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

[Roania]

The Great Horde of the Baraka had been united only three times in that people's history. This was the fourth, and they were determined it would be the final. "They have gone too far!" Came the call from throats united across their ancestral home. They would drive the Roanians out of their lands, once and for all. They gathered by their thousands, the mass of their campfires visible from orbit. Their destination was Shangdi, the hated capitol of the hated Governorate -- or so it had been, until the new law had been decreed. Now, their ancient governorate was dissolved, replaced with prefectures drawn from afar, and with it their tribal authorities.

They would not, could not, tolerate this. Next, they would be forced to recognize the equality of their women, to end their blood-feuds, to subject themselves to the laws of the city-dwellers and forget their heritage. This would not stand. First, they would handle the Roanians present in their homeland. Next, they would deal with the collaborators, those of their own people who had acquiesced to this dissolution of all that was right and good.

To Shangdi! The call went out, and the Desertkin marched and rode the miles of their dessicated homeland. Until one night, they no longer did so.

That was the night the stars fell.

First, there came a loud howl, as if all the desert's dogs had called to the moon at once. Then, the very earth itself shook. And last, came the great voice. "Sancu Isei! Enai Jeyhun." Came the first words. 'Disperse at once! This assembly is unlawful.' The voice only met with jeers and cheers.

Then great shadows crossed the sky above, blocking out the stars. And smaller shadows fell to the ground, bringing with them death.

In the morning, the survivors crossed the desert once more, to find that where their fellows had been, the sand had fused to glass.

[Roania]

"This is Command Central to Bringers of Peace. Have you fulfilled your command?" The commander paced back and forth in his mission control, anxious despite himself. The opposition had not been expected to have anything capable of bringing down a bomber, but there was always the chance of a lucky shot. The 16th Banner had been waiting a long time for the chance to revenge themselves on the desertkin, and having one of their own ascend to the Imperial Diadem had given them their chance.

"This is Bringer of Peace, Commander. Hostiles have been defeated." This bought cheers in the command center, several of them taking their hats off and throwing them in the air.

"That's enough!" The Commander ordered, slapping his hand on the desk. "We've got work to do."


The desertkin were in shock. In one stroke, 3/4 of their leadership, 3/4 of those most determined to fight, 3/4 of their backbone had been exterminated. The survivors easily acquiesced to being taken from their homes.

The Court Circular reported on the whole thing that a police action had been completed in the new prefectures, and the truculent population had been bought to heel.

[Thanh-Tonh]

"We are small, but our people are mighty!" That was the message Emperor Thanhin XI hoped to send to the galaxy at large yesterday, following reports of unrest in the neighboring state of The Radiant Empire (Roania). "We wish to live in peace with our neighbor, and with all the galaxy's people, but we will defend our freedom and our honor, though all the worlds quake."

The state of Thanh-Thonh has fought the Radiant Empire three times in the past two hundred years, both times on the defensive, and each time victoriously. However, it has rarely reached out to foreigners, as it is forced by both demography and astrography to trade with its massive neighbor. The Tonhi royal family is even descended from exiled Roanian nobility. However, they have always resisted being drawn into the Radiant Empire, preferring instead their independence.

Now, however, the Tonhi fear that their neighbor is racking up for a fourth try. "We know the current Grand Secretary has repeatedly advocated for a war to wipe out previous 'humiliations'," said Prime Minister Niwat Gandhara to a hurried news-conference, "but it wasn't until the recent political uproar that we started to grow concerned. We are willing to meet the Roanians peacefully."

At the same time, however, Thonhi merchants have begun to be seen in the galaxy's marketplaces, buying newer and more modern weaponry, as well as seeking foreign advisers for their small military amongst the great and the good.

[Roania]

Grand Secretary Riziel announced today on behalf of his Emperor, "The idea that we would declare war on a so-called nation such as Than-Tonh is an insult to the glorious Empire, and our beloved Lord of Ten Thousand Years. We are committed to the ideals of peaceful relations. However, any attempt by the Tonhi to arm themselves more than is necessary for their self-defense will be condemned by my government."

[Northrop-Grumman]

The gears of the Grummian state were always slow to turn, reacting to situations in never a terribly speedy manner, but such was the way the provisional government worked. With its leader, Chairwoman O’Neill, still absent from the day to day dealings, the public appearances, the nation tended to reflect her mindset – inward-looking, withdrawn, and more content with keeping things the way they were. Besides, the current state of the country was still one that was trying to sort its own house yet, trying to reform the unwieldy apparatus that had caused these sorts of delayed reactions.

So when rumblings of something awry reached ears of the upper echelons of Northrop-Grumman, there was little desire to toss more gasoline on the fire, and there was not much that could be said other than a simple admonishment of what was going on in the Radiant Empire. Though, they would admittedly receive a fair amount of flak for saying it to begin with, no matter how they or their population felt, considering one of the core tenets of the Concordat had been to refrain from getting involved in fellow member’s internal affairs. But this was that sort of situation that could not be ignored by turning their backs on it. No, they would have to go back to the old playbook that had been a mainstay for calamities such as these long ago, but one that had not been used in a few decades: an expedited route for refugees through the unwieldy immigration process.

The first wave of refugees from another nation, Underwater Asylum, had brought the Noldor and trace amounts of other species to the Grummians doorstep, who had gladly opened the arms and homes to them. Along with them had come Shiran Naelthasser, who would eventually be elevated to the position of Vice Chairman over the entire nation. The second wave had come about two decades later from Arenumberg, which had mainly brought the blood elves, such as one of the diplomatic officers assigned to the Radiant Empire, First Lieutenant Telenna Pawlowski.

So the intention here was along the same lines but much less quieter considering the previous two instances were catastrophic disasters where the pair of nations and their citizens were enduring a disaster through no fault of their own. Quietly they essentially put a rumor mill to work, through the power of gossip. It was put out there that if anyone from the Radiant Empire wanted a way out, the Grummians were more than willing to provide it. Show up to a passenger liner, a freighter, or other vessel and they would take you where you needed to go. No cost.

