the warship never would have sailed so close to border bisecting the lake into rough halves. Its exact placement was still a matter of bitter contention between New Edom and the Empire, but recent political developments had shifted the burden of battle to the bureaucracy. This was no ordinary day, however. The Empress was in Legirahn and throwing a big party to boot. Security was the foremost priority, and that not only meant positioning ships as far out as possible to provide the earliest response time in case a threat was detected, but also clearly marking the boundaries of Imperial territory. Sure, a sneak attack on the small lakeside city was unlikely (again, given the same political developments), but could you ever really trust those brutish Christian savages?

Naval Command didn't think so, and the captain of the Flint, one Sara D'Fors, was of a mind to agree. Deadora's presence in the air was also significantly heavier than it would normally be for ordinary patrol operations. Two AWACS were in the sky alternating their radars from active to passive at intervals, and both of the large, vulnerable A-50's had a pair of heavily modernized MiG-29M's as their escort. A further four MiGs in two pairs were performing Combat Air Patrols, again including the airspace defined by the claimed border, the so called "Red Line". To top it all off, two of the newly acquired Cirrus Electronic Intelligence Airships floated serenely above, ready to sound the alert if their sensitive electronics detected anything resembling a threat to the Empress.

If anything tried to penetrate Deadoran airspace the Empire wanted to be able to detect it, engage it, and retaliate.

[New Edom]

Echo Flight, Magna Lacuna, 55 km from the Red Line

Lieutenant-Commander Gregory Grace had been brought out of the reserves where he was on retirement for training purposes, and through a series of accidents found himself commanding the recon patrol (ShadowhawkE) of the 11th Tactical Air Squadron (Recon Flight) personally--the 11th was a little top heavy with older officers because of casualties during the war. As it happened though he had enough flight time and combat time to be an old enough fox to doubt that trouble with Deadora was truly over; he had heard scuttlebutt about things going off in Gloria Regis.

The Shadowhawks of his squadron carried a 30mm cannon, an R-77 missile and R-73Es for dogfight purposes. Maybe not enough, if the Deadorans tried anything. An advantage was the smokeless engines which reduced their visibility, and a number of improvement to weapons, navigational and combat computer efficiency.
For years the patrols, whether done by road on the shore, by balloon, by dirigible, by biplane, by steam powered monitor, or by fighter plane, had kept a vigil against the matriarchs. He was skeptical of the idea of détente; could a Griffon change the colour of its beak? He doubted it. So they were vigilant. Spread out over the lake in wide patrols, there weren’t enough of them, in his opinion or, he was sure, the admiral’s; but he would do his duty.

There was a storm brewing to the south; they’d be called in soon, it was risky landing during stormy weather and during such times as this they’d prefer to just keep the P-20s out. They had a good range and were tough, and could stay aloft for long periods of time. It was what they were built for.

But now they picked up a blip of something with a familiar radar and sonar signal array uncomfortably close to the lake’s line of demarcation—such as it was.

His flight, which he shared with one other pilot called Demaris, were nearest. “Echo-2, we’re going to check out that blip. Could be nothing, but looks like it could be a Deadoran patrol. Follow me.” He flexed his fingers and then took her down, moments after hearing a laconic, "Roger, Echo-3" feeling the rush as of old as he headed towards the waters to give them a bit of concealment, lower them from the usual radar levels and possibly confuse anyone trying something funny. The Deadorans had not raided in over a generation, had not crossed in years. Maybe it was a mistake, but after a dozen or so nautical miles it wouldn’t be a mistake any more…

[New Edom]

To: Arlenica Nessic, Matriarch of Foreign Affairs
From: Benjamin Kent, Minister of Foreign Affairs
Subject: Recent Message
Encryption: Delivered in sealed pouch through the Deadoran Embassy

---

Dear Matriarch,

Thank you for your prompt response. I would like to know if possible what logistical support there would have been for smuggling individuals out of Gloria Regis, what means of transport would have been used, landing zones and so on.

On another note altogether, I would like to forward to you our intended plans for, under the Ministry of Agriculture and the Environment doing a general survey of our zone of control of Magna Lacuna. This is generally to be directed by Hiram Adoni-Zedek, Undersecretary for Agriculture and the Environment, and I am forwarding you the contact information for his office in Fineberg, as well as an attachment of what the research will involve.

The projects are being done in part through a private company out of Callaban, Nautilus Underwater Systems. If your government is interested in cooperating or would not object to parts of this survey being done by us on your side of the lake, please let me know or let the undersecretary know.
I have the honour to be
Benjamin Kent,
Minister of Foreign Affairs

[Deadora]

Sand Flight, CAP-2 over Magna Lacuna, 20km from the Red Line

Jehrod Vehn was tense. Not because he was worried about landing in the worsening weather conditions (which he was), or that he suspected his current mate was planning on leaving him for some InSec goon. He was an experienced enough pilot to know how to handle his plane in rough winds, and women had left him before. No, what had Vehn tense was the small, ghostly radar target that had briefly lit up on his display before going dark. His active radar was reliable out to about 120 kilometres; the blip had been no more than 100. That meant whatever it was had thus far managed to slip past the AWACS, and that scared him.

"Sand-3, radar picked up a ghost. Let's check it out before that storm really rolls in." His wingmate radioed confirmation and descended towards the lake as they headed towards the coordinates of that short-lived blip. Vehn maintained altitude, keeping his radar active knowing that the chance of a return would increase as they neared whatever they were looking for. It may have made him a much easier target, but he wasn't nearly as concerned with remaining hidden as he was with finding the spook. He could recall with chilling clarity an earlier briefing of the known technological capabilities of the Edomites, including their use of stealth fighters. The R-73's and R-77's under the wings of his MiG wouldn't do him much good if he never saw an opponent.

It seemed that perhaps there was nothing to find after all and he was about to recommend returning to their original flight path when his display lit up again. Not 60 klicks away, and the bastard must have been hugging the lake like a damned gull to make it so close without being detected. A bolt of adrenaline surged through his heart. It was heading towards the patrol group on the lakes surface, and he knew this was a contentious piece of property they were all flying over. His wingmate confirmed detection and headed to intercept, while Vehn loitered high above to alert the Flint, ready to come to his friends aid at the first sign of foul play.

Sand-3, piloted by a quiet man from the east coast named Jaksyn Vegyl, radioed the incoming aircraft. He had a pretty good hunch that it was Edomite, but stuck to procedure. He couldn't care less about whatever party was being thrown shoreside, but he took his job (and his pension) seriously. Everything by the book.

"Unidentified aircraft, you are approaching airspace of the Deadoran Empire. Do not cross the border. State your origin and purpose. I repeat, do not cross the border, or you will be fired upon."

[New Edom]

Echo Flight, Over Magna Lacuna

Just a short time earlier than they had been spotted, threat indicators were picking up radar sweeps, and they confirmed that there were security patrols from Deadoran side approaching. He said quietly, “Echo-2, we’re going to see if we can just keep on sneaking, get a peek at what’s going on.”

Adrenaline pulsed through his bloodstream. Sometimes he ached after pulling a patrol, but he loved this life, would miss desperately this life when he was stuck in a classroom or behind a desk. Maybe the Deadorans would put him out of his misery?

As long as he went well. As long as “well done, thou good and faithful servant” went on his tomb. But now over the open frequency he could hear a hateful Deadoran accent.
Whenever he heard it, the thought of the scarred knife wielding witches depicted in the comics when he was a kid, the semi-historical ones about the Lost Platoon, the men who escaped from a Deadoran prison camp to try to make their way through endless adventures in Deadora, Nalaya, Elwe country…but worst of all were those women with their knives.

He suppressed a shudder. He had firepower enough, had speed and tech enough he was sure, and he said crisply, “This is Echo Flight of the National New Edomite Air Force. Your own naval forces are dangerously near the New Edomite Zone. You withdraw yours and we’ll withdraw ours, over.” Thank God for Standard Operating Procedure. However he made sure that his channel was linked to Durkland NAS.

Durkland Naval Air Station

“Yes, I’ve just gotten off the phone with them” said Captain David Hagar, grimacing and shaking his head. He was talking to some damned Dawarf named Mr. Sorkvir from the Governor’s Office in Nass, wanting to hold his dick and make sure he pissed right about the matter of a storm brewing on Magna Lacuna. “With all due respect…sir…I don’t answer to you or to the Governor, I answer to my chain of command, and neither of you are in it. I will cooperate entirely with civilian agencies with regard to assistance of search ad rescue, more than that I cannot promise. I will not submit to coordination through your office. Good day, Mr. Sorkvir.” Politicians.

