Imperium: IC (See OOC to join)

[Imperialisium]

Imperial Senate Building
Crown Princess Valeria

"What you ask is a tall order. To deploy atomic weapons against a planet in such a manner," but Valeria was shrewd enough of a diplomat with enough experience under belt to know that Serrat was sincere. He needed help, and the Imperial Military likely was what could be counted on to deal with this possible problem with anything amounting to speed. "I will take your offer to my father. Expect an official communique from His Majesty regarding this request by the end of tomorrow. In the mean time I will send directives in the capacity of Imperial Executor for neighboring Imperial Worlds to lend aid." At that the Princess stood and politely moved past Serrat. Praetorians in tow. Making her way back towards the Imperial Box where she swiftly sat down.

The Polarian Way was a major arterial of Galactic commerce. Millions of freighters, bulk haulers, private vessels, and passenger ships moved along its route. Servicing dozens of worlds directly with hundreds more located in close proximity to benefit from it. Thousands of planets if one counted all the ancillary branches and trade lanes that peeled off from the Polarian Way along its entire breadth, and many thousands more indirectly benefiting from its traffic per Nova Terran year. A 1.5% percent tax would net the central government vast sums, as low as a percentage as that was, but it had stellar-political ramifications. Taxation of an entire route was something the Imperium had never bothered with before. The Galaxy West Trading Association and its shareholders, itself a subsidiary of the Sagittarian Banking House Corporation, was trying to hedge the market in its favor. Valeria had heard the gossip after all. This would benefit large conglomerates whom can easily absorb a 1.5% tax while various small time freightliners and haulers would be put off when every run carried an additional 1.5% into their profit margins. Which when one accounted for Imperial docking fees, importation taxes, and other expenditures it tilted the profitability of plying the route firmly in the hands of the major corporations. Something Valeria was not entire amiss towards. Given the Imperial Family had sizable shares in both the Galactic Commercial Combine and Sagittarian Banking House Corporation.

The lobbying had begun long before this as applauds and boos resounded in the Senate floor as a Combine representative delivered a speech to the Senate floor. The representative circling on a small pod equipped with a suspensor field. Her voice carried perfectly by the Senate chamber's automated audio systems. The Senate Chamber's artificial intelligence seamlessly translating into various languages and dialects for various Senators and attendant delegates. No context was missed and the machines intelligence seamlessly translated, transliterated, and transcribed. Applause rounded out the floor and Valeria could see it was already close. Family's with stake in the Polarian Way's custom enforcement, territory along the Way, and shares in major corporations eager for their chosen companies to edge up in market share was anything but obvious.

Valeria cast an eye to the Rosewood box. Meeting eyes with Victoria and there a passive understanding was transmitted between them. They both knew the game going on. Valeria nodded to Victoria, detailing she knew the vote was likely to be pro-tax once all the lobbying and hand greasing had been done. Greed was a common vice, even if it could lead to the way of such legislation affecting other routes. But then the expected amendment to wiggle Great Houses out of it would then be probable. This was a move to jab opponents pockets. Nothing more.

Then the Great House Kytheron took to the floor and in short rejected the move. Citing this as Imperial Government over reach. Earing applause in their own right, but perhaps a minority; it was hard to tell in the cavernous Senate assembly on who exactly was winning in any given time. This was met by a plethora of open floor back and forth from no less than nineteen Houses and seven corporate representatives, the latter without voting power but ability to exercise representation by addressing the Senate; and four semi-autonomous states followed with their own comments. The song and dance continued another hour back and forth over deliberation as legislation was added or subtracted from the manuscript of the bill. Valeria watching in real time as edits were put forth and reviews by the body. Scrolling along the passages idly. At some points it was vain to keep track. Other times interesting articles were snuck in before being excised by political opponent. At the end of it the only amendment which stuck was an elaborate addition for exceptions to certain industries and the 1.5% being lifted to 2%.

Then the time for final deliberation came and went for another hour. The final votes begun to trickle in slowly. Great House Amakiir voted affirmative, then others, with the voting thresholds swaying positive and negative, for and against, for a full thirty minutes. Valeria herself abstained. A political mood to dodge obvious partisan accusations for this piece of legislation. But the count continued until all had voted. The Taxation of the Polarian Way passed, just barely. Valeria sat back in her chair as the Senate assembly dissolved for the day.

Rising from her seat the Crown Princess moved out of the Imperial Box and back into the main galleries of the Hall. Quickly, smoothly, taking the arm of Victoria as she exited the Rosewood box. "I saw a sizable amount of votes following the Rosewoods casting. Some might wonder your angle in all of this." Valeria's blowing blue eyes dimmed to better contrast her electric blue irises.

Imperial Palace
Imperial Central Gardens

The central gardens was an immense five thousand hectare space within the bounds of the Imperial Palace. Filled with beautiful plants, flowers, and exotic trees painstakingly cared for by a legion of automatons and overseen by a team of palace personnel. Along the flagstones of smooth white stone the Imperial Vizier, William Zoran, walked with the uniformed form of an Imperial Guard Commander. Commander Bakhara. The Commander handing Zoran a data-slate which the Vizier began to idly scroll through.

"So the Head of the Tianju Dominion is in possible connection with terrorist fronts? In short."

"In short, Vizier."

"The Soviet movement in the Dominion is of concern and interest to the Emperor for quite some time now. Despite it being mostly internal, there have been rumblings among Imperial Intelligence and the Joint Chiefs about the possibility of such a vitriolic ideology becoming violently expansionist." Commander Bakhara stood straight, already guessing behind his hazel eyes what was coming, for the Vizier seldom had different policies against the threats to the throne and empire.