In the case of the desertkin, in particular, well, that was a stickier situation for the cultural differences tended to create more than their fair share of concerns. But still, that disagreement wasn’t enough to allow anyone to shrug them off and allow them to meet their end. So the same offer went out to everyone with a twist. If you wanted to respect the Grummian laws and culture, you could freely come, become a citizen. If you were less willing to do so, then resettling was your other option on a carefully selected planet within the Grummian sphere of control. It was figured that the desertkin would more likely take up the latter, and if there were any objectors to recent events or anyone else, they would probably fall into the former.

[Roania]

The Baraka were in prison. That was clear to them from the moment they had seen what they were told would be their new homes. Large, barbed-wire enclosed compounds in the desert, or as adjuncts to cities, they were escorted in. The surviving men were separated from their wives, the children separated from their mothers. Families were told they'd be reunited when 'the police action' was finished -- this, as they were escorted by armed men from their homes, as their flocks were killed.

Some of them ran, of course. Made it to spaceports, and thus to Northrop-Grumman. But others took to the hills, determined to retain their culture and lives. And as the brutal repression spread, so too did its reaction. Soon, the Green rose up to join the surviving fighters of the Red, Yellow and Blue Hordes, and battle was general. And yet, at home, all that was reported was that everything was well. Certainly, that's all the Emperor learned.

[Thanh-Tonh]

Prime Minister Niwat rejected what she claimed were Roanian calls for disarmament and absorption today in a press conference outside the Pharakwan, the Great Palace. "The civilized people of the worlds are watching and will not be taken in by lies."

Thanh-Tonh has in recent days sought arms and advisers from across the galaxy...

[Northrop-Grumman]

Harkening back to what had started to become a bygone era where Northrop-Grumman actually mass produced weapons for international buyers, the defense manufacturing portion of the state, now devolved down into a state-owned corporation instead of being indistinguishable from the nation itself, jumped on the opportunity to sell weaponry to Than-Tonh. It had been some time since they had found a potential new buyer, as nowadays, it would seem that either nations joined together within their alliances to produce their arms or simply refuse to purchase any from defense contractors that were foreign.

However, this presented an interesting possibility to establish a new line of trade with another nation, and it might prove fruitful in the future if the corporation’s owners wanted to take things a step further. So with a blessing from above, of course, the sales department transmitted a willingness to conduct an arrangement for weapons sales.

[Scolopendra]

Intelligence--at least, in terms of nations learning what other nations are up to--is portrayed in fiction as being about cunning spies pulling off dashing capers with fancy gizmos. Reality is, as always, somewhat more phlegmatic. Yes, those sorts of spies do exist, but they are much rarer than is suggested. Most of the time, intelligence gathering is just a job, and can be a remarkably dull one at that. A great deal of it starts with simply being able to feel the pulse of a nation--which does not always require looking for that deemed secret so much as knowing what isn't widely advertised--and it's often far easier to seek out reports on men and materiel and dry documents about resource allocations rather than plucking strategic communications out of the ether or inserting moles into command structures.

To find out what any large organization is doing, look at what it buys and the status of its inventories.

*-*-*

Mballa folded her hands over her desk in her office, sitting rigidly erect as she always did. Across from her, in the chairs provided for guests, were Intelligence Advisor Noelle Sharudi, Foot-to-Ass Advisor Shri Nikunj, International Relations Advisor Kraisee, and Pseudo-Emperor Rezah. The door to the office was, of course, closed. This was serious business.

"The reports from the Tee-Why-Ess-Ess are pretty clear, ma'am," Sharudi said, pointing to the holographic documents displayed between them. "Something is certainly up, and more than one would expect from the official news. Munition inventories and orders show a spike in high-yield usage and the logistics trail doesn't seem quite up to par with making new cities. While 'pacification' and 'relocation' aren't potential Charter invocations, they can pretty easily slip into actionable 'cides if the targets resist hard enough... and the records indicate that resistance is happening."

"But we have no direct evidence," Advisor Kraisee cautioned with his usual air of calm exactness. "Previous Charter actions have been based on public information; the multiverse is not particularly known for villains being subtle about what they are doing. Given the history of our alliance relationships with the Radiant Empire and their internal social standards, to misstep could undo years of careful diplomacy."

"Emperor Damalin does not strike me as the sort to speak anything other than plainly," Mballa stated flatly. She knew him as something of a friend and continuous pen pal since the disastrous party months ago, but she also held this close to her chest. She had promised him to be discreet--a royal Roanian talking to an elected barbarian could be scandalous to his people--and so she was. "In fact, given his idealistic streak, if he'd grown up here..." She shook her head. "I doubt that the Roanian government is acting counter to what it says it is."

"At least at that level. Our Secretariat sources show that there is an... information disconnect. The only reports the Special Services or our own SIGINT could intercept are high level, lack details, and are heavy in codewords and couched language but it's relatively clear from the conversations that certain ideas are being emphasized and others left silent. My assessment is that if there is a Charter violation going on, it doesn't go to the very top."

"That only makes things worse," Rezah stated gruffly. "Any action we can take inevitably appears against the Radiant Empire as a whole. The damn monarchists also buy into the Emperor-as-state thing, so if we say the state is flawed, the Emperor is flawed. He'd lose face no matter what and then whatever alignment we may have had on the top collapses from insult."

"Militarily, that's not too big a problem," General Nikunj said with a gentle frown that seemed to betray the history of her face. "The Roanian military is at least two generations behind technologically, is strategically well behind the times, comparatively inefficient, and inevitably has a longer decision loop both strategically and tactically due to their refusal to use augments. Of course, they know this as well and they watch Triumvirate deployment schedules like no one's business. We could hardly get away with 'previously scheduled exercises' to show the flag because they'd be just as likely to see it as the invasion they've expected since forever as a show of force."

"Any overt option seems problematic," Kraisee mused, "and most of our back channels could be easily offended."

Mlalla nodded, then looked to the intelligence chief. "What are the thoughts on the street?"

"YutLink trends indicate that this story is just beginning to brew, mostly in social circles that were watching Roania anyway. It's starting to spread towards the clicktivists, which means it's going to reach the justice warriors and from there it will snowball as they scream for attention and media circles turn towards them."

"That has not happened yet. Sharudi, send someone discreet to take advantage of the recent openness of the Radiant Empire to foreigners and see if we can't get eyes directly on things. For the rest, we stand by."