There was a knock on the door. “Come,” barked Hagar.

His XO came in, still naked from PT, which made him raise his eyebrows. “Sir, just got a report from the CIC about Echo Flight encountering a face off with some Matriarch air patrol, standard operating procedure is what it is…but I wondered, with thedetente…”
“Right. No, we have no orders to the contrary. Let’s get another flight out in support just in case the witches are trying something, right? I’ll be down to the CIC in a couple of minutes, you might as well sling your balls into a uniform,” he said.

The XO grinned. “But they’re such handsome balls…” however he went jauntily off. The XO was a serious fitness fanatic, he had the fluid muscles of a well bred race horse. He was vain, but then Hagar would rather have a vain pilot than a humble one. He scratched his chin without thinking; he had a scar there along his jaw to his chin and he worried it even when it didn’t itch. Heading out, he informed his secretary he’d be in the CIC and to screen his calls through his ADC.

[Deadora]

The Tzhæl Estate
Calla Tegna

". . . in service to my Empress. By the Face of my Mother, this is my Oath."

Baela's voice was so clear, the resolute set to her face so defined, that the large flatscreen may have been a window to Death Plaza itself. The clip was a rerun of the live broadcast that had taken place earlier today, and it had been played only moments after another clip, this one of the late Asha's unfortunate loss of her head.

Jacqueline knew she shouldn't be watching it, but was helpless against the urge. A loss was a loss, and no advances could be made by reliving it. A part of her, the weak part, tried to offer that she was still studying where she went wrong. She did away with that notion ruthlessly; she already knew what she was doing and was disgusted. It was more than the catastrophic loss of an ally that she replayed in some repetitious ritual. She had made her play and overextended herself. Like every other time she could remember trying to match up with her cousin, she had been found wanting. Too slow, too eager, too cautious. Too weak. And now there she was on TV, heading back to her car new toy in tow so they could go fuck in a dead woman's bed, and there wasn't a room in the Tower that led to a world where she was getting through that door. Jennifer was throwing failure in her face, and she just took it.

"And now I've nothing." Jacqueline murmured to herself as she flicked off the television.

"Not true, my Mistress," a voice spoke behind her. "Bal Tein and Eldwud are still loyal, and Kæla will be made Queen of Desolation before the year is out. A temporary setback only."

Jacqueline turned to the speaker, a pretty young blonde woman with short hair and a deceptively innocent, cherub-like face. She was the talented, up-and-coming Miss Jerrieot Rehj, Sub-Matriarch of the Department of Nalayan Affairs. When Jacqueline had found her she'd just brought one of Nessic's staff under her thumb and was using that influence to buy some from a General. Just looking at her made Jacqueline want to clench her jaw in frustration. Jennifer, the Empress, surrounded herself with Generals, Matriarchs, and the rulers of great and ancient cities. She was left to plot with mid-level functionaries and petty nobles. And after this she wouldn't even be able to get an audience with a Queen of the First Bloodlines. Shame rose like hot bile in her throat.

"Not good enough!" Jacqueline snapped at the woman, not bothering to keep the venom from her voice. Throughout the Imperial Elite she was renowned for her ability to not only keep every thought and feeling locked away but to also replicate any that she might need. Not even Jennifer could hide her passion as well as her older cousin. Rehj was her release, but her need of one only further demonstrated her weakness. "Legirahn was critical. I need to be able to strike out across the lake."

"Perhaps there remains some in Internal Secu-" Rehj tried to offer, but was interrupted as Jacqueline approached her.

"Anyone still loyal to Asha who survived the Empress's purge will likely not survive Baela's. She knew more than I ever would have suspected."

"The-"

The sharp crack of flesh on flesh interrupted the Kehrahnii, and the force of Jacqueline's blow sent her sprawling, drips of ruby red falling from her mouth. "There is not an answer for everything!" Jacqueline screamed at her. She kicked her in the gut once, twice, then fell on her like a lunatic demon. Tearing off clothes, striking her, clawing and biting. Jacqueline took her right there on the floor, and afterward, while Rehj trembled in her embrace wounded and silent, she thought back to the last time she had seen Jennifer, and how similar it was to this right now. A familiar ache settled into her chest, a longing that had been with her for over a decade since their first kiss.

She tried to ignore it. Hate was easier.

Queen's Quarters, D'Bhati Castle
Legirahn, Deadora

The drive to the castle had been short, as traffic on most of the major streets had been shut down for the festivities. While the main roads were clear for the Imperial motorcade, Baela had been able to see throngs of people filling the side streets. She had seen dancing, food and drink stands, petty magic tricks, sparring, and countless other games and activities that The People reveled in when they were given leave from the daily grind of work and toil that defined the life of the common citizen. She was separated from all of it by tinted bulletproof glass and armour plate, but she may as well have been a world away.

The Empress talked for most of the drive, and by the Rose wasn't she a charming woman! She talked about how Asha was a proud woman in spite of her treason and done a fine job ruling over the city; how she had every confidence that Baela would not only be every bit the capable leader her mother was but would, in fact, eclipse her in deed and renown. By the time they reached the castle much of her earlier disquiet had dissipated. She was no fool, and still retained a practical respect for the totality of this Woman's power and what it could do to her, but that panicky, rodent-like terror that had gnawed and worried away at her stomach was gone.

They arrived at the castle, and as they stepped out of the armored car Baela looked at it as if for the first time. After all, it was hers now. It was a large granite structure that squatted on a hill overlooking the rest of the city. During the Great War, over half of the entire complex had been destroyed, and it had been hastily rebuilt in the years after the peace. The walls were unusually absent of adornment, initially due to a lack of funds during reconstruction, but it persisted as the D'Bhati family and citizens of Legirahn had grown used to its rough hewn aesthetic.

All of this, the city in celebration, the Empress's friendliness, the comforting presence of familiar grey walls, all worked to bolster her confidence. She would be loyal yes, Baela thought as they entered the castle and headed to her mother's old chambers, her chambers, but she would not be walked over. All she need do is demonstrate that strength.

Jennifer sucker punched her in the stomach as soon as the door closed.

"Now you listen, and you listen fine Baela D'Bhati. You put your own mother beneath the blade when shown the shadow of a bigger stick, and that saved your life. But I have no room for opportunistic Queens in my court." Jennifer's voice was full of acid as she reached down and curled her first in Baela's fine golden hair. "So I'm going to put this very simply. There is no one with a big enough stick to keep me from fucking you up." As she spoke she dragged the struggling woman to a wall and smashed her face against it, breaking Baela's nose. When she tried to get to her feet, Jennifer brought a fist down onto the base of her skull as the same time she brought her knee up to crash into her face once again.

Baela squirmed on the floor, her world a muddy miasma of pain. "Did they breed the fight out of you, or has all that lake water turned the sand in your veins to mud?" The Empress taunted, readying to kick the Queen.

Baela kicked out her leg, sweeping Jennifer's out from beneath her and she went down as well. The Kehrahnii clambered on top of her, desperate for a hold. Jennifer grinned, even as a blow bruised her ribs and grasping fingers dug a bloody furrow on her collarbone. Baela was larger and heavier, but she wasn't trained, didn't keep her body honed and ready like the weapon it was. They rolled around on the floor, ripping at each other's clothes and skin as they battled for dominance. At one pointed the knocked over a table, and the glass vase on it had crashed and shattered, scattering shards everywhere. Muscles standing in sharp relief under her skin, Jennifer heaved Baela off of her, savoring the satisfying crunch of glass under the Queen's back. Now she was on top, and she seized a shard the length of a dagger and pressed it against Baela's throat, mindless of the way it cut into her own palm and the warm drip of blood down her fingers. Breasts heaving, a sheen of sweat on her pale skin, Jennifer barked a single word that may as well have been a crow of victory.

"Submit."

The Queen was tense, and Jennifer wondered if she may have to kill her after all. But after a moment Baela's muscles slackened, and she grinned cruelly. Gleefully. Glass shard still in hand, Jennifer walked forward on her knees so that instead of straddling Baela's stomach, she was straddling her face.