"You're wanting the threat removed?" spoke Bakhara in an ambiguous tone as the Vizier spun to a stop. Bakhara pausing in stride to look to his right at the older man. When the Vizier replied his tone was serious, "You didn't hear this from me. If Uri is problematic he is to ideally not make it off Nova Terra. If he does, he will be monitored and if need be excised as a traitor to the Galactic Imperium." At that the Vizier produced from one of his own pockets a small voltaic glass holo-slate. Handing it to Bakhara smoothly. The Guard Commander opened it and his eyebrows rose ever so slightly. The first line merely reading: Operation: Red Fall, the military occupation and dissolution of the Soviet menace. Switching off the slate Bakhara came to a salute, "As His Majesty wills."

"I will transmit the callsign for the beginning of Operation: Red Fall should my suspicions prove correct. In the meantime the Guard is to prepare for the possible eventuality of such a move."

"Yes Sir." responded Bakhara automatically as the Vizier nodded his dismissal. Parting ways while the Vizier turned to admire, silently, a beautiful sea of orange and yellow flowers in full bloom.

Imperial Ministry of Minor Religious Monuments

The Imperial Ministry of Minor Religious Monuments was located, technically, in the 76th Equatorial Administrative District. But by virtue of the organizational lines and levels of the city-planet it was relatively close to the 104th Administrative District that Alojs had taken temporary residence within. The Ministry bore a distinct Neo-Roman style to its spire like offices. Alojs would see in the interior an admixture of twenty-nine specific minor religious architectural styles, however. Four of which were religions that were largely dead or with truly minute amounts of adherents nowadays.

[Antimersia]

Imperial Senate Building
Serrat Honora

"I understand the gravity of my request, your Grace. And I thank you for your support in my Domain's struggle. I wish you luck in your own endeavors as well. Or, as my people say, May your enemies fall to your Blade." Serrat replies to Valieria as she stands and begins to leave. He was prepared to preach the Path of the Blade, as a gesture of gratitude to her. But her swift exit made it rather clear to Serrat that she had no time for such things. A fact that as someone as devout as Serrat, bothers him greatly. Although with his helm on, you'd never realize it. He heads back towards the senate floor. Listening to these politicians rabble back and forth over something as trivial as currency and taxes bores Serrat to the point of infuriating. He voted against the tax, not really having an opinion himself. But, rather selecting an option at random. He breathed a sigh of relief when the vote was finally over. He would make a reminder to himself to never attend one of these assemblies ever again. But, in the end, he got what he came for. Or at least as much as he could have hoped for. With a response from the Emperor set to come within a day, Serrat set forth to make preparations to return to the Karaktoan Domain in the outer rim. The sooner he could leave this politically driven hellscape, the happier he would be, and the closer his blade would come to felling his next foe.

[Wasi State]

Hyperborea Del'ta|Nova Hell's Sinki
Contested Imperial Space

Gunshots rang across the Capital City of Hårthem, chattering loudly as loyal Imperial civilians that were able to flee, promptly fled from their homes in a mass exodus from the escalating violence happening across major population zones on their planet and elsewhere. It would seem the Hyperborean Movement wasn't limited to just a small cluster of worlds, but rather was quickly spreading across the whole sector as it would seem. Loyal PDF units were equally scarce if they hadn't already defected or deserted entirely, what units there were led a desperate defense in core regions across the planet in order to stave the seemingly unstoppable Hyperborean onslaught which sought to overwhelm them. Praying fruitlessly that salvation would arrive in time in the form of off-world reinforcements before their last flames of resistance died at the hands of the extremists.

As Planetary Defense Force APCs plowed their way through crowded capital city streets filled with a growing number of debris piling up high from hastily made riot barricades, and Neo-Pagan demonstrators gathering in large numbers on them. A certain Captain Jørgen Griss had suddenly found himself in a position that was higher than what his call of duty could've possibly allowed for until times like these.

"Yes, I'm trying to reach the Colonel! Who the hell is in command here, over?" Griss then said over the radio channel to PDF Command in an already unnerved tone as his APC shaken up and down after running over an abandoned street car. A Command channel of which he could tell already were scrambling to just keep things stable as it were on the ground, as impossible of a task as that may seem right now.

"We cannot confirm at this moment, Captain. It is likely he has either gone AWOL or defected given his lack of communications with us, you are in command of the Capital's reclamation forces at this time, Captain, over." PDF Command then responded back, making an already dire situation seem even more dire as it were.

"What you mean I'm in command? There's no way, where the hell are our reinforcements? Over!" Griss then hastily said back, clearly feeling overwhelmed by the rather grim situation he found himself in.

"You and your unit are what could be spared at this time in the Capital Area, Captain. Hold the city with the forces still remaining there, we're doing what we can to send a distress signal to Nova Terra for Imperial fleets that are available to assist us. It is of utmost importance that our off-world communications at our Array Station are not tampered with in the meantime, over." Command then coldly told the Captain.

Gritting his teeth at the circumstances, Griss had no real choice but to go with that plan set forth. "Understood Command, over."

As the APCs made their way over to the Array Station however, they were soon stopped by an urban ambush of insurgents armed with anti-tank launchers and explosive weaponry that seemingly rained from the rooftops onto the Captain's convoy. The lead vehicle was quickly taken out, halting the following vehicles on their path. Forced to disembark, the PDF quickly got into a firefight with the terrorists on the ground and in the buildings.

Captain Griss likewise got out of his APC along with his men, nearly getting a slug through the cranium while doing so from a stray bullet, "Fuckin Terra, fuckers are all over us!" He then cursed, ducking his head behind some cover from the return fire. He then saw one of his men next to him take an oversized lasbolt from a Scorpion launcher that took the man's upper abdomen clean off as though it were a hot knife through butter. Clearly indicating to the Captain that the insurgents suspiciously had way heavier weaponry than they ought to had, as though they had been smuggled in from off-world. "Fuckin bastards are getting supplied too!" He cursed again, as more, much lighter lasbolts smacked his men's position on the street.

As gunfire and laserfire were exchanged across the block after a prolonged period of time as the day dragged on, it became abundantly clear in a grim fashion that Captain Griss' men were not going to reach the Relay Station in the city anytime soon in order to protect it, or really ever. The already demoralized PDF were seemingly reaching their breaking point with their rather so far useless Command.