*-*-*

Baron Varlam Utkin was something of an unusual man in Scolopendra. First, he was nobility... but that just meant that he was a Berserker militia officer with additional political authority. His martial nature came second to most people who knew who he was, however; he was a gentleman in the classical style, a writer, a journalist, and a humanitarian. The intersections of the Venn diagrams of Scolopendran culture whittled his peer group down, but one particular quality made him truly unusual when combined with the above:

He was a spy.

'Spy,' perhaps, was too strong a word. 'Agent' could be more accurate; in any case, he was secretly on the payroll of the Scolopendran Intelligence Service so they could, at need, request and require him to perform certain tasks. Other than a code name to his handler, he had no aliases or legends; he had no tricks or gadgets or, truly, other than a consideration for operational security, any training. He was simply a man who, through judgment and analysis, could be trusted to do certain things in his own name but secretly on behalf of the state.

Sometimes it scared him; more than once he'd been asked to simply write an article about something different than he intended. Not that he write a specific opinion, just a change in subject. Once he was asked to write something fanciful about his secret employers; he let his imagination run wild with the most cockamamie conspiracy theory he could think of. They never asked him to do that again, and he could never tell whether it was because of the resulting media firestorm... or in spite of it. Maybe it should've been bigger. Maybe it should've been smaller. He didn't know, and he knew he wasn't being asked to slit anyone's throat and could therefore both sleep soundly at night and quietly thrill at having a secret life, so to speak.

This order, though, piqued a dangerous level of curiosity. He was to take a trip to Roania, and politely--this was spelled out, politeness was mandatory--make his way to some planet he'd never heard of in order 'to observe the spread of civilization.' He was to observe, collect his thoughts, and then return. At no point after leaving the Segments would he be contacted. He would receive additional orders upon his return.

It was all very queer, he thought. Very queer indeed.

*-*-*

Meanwhile, the Supreme Emperor had secret means of her own.

Emperor:

I have seen from the news that you are standardizing the Empire, changing regional variations to a national standard. If only I had that luxury! I am curious, however, and please feel free to dismiss the question if it is too impertinent and probing: why? It was my (admittedly imperfect) understanding that the Governorates at least served their function, and it has been my experience that sudden changes in governance can be destabilizing.

Being in charge during the Semi-Break and the Reformation will do that. He would know full well from their correspondence.

Of course, my experience is somewhat unusual, but if it may be of service, I would be more than happy to offer it. As always.

In less heady matters, Bill The Cat is doing better. If he were sapient he'd thank you for your well-wishes and the cat food; it's certainly helped him gain strength in the past few weeks. The veterinarian is happily surprised and now thinks he'll make a full recovery--a far cry from the original prognosis, as you'll remember. He still looks as though he burned three of his nine lives in this latest adventure, but I think it gives him a bit of character. I've always been somewhat base that way--it must come from the rough and tumble life.

As always, I remain,

~Mballa Ipolla

[The Fedral Union]

(redacted)

[Thanh-Tonh]

"Most esteemed king," came the answer from down the table, where the charming Prime Minister Niwat sat, "we have no choice. Our sources indicate the Radiant Empire is rearming at a fast rate, and we cannot rely on westerners to intervene." She blinked back unexpected tears and pushed her glasses up her nose. "Ever since the last war, we've been expecting another one, and the new government has hardly been subtle about its desires to absorb our kingdom. Telling us we may not arm as we please..."

Emperor Thanhin XI, the eleventh man to rule the kingdom since the establishment of the Thanh dynasty, shook his head and tapped his finger on the desk. "We don't have a choice? There is always a choice. I don't want to provoke them into a violent reaction."

"With respect, most esteemed king," This the Minister for Defense, Nes Cerikar, "we may not have to worry about provoking them. The government has a responsibility to you and your people. We must rearm."

"Very well. I just pray to the ancestors and the Living Prophet that we do not regret this decision"

Northrop-Grumman

Tonhi buyers were quick to respond to NG's offer. The knowledge that NG was a long-standing ally of the Radiant Empire made it all the sweeter that they were offering arm and equipment. A question was raised of training the Defensive Unit to use their new armament.

The Fedral Union

The same thing happened with The Fedral Union, coupled with a plea for GESO to intervene. They didn't expect much to come of it, but they had to try. "We are seeking any help you or your people may provide, honored President."

[Roania]

Empress,

I am glad to hear that Bill the Cat is doing better. I have often thought of getting my own cat to replace the ones that left with the Honorable Former Empress, but my Grand Secretary has told me that I have too much to do to bother with pets at the moment. Maybe when all is at peace, there will be time. And that is what this is about. Peace. Peace and honor. While I know many of you do not consider my state the pinnacle of modernity, we believe that we have a society the equal of any, and its benefits should be extended to all my subjects.

The Baraka have been left to their petty tribal feuds for too long. They are part of an Empire. My Empire, and we believe they should enjoy the freedoms that that means. That includes the right to go about their business without fear of some petty tribal chief invading their property and taking them and their women as slaves. And their women! I know you don't much care for how my people treat women -- and that will be solved, but the Roanians require a softer touch -- but the Baraka treat them as if they were not individual people, but as furniture. They insulted the Former Empress by refusing to do her homage, and I cannot let this dishonor stand.

My Grand Secretary assures me that everything that can be done is being done to accommodate the Baraka to their new lives. It is a shame that they could not live responsibly in their own fashion, but it is for the best that Civilization triumph.

The Night Falls Inevitably,
But it Is Our Duty to
Prolong the Day

Loses something in the translation, I think. But the sentiment comes through!

Eternally yours,

Damalin

[Roania]

Imperial War-Cabinet

Riziel paced back and forth in front of his secretaries. "That accursed brat has forbidden an invasion." He stopped and turned to the desk, slapping his hand down hard on the wood, causing it to shake. "Who does he think he is? I basically raised him."

The new Secretary for the Rites raised his hand. "He thinks he's the Emperor." Riziel rounded on him and delivered a thumping blow to the middle of his head.