[Deadora]

Sand Flight
Skies over Magna Lacuna

Vegyl clenched his jaw at the response. Just like an Edomite. They could play all day at being courteous and moderate and reasonable, but everyone knew they didn't give a fuck about anything other than their own little tin-pot empire. Sometimes newer, young pilots would ask him in hushed voices when the Officers weren't around: "Are the Edomites really that bad?" "Can't we cooperate?" He told them the same thing he had been told when he was green: just look at the way they treat their women. Forcing them to be naked with their fucked up religion, shackling them as wives and breeders, raping and killing them whenever they felt like they could get away with it. Disgusting.

"Negative Echo Flight." Vegyl responded, harnessing the sick anger he was feeling to keep his voice hard and cold. "Imperial Armed Forces are conducting routine security patrol. All units will maintain their current course in order to ensure the integrity of Imperial border security. Alter your flightpath or you will be fired upon."

Loitering above, Vehn was still tense. He didn't like this, not one bit. It was too much like waiting for an attack you knew was coming, just not when. Sand-1 and Sand-2 were already on route, and if they were sending more planes he would bet his remaining testicle that the Edomites were doing the same. But there was nothing he could do but stay high in the sky looking for the best position to fire should he receive the order, knowing that if he had to eject there would be nowhere to go but the middle of the lake with a storm on the way.

No, he didn't like this very much at all.

Falchion-Class Corvette ANS Flint
Patrolling the Red Line

Alerted to the Edomite presence by the CAP, the crew of the Flint had descended into a silent, urgent efficiency. Months of constant training and drills meant that most of them knew the ship and its systems like the back of their hands. But it was still all new equipment, not yet battle tested. If something, anything, went wrong, it could mean all of their lives. There were no illusions about what was going on, not with Edomite stealth fighters close enough to launch missiles. They all knew what the patriarchs were capable of.

On the bridge, Commander D'Fors stared into the sky, as if searching for the speeding specks that were the cause of so much worry. She could have altered course, withdrawn to more definitively Deadoran waters. There would have been a reprimand, but hardly a career ender. No confrontation, no risk. But she couldn't. Give an inch, and they'll take a mile. Not just with the Edomites either, but all patriarchs. All of them waiting eagerly for the first sign of submission so they could pounce. By the Rose, she wouldn't allow herself to be the women that brought that upon her nation, and so when her comm officer had relayed the Edomite message, she had ordered no changes to their course. After all, they were the first line of defense.

[New Edom]

Obed Estate, Quality Bay, New Edom

The big band music was playing, people were eating, talking, dancing. As the admirals and generals were talking, a naval officer in tropical whites (slacks, short sleeves, peaked cap under his arm) arrived. Those aware of such things could see he held the rank of commander; he looked around, his face blank but his eyes darting, and settled upon where Admiral Rand, Admiral Button ,Admiral Greer and Admiral Uzzal were talking, and moved through the crowd, excusing himself tersely.

“Admiral Button,” he said quietly, “Forgive this interruption, but you are needed back in Fineberg at MoD immediately. It’s about Magna Lacuna.”

Button raised his eyebrows, a question upon his lips, but he then quickly rallied, bowed to the other men, and said, “Gentlemen, if you would please excuse me. Admiral Uzzal, would you please come with me?”

As they left, Rand sucked on his lower lip and then released it with a loud pop. He glanced at Greer. “Well, now that’s interesting. But can’t be too important, or I would have been brought along, after all I am a cabinet minister. But you know Magna Lacuna is essentially our border with the Feminist Empire of Deadora. Do you know much about Deadora? It’s run by women, you see.”

Echo Flight, Over Magna Lacuna

“Damn,” said Lt.Cmdr Grace, shaking his head. “If you do not alter your flight path we will not alter ours.” He flipped up the cover of the firing device and said, “I must advise you, Sand Flight, that we are arming now. If we both withdraw about 50 klicks from our current position all will be well.”

He knew they’d be hearing this back at Durkland, and he hoped that they’d know what to order, but otherwise…he had his orders.

What kind of man would serve the Matriarchs? A brainwashed man. A fanatic, no doubt.

Durkland Naval Air Station

“Fuck! Son of a bitch!” shouted Captain Hagar, looking down at his soaked shirt, now reeking of hot mint tea, wincing. “Who the fuck put that chair in my way?”

“I’m sorry Captain, I just got up to grab a manual,” explained Lieutenant Portain.

“And you knocked the fucking chair halfway across the floor?” fumed Hagar, stomping past her.

“I guess my ass knocked it back, Sir,” she explained.

Hagar stared at her. “You know what, that was rhetorical, get back to your station, lieutenant. We’ll discuss your ass another time.” Some in the CIC sniggered, he glared around and every face was blank.

The he noticed the XO. “XO, where the fuck is your uniform—“ he couldn’t believe it! The Edenist bastard was holding up a finger to him, on the phone, and then it was all explained rapidly.

“They have a firing solution, Captain,” the XO said sharp and clear. “What are your orders?”

“Are there any orders from Fineberg or Brightwater?” he demanded.

“No sir, but they’re trying to contact Bryn Tegna.”

“Situation hasn’t changed?”

“No sir.” The XO shook his head, looking at him steadily.

Captain Hagar fanned his sopping shirt away from his body. Then he just started to get it off; he undid his tie, slipped out of his jacket, and began to unbutton the shirt. He glanced around. “Quartermaster Phibes, go to my quarters and get me a fresh shirt.”

“Aye aye Your Honour,” said the young petty officer, scrambling out of his seat and hurrying away. He really would hurry too—not like some who’d then amble and get distracted by the drinks machine down the hall or something.

Fineberg, New Edom

Benjamin Kent said, straining to be courteous, “I recognize that you are having an important celebration, but I need to speak to the Minister right away—ideally the Empress herself. Please convey that there is some confusion about a naval air patrol on Magna Lacuna and we would like to sort it out, we’d like both units to withdraw fifty km from their current positions. Thank you. Yes, this is Benjamin Kent, please have either the Matriarch, the Empress or even the Matriarch of War call me back. Thank you.”

He hung up the phone and shook his head. “What a nightmare, to happen at such a time.”
Perrin, to his astonishment, was scratching Rover behind the ears, seeming to enjoy it as much as the dog was. “Alright, fine, you handled that well.” He looked at Commander Rautio, his Chief of Staff. “Kaarlo, is Admiral Button on his way?”

“Yes, Your Excellency.”

“First Hutanjia, then Seahold, now this…” said Kent, shaking his head. “Troubles come not singly but in battalions.”

“I love that play,” said Perrin thoughtfully. “General Benajah, have the Ares batteries placed on full alert, and prepare for a fire readiness exercise, and have the Teman and Raith Immel Divisions also placed on alert. But not—fully.”

“Yes sir. I recommend full depot readiness but not canceling leaves and such yet. This is likely just an incident.” Benajah recommended.

“I wish Button were here. Is this Hagar related to the Colonel of the 18th Light Troops? The one who golfs?” Perrin asked.

“They’re cousins, but not close cousins,” grunted General Joshua Adams, raising a large cheek from his chair to expel flatus. He lit a match from his pocket quickly after. “Excuse me.” No one remarked on it.

“Is he steady?” Perrin asked.

“Apparently,” said Benajah. “Isn’t he?”

This was directed to the Director of Naval Operations, Vice-Admiral Bezaris, a round faced man with a neat moustache, who nodded. He had rarely had much to do with the President, and seemed to be afraid of the dog.

[New Edom]

641 Thaddeus Burden Ave, Fineberg

Sidney Harcourt woke in a panic. The phone was ringing, but his fingers fumbled and he couldn't pick up. He could not breathe. He could not breathe. He felt his body responding in panic, and he forced himself to slow down, though he could feel as though the walls were closing in, his head throbbing madly, everything starting to swim, and he managed to push his panic button; everything was going black when the door crashed open.

A while later, with oxygen flowing out of a canister, he listened wearily as Sindrik explained the situation to him. “You’re going to have this with you nearby at all times, and a smaller inhaler for conferences and the like nearby. Remember that early retirement I told you about?”

“To Hell with that; the boss needs me, and who will succeed me? Ashdod? He’s not ready yet, nor is the Governor-General. It has to be me.” Harcourt wheezed. It was ridiculous; he was a man in the prime of his life, being talked to like he was an invalid. As though he hadn’t faced death before!