"I don't care what the fuck you do! Glass the fuckin thing or something if you have to, but I'm pulling my men out of this shithole! We're meeting heavy resistance and I already lost too many men to count! Terra-dammit, Over!" Griss then chewed out his Command that still insisted that he still somehow make it through the city to reach his objective.

"Captain, if you disobey this order you'll be faced with a possible court-marshal! Over."

"To hell with your order and this city! Put me in a closed casket why don't you? We're getting the fuck outta here, send that distress signal for fucks' sake, or so Emperor help me!" The Captain's signal then cut out entirely from PDF Command's end, time they thought they had was no longer an availability anymore, it was now or never.

Sending the emergency signal out to Imperial space with what few remaining power they can muster, the distress call was made, causing the Capital city to enter a full on blackout as a power surge caused from a combination of damaged and diverted power lines, and a sabotaged City Superintendent had essentially crippled the city and much of the planet's central mainframe infrastructure. Pretty much disabling many of the remaining Imperial defenses outright on the planet, leaving it to fall for the most part to the Hyperboreans in a short amount of time afterwards.

Likewise, Hyperborea Epsilon, or Nova Peterburgis, would face a similar fate not long after as their respective PDF mostly fell and sent a distress signal out to Imperial space. While Imperial loyalists on the planets still fought on, it was clear their resistance wouldn't hold a torch to liberating their respective planets anytime soon.

[Bolslania]

When the votes had been cast, Vandercalt found himself socked with a 2% tax weight on the tradeway. This meant he might not be able to field enough of his flotilla to guard the tradeway in order to save costs. It appeared he would also need to request a tax exemption, at least until these unknown marauders had been taken care of. He got out of his booth, and joining the other military officers present, went towards the General Staff meeting, in the opposite direction of the lounge, where the majority of the Senators were heading.

He straightened his uniform a bit before stepping in, the room was designed like a courthouse, with the Marshalls and High Generals of the General Staff sitting on a raised platform, and a podium before them where each officer who had an appeal would state his case. As a priority 7 General, he wasn't first in line. He sat down in a chair and tuned out, waiting for his name to be called by the Adjutant.

[G-Tech Corporation]

Senate Building, Nova Terra

The lady in green shrugged internally as the vote passed, her vote in the affirmative. Prismidia didn't entirely agree with the reasons espoused by the Families for supporting additional taxation, but that didn't mean she was going to defy their will. A Senator is no greater than her patrons, after all. With the long and rather arduous debate at an end, the young woman stretched like a cat after a nap, before rising from her seat and padding, in equally feline manner, out of the chamber. She had later meetings for the Financial Disbursement Subcommittee, and the Military Procurements Subcommittee, but those were later. Now it was time to enjoy the capitol.

Her patron, the Forgemaster, followed after the Senator at a slightly more sedate pace. He chafed under the delay of the Senate hearings, but Prismidia did so like when other Hegemonics actually paid attention to the proceedings to which she had devoted her life's ambitions. Every time he came to Nova Terra the legislation seemed more arcane, less concerned with reality, but that could just be age talking. He had managed the summons from the Admiralty, and had several more social calls to make before his berth aboard the Heighliner headed northwards was set to depart in a week's time. For now, though, the two tall tan individuals made for the docking ambuscade of the Senate Hall. The Senate had her own fleshpots and vices, but Nova Terra... ah, Nova Terra had far more.

---

Tenovalia

C-frac missiles blossomed into a halo of light around the Traveler as it ambled at inspection speed toward the assorted rebel vessels. At the obsidian chamber, near lightless, within the scoutship's core, the stout man in a greatcoat of gray and blue mused over the datafeeds that assaulted his senses. At his side a silver-haired figure, clad in crimson robe buttoned down one side, played a pianist's fingers through the ether. Her eyes glinted deepest mauve as she turned toward him.

The freighter is within the mass driver envelope for the unidentified fleet. Kinetic rounds are inbound.

Countermeasures.

Already deployed.

As the Traveler slipped along the currents of the gravity well of Tenovalia a small shower of dark black objects detached themselves from her mirror-smooth skin. The kinetic sabots, dumb munitions with trajectories calculated to an exact extent, each tumbled away on their fore-ordained courses. It didn't take much to turn a mass driver round from a danger into somebody else's problem, and that was exactly what the sabots the silver vessel shed did - the heavy artillery rounds, angled at the freighter's probability sheathe at several percentages of the speed of light, only needed to be deviated slightly to render them harmless. It was a simple matter of physics, and so one after another the small sabots gently nudged the deadly volley off course.

Gently is a relative term, of course. The impacts of the small black objects released several exajoules of energy as each slammed into a mainline kinetic round. It wasn't a commonly used military maneuver for very obvious reasons - primarily the computational power required to effectively intercept projectiles moving at an appreciable fraction of luminal velocity after crunching the relevant gravitic scans. It wasn't even a maneuver Garasov would have attempted against a larger volley. But the results were perfect, for this measure of perfection. Of the twenty seven artillery-grade kinetics initiated against House Gaisere lifter, only three passed within her probability sheathe, and those towards the rear of her velocity vector. It was an acceptable risk.

Attack craft are turning to engage.

The man on the black chair raised one curious eyebrow. The half dedicated to assaulting the freighter were logical enough. The other half spent long enough killing their own existing momentum towards the Tenovalian orbit that he anticipated being done with this matter before they became a factor.

Hull impacts: three hundred and sixteen. Monitoring. Inertics are compensating. We are ablating.

It was an accurate summary. Flak drummed on the hull of the Traveler like rain, and those interception lasers capable of tracking the vessel were searing sections of the armor the silver ship carried away at an appreciable rate. Most were designed to cook missiles, not starships, and so barely heated the mirrored exterior, but others flashed the armored hull into subatomic vapor, and, more importantly, began dumping thermal energy into the scoutships systems. Combat in a void was a race against heat as much as it was a race against structural integrity. Every pulse of a railgun, every discharge of a laser, brought a vessel one step closer to cooking her crew in their own juices. Not a pretty way to go.