"Of course he's the Emperor. But he's also nothing but a 16 year old boy. He shouldn't question his elders. His betters." Riziel resumed pacing. "The independence of 'Thanh-Tonh' is an insult, and now that they are looking to arm themselves further..." The Grand Secretary sighed. "All I want is for the Empire to triumph over its enemies, and to do so, it must be united."

[Roania]

Damalin sat in the palace's garden, breathing deep in the crisp scent of the evergreens and the sound of the gently bubbling spring. With a smile, he set quill to paper, tracing the characters for the poem he'd thought of today. 'Gently does the River Flow, and so do I.'

"Lord of Ten Thousand Years, I am happy to have found you." His Grand Secretary had indeed found him. Riziel was a tall, hawk-faced man. The two had known each other all of Damalin's 'adult' life, ever since Damalin had been assigned to his father's old Banner as an Ensign. "Is the poetry going well, Most Gracious Lord?"

"Quite well." Damalin placed his poetry aside and stood up, receiving and then returning Riziel's salute. "Is there business I must attend to?"

"Nothing major, Oh Most Generous Master." Riziel bowed low to the ground. "We have begun our, that is to say, your campaign among the Baraka tribes."

"All going well? Remember, I wanted this handled peacefully." That had been very important to Damalin. He may not have cared for the Baraka, but he was their Emperor as well, and it would ill-suit his role as bringer of civilization if his soldiers were involved in open warfare against their fellow subjects.

"Of course, Lord of Ten Thousand Years!" Riziel seemed shocked by the suggestion. "Admittedly, there has been some slight difficult with some of the tribesmen. They seem to prefer their old barbaric structure to the new order you are offering them, the fools. But the education camps you ordered are..."

"Education camps?"

"Education campaigns, Esteemed Master." Riziel bowed low again. "We are teaching the Baraka the ways of civilization, and doing so peacefully. We are at all times bearing in mind your most merciful and righteous order that the Baraka be encouraged to join the modern world of their own free will." He bowed a third time. "But there is another matter I must speak to you of. Tonh Prefecture is once again insulting the Glorious Empire, and by extension, you."

"Insulting the Empire? The Former Empress..."

"Regrettably, the Former Empress having left, they no longer see the need to respect your authority or your rights. They have even refused to see our minister when we sent one to reprimand them!" That was, of course, not entirely true. To put it another way, it was a bald-faced lie. A Minister had been appointed, an advocate of Hard War against Thanh-Tonh (or Tonh Prefecture), one which would not be at all acceptable to the people of that state. But he had not even attempted to meet with Emperor Thanhin XI yet. "Shall we punish them, Glorious Lord?"

Damalin hesitated, and shook his head. "I don't think a war is what the situation needs. Just because they refused to see the ambassador..."

"Minister, Lord of Ten Thousand Years."

"Yes, I mean, the Minister... is no reason for us to cause any deaths."

Riziel nodded and saluted. "Of course, Master. Your caution is wise. I only hope... no, never mind, Lord of Ten Thousand Years, it is of no import."

"No, no! Speak your mind, Commander."

"Well," Riziel curled his hands together and went to his knees. "I only hope they do not see your esteemed and wise caution as a sign of weakness."

"If they confuse mercy for weakness, they are fools." Damalin said, stiffly. "And I do not believe them to be fools."

"Of course, Oh Glorious Lord."

[The Boundless Legion]

To Your Majesty Emperor Thanhin XI of Thanh-Tonh,

Although we have traditionally endorsed a tacit support of the Radiant Empire, expansionist movement without representation is against the tolerance of the Legion Code of Honor. Expect an emissary to arrive as soon as possible. If the Roanians see that their own allies are willing to step in on your behalf, it may serve to dissuade them of further incursion, or make them proceed more cautiously if they do attempt an action.

Charles Montmartre,
Cmdr, Boundless Legion

[Thanh-Tonh]

"This feels like a mistake," said Prime Minister Niwat from her seat in the People's Hall. The slim, attractive woman held her head in her hands. "What guarantee do we have the information is accurate?" She didn't want to believe it. That was part of it. No one wants to know their cousins are engaged in war crimes. But there was more. "Criticizing their government over an internal matter may not win us any of the friends we desperately need, and our own situation is well-known. It may smack of desperation."

"We don't have a choice. High risks, high rewards. That's always been our way." The Information Minister said from his position on the floor. "And our source is highly placed enough..."

"I know he is. But by the Spirits, what would he have us do? And how can we trust a traitor? The man is a well-known liar."

"It makes sense. And I don't think he's a traitor. I think he's a loyalist to the old order that the current government of the Radiant Empire is upholding. Certainly, he has no official position."

"When has he ever?" Niwat sighed and waved his hand. "Publicize it."

To All the People of the Galaxy

The Roanians have claimed they are engaging in nothing more than an urban resettlement program. If that is the case, why do our sources indicate that they have separated men from women, children from parents? Why have they operated in secrecy, without their usual bombast about the construction of their cities? We know why!

The intention was never to improve the lot of the Desertkin. It was always to exterminate their identity as a free people.

Code: Select all

Documents proving the existence of camps, and the low rations that are being dispensed to the Desertkin within them.

We do not ask the people of the galaxy to intervene in an internal matter. We just hope that they will be aware that there is a determined policy of aggression amongst the Radiant Empire. We fear, as well, that unless urgent action is taken, we will be the next to fall to the new government's Standardization Campaign. And after us, who knows?

[Roania]

"This is intolerable!" Riziel said, throwing his intelligence report down on the desk. "The rebels have made common cause with a traitor in our government."

"What are you talking about?" Damalin asked from his seat behind the desk, a perplexed look on his face.

"The Tonhi presume to..." Riziel thought quickly. "The Tonhi presume to insult you, Oh Lord, by claiming you are behaving in a manner entirely at odds with your friendly policy towards the Baraka people." The Grand Secretary rose and bowed low. "They claim we are building 'camps' for them, separating women from children, generally behaving in an entirely uncivilized fashion. As if you would ever permit such a thing. They have gone far enough as to forge documents they claim prove your munificence is in fact thoughtless brutality."

"Well, that's just ridiculous." Damalin said with a frown, reaching out to pick up the documents. Riziel moved faster, catching them in his hand. "Shouldn't I see their lies?" He asked, somewhat perplexed.'