Sindrik sighed. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you, sir.” He looked at him with disapproval. “Frankly, you could use a good rest. And before you say anything, so could the President, you all could.”

“You rest. Go play some tennis on my behalf,” Harcourt said in a rasping voice. He waved Sindrik away, and the man left grumbling like a Greek chorus.

"Car's here," said Major Dash, his ADC, standing in the doorway, nodding to Sindrik but his eyes on the Minister. Harcourt nodded, got up, looking pale but otherwise hale.

Stonehaven

D3.7 sat facing the corner of her cell, trembling, her knees up against her chest, her arms hugged around her legs, and shuddered as she heard the loud click of the viewing port of her cell open up. The way it was designed, it was impossible not to be seen directly. Between her and the viewing port was thick wire mesh glass. Sometimes she would be ordered to stand, sometimes she would be left alone. She never knew which it would be. Sometimes it was feeding time. There were no utensils, the food was bland, most often mushy millet porridge with neither salt nor sweetener.

Her head was shaved smooth as an egg; she had no clothing, not even a blanket, no sandals, nothing. Now and the she reminded herself: my name is Fabia Chrysostom; I am a graduate of Lookinghaven University with a B.A. in sociology and politics. I was assistant policy adviser to Theodora Ferrovius, the Minister of the Interior.

Yet she hadn't been asked a single question since her capture. A memory of being in a safe house before moving towards the Shrailleeni Zone, only to suddenly have blinding light and flaring choking smoke create a havoc of her senses, as she lay stunned suddenly being manhandled by menacing figures in dark clothing and gas masks, hoodded, then moved from vehicle to vehicle, cuffed to something solid inside a plane, then moved to another vehicle, and then suddenly to a white tiled room where she was thoroughly stripped, shaved, hosed, disinfected, and then brought to this cell.

Her only real human contact were guards who never spoke to her; she had given up on pleading, screaming, threatening them; they had numbers and devices sufficient to handle her like a sheep sent to the stockyards. Hour after hour. Except for her one other contact: Lubim.

Those myopic eyes; she had the odd feeling that he needed glasses but couldn't afford them or didn't want to wear them. The only conversation he permitted was so disgusting and degrading she couldn't bear to think about it--about her bodily functions and about the cavity search he did once a day with her. His favourite part was that which both men and women had in common, which in the case of nearly all prisoners was shameful to reveal to a stranger still less to be subjected to the gloved and lubricated fingers of one.

There was a frightening temptation to her--to give in to his desire to really talk about that. At least she'd be talking about something. But she simply couldn't. She had to be strong. The suspense of wondering when they'd really question her was killing her--why didn't they?

The Palace of Justice

Harcourt paused a moment, and pretended to look at his watch while he covered for his loss of breath. Damn. How would it look if he was in Council while he had an oxygen tube up his nose? "Sir?" Dash asked, pausing.

"Traffic was bad today," said Harcourt, glancing up. As he did he saw General Ashdod approaching him.

"I'm in a hurry," he said.

"Yes sir. But I think you should know, we're working on a prisoner who may have the information we need on the connection we spoke of with the GG." Ashdod said quietly.

"What's taking so long then?" Harcourt demanded.

"One of my best me is on it, Anderman, and he'll squeeze this prisoner well. You see, unfortunately we're missing some links, and with the leading communists dead, the feminist militia leaders dead or missing..."

"Alright, alright. Let's get it done properly. Time could be of the essence." Harcourt waved him off as the man saluted and left, and headed towards the executive elevator. The world swam, and he could not stop; he opened the heavy valise int he elevator, and Dash helped him with the tube, and the world swam into focus again.

[Deadora]

Queens Quarters, D'Bhati Castle
Legirahn, Deadora

The chamber was a den of sin. All that held back the darkness was the wan glow of guttering candles. Soft moans and low groans were the only sound, occasionally interspersed with a sharp yelp of pain. The air was heavy with the scent of sweat and sex, underwritten with that heady, metallic odour that could only be blood. Two women were on the bed, one blonde, battered, and bruised; the other raven-haired and wild. Jennifer was currently on her back, propped up on plush pillows, legs spread and enjoying the rewards of breaking another woman, who now feasted upon her. Red lines were drawn down her neck and over her collarbone, and an ugly yellow-brown bruise was on her ribs (this newest Queen had been possessed of greater fight after all, much to the Empress's delight). Her minor wounds bothered her not at all, and once she was finished here she would attend to Jacqueline. . .

A door was thrown open and three women clad in the dress armour of the Imperial Guard. Standing outside was another trio of women, these three belonging to the Queen's personal security force, waiting patiently to receive their charge.

Jennifer whirled on the intruders, ready to lash them with her acid tongue. But before she could unleash her venom, Captain Balla spoke in a voice that commanded even her immediate attention. "Matriarch Empress, there is a situation. It requires your immediate attention. . ."

---

Imperial Secure Command, Calla-Gold Palace
Bryn Tegna, Deadora

Nestled in the heart of the termites nest of underground catacombs beneath the Palace, accessible only by a secure elevator, was the Imperial Secure Command room. The ISC had secured communications with each of the Empire's military districts and the installations therein. From the center of this web of information flow and entire Empire could be governed, even if the city above was reduced to rubble. Normally the ISC operated at a calm and efficient hum, staffed 24/7 by Subordinate Matriarchs from a variety of Offices. Today that hum had geared up into a tense, nearly frantic drone. This was driven in no small part by the presence of not one, but two Matriarchs engaged in a critical, if subdued, argument. Despite their hushed tones, the agitation had spread to the rest of the staff.

When the elevator door opened with a soft ding and the whisper of well maintained machinery and Arlenica walked into the room, the Matriarch of Defense was in mid sentence.

"-we can always send more patrols, but right now we are not prepared to provoke New Edom." Haylei Onsin said, staring coldly at Errisyn D'Teyn. The faint creases at the corners of her eyes and mouth were the only signs of age encroaching on her well bred features.

"If we withdraw now we'll only be encouraging the Edomites to demand more. They'll think they can dictate our policy on our side of the lake." D'Teyns voice gave back all the ice she got and then some. "We need to show them we're serious about our sovereignty."

"I hope you're not suggesting we shoot down an Edomite fighter." Arlenica said lightly, walking briskly towards the central table running the length of the room.

Both women glanced at her as she entered and began to integrate into the ISC, producing a laptop and a pair of burgundy folders emblazoned with the silver seal of her Office, but it was D'Teyn who spoke. "Matriarch Nessic, thank you for joining us. And that is exactly what I am suggesting. That fighter is threatening to violate Deadora airspace, and is an intolerable threat to every asset we have in the area."

"This is hardly a shooting war, Matriarch. There are sti-"


"It soon will be if New Edom believes they can bully us. The initiative is ours, and must remain so." D'Teyn interrupted her, and turned her gaze, hardened in the criminal underground of Fedic. Arlenica matched it evenly, feeling distaste for this woman rise thickly in her throat.

"The Empress-"

"The Empress is being moved to Rik'Shor, and her proximity to Magna Lacuna is exactly the reason we must act swiftly and decisively. Every second I waste debating with the likes of you is another opportunity for New Edom to inflict irreparable harm on this Empire." D'Teyn picked up a phone, a direct line to Naval Base Tavares.

"Put that down." Everyone in the room stopped and looked, none so much amazed as D'Teyn herself. When the Matriarch of War had interrupted Arlenica for the second time, her eyes had widened in shock and outrage. Her voice was a crack of lightening. "I have been working for with New Edom for years precisely so that what you are doing would not be necessary. You will not undo it, I will not allow it." She looked over the gathered women, who were staring at them with guarded expressions. "In the Empress's absence, we are expected to govern responsibly in her stead. If you'd like to stick a knife in my gut, do it when we're not on the brink of an international incident. Or leave."

Time seemed to stretch and slow, though it could only have been moments, and all Arlenica saw was the fierce green of D'Teyn's eyes. They blinked. Smiling thinly, cruelly, she took the phone from the Matriarch of War's hands and tossed it to Onsin. Out of the corner of her eye she saw the older woman nod slightly. "Make the call. Our fighters will withdraw fifty kilometres from the border, our corvette and patrol boats will continue on their course. D'Teyn, contact Fort Shume and start having them move some fighters to secondary runways in case our main airfields get hit by surprise."