Interdiction matrices played about the swift scion, detonating incoming payloads. The enemy vessels did not appear to be dedicated missile cruisers, but the lady in crimson did not allow them to approach even so. There were many clever things one could do with an appropriately tuned payload, though they tended to be expensive things. The Techsin certainly had no intending of wasting expensive exotics on a ramshackle fleet of brigands if it could be helped. Energy was cheap. Mass was harder to replace.

Take us through.

For those with eyes to see, the stars at the front end of the silver ship began to bend - a visible distortion of the fabric of both space and time. Gravitic lensing was a fearsomely difficult art to accomplish without turning one's ship into so much tortured metal, but here the scoutship accomplished it in a matter-of-fact manner. She did not accelerate from thrust so much as she fell toward her own artificial gravity well, accelerating to a blistering speed that would have pulped even inertially-dampened fighter pilots. The man upon the obsidian throne bore the stress with no visible discomfort.

Kinetic rounds passed at her rear, their engagement envelops not accounting for her random-walk toward the rebel fleet. Swiftly one of the foremost vessels swelled to suddenly large size before the Traveler. Chaotic energy in impossible hues kindled at the bow of the Hegemonic outrider's ship, and men at the bridge of the cutter cried out in alarm for one brief second before the impact. The shield, used to displacing kinetic bombardments of less than a ten-thousandth of the scoutship's mass, rippled and then shattered. Where heavy armor, ceramite hull, and reinforced bulkheads touched the coursing light about the Traveler they flashed into sudden disorganized harsh radiation, or simply, for all intents and purposes, ceased to exist.

It happened in less than a breath, and then the scoutship was through. Behind her one of the cutters bore a hole, as neat as one drilled by a surgical maser, carefully calibrated to cut out the primary powerplant while leaving the munitions intact, as well as most of the crew. The woman in crimson grasped a glowing emerald globe that languidly at her side. As the cutter faded from visual inspection a series of rippling explosions tore through the vessel.

Pity. Secondary cascade. They must have aregulatory weapons configurations.

Another moment, then two, and the scoutship was past the rebel fleet. She heeled sharply to starboard, firing a bracket of heavy subluminal slugs toward the engines of the largest ship at knife-fight ranges. A most delicate dance.

---

Most of the dropships made for the planetary capitol, White Pine, jinking through what captured batteries opened up on their descent. A few brawling fighters harassed the ships, downing several, but most made for the zones the loyalists still held, where ground fire would be light. Others, however, seemed to have a different, more erratic course. They nearly plummeted from the sky like stones, taking little care for safety or comfort, dropping toward a large hill-range not far from the capitol that the fighting had moved past several days before. Unmolested on account of their curious destination, they reached the ground first, impacting with such force that it seemed unlikely most would ever fly again.

Doors hissed open, and armored gangways disgorged soldiers in the mottled green and white of House Gaisere. Some of the landers, passing above White Pine, seemed to shower drifting seeds down upon the city - drop troops with gravchutes scattered behind the advancing rebel elements like a lethal rain. Many perished in the storm of shrapnel and explosives that lit the sky over the city bathed in evening light, but others made it to ground just fine, apparently shrugging off the casualties with few concerns. Some of the drop troops began gathering the bodies of their brothers, while others, some bearing heavy anti-material rifles, began peppering the rebel spearhead assaulting the city center.

[Sarderia]

Imperial Senate Chamber
Nova Terra

---

"Your vote, Senator?" asked Ch'ang, of Uri's aides. He was not entertained at all. After the tense business with the Crown Princess and Polan before, he decided that he would stick to his podium, or at least with his aides for the rest of this Senate session. But when he returned to the podium, Uri found himself in an even greater headache than before. It seems that the Galaxy West and House Rosewood - two of the Polarian Way's primary haulers, had lobbied for who knows how long to get a tax increase for 2% in the Polarian Way. He gestured to Joseph, his longtime vice, to fetch a holographic transmitter. It was a round, metallic circle, that had only one button on its front - a red button with the crest of the Cygnus-Norma Soviet engraved upon it, which he pressed. "Let the vote wait for a minute," he answered.

The voice of a female AI attendant greeted him, but Uri ignored it, instead shouting straight to the point; "VeilDocks Industries Port, Nova Terra, Manager's Office, now." The blue holographic screen wavered for a minute, and then vanished, only to appear again with the face of a stern manager, his hat featuring the company badge. "Chairman Sir," the manager said.

"Mr. Asquith," Uri addressed him. He was one of the member of the Workers' Union Board of VeilDocks, one of the Tianju Dominion's largest shipyard state-owned companies - currently acting as the chief operations officer for the company at Nova Terra. "I bring you bad tidings. You may need to return to Ur- New Shanghai soon," he avoided that word; he wasn't going to use the unofficial "new" name given by his closest colleagues in the Imperial Senate building. "The 1.5% tax increase lobby... well, now they have increased it to 2%. In less than a day. Our regular customers and visitors would be having a bad time soon enough, and I want them to keep buying. Actually, I want to retain at least three-fourths of the VeilDocks' regular clients," he said, much to the horror of Asquith. "Sir, if the... 2% increase, as you said this, is to pass, then most of VeilDocks' customers would surely run out of business. We can't possibly-"

"You're going to somehow find a way to do magic. Do you want to be promoted into State-owned corporations Minister or not? Your workers' union had submitted your name earlier this month, and there was little to no opposition from the other syndics," he answered. "Anything, sir," was Asquith's response.

Uri stroked his beard. "And while you're at it, charter a luxury corvette for me from this wretch of a planet's most expensive renter. To the planet Gethsemane Prime - it was just a system away from Raithon Prime, and it's a garden world. Real estate bussiness... after this Senate session." He closed the holoprojector. "Hand me the voting tab," he turned to Joseph.