"I would not dream of having The Most Gracious Master read such nonsense." Riziel bowed low. "As well, this is the only copy we have. I shall have the Intelligence Minister provide you with a copy in five minutes, but I must move quickly if we are to counter such lies before they reach an international audience that already distrusts and fears our might."

[The Boundless Legion]

Space. Light years away.

Thr comm system on the Legion Dreadnought Defiant chirped insistently at Captain Marcus, who had been contemplating the void streaking away from his shielded windows at the ship's ultimate stern.

With a grunt, he thumbed the speaker button.
"Marcus. Go ahead."

"Havelock. This is Commander Montmartre. Something just came up on Thanh-Tonh."

Marcus' s blood ran cold. Direct orders from the Commander were just uncommon enough of Captains to make any communication from him a daunting task.
"I'm not familiar with that sysyem right now, Sir."

"But you are familiar with the aggressors in the situation. It's the Roanians."

"...what of them?"

"Captain, you have the most experience thus far of the Legion's men in dealing with them. A report just surfaced from the Tonhi that Roanian forces are interning citizens into relocation camps and doing...something to them."
Marcus' s eyes narrowed, and his right hand's fingers curled around his chair's rest furiously.

"I need you to investigate. Use whatever resources you can manage to allocate for this assignment, and either broker a standoff, or if it comes to it, liberate one of those camps."

"Sir, I promise nothing except Legion justice."

"Captain, be judicious. I don't want to piss the Roanians off any more than we have to. We're dangerously low on friends yet, and the Legion won't survive another Decimation like the Kreh'iiri gave us.

Montmartre Out."
_________________

[Scolopendra]

Executive Apartments, Stonozka, Titan

Mballa read the response. Her already dark expression turned a little more so with a frown. She could understand his motivations, and his pride, but a particular line grabbed and held her attention: 'My Grand Secretary assures me that everything that can be done is being done to accommodate the Baraka to their new lives.' Not anything like 'I assure you' or 'I know that,' but 'my Grand Secretary assures me.' This fit with what she knew and intuited about his character; delegation is the key to leadership, and such things are why he had a Secretariat to begin with.

She frowned then leaned over just enough to slide open one of the drawers in her desk with the soft susurrus of plastic wheels on metal tracks. From the drawer she extracted a purple length of knitted fabric made of navy blue and royal purple yarn then two long aluminum crochet hooks in the Tunisian style. Placing these on her desk, she slid the drawer shut and started to crochet at a rate that any reasonable outside observer would describe as 'furiously,' yet her face retained its expression of mild displeasure rather than the furrowed brows of concentration or anger. From her own augmented perception of time, however, every movement was relatively slow and relaxing, as was the intent. It kept her hands busy when she might otherwise break bearing and start fidgeting, and she could concentrate on what concerned her. Shodey looked up from her place on the couch at the metallic tik-tik-tik-tik of the needles, then pretended not to notice. She knew better than to interrupt Mballa once the hooks were out.

The Supreme Emperor's first instinct was to suggest that Damalin make a snap inspection of his initiatives, but that suggestion held issues. How could she make that suggestion without revealing that she--and the rest of the Triumvirate--perhaps in some ways knew more about what was going on in his own Secretariat than he did? How could she do so without suggesting that the executors of his will may not be perfectly truthful or dedicated to his purpose? How could she suggest that maybe he was being played without reminding him that he could indeed be played? He was a proud kid, and rightfully so, and she knew from her own experience that the proud don't necessarily listen as well as they ought to. Hell, it was out of wanting him to listen--what a pity that we can give everything to our children but our experience--that she actually carefully chose her words carefully around him, treading the line of a respect she considered fawning and a self-abasement she found insulting. He was the only one she spoke or wrote to like that; he should be honored, she considered, before summarily ignoring her annoyance as self-pity and returning to the task at hand.

Objective: prevent the current situation from potentially escalating to a point where the Charter would be invoked and aggressive action would be necessary. Known: Damalin had ordered a civilization initiative with the intent of forcibly, if necessary, modifying certain subject cultures. People wouldn't like that, but the Segments considered cultural imperialism less harmful than other forms and didn't hold to ultramodern theories that considered wiping out cultures as genocide. Some cultures, like those practicing sentient sacrifice and female genital mutilation, had it coming. Known: Damalin was reliant on his government to carry out his orders. Known: said government was massaging the information getting back up to Damalin, and retranslating things going down.

Assumed: Damalin was being truthful about peace. Inferred: the Roanian military was engaged in some form of intensive conflict, evidenced by inventory record intelligence. Inferred: some construction is going on, but not enough to fully account for massive and effective urbanization.

Additional data: observers in Northrop-Grumman, a far more open society, were seeing an influx of Baraka refugees. Possiblity: direct media in their direction to get their side of the story. Problem: that information would not be controlled and, in a worst-case scenario, could blow the lid off of everything. Refugees have an agenda too, if an understandable one, and psychologically tend to magnify wrongs. What they say is usually true enough; what they extrapolate from it...

Tik-tik-tik-tik went her needles in realtime; to her they said "clock clock clock clock" rather slowly.

Course of action: check to see if Sharudi is on top of interviewing the refugees. She probably is.

Still, there was the issue of how to reply to Damalin. If she suggested to him to go look for himself, he'd probably do it in the open, and those responsible would just set up Potemkin villages so he'd see everything was just fine. If she suggested to him to go incognito, 'why' would be an obvious question and one she'd have to answer without making his subordinates sound treasonous or incompetent. She could ask him to send someone trusted, but he probably trusted everyone in his government to some degree or another.

What she could do is manage his expectations, and so she set her hooks down and typed much too quickly.

Emperor,

Here's to hoping that peace, honor, and order come soon. It is virtuous to want to spread virtue, and you know that I cannot disagree on your assessment on the negatives of Barakan culture. It is my duty as a fellow executive--and perhaps, I hope, as a friend--to point out a truth you may have not intended: 'Roanians require a softer touch.' This is true, but it can be extended to 'most people require a softer touch.' The old saying of catching more flies with honey than vinegar comes to mind, or that the courting bird displays its feathers, not its talons. I know I'm probably relating truisms and I know that you are not ordering anyone to be put to the sword.