As if a spell had been lifted, the ISC snapped back to life. Arlenica went to another phone, she had a call of her own to make. She quickly dialed New Edom's Ministry of Foreign Affairs. "This is Matriarch Nessic, I need to speak to Minister Kent immediately." She said to whoever answered the call. As she waited for the call to go through, Arlenica observed the room. Watching work resume, seeing their indecision replaced with her certainty, the Matriarch of Defense relaying her instructions, Arlenica felt something. Arlenica, of common birth and long content in the knowledge that her career had reached its peak, began to think that perhaps she could climb a little higher yet.

---

Sand Flight
Skies over Magna Lacuna

Vegyl had been readying to arm his missiles. He knew what the order would be, knew that he'd be told to take the shot. So sure was he that when the voice from Tavares finally did buzz in his ear he almost launched the weapon before it was finished. But when the words registered, he couldn't believe them. Here he was with the cleanest shot at an Edomite plane that he was likely to get, and HQ was caving? For a moment some terrifying, childlike desire rose in him to simply fire anyways and send that savage hurling into the grey waters below in a flaming meteor.

Instead, he opened the channel to the Edomite. "Affirmative Echo Flight. Withdrawing to fifty kilometres." His voice was crisp, and as soon as he finished he banked into a wide turn, heading back the way he came.

On the surface however, the Flint steamed resolutely on its course.

[New Edom]

Echo Flight, Over Magna Lacuna

LtCmdr Grace took a deep breath, and said, “Base, this is Echo-1, I heard you say disengage and move south 50 km, over?”

“That’s correct, Echo-1,” said the voice of the XO over the radio. “Proceed immediately.”
“Understood, sir.” Grace felt his adrenaline draining, he was almost shaky with it, he felt he was getting a bit old for this. Off again, then on again….but in a way he was relieved. It would not be today. “Echo-2, follow me, we’re getting out of here.” He turned his crate in a loop and headed back towards home, to maintain a position of vigilance but not to challenge the Matriarch witches. Not this day.

“Close huh?” muttered Echo-2.

“We’ll talk about it later, for now we maintain our patrol—away from the line. Let’s focus on the weather too, Base, Echo-1, let’s have an updated report on that. What are we looking at…” he said, his voice cold, laconic, not showing any of the vibrating tension he was coming down from.

Durkland Naval Air Station

Captain Hagar clenched his fist and gave it a little pump. Yes. Just like the kids playing soccer; he grinned at himself and nodded to his XO. “Alright. Hey, what about that corvette?”
“Maintaining course, sir, at last report,” reported Sonar 1/C “Chap” Fram, a chunky, methodical operator.

“Very well. Let’s keep our own boats on course as well, but keep 10 km at least from the Line, alright XO?”

“Right you are, Captain,” said the XO.

“And damn it, if I can send for a fresh uniform, so can you.” Hagar said to him quietly.

The XO nodded, saying back as quietly, “Yes sir, though as I’ve said, I think it borders on…well lack of piety to do so when we’re mostly at base. Why do we need uniforms when we could just paint our insignia on?”

“Either do as I say, without further argument, or go join the fucking ETC. It’s not funny today, XO, not funny at all.” Hagar said firmly.

The XO raised his hands. “Hey…alright sir, no problem, I’ll go do it myself if that’s alright with you. See if I don’t put this lotion on…”

“I don’t want to hear it, XO, save it for the docs.” Hagar waved him away. The worst was past them, he could deal with a fresh cup of tea and maintain the watch. The weather was what concerned him now, and he wanted the reports on that ASAP.

Palace of Justice, Fineberg, New Edom

“Yes, Matriarch, thank you very much,” Benjamin Kent was saying, grinning and nodding at the President and others. “Yes, I suppose there is just the matter of the Corvette, any chance that could be withdrawn too? It would make things simpler as we are still working out the details of the nautical borders.”

“This proves my point very well, I think,” said Benajah quietly to the others. “We were ready perhaps to defend ourselves, but not to my satisfaction.”

“And further readiness might prove…what?” General Adams muttered. “That we don’t want détente? Do you know how much planning and preparation it would take to move ground forces across the lake?”

“Not the time for debate,” Perrin said firmly. “But in one sense you are right—we need a more clear understanding of how to deal with the border issues, and this long standing conflict we are trying to end. A few meetings won’t do it.”

“What will?” Benajah asked him curiously.

Perrin smiled thoughtfully, as though he was looking somewhere that only he could see. “You know, I’ m not entirely sure. It partly depends on….when the Empress arrives, and how she reacts. Then I’ll know.”

[Deadora]

Imperial Secure Command
Calla-Gold Palace, Bryn Tegna
Deadora

"I'm afraid not, Minister." Arlenica said politely. She knew many women that didn't like talking to Edomites, found them too indirect, always dancing around what they were really saying with pleasantries and courtesies. But she'd grown to appreciate it, in a sense it was quite similar to fencing. "You see, there is a coronation ceremony taking place in one of our coastal communities, and it is not unknown for smugglers to use the confusion to enter the country. Of course, there's the matter of heightened security for the new Queen. I simply do not have the authority to intervene in naval operations of this nature."

Arlenica had settled into the chair at the head of the long central table, Onsin sitting at her immediate right, D'Teyn a little further down on her left. It was a good seat, allowing her to observe all seated as they worked, their pale necks naked to her gaze. On the wall opposite her, across the length of that table, were a series of screens. Most were bright with the images of maps, satellite feeds, slides of information. It was at that moment when one of them switched to a live feed of a similar room, the little line of text in the corner indicating that it was Rik'Shor. On the other end of that feed was none other than the Empress herself.

The effect on the room was immediate, and Arlenica felt ice filling her veins. There was a slight shuffle as those in the room unconsciously adjusted their hair, flipping it away from the screen towards Arlenica, or removing necklaces. It was like grass bowing under the wave of power flowing towards her, and those idle fancies of only moments ago now seemed so trite and foolish.

"Ah, it seems the Empress has arrived." Arlenica said to Kent, hoping he didn't catch the slight, nervous hitch in her voice. She hadn't missed the glare of disapproval in Her eyes before she'd averted her own. "I'm sure the President would like to speak to Her himself."

Falchion-Class Corvette ANS Flint
Patrolling the Red Line

Sailor 1st Class, Andrea Doskyn had wanted to be in the Navy her entire life. She'd read stories as a child about Kehrahnii pirates mauling Cornellian settlements and pilfering their trade during the Revolution, invariably led by some daring young captain seeking adventure on the high seas instead of sand dunes. She had joined the Lake Patrol Fleet because it was closer to home (the lake may as well have been a small sea anyways), and because she thought she might one day see some action against the damn Edomi. Well the action was happening and where was she? The fucking engine room.

Not as much glory, and it had turned out she suffered from mild seasickness. But even down here, it was rewarding in its way. The camaraderie with the rest of the crew was the best, it was a small ship and so everyone was a bit more. . . personal. She'd begun to think of them, some of them at least, as brothers and sisters of sorts. Everyone was tough on everyone, but there was respect, admiration for a job well done. "No nonsense Navy", as the Commander was fond of saying. She guessed that's why the Army called them 'Stiffs'. And it wasn't as if her job was unrewarding. It was satisfying learning the ins and outs of a ship, adjusting temperatures and fluid pressures. If she didn't do her job, no one else could do theirs.

Back when she'd signed on two years ago, they'd been sailing the old Grisha class, and in her opinion the new Falchions were more than an upgrade. It was like getting dropped into the future, everything brand new and clean as a first spear. Computers made it easier to monitor everything. There were even more fucking fire extinguishers!

"Bridge to Engines." The intercom droned at her. "Report."

Andrea examined her gauges and displays. Was the heat gauge getting twitchy? She started at it for a long moment, and it settled back down, as if it had only wanted her attention. "This is Engine, we're running cool and steady."

A short ways away, Sailor Dachi called to her from where she was inspecting a hose. "Depending on how things go, it might get hot and wet down here pretty soon." They both laughed, but it felt forced. Dachi was a plain young woman that had grown up in the next village over from Andrea's, and only a few years older. They'd been flirting with each other for the last few weeks ever since they'd been assigned to the same shift. If an officer had been near to hear the laugh they would have been chewed out. She wished there had been, because after their laughter faded they were left with the tense, nervous silence between them. Only the noise of the engines kept the room from feeling like a tomb.