"Are you going to agree, sir?" was Joseph's question. Uri sighed and pressed affirmative for the vote. "Even if I selected decline, what good would it do? I am but a tiny pebble in this ocean of wretched Senators and Great Lords and Chief Executive Officers. Besides... we have an enormous trade facility off New Shanghai, in the form of my father's old dominion, Emmerkar Station - as well as several outlying worlds throughout the Dominion, in addition to the planet itself. While the shipbuilding industry might take a particularly hard hit courtesy of hundreds of thousands of small haulers going out of business, I am not such a fool to bulid the Dominion only on a single leg. We will wade through." He rose from his seat. "Madam Erina Ch'ang is going to attend a small appointment, and you shall be her vice," he beckoned to the lady beside him. "Find Asquith... the VeilDock manager at the Nova Terra office. Ideally he is to wait for me before departing to New Shanghai, but I've garnered more than enough attention than I wanted to this day," he referred to the previous incident. "Someone, somewhere, certainly, is stalking me," he whispered to Joseph's ear; Erina already knew. "You meanwhile is a regular government official." He spoke again, this time in normal tone, facing Erina, but talking to both; "You will attend the meeting to construct a fifty-thousand hectare tourism development in Gethsemane Prime. My latest company's personal investment. Bring me good news," he smiled. In reality, a real estate project is at the very bottom of my concerns, he thought. Polan, though...

[The Hierophancy]

Imperial Ministry of Minor Religious Monuments

Alojs arrived at the IMMRM - pronounced, if his last interviewer was to be believed, "Mrm" - in low spirits. His burst of delusional fervor earlier that morning had been extinguished within ten minutes of his upwards bound cableride. Apparently, a fourth-class commercial visa wasn't only insufficient to get one through a Senator's door - it kept them barred from the entire neighborhood. Passage any further than the upper-middle level checkpoints turned out to be impossible without a thorough background check by the Municipal Guard's overburdened precinct A.I - a process with a 3 week waiting list. Considering that Alojs didn't, bureaucratically speaking, have a background, he had the feeling that he wasn't going to be getting access to the upper levels - and the offices of any representatives - anytime soon. He'd offered up the checkpoint guards his biosignature anyway before, defeated, catching the next 'levator down, and from there, the next cable heading 76th-ways.

Though no architect, nor architectural historian, Alojs could still appreciate the office's design - it was one of the more artful buildings he'd come across on the middle-levels. He couldn't quite place the school it's builders belonged to, but he recognized a distinct Terranist bent, and, after stepping through the exterior doors, thought he could vaguely identify a few of the styles represented within. One of the stained glass windows was even evocative, somewhat, of holos he'd seen of the Omegan Cathedral of St. Claudixe, a holy site once perched among the high plateaus of Pacem IV. It was comforting to see that some aspect of a faith which once numbered in the billions remained, even if it was only in the composition and colors of an entirely un-Omegan image - on his first day on Nova Terra, Alojs had performed a few perfunctory searches in the planetary k-sphere for Omegan congregations, and, after that failed, for any mention of his society's mother-church at all. He'd not found much.

Perhaps this meeting would be different? Truth be told, this department did seem the most likely to actually address Alojs' proposal. The man he was scheduled to meet could, even, already know of his Society - that would certainly save a deal of explaining, at the least. Of course, he'd had such hopes before - the SCC-PAEC had ended up having absolutely no records on the Society of St. Hlodestias, or the Church of the Omega in general. As it's anti-manager put it, they dealt in "endangered cultures, not extinct ones." Maybe, however, playing a different hand would yield different results - Alojs had already resolved to put dataminds on the table in exchange for meeting with a politician - perhaps he could leverage them to advance up the bureaucratic ladder instead?

After staring at the stained glass for a few moments longer, Alojs walked up to the automated receptionist - a universal feature among Imperial offices, so far as he could tell. The autoress could probably hear clearly from across the lobby, but it felt more polite to speak to the holographic display in conversation range. "Alojs Wolodensky, with the Omegan Society of St. Hlodestias. I should have an appointment for 9:30?"

[Orostan]

Supreme Commander Hayar Tarass

High Tenovalia Orbit, Former House Gaisere Holdings

Hayar grew increasingly tense as the bullet got closer to his ship, and stood up once again from his chair. The readings Tashmeta was pulling onto the view screen showed patches of damaged armor and ablated hull, but no breaches. As Hayar was moving the view screen lit up with the bullet launching interceptor projectiles out at his mass driver rounds, scoring successful interceptions on most of them. Fortunately, it couldn't intercept the big laser beams.

"Commander, put one of our artillery lasers on a wide beam in front of our ship. Target the bullet."

She was on it at once, and just before the space around the bullet distorted and the craft put on a burst of incredible speed a wide beam laser lanced out in a cone around the craft. Any hit from the laser, especially near the center of the cone, was likely to put a large amount of heat into the bullet regardless of if it caused an enormous amount of damage.

Before Hayar had the chance to see if his attack was effective the deck lurched below him and the lights on the bridge flickered. The view screen flickered for a moment as an incredible hit almost sent Hayar to the ground.

"We've been rammed by the craft - shields had no effect. Reactor two is giving me no data and number one has experienced minor damage due to secondary explosions. Losing power to shielding systems and engines." said Tashmeta, who had been rocked around in her chair.

Hayar grimaced as damage reports began to scroll across one side of the view screen. Crew losses were high. There were no reports of any type from certain sections of his ship at all - an indicator that those sections no longer existed if anything else.

"Put everything into the engines and shields and arm the remaining crew. Helmsman, ram the bastards." he said as he put a hand on his holstered sidearm.

The Purpose suddenly leapt forwards as the smaller ships ahead of it cleared the way. The purple hydrogen burning sublight engines glowed brighter than they were before as the ship began to accelerate towards the enemy freighter. Emergency and chemical maneuvering thrusters could keep the ship stable and on course. If the freighter fired its maneuvering engines, so would Hayar's ship that was still more maneuverable than an old freighter even heavily damaged. The smaller ships besides Hayar's flagship put extra power into their engines as well and were just able to keep pace with the Purpose as they fired off their lasers and mass drivers towards the enemy freighter to weaken its shields. Fighters and attack craft cleared out of the way as the Purpose neared the freighter.