Still, news from the frontier is concerning... and I don't mean from Tonh, given their agenda, but from your allies in Northrop-Grumman. While certainly those who claim refuge have their own agendas, they are often more simplistic and insufficiently organized to intentionally develop an untrue perspective. Because of this, on my side of the cultural divide, people often put a lot of faith into what they say. People on my side of things like to sympathize and feel pity, and so they tend to cheer for the underdog. Media recognize this, and it sells, so they advertise it. In so doing they make people angry, and angry people demand action to be taken. Angry people also tend not to think things through very well. As such, I am currently trying to smooth tensions and prevent anyone from acting rashly, but as a mere elected official my legal powers to do so are distinctly limited. I bring this up only to prepare you for the possibility that there may be a media or even diplomatic row between nations--if not necessarily ours--but I will do what I can on my side of things to avert it.

These things happen, they're part of the territory of national leadership.

With regards to the content of these reports, they personally strike me as possible; it would be presumptuous of me to estimate their plausibility. This has nothing to do with your intention or your will, which I do not doubt; it is instead my experience that through the chain of command sometimes intention and will are sometimes lost by the simple nature of repetition and reinterpretation of orders as they go down the chain. It may, therefore, be worthwhile to find some way to verify or refute these claims in such a way that if anyone is at fault they would be unable to clean up just before the inspectors arrive. I've found surprise snap inspections to be quite effective, as long as they maintain sufficient operational security so that they retain the element of surprise. To accentuate the positive, either such an audit finds errors that are then corrected or they find the accusations are without merit and find evidence to disprove them. In both cases, your strategic aim is supported.

These are only recommendations based on my experience, and I hope I may be forgiven for offering them unasked. It is a common presumption of us old people; annoying though it can be, we usually mean well enough. If can often come off as telling our younger comrades what to do, and that is what I wish to avoid. Not having children or apprentices of my own, I am always uncertain that I am cutting the right tone--hence the qualification. Thus if I presume too much, then take pity on my inexperience and constructively critique on how I can do better.

As always, I remain,

Mballa Ipolla

[Roania]

Damalin considered this latest missive thoughtfully, as was his wont. Finally, he nodded and came to a decision. The Emperor of the Radiant Empire had numerous people under his power, and some of them would do perfectly for this mission. But who to send? Finally, he came together and called Guard Captain Faren to the throne room. "Captain Faren," Damalin began, not even noticing when Riziel quietly slipped into the room behind Faren, "I want you to go to Barke and investigate conditions there." Damalin stood up and went to the window, looking out over the view of the palace. "Not that I don't trust anyone, because I do, but I'd like to get a second pair of eyes on the situation there."

Riziel came forward to stand next to Faren, and bowed low. "An excellent idea, Most Glorious Lord of Ten Thousand Years. Captain Faren's reputation is unimpeachable, and I am sure his report would prove what we have been saying all along."

[The Boundless Legion]

A radio transmission came, first to Rudan Prime, and then broadcast across the entire galactic audio communications spectrum.

"Wherein speaking, this is Commander Charles Montmartre of the Boundless Legion, speaking today to you, the people of the Galaxy, and as an appeal to Emperor Damalin of the Radiant Empire.

"The news leaked across the information network today saddens and profoundly disturbs the Legion, who had seen the promise of a long and prosperous alliance between our peoples nearing reality. Now we doubt the integrity of such an alliance wherein the freedoms of a people, the preservation of which is sacrosanct, are, if rumor is to be believed, violated and robbed from them when no just cause is presented.

"Above all things, the Boundless Legion fights for freedom, and wherever it is deprived, we shall act. We hope it is not our friends who have committed these heinous acts, that it is a misgiving. But if we discover otherwise over the course of our investigation, action will be taken. Until such time, we stand as the advocate of the Tonhi and we demand an investigation into the accusations against the Roanian government.

"Fellow galactic travelers, I urge you to condemn the deprivation of freedom wherever it occurs. May the stars guide us to the truth.

Montmartre Out. "

[Oyada]

The fire flickered fitfully in its mantelpiece. It had been a large fire, allowed to die only with the departing of the room's inhabitants; now, only two remained, and they watched its gradual deterioration with quiet thoughtfulness, the dancing flames painting lurid shadows behind them on walls that hung with portraits, dripped with reminders of battle, and carried the crests of dozens of ships whose names had passed into history. Above the double doors, carried on a frame carved in the baroque style, a golden ship's sunburst glittered.

The two occupiers were well familiar with one another, sitting cosily in huge wing-backed chairs that looked more suited to the confines of the better glass of gentlemen's club in the very best of Victorian fiction. To the right, Admiral Kanatar Reiso, Commander-in-Chief of the Combined Fleet, nursed a raspberry vodka. To his left, in turn, Anna Hall – now Head of the Third Directorate of the Imperial Security Service – stared moodily into the flames, sipping her sway steadily through a larger and much more potent cocktail that the barman seemed to think should be handled with care, or possibly with gloves. They were quite alone, and for once, the good Admiral was on the back foot. He could feel the anger radiating from her; she had simply asked to meet him at the Club, had turned up on time, and had made the room even colder than the blizzard-clad streets of Oyadato that lurked outside, despite the fire's best efforts, until everyone had left.

Admittedly, there was a touch of amused sexism in their looks to one another as they left; the Imperial Navy was men's business, and this was the Navy Club, and it was to be expected that they should joke. But none of them did so while looking her in the eye. One did not, if one had sense, irritate anyone in Imperial Security. So she and Kanatar had been left alone; and, once she had pointedly checked the room for listening devices, in spite of his assurances, she had crashed into her chair with her very tall glass, her face set into a thin-lipped mask of frustration, her dark eyes dancing in rhythm to the flames, and practically commanded him to do likewise. Then, in words of one syllable if possible, she had outlined the ongoing happenings in Roania.

And now they both sat, watching the fire, and thinking.

“I... suppose, if the reports are accurate – if those Ton-hi people are actually being honest – there will be some sort of repercussions.”

“Of course there will”, Anna snarled in return. “Come on, Reiso. You know how these things work. Everyone pontificates about how awful it is, and then goes home and ignores the fact that they got there by doing the same thing.”