Andrea has never been on a ship under fire before, and now there were Edomi stealth jets up in the skies and their nearest fighter escort had just flown fifty klicks away, leaving them in waters the Edomi apparently thought were theirs. No, the Navy was nothing like the old stories.

[New Edom]

Magna Lacuna

By now the waves and rough weather had grown, and so it would be easy for anyone to miss the fishing boat’s wreckage. It had been reported missing a month ago, but had in fact gotten trapped on a lake-mount which would normally have been a good ways below the advancing corvette. Still attached to it by cords and other debris and with water still trapped in some airtight compartments, it lay as a silent unpleasant trap for the Deadoran ship.

This might never have happened if the captain, Abel “Bully” Cribb had not lived up to his name a few times when a disgruntled brother-in-law and second mate, Theo Withers, had brought up what he believed was an unfair pay cut. On top of this, he was constantly humiliated by Bully Cribb in front of others at their habitual watering hole.

During a freak storm an argument was still ongoing; words were said and then blows exchanged which fatally endangered all concerned. Various crustaceans and other invertebrates were consuming the last of the two men and the hapless two other members of the crew who were swept overboard by a falling mast and trapped in rigging. But he wreckage of he John the Baptist remained, as though the dead crew were yearning for company.

---

It was still odd to have such exchanges; a frisson of superstitious dread and an urge to cross chests was fought off by some of the men in the room. Not so much about Jennifer Thrall herself as about the Deadorans--those heathen, torturing vile witches who had been the enemy for so long. It took deliberate discipline not to respond in the way that hey had once done. In a way Jennifer Thrall's beauty made her all the more sinister, worse than if she had been ugly or old. Pahath-Moab's graciousness that followed the connection however did not seem feigned in any way, and Harcourt was discreetly coughing into a handkerchief nearby. Rover glanced up at the sound of his voice but did not otherwise move his muzzle from his paws.

“Your Majesty, what an unexpected pleasure. I hope that you are not too unfortunately drawn from your celebration, but I am nevertheless flattered,” said Perrin amiably. He sat with his beret tucked into an epaulet, wearing his typical barracks dress uniform, looking calm and relaxed. “I understand that we have managed to avoid a possible incident on Magna Lacuna, and perhaps this was fortunate as we can plan how we will avoid such incidents in future. But I’d be glad to hear your thoughts before we continue.”

[Deadora]

Bridge of the ANS Flint
Magna Lacuna

Commander D'Fors sat in the center of the Flint's bridge, projecting an aura of unshakeable, almost glacial calm. She knew the crew was nervous; for many this was the closest they had ever been to real conflict with the enemy. They didn't know them like she did. The Edomites were fierce, yes, but they were also cowardly and clever. Too afraid of looking the villain to pick the fights they wanted, to in love with being the victim to seize the initiative. Although that was increasingly common these days, even her own daughter wanted to enter government service. It was the age they lived in.

"Contact." The sonar operator called, interrupting the Captain's musings. "Ten klicks, almost directly ahead."

"A sub?" D'Fors furrowed her brow. She'd heard rumours that New Edom was contracting with Callaban to start "researching" the bottom of the lake with submersibles.

"Negative, signature is all wrong and it's right below the surface, fifteen metres tops. It's stationary, could be a wreck. Fishing boat, probably."

It was hearing the words fishing boat that set the dark fingers of true concern upon her heart. Her early thoughts echoed back into her mind. The Edomites are fierce last, and cowards before that. But before they are cowards they are clever. Very clever. Then, with only an inkling of what was to come, she ordered the comm officer to make a report.

Fort Tavares Naval Station
Northeastern shore of Magna Lacuna


"Ma'am, the Flint just reported a submerged wreck in Zone Three. D'Fors thinks it's an Edomite fishing boat."
The woman being addressed was a short, hatchet faced Nadirii by the name and rank Base Captain Ludri Fveylter. And if you ever got on her bad side, as the joke went whenever there were at least two secure doors between the teller and the Captain, you'd be scrubbing the taste of salt from your mouth for a week.

"Is she sure?" Ludri leaned forward eagerly. She had Bryn Tegna and a trio of Matriarchs on one line, Rik'Shor and the Empress on the other. She wanted desperately for something to throw to them, if only to get out of the spotlight.

"None of ours have been reported missing or sunk in the last two months." The XO responded.

"Well then get a salvage crew out there ka quick. Have the Flint stay in the area, and get two more boats out there. Snap to it!"

"Aye ma'am!"

---

Perhaps indeed, Jennifer thought to herself as Perrin's voice slid so calmly through the air to her ears. He certainly was an easy conversationalist, which only seemed natural knowing the ice that lurked behind the warmth. What was the punchline of that old joke about silver-tongued men she'd heard when she'd been a girl in military school? It was so quick and long that she grew teeth and took it for her own. And why was she thinking about that now?

Just then, one of her attendants whispered into her ear. Jennifer smiled, pleased already with the ideas and directions of her mind with this newest development. "Most fortunate, and blessed are we to able to have these conversations in good faith and with cool heads. Though I am curious, this 'potential' incident never would have been had an Edomite fighter not harried a standard patrol of our airspace."

[New Edom]

Durkland Naval Air Station

“Captain,” Sonar 1/C “Chap” Fram barked, “Got a report from Snipe Flight…that ship we were tracking? Well it remained on course, and it’s crossed the Line….got coordinates…at…” he held up a note to the Captain.

“Damn them.” Captain Hagar breathed. “Alright, I want to talk to the Admiral now.”

The XO returned, and looked at him questioningly, and he handed him the flimsy. “The Deadoran Navy,” he said, slowly, “Are in New Edomite waters.”

They exchanged a long look, and then Hagar said, “XO, have the entire base beat to quarters.”
“Aye sir.” The XO spoke emotionlessly, and went to engage the loudspkeaker system. Tested it, then announced over every 1/MC on the base, “Attention. Captain Hagar, Commanding Officer, orders that all officers and hands shall go to general quarters.” The sound of the long roll followed (a recording) but it had everyone scrambling; people finished on the toilet hastily, cooks began securing their stations; fire teams began moving to emergency stations, every living soul called to active duty. This could really be it, but they would wait to hear what the Captain had to say…

Fineberg, New Edom

“Admiral Button is here, sir,” whispered Commander Rautio to Perrin, leaning over, glancing at Jennifer Thrall on the screen briefly before bowing and withdrawing to stand neatly at the side.
Admiral Button entered the room, was whispered to by Benajah, off screen. He nodded and spoke to his ADC; the message had not come down the line yet, but already the Area Commander up north was talking to Hagar on the phone.

Meanwhile in response to Jennifer Thrall, Perrin simply spread his hands and raised the palms, saying, “All is in the hands of God. Your concerns will be met, Empress, when we have a clear line of territory dividing Magna Lacuna. Until then, best that we have a grace area of 50 KM on either side of the claimed areas, don’t you agree?”

[Deadora]

ISC, below Calla-Gold Palace
Bryn Tegna, Deadora

Arlenica had quailed under the gaze of the Empress. She had been arrogant and presumptuous, and caught in the act to make matters worse. She should have known better. The only mitigating factor was that both D'Teyn and Onsin had been caught beneath her; either woman had more of a precedent to control the room in Her absence, and neither had been able. Submission could be a sin as well as a virtue.

Yet as the Empress and the President spoke, she could see the smile hiding behind D'Teyn's face. Smug bitch was pleased for the same reason dread was building in Arlenica's heart. The situation was rapidly approaching a potentially violent escalation. There was nothing like a war to give D'Teyn reason to start expanding the prerogatives of her Office and start curtailing her own. The Empress would let her too; it was clear the conversation wasn't going well. They had already backed down in the skies, Her every inclination would protest doing so on the waves as well. It would be the inclination of D'Teyn too, as well as any woman who could claim title through her blood.

But they needed breathing room, at least by Arlenica's estimation. She dearly hoped the Empress would see that despite the drawbacks. Backing down know would weaken her position at home; would weaken her claim on Magna Lacuna in the future. But all out war. . . she couldn't say so, but she doubted their ability to achieve anything other than an inconclusive draw in a direct match against New Edom. That would be worse. Much worse.