Tenovalia Surface - White Pine

Rebel troops had gathered around landing zones as the drop ships came down. For a few of them descending at slower speeds the moment their doors opened the men inside would meet machine railgun fire. For most though they'd have a brief time of no opposition as rebel troops rushed to their positions to contain the invaders. The landers coming down on the hills would be met with their own opposition in time as well, and the hard impact and strange destination prompted the rebels to believe special troops had been deployed there. A good artillery bombardment of the landing site would do well to keep them in place for the time now however and provide minimal risk to the few rebels in the area.

The drop troops deployed in the air would find themselves attacked by a high amount of ground fire. Most rebel AA and reserves were concentrated just behind the advancing troops which meant that instead of minimal opposition the drop troops met flak and machine gun fire. Some of them would make it, of course, but the largest concentrations of them would have been forced to disperse or be killed by flak. In such a condition on the ground they were likely to be disorganized and easy prey for the rebels.

The troops landing in enemy territory would be the most effective, however. The first ones to reach the front lines would slow or outright stop several rebel advances on a few streets while delaying the attack almost everywhere else. In response to this the rebels moved their artillery bombardment to smaller sections of the front to achieve a breakthrough in one section while relying on increased air support in the other sections of the front to keep up the pressure on enemy troops and provide cover for continued attacks.

[G-Tech Corporation]

High Orbit, Tenovalian Gravity Well

A curious ploy. The undemarcated vessels were pushing forward, not turning to fight. The man in gray-blue drummed his fingers on the arm of the throne where he sat. Apparently look-at-the-shiny-object wasn't going to work for this particular set of malcontents. A flash of silver, gone, and the ship's intelligence stood at his side once more. He waved a hand, forestalling her objections to the course of action he had decided upon. The feminine creature inclined her head, and faded away into the gloomy murk of the throne-room in the span of a breath.

There were inbound fighters. That would be a concern momentarily. The real danger, though, appeared to be to their allied vessel. He opened a channel to the Greensword captain, who promptly winked into view upon a veil of silver mists.

The man's eyes widened fractionally, surprise at being hailed, perhaps. Or maybe it was just incredulity at the image before him. Garasov pushed the thought aside, and spoke swiftly.

"I'm afraid our diversion has been less successful than anticipated. How goes the drop?"

The commander glanced away, then nodded sharply.

"We're 58% empty, and shields are holding steady, minimal reactor strain. My orders are to.."

A chop of the Hegemonic captain's hand.

"Your orders are altered, on my authority. I will take any blame from the Duke if there is blame to be assigned. You must be aware that the outlanders are pushing for your vessel. I want you back in the Heighliner before I have to explain to your father why I let his progeny turn into so much subatomic dust. There's enough firepower to breach the Accord inside of a few minutes of engagement, and they'll be in range for primary weapons in less than three. The men on the ground will just have to take care of themselves."

A moment. The older man bit his lip, then nodded slowly, before breaking the connection. On the Traveler's sensors her charge began muddling back toward the yawning belly of the Guild Heighliner, the remaining soldiers from the combat force going with her. One planet, especially an agricultural backwater, would be hard to justify as worth one of the prominent nobles of the Verdant Worlds. It was a cold calculus, but not one based in defeatism. The Midnight nobleman had every intention to pacify Tenovalia, 58% of the available force or 100% of the available force.

Well, no sense in standing around.

Reaction mass is draining. We don't have more than half an hour more at this rate of exhaustion.

The man nodded, and gestured ahead of the black throne. Invisible from where he sat the scoutship settled into comfortable position just aft of the rebel flagship, whose lightly damaged engines were venting caustic plasma. Forcing a ship-wide shield collapse would take longer than was feasible, but coring through weakened armor to something soft and tasty... ah, that was far more feasible. At the Techsin's gesture chaotic energies in coherent columns lashed out again and again at the rear of the brigand light cruiser, devouring whatever they could lay their hands upon. He was perfectly content to match speed with the lurching ship, here where most of her guns could not be brought to bear. The Traveler could use the rest for her defensive emplacements, as was obvious from the pitted and scarred surface of what had previously been a mirror-smooth vessel.

In those craters and abrasions metal pooled and bubbled silently in the vacuum. The ship's skin and flesh had been scarred, marred, but like any formidable organism it took more than a few injuries to take her out of the fight.

---

White Pine, Tenovalia

Bodies fell like rain, blazed down and through their green and white armor like so many toy soldiers throughout White Pine. The landers that had made it to the region still held by the House Gaisere men were welcomed by the forces still holding out there, and though redirected artillery pummeled the compound shields where the transports had touched down, they managed to disembark in good order. Men with ruddy faces led by sergeants in glimmering half shields with golden ceremonial swords poured out of the transports, roaring with martial cries as weary defenders rallied at the arrival of reinforcements. Most took up defensive positions in the rubble of what remained of White Pine's governmental complex, while others were distributed by the officers on the ground to prepared emplacements in dedicated works.

Some, however, moved more strangely. Their eyes were all but empty, and they moved forward with low loping strides, slugthrowers and swords cradled in stiff arms. They cried no curses as they charged, moving like shadows silently across blasted boulevards and wreckage-choked housing blocs. Their flags of green and white fluttered soundlessly as they swarmed forward, and thus their advance came all-but unlooked for against the rebels. Men with little combat training felt their nerve leave them as silent killers overran their comrades, the sheer weight of bodies bearing the counterattack forward. Having put her weight into attacking columns, the rebel positions were only marginally dug in, and so the human-wave assault crunched into the OLG lines with surprising ferocity. Even as the few mounted machine guns cut down rank after rank of soldiers, and tank shells opened up gaps in their lines of the newly-landed troops, the silence prevail. The wounded did not cry out, and even those who were gravely injured surged unsteadily to their feet, closing ranks and pushing against the rebels with swords, grenades, and bayonets.