Stung into silence by her rebuke, he returned to the fire; it didn't take her temper long to flare again, like a gas jet relighting as air was blown across it.

“This is going to fuck everything up, you realise? All the stability we've gained. All the breathing space. It's all going to fall apart, if we're not careful. They really have gone and fucked everything up, you realise that? I remember you telling me how few ships you had, how dire a state the navy was in; well, I hope to the gods you've made some improvements there. Because if this information's right, we might just be at war within a few months.” She drained the glass and set it down sharply on the table before her. “All because those idiot catbats just had to put a child on the throne.”

Kanatar looked over to Anna, hoping for a response, but she simply stared into the dying fire.

“It can't be as bad as all that, surely? I can't see any of those decadent keiti bothering to get involved. What do they have to gain by it?”

“A sense of self-satisfaction, primarily”, Anna replied waspishly. “And power over another, of course.”

“But Yut? Why would those bastards even care?”

“Because they've set themselves up as moral guardians, which they honestly seem to think they are. And because their charter clearly establishes that they have the right to get involved; indeed, the obligation.” She turned to face him at last. “And then? Well, before you know it, one of our very few allies against their kind has been destroyed.”

“So we must defend them,” Kanatar nodded. “Yeah. I see the problem. Evidently our Lords and Masters' minds are already, essentially, made up. Was there nothing you could do to change them?”

“Nothing. By the time I took them the material they were already talking about the rumours coming over the ether. The limited information we have doesn't make clear whether that little boy of theirs even knows what's going on. What it does make clear is that he, or someone acting in his name, is acting in a way pretty well guaranteed to force us into supporting them sooner or later. You know the old saying...”

“Better an hour a King than a life a lifetime a vassal.” Kanatar nodded. After a pause, he asked: “Do you really think they'll do anything?”

“It's already being treated as a call to arms. This 'Boundless Legion', as they call themselves, are nothing more than pirates, but they already appear to be mobilising support, and pirates or not, they espouse ideals people like. The intercepts... well, let's just say they're not encouraging. Traffic's begun moving around in increased volume between stations we know and understand well. It doesn't fit any normal pattern, and we keep a good eye on the various potential enemies we have in Sol and elsewhere. It's sketchy,” she admitted with a shrug, “but when you've been doing this as long as we have, you know the signs.”

“Boundless... Legion?”

“Mmhmm.”

Kanatar frowned. “I've heard that name. Floated around a few years ago. Supposedly some of the Rim Patrols were coming across ships with that callsign. I thought it sounded like a cover name.” He paused, taking a pull at the vodka, and asked the question that had been bothering him for the past half-hour.

“All right, I buy it. Sooner than we think, we might have to commit to combat operations. But why are you telling me? Why not an official briefing?”

Anna sighed. “Because, dear Admiral, there's no way the cabinet will get any kind of decision made in under a week, and because I think you need more preparation than they'll give you. More explanation, too,” she continued quietly, more reflectively. “When I presented my information, they debated for a solid hour and a half, and then decided to adjourn until tomorrow.” She sighed again. It really was too frustrating for words.

“I can't just order the Fleets to sea without explanations, y'know. They'll ask questions.”

“You're C-in-C Combined Fleet,” she answered impatiently. “And don't come across all timid with me, Reiso. You also don't give a damn if people ask questions. Besides which, just make it up! Snap exercises are always a good one – we're looking out for any announcements of that sort of thing right now, actually.”

“Well, we are due to begin Alpaca Cauldron in a few weeks' time. I suppose we could move that forward and add a few units to it. Last-minute modifications are good for operational readiness.” Which, he didn't bother adding, had come on leaps and bounds in the few years they'd been working to rebuild the battered Imperial Navy's powers. The mere thought of trying the trick wouldn't even have crossed his mind forty months ago. It was amazing how much good work had been done.

And Anna had never led him astray. She'd been instrumental in making that good work possible, and their relationship had merely been strengthened by the long-winded business of persuading people that improved relations with the keiti counted for nothing if not backed up with force. It was a lesson the tax-burdened, weary populace seemed too ready to forget by half; in reminding them of it, Kanatar's Navy had grown stronger than it had been in decades, and Anna had been brought up the chain of command – with a little help from the good Admiral – until she stood at the pinnacle of her profession. She did know how to read the keiti, better than anyone else in the Services; probably better, in fact, than anyone else in the Empire. The tension between the Security Service, the armed forces, and the civilian politicians was undeniable, of course; but through it all, it seemed, there had been the moderate hand of Imperial influence, arbitrating between the warring parties. Kanatar didn't agree with his firmly moderate, positive stance, but he respected him for sticking to it.

But this time he was wrong, and Kanatar would prove it.

“How do you get those strange names for these things,” Anna asked, interrupting his thoughts. He turned back to her, his eyes having drifted to the embers in the hearth, and found her smiling, tiredly, a smile he returned.

“Machine,” he replied simply, standing. “No human would ever be so dozy.” He continued to stand, slightly awkwardly, searching for words. “I need to call in across the road; I'll send a quick note to the Fleet Commanders, ask them which ships can be made ready to join the exercise as augmentations. We'll probably be able to rustle up a few divisions' worth. But, after that... well, I'm free, and since the sad breakdown of your marriage...”

“Yes,” she replied to his unanswered question, “let's go. I've got reservations for us at the Café Ronando. Ten O' clock. Be quick. You're buying.” She reached up, grabbed his arm, and raised an eyebrow theatrically. “Or do you think the Third Directorate doesn't know these things?”

“Thank the sun we've got you on our side, with mind-reading skills like that,” Kanatar grinned, as they threaded their way out of the quiet building into the snowy evening.

⁂

By the time Kanatar had finished paying the bill (with a small internal wince), the quick missive he had sent out had already begun its work. It would take time, of course, to bring ships in port for revictualling or undergoing minor repairs to operational readiness; but things had come on a very, very long way from the sad state of a few years ago. He reckoned that, by the time the politicians had figured out what they wanted to do, there could be, perhaps, an extra forty to fifty ships ready to move; moreover, they should – assuming there hadn't been some disastrous fuck-up in the supply chain – manage to form a reasonably balanced force.
Best of all, he knew, would be the reaction when the officers and men who crewed his Combined Fleet were told that, at long last, they were not going to exercise. They would be going to battle.