Gathering her courage, the Matriarch did the only thing she could think of that might allow her to influence the Empress. She looked at Her eyes. Of course, they weren't looking back at her as they were focused on a different screen. By the way She shifted in her seat after a moment, Arlenica knew her gaze had been noticed, and she prayed to every room in the Tower that the Empress could judge what would drive her to such insolence.

---

As Perrin spoke, Jennifer considered the satisfaction she would take from raking his face with her nails. It would be quite fine she was sure, although she knew that he was not the true fountain of her frustration. She cursed the ancestors that had condemned her to work with such a man from a position of weakness. How simpler it would be to be a warmonger, even a losing one! She would love nothing more than to take all of Magna Lacuna in one brilliant, bloody battle. But prudence demanded her base urge, her bloodthirst, go unsatisfied. The flash of lightning and its thunderous boom outside only emphasized the thought.

Out of her peripheral, Jennifer noted that Nessic had shifted her gaze to look her in the eyes. Curious. She imagined that the Matriarch had concerns not unlike her own. She was an intelligent woman, and dangerous in a way that the others were not used to. The perfect candidate for such a difficult task she was about to create.

"Very well, Perrin. I will withdraw all forces beyond fifty kilometers, provided that we begin negotiations within the week to realize a final, permanent agreement on the division of Magna Lacuna. It has become clear that we cannot move forward in our relationship until this issue is resolved."

[New Edom]

Palace of Justice, Fine berg, New Edom

“Durkland Naval Air Station has gone to full alert,” Admiral Button wrote on a note to Perrin. “1Ddn vessel crossed boundary. Query?”
Perrin nodded. “Thank you, Jennifer, that is very kind of you. I think we are making progress, and this is proof of it. Why think of what would have happened only two years ago as a result of this incident.”

You would have had a unified force with sufficient infrastructure to offer Raith Immel independence while we were still fighting there, and our country fragile and all but divided, and you would have won the lake. Put that in your bubble bath, darling, and dream of what might have been.

He smiled and then said, “Oh, there is one other matter. One of your vessels has crossed into our side of the lake—I’m sorry, what we currently claimt to be our side. We are sending a patrol ship to inquire as to what they’re up to, but it might be helpful if we were also aware of this at higher levels. If there’s nothing further, I am sure we both have quite enough to do, as pleasurable as it is to talk with you at any time…”

Patrol Ship Sandpiper. Magna Lacuna

A CB-90 Class fast assault craft was experiencing very choppy waters; it was a tough little vessel but the winds had been picking up and the bow regularly smashed against waves. Lieutenant Etam Lahad was surveying the waters ahead with binoculars; they had earlier been sent out to make sure that known vessels were heading back to port for the storm when they also got the report of the incursion.

The craft had 3 officers and 20 sailors who were trained for search and rescue and boarding; they were tough men and women, well armed and ready for Griffon, as the saying went. 3 heavy machineguns, a grenade launcher and naval mines were their arms, and of course the assault team was armed with rifles, submachineguns, LGPMGs, grenade launchers, pistols, shotguns and fighting knives.

“Alright, these are our orders,” Lahad had said earlier, “The Deadorans crossed our part of the Lake, with a Corvette and fighters! We’re going to face them off and turn them back. Yes: we all knew this would happen one day. Now God grants that it is we who will be first to face them.” And to hell with the détente; his great grandfather had died an early death after being starved during the Great War. Up against one of the enemy’s corvettes would be a tough fight, but there were two patrol ships ordered in, they’d have air cover, and then he’d hopefully get to spill some enemy blood in the water before the day was over.

However then the orders changed. He was puzzled—they were to engage them by radio contact? There were Talks between Fineberg and Bryn Tegna? He took a deep shuddering breath.

“You need to withdraw,” said the staticky voice of Captain Hagar, “The Gull has begun to take on water from the bow badly; they'll need to abandon ship. The higher ups will handle this."

Lahad for the first time in his life was tempted to disobey an order. But he said, “Aye aye, I'm ready to take their position." God! Who'd be in the New Edomite Brown Water Navy?

[Deadora]

Throne Vault, Calla-Gold Palace
Bryn Tegna, Deadora

She sat on the Black Throne like a leopard lazing in a tree on the savannah. But beneath that carefully projected image of careless relaxation there was a nervous tension thrumming in her muscles, an overcharge of potential energy that had started first when she had learned of her cousin's treachery, and only grew as the situation on Magna Lacuna had developed. She had been able to contain it until now, but the final capitulation on the lake had been the tipping point. More than war with New Edom, she feared losing the favour of the nation, and in Rik'Shor she had only secured the former through risking the latter. The roots of the tree she was in were in unsteady soil, and the hyena's were waiting below, sensing weakness.

Before her was her Court, fully assembled in all of its treacherous glory. The Great Queen's of Deadora's greatest cities were all in attendance, their own retinues of advisors and nobles in tow. The Matrons of all the families of Bryn Tegna's aristocracy were present with their favoured daughters. They milled about, talking, laughing, conspiring, each woman manoeuvring around each other, always navigating to keep themselves in the flow of power. From atop her throne Jennifer could see it all, was as aware of what each woman was doing as a spider was sensitive to the every vibration of every thread in its wide web.

Over there, the Princess D'Ankohl was talking to mother of the D'Fasi family, and were they not invested heavily in the Tegnaic coal mines?

And Errisyn hadn't contacted her estranged family in decades, and yet there she was exchanging words and soft touches with her sister, the Queen of Triadenon.

Jennifer was weary, and most of them knew it. There was a distinct group, mostly older Matron's from old Plateau families, that spoke out against her. So far they were not so belligerent to move against her in any material sense, but she knew all too well the simple power of their doubt and what harm it could bring if not curbed. That she had refrained from carting them all away had only emboldened them. Kehrahn, Entrylli and Aedora were still loyal (that D'Chenti stood ramrod stiff and unyielding to her right was an immense comfort), and between them were much of the southern Kehrahnii lands. Her decision to withdraw on the lake had secured the faith of Rik'Shor and the western cities; D'Kance might covet the lake but wished not for war to ravage the fields. Old Meteora was enigmatic, a decade had not yet passed since the city and its province had been brought under control and she knew that the D'Ankohl family was chafing under Imperial authority. But the city was isolated and there were mysterious whisperings of a growing power in the province, and if there was anything to them then Jennifer suspected that the Queen would not turn away her help, which was exactly why she had yet to investigate those rumours.

The real trouble would come from home. Fedic, Triadenon, and Bryn Tegna. The Plateau was the beating heart of this Empire, and the loyalty of all other lands could be damned if she could not keep it alive!

---

". . . and where are we now? Handing out bandages in Lazodiria, New Edom profiting on Deadoran oil, now running away on Magna Lacuna? The Lonely Sea has always been the domain of the Empire, and yet you would not even defend our partition of it? We've followed you this far Empress, but enough is enough!"

The thundering voice belonged to Undrea D'Quarr. She was the Queen of Fedic, an sprawling industrial city that lacked the cultural significance of Triadenon and the political importance of Bryn Tegna. In an age gone by it had been the capital of the Ordet people, and the location of first contact between the Cornellians and Nadirii. It was perhaps the most conservative city in Deadora. If Jennifer recalled correctly, they executed and mutilated more prisoners per capita than any other city in the Empire. Before her ascendancy, Fedic had been the most stalwart of Bryn Tegna's allies.

Queen D'Kance of Rik'Shor answered Undrea's challenge. Jennifer had conversed with the woman extensively while she had been in the city, and had earned her appreciation. "An easy line for you to draw, Undrea, when you sleep a thousand metres above us and with the Nadir between your city and New Edom. I've no love for that country, but they've their wind back and more the Region behind them than we. To fight now is senseless."

"To think you of all women would empty your graves such, when it were your own ancestors that led the charge against the Edomite's in the Great War!" Undrea retorted.

At this the great Vault descended into vitriolic shouting as the retinue of each Queen rallied around their monarch. Conversations ceased as non-involved parties turned to observe with glittering eyes as keen as vultures'.