It was a fearful butchery. Hundreds fell in the first minute alone, adorning rubble already littered in white and green with a fresh crop of bodies. But the nerve of the attackers did not break, even as their fellows were cut down around them.

Farther away from the heart of White Pine, the droptroops fought with suicidal courage, seemingly indifferent to the risk to their lives. They gathered in little knots about the bodies of their fellows, asking for no quarter, making stands in ruined buildings, bypassed strongpoints. One of the rebel officers observed a red-haired trooper in a flak jacket studded with green and white prime several plasma cutter charges and bodily fling himself from a roof onto the cupola of a passing tank with a quick paintjob in OLG hues. The detonation blanked his vision for several seconds, to reveal a crater where the armored vehicle had previously existed and only a black scar on the plascrete road.

---

Ancardian Hills, Tenovalia

Back from the frontlines, intermittent artillery bursts retasked from the advancing rebel columns harassed the crashed landers. Their frames were warped by heat and impact, but the men marching out from their opened hulls seemed little perturbed by the damage to their transports. Where artillery bursts flung bodies about like leaves before a tempest, men nonchalantly stacked the fallen in great piles, like so much timber left out to dry in a curing yard. The flow of soldiers from the landed ships did not ebb. A few rebel observers who had had the good fortune to be near the landing site noted that the numbers of the green and white clad warriors bespoke terribly cramped dropship positions, and then went on to observe that the enemy was dispersing into three columns - one aimed towards White Pine composing the bulk of the forces, one flung across the rough terrain towards the nearby primary spaceport that serviced the capitol city, and another seemingly quiescence, thousand of men just waiting in parade order within the shadows of the hills. Other of the soldiers, doubtless engineers, were busy with one of the crashed landers, and could be seen coming and going from it to a nearby hill.

[Astarten]

United Federation - Hall of Liberty
Avalon I
25,709 CE - Two days before the Galactic Senate meeting

President Harken's sudden proposal, instantly generated a ripple of shocked, confused and dubious murmurings amongst all congress members present. In all honesty, she had expected it would. Afterall, an interstellar ban on the development of all WMDs would place a severe handicap on the Federation, hindering their galactic power status considerably. In a universe rife with power struggles and the uncertainty of war, this ban could very well be viewed as an eventual death-blow. But Melanie knew that if she wanted the galaxy to once again see the United Federation as a different, more enlightened governing entity from the rest of the rabble.......a move like this would be the correct start.

"Furthermore!" exclaimed the President, silencing the whispers as she looked around firmly, while continuing to deliver her proposal on the presidential podium. "All and any existing weapons of mass destruction, that have been developed by member nations of the Federation over the ages, will be gathered by Space Force and placed in a secured location known only to the upper echelons of Star Command, myself and any successor to the presidential seat of authority. These weapons will continue to remain in storage, forbidden from use unless Star Command, the Federation President and Federation Congress unanimously authorizes their usage in times of emergency."

Immediately an uproar followed, as several representatives stood up in protest.

"THIS IS STUPID!" sputtered Prince Badook Lakumad, reprentative of the Tanukin Empire, as his bushy tail swiveled furiously from side to side. "You're gonna take the most important leverage we have in equalizing our power with the rest of the damn galaxy for what?.....just to play nice? just to look like the good guys?"

"I agree with Representative Badook," said Ishin Ota Zarakul, a stately and prim-dressed avian woman speaking for the Kanturian Hierarchy. "I believe it would not be wise to accept such a proposal. The Federation cannot afford to show any sort of weakness that can be exploited by either its rivals or enemies.....especially not in this era."

"What I'm more worried is," spoke Yshar Mod'Salan with a sly glint in his amphibian eyes while distastefully giving his scaly mouth a lick. "With so much power in the palms of your hands....what's stopping either you, Star Command, or any elected President for that matter, from turning this fair and democratic establishment of ours into a dictatorship of your own?.....that is more than enough power to do so, no?"

Melanie Harken had anticipated & prepared for all these queries and statements before-hand. But the sneaky-tone Yshar adopted for his inquiry couldn't help but make the president feel a tinge infuriated. Needless to say, the representative from the Kreelun Protectorate disgusted her. Remaining composed however, President Harken cleared her throat and responded back.

"To answer our Kreelun ambassador's query, I present gifts, made and prepared by Star Command for all twelve founding members of Federation Congress." At her signal, twelve unarmed but uniformed Space Force officers, stepped into the chamber with each one holding small ornate metal boxes in both hands. With military precision, each of the officers went straight to their designated representative. When all were present and ready, they simultaneously opened the metal boxes to reveal black mechanical chips constructed in the form of keys.

As the members picked up and began examining their gifts curiously, Melanie continued.

"As I mentioned before, the WMDs will remain in storage until Star Command, the Federation President and Federation Congress unanimously authorizes their usage in times of emergency. Now your gifts, which Star Command in all their military wisdom decided to call Doomsday Shards, are the prototype keys that will sanction such a deadly act. Besides those who have just been gifted.....myself and the directors of Star Command also have one each. Authorization will not be given unless all 16 keys are inserted into an installation here behind this platform and the one located over there.

As President Harken indicated below her podium to the center of the hall, a panel began to slowly ascend from its secret mechanical confines beneath. Layered on its circular dashboard were 12 slots, one for each founding member of the United Federation to insert their shard in. Upon seeing this, the representatives exchanged glances at one another, unsure of what to make of this. Before they could interject though, Melanie continued her dialogue.

"Only when both panels are activated can the vaults of the hidden facility be opened remotely, allowing Space Force access to the WMDs to use at their own discretion. In this way, you can all be assured that there will be no abuse of authority in regards to this issue. Now these installations and those shards you hold are of the utmost importance to the federal state. Their presence and their loss can decide the fate of the United Federation. Should this proposal be accepted, the participating representatives are to safeguard the original shards with secrecy and top level security clearances."