[The Boundless Legion]

Desefican local space was clear, prior to the deceleration of the Defiant at the system's edge. The ship's warp rings slowly turned from white hot to blue, to red, and finally to an inert black. Course was plotted for the planet, and the Dreadnought proceeded under minimum engine power.
In part thanks to their actions in saving the Roanian starliner from marauders, the Grand Duke of the Empire had granted the Legion permission to conduct border patrols within Roanian space.
Which gave Marcus the room he needed to carry out his surveillance operation...and which also meant he was putting the Legion's entire political capital at stake if this mission didn't turn up the information they sought.

The atmosphere inside the ship was tense. Barely a man or woman spoke out of turn.

A pin dropped. The men in the engine room wondered what the sound was.
Even Lieutenants Heseed and Karaph glanced between each other, wondering if the Defiant was going to be the next Legion Dreadnought to vanish in the line of duty.

The Captain had been wound tighter than usual since the start of their patrol in the system. Passive sensor sweeps had been going 'round the clock, but no additional activity had been detected apart from local broadcast traffic.

"Maintain radio silence, continue to monitor Roanian comms. And if things go pear-shaped, get the Little Jack ready to fly. If someone chases us out I at least want boots on the ground to investigate these rumors on our own."

Each department called a muted "Yessur" back to Marcus, and returned to preparing their stakeout of Desefica.


________________



Similarly, the Thanh system seemed unremarkable when the Dreadnought Impetus dropped out of warp. Although equally professional and equally tightly-wound, the crew generally seemed less stressed. Captain Aurelok had her bravest face on as she signaled the transmission operator to open hailing frequency.

"To the Kingdom of Thanh-Tonh, this is Captain Nyima Aurelok of the Boundless Legion Dreadnought Impetus. We have just entered the system, and we are standing by to assist you in your plight. We hope to leave this system with our ammunition counts intact, but should the worst happen, the Impetus is ready.

Aurelok, Out."

[Northrop-Grumman]

“What do you think?” came Vice Chairman Shiran Naelthasser’s question from across the positively ancient grey, steel tank of a desk, breaking the silence as his superior finished poring over the reports that were on her datapad.

Tossing the flat, rectangular device onto the desk with an echoing clatter, Chairwoman Siri O’Neill groaned and leaned forward in her metal rolling chair, resting her forehead on the desk’s cool surface. “It seems we somehow keep picking the wrong side,” she muttered.

“…if the reports are true,” he added.

She sighed and repeated right after him, “…if the reports are true.”

That had been always the hang-up with these sorts of situations, especially when something needed to be said or done publically. The Grummians had never forgotten the last time they neglected to verify the accuracy of the information they received, as many years before, during the days of the then-Corporation’s membership in the ESUS, the alliance had fought a war against the forces of the GFFA.

In particular, the Corporation was tasked with assaulting the Xanthalian homeworlds, but after the war had been won and a quarter million lives had been lost on the Grummian side, it was discovered that the information had been faulty; they had attacked and inflicted severe casualties on an innocent people. The Grummian citizenry and their leaders had been thoroughly shocked; public opinion cratered over the war and the alliance itself, ultimately causing the nation’s exit; and the war simply turned into one that no one ever wanted to talk about. It became the great shame that they had to live with.

Siri, who had observed the battle that very day, had taken it especially hard, blaming and punishing herself for each and every death that had occurred on both sides. She vowed she would never let such a travesty happen again under her watch, and despite personally believing it in her gut that these things were actually happening in the Radiant Empire, knew that it would not be right until she obtained considerably more information than she had. Her sources from within the supposedly allied nation had proven useful with the initial issue with the apparent purging of the desertkin and there seemed to be a sort of information disconnect somewhere in the Radiant Empire’s hierarchy that had not been pinpointed yet, but to her, it was not enough.

The elf then sat up and braced herself against the chair’s arm, visibly exhausted from her sleepless nights. “And now we have this…Boundless Legion wanting to intervene in some way. I read Lieutenant Pawlowski’s report from that incident in Imperial City. It seems they are a well-meaning sort, a group that fights for ‘all that is good and right in the world’…moral crusaders, if you will,” she stated verbatim.

“It would appear they wish to conduct their own investigation and are demanding the Roanians do the same,” Shiran replied in his usual overly formal and bland manner.

“Mmm…the latter…is useless; they’ll say that they’ll look into the matter, wait a few weeks, then come back to everyone with a shrug and say ‘Nothing’s wrong here!’. Now, the Legion’s own investigation might prove useful, and considering their attempt to balance all sides, while supposedly looking for what really happened, might shed some insight into this.”

“Do you wish to make a public statement in support?” the Vice Chairman quirked an eyebrow.

“No…no…” Siri shook her head and sighed once more, not at all desiring the complete and utter shitstorm it was gradually turning into. “We’re going to do something a little different….”

⁂

An encrypted communique was transmitted out from the temporary offices of the Chairwoman and bounced about between different localities within the Grummian mainland before it was directed to the colony worlds and out into deep space to the Boundless Legion.

Code: Select all

We understand that the Legion is mounting an investigation into the rather unsettling allegations brought against our ally, the Radiant Empire. It is, as you can imagine, a delicate situation that we are faced with now, considering we have been close allies for a great number of years, but when there is potentially a horrible injustice such as this, the truth must be exposed, whatever it might well be. As such, we wish to offer reasonable assistance with your investigation, believing that it will find the truth that we all seek.

/s/ Shiran Naelthasser, Vice Chairman of Northrop-Grumman

[Northrop-Grumman]

The question of training had been an obvious one and one that the Corporation more than happy to provide. After all, you did not just want to foist unknown weaponry onto soldiers inexperienced with using it, because, heaven-forbid, they might accidentally shoot down the wrong spacecraft with it or potentially kill themselves, and dead buyers tended to not be repeat buyers. So it was quickly and easily decided that the Corporation would send a number of staff to the planet so ensure that the Tonhi were adequately trained in the armaments' usage.