Jennifer's nostrils flared. Chaos in her court? Had it really gotten this bad? She could feel her weariness draining away, incredulous fury taking its place. The Queens would tear this nation apart if left to settle their own scores. This had been known since the age of Natalie. There had always been need of an Empress. Yet here they were ready to claw each other while their enemies gathered strength. It had to end.

"That's enough!" The young Empress shouted as she stood with all her hunting grace. From the steps of the Black Throne she towered above them all. "I will speak on this matter, and then we shall put it to rest." All those who had been shouting were now silent, falling to their knees and exposing the pale flesh of their necks. D'Kance looked to her first, then she too lowered her face away.

But Undrea D'Quarr would not look away. "I have stood idle too long while you begin to destroy all that our people have built in pursuit of 'progress'."

"Bare your neck." Jennifer growled through bared teeth. Blood pounded in her ears, brought a hot flush to her face.

Still Undrea met her gaze! "This Empire is being ruled by a girl. Wha-"

"Challenge me!" Jennifer almost screamed, descending the steps like a furious storm. There was an audible gasp of shock passing through the crowd. One of the Imperial Guard elbowed her way through the assembled nobility and tossed a spear upon the floor between the Empress and the Queen. A simple weapon with a shaft of ash and iron head. It was the spear she had learned to hunt with as a girl. "Challenge me, if you so dare."

Fedic's Queen looked taken aback, nearly scandalized, much to her pleasure. Green eyes met green eyes, fire fighting fire. They stood stone still. Jennifer wasn't worried, not if it meant fighting. She was young and fierce, possessed of the body and training of a Deadoran soldier. Undrea was a shadow of decadence, a Queen of an age of empty rhetoric. This Empire was hers, and no others.

Undrea fell to her knees and bared her neck.

Gathering the spear in her hand, Jennifer placed the broad head against the errant Queen's neck. The crowd hummed with expectation all around her. It was surreal; all she could seem to focus on was the crease where skin met iron.

Silence ruled the air, and Jennifer held it for a moment like it was a precious gem. Then, she began to speak: "I have been naive, and have led you poorly for it. I thought history could be rewritten, friends could be made out of enemies, and that the past mattered little next to the future. It is clear now that New Edom is still our enemy. So be it. But I will not allow reckless myth and revisionism to ensure our defeat once again. We lost the last war, for all the reasons you would have me start a new one. If this is to be our war, we will wage it my way, at a time of my choosing and with allies to call. There will be no fanaticism to the memory of dead women, I will not tolerate it." A scarlet line of blood had begun to ooze along the blade of the spear and down Undrea's neck.

Would she kill the woman? Jennifer knew the Court expected her to. But what would make the bigger impact? Mercy could bring Undrea back into the fold, bridge the divisions that were widening in the aristocracy. An example to the others that all could be forgiven in unified service to the Empire. Or would they see it as weakness? Would Undrea show gratitude or contempt? She looked to Undrea's daughter, who wore no emotion on her face. She thought of her own mother, and one of the few lessons she had passed down to her: tolerate no slight against you, only death can undo it.

"Can you accept this, Undrea?" Jennifer asked. Through the haft of her spear she could feel the woman swallow her surprise.

"Yes. . . Empress."

"Then look at me," Jennifer growled. Undrea, now hesitant, slowly lifted her eyes, "and die knowing you at least remained faithful to your Empress."

And she plunged the spear into Undrea's neck.

---

"Dramatic, isn't she?" Haylei Onsin said, sipping her drink. She sat with other Matriarchs on the balconied second floor of the Throne Vault. They were the Matriarchs of common blood; their station entitled them to observe the Court, but their lack of title prohibited them from joining. Opinions of this segregation were varied.

"Indeed she is. Now pay up, Haylei." Arlenica purred, glancing away from the spectacle below to accept the two bills marked 100 that Onsin handed to her. After the scene on the lake, she and Haylei had a long dinner to discuss working closely together in the future. They had retired to Arlenica's apartment to cement the alliance with drinks, and then to the bedroom to determine which woman would dominate. Arlenica had succeeded handily. "Like I always say, never bet against a Thrall killing someone when she throws a party." At this there was some chuckling amongst the gathered women.

"Still. . . does it not strike you as a tad desperate?" Onsin carried on conversationally. Arlenica glanced to where Hera was sitting, that woman's ears were always listening. But she was wise to the game Haylei was playing. Better to be overheard overcoming ones doubts than to play at having none at all.

"Perhaps, but the nobility has made desperate women of all Empresses in their time." Arlenica replied.

Onsin looked at her, feigning curiosity. "You would follow a desperate woman?"

"Better a desperate woman than a complacent one. It brings out the tenacity." She looked back over the Court, where Undrea's daughter was now taking the Oath of Queens, standing in her mother's blood. "And so much more entertaining."

---

The Empress's Office

Jennifer had gathered her Inner Circle immediately after her Court had been dismissed. The tang of Undrea's blood was still on her tongue. It was not a light action, killing the Queen of a proud and ancient city. Whether or not it moved closer to Bryn Tegna or further away remained to be seen. But still she felt a certain kind of relief. It felt good to kill with her own hands again.

The Inner Circle was an informal association of the Matriarchs of what she deemed to be the most critical of government Offices: the Office of War, the Office of Defense, the Office of Intelligence and Observation, the Office of Public Information, and most recently the Office of Foreign Affairs. Of course Matriarch General D'Chenti, her most personal advisor, was present as well and ensured that the interests of the military were addressed.

"Begin moving our heavy armour units out of District Three into Districts Two and Four. We'll hit them back hard if they try anything that catches us by surprise." Jennifer's voice was smooth and confident; in this room at least there was no struggle. She had changed into a pair of jeans and a simple ivory silk blouse for the meeting, and was leaning against the edge of her desk instead of seated at it. Matriarch Onsin began writing notes, no doubt which units to move and where. "And I don't want any patrols on Magna Lacuna to approach the disputed zones within sixty kilometers." This she directed at D'Teyn. The Matriarch of War had made it very clear she desired to take a harder line with the Edomites.

Almost predictably, the estranged noble opened her mouth. "But Empress, you sai-"

"I know what I said, but we will not provoke Perrin any more while we gather our strength. They will be watching us closely enough as it is, after this latest incident."

"But the most important job is yours, Arlenica." She saw the Matriarch's eyes widen in measured surprise, though she also saw the signs of eagerness as the woman leaned forward in her chair and her lips twitched upwards at their corners. "I'm sending you abroad. We need to start courting allies, or at the very least start getting rid of potential enemies. Gavinium Magnus, Ossoria, and Adiron are your priorities, though I think all of Belisaria is worth approaching. Thoughts, Matriarch?"

"I. . . Well of course, Empress. The Gavinians may be uncooperative, but we have real leverage with them. I'll write up some points of the others' interests and see what we can give them. When should I leave?" Arlenica was keenly aware that neither Onsin or D'Teyn had been offered the chance to voice their opinion.

"As soon as you have made the necessary preparations. Matriarch Hera, I want a full brief on our intelligence in New Edom, and on the nobility. We'll meet later tonight to discuss the details." She looked at each woman separately. "I will be seeing the rest of you daily. Dismissed."

After the women had all left the office, Jennifer was left alone with D'Chenti. She recalled the last time she'd been in this room with her closest friend. The marble pieces had been disposed of, but the bust she had thrown against the wall had not been replaced.

"Jennifer," the old General said as she came to rest against the desk next to the young monarch. "About what you said in the Vault. . . How much did you mean?"

"Enough to keep getting what I want. Killing Undrea . . . Well it wasn't ideal, but the others needed to see it. And if we succeed in raising support overseas, maybe we can afford to take a firmer position on the lake and keep it. This last week. . . What a mess."

D'Chenti placed a sympathetic hand on Jennifer's soldier. The Empress could remember her doing the same thing when she'd been a little girl. "Well if I may offer my thoughts, you're doing the right thing. Using your head."

Jennifer smiled ruefully. "Why Irrieot, you almost sound surprised."

D'Chenti only smiled and shrugged her broad shoulders, then stood and left the room. Jennifer moved to one of the couches and closed her eyes. She wanted to think, to figure out what Perrin would now be doing and what she would do in response. Two steps ahead and all that. But all she saw behind her eyelids was the light leaving Undrea's eyes, arterial spurt of crimson that had slashed against her arm. Over and over, she replayed the scene in her head.

Eventually, she fell asleep.