At this, the founding representatives promptly began to regard the prototypes with the wariness of one regarding a ticking time-bomb in their hands. Melanie couldn't help but stifle a smile at the anxious looks that appeared on their faces. "Now, to answer representatives Ishin and Badook's previous statements. I would first like to direct the attention of Congress to the Flag of our United Federation, hanging behind and above me. Tell me, respected emissaries....what do you see?"

Melanie's audience looked on as instructed, but stayed quiet wondering if they were being asked a trick question. Undeterred, the President continued as she stepped down from her podium and began moving towards the center of the seated assembly.

"I see twelve stars surrounding a world filled with countless other stars. Not twelve stars hiding behind a world filled with bombs and missiles. No, they are twelve stars protecting a world of worlds that needs to believe in their protectors' ability to defend them without using the terror of their power to do so."

Once at the center of the congregation, Melanie paused to slowly turn about in a circle, making sure to determinately meet each and every one of the representatives' eyes as she did so. Her steely gaze seemed to see through their thoughts and peer into the depths of their souls, making several avert their eyes in silent awe and discomfort. As usual, the dignified, charismatic and authoritative way the President held herself up with, made her presence appear larger than her original stature would allow. Stopping to land her gaze upon the federal flag, Melanie proceeded with her discourse.

"Thousands of millenniums ago, long before our Galactic War of Independence, The United Federation had no weapons of mass destruction. We didn't conquer or subjugate whole worlds like how the imperials mostly did."

Here, President Harken once again began to pace the floor of the assembly as she began verbally interacting with her listeners, similar to how a motivational speaker would with their audience. All eyes were upon her as she spoke.

"Instead, we relied on pure example, friendly diplomacy and the sharing of our knowledge and culture. All to prove to the unknown civilizations of the galaxy that we, The United Federation of Free Worlds, are governed by a different kind of ideology. One that would promote peace, unity and understanding between all sentient races. A chosen dogma that will only work through the free will of individuality. With these set of principals, we did what the Imperium did....integrate whole species but without using demands, threats and force. In a universe where war and violence are the natural solutions to progress, our Federation drew its true strength and power from being the opposing factor to the status quo. We rose and showed the galaxy that our way to live worked just as well as theirs and possibly, even better."

From the glimmer of pride appearing on the faces and eyes of those present, Melanie knew she had almost won their moral support. All that was needed was a little more historical prompts to prove the merits of her proposal and then the day will be hers.

"April 10th of the year 2050 IC. I'm sure all of you are familiar with that particular date and year. Yes....it was the day the leaders of the Federation, driven by the exhaustion of their two-century long war and desperate for its end, decided to go against the very ethics and virtues they swore to protect. That was the day they began the Jormungand Project, with the intent to develop and use the same weapons of mass destruction that their enemy had been using against them. In other words, our forefathers stooped down to the level of their foes, out of despair, paranoia and the fear of eventual defeat."

The President paused to let the gravity of her words sink into her listeners minds. The aforementioned pride suddenly went out like a light and for some reason, a few of the representatives felt a tinge of shame at the actions of their ancestors.

"You all remember your history. You all know what happened. For the next 100 years of the war, both The Federation and the Imperium turned the stars to ashes in their efforts to drown each other with their own blood. When Space Force began dropping particle bombs and firing biospheric-nuclear torpedoes on planets, that was when we truly lost the war. Not at the Battle of the Broken Moons as so many would believe. By violating the fundamentals of our foundation, we lost the support of those who believed in our principles, the very same principles that are what unite the Free Worlds in the first place. It is what gives the United Federation the potential to be so much greater and stronger than the other powers that be. Without it, we are nothing. We would be just another empire seeking to claim it's place in the stars."

There was another pause as Melanie left the assembly floor to step back onto her presidential podium. After a quick drink of water, congress was addressed once more as the President concluded her dialogue.

"I have stated the reasons for my proposal. Now it is up to all of you to decide whether you will join me in taking a step towards the free utopia envisioned by our ancient founder.....or stay stuck in the muck of blunders and errors left behind by our other forbearers. With that said, I call for the voting to commence. To those who support the passing of The Last Judgement Act, which will abolish the use and development of all weapons of mass destruction. Can I hear your support?"

There was dead silence at this. For a moment, President Harken's heart dropped. She began to believe that she had failed in garnering Congress support for her new declaration when from the corner of her eye she saw a female Catonian stand up and raise a hand solemnly.

"I, Pamdela Guaitaro, representative of the Catonian High Council, say aye."

Following her example, several members of Congress did the same. One by one various representatives, both founding members and permanent ones, stood up to declare their support for the act. Not one to be left out, even the unruly Tanukin prince, pursed his furry mouth before standing ontop of his table so that his lifted hand could be noticed amongst the assembly.

"Fine, fine. My sister might kill me when she finds out. But the Tanukin Empire stand with the Federation and supports this new declaration. However, I want the clerks to make a note, so that when shit hits the fan, I'm the one who said I told you so."

Finally, all but a few representatives, stood in support of the new law. Yshar Mod'Salan simply stayed seated, while nonchalantly leaning back in his chair, smirking at the event unfolding before his slit amphibian eyes. Ignoring him, Melanie Harken smiled at the majority vote she had received. "The ayes have it. The Last Judgement Act will be officially drawn up and signed by The United Federation Congress on the noon of tomorrow. Until then, the assembly will be adjourned."

In the late afternoon of the following day, the signing and passing of the Last Judgment Act made universal headlines, as news of the United Federation's anti-WMD stance spread like wildfire throughout the Free Worlds and beyond. As planned, Melanie Harken made sure that the media conglomerations, both public, private and the ones under Federation control, broadcasted this fresh piece of intel to the far reaches of the galaxy. She was curious to know what it's various denizens would make of it and what their reactions would be. Based on the feedback, she would then know the effects of her choice in steering the Federation towards this peaceable direction. No matter the response, Melanie had no doubts that she had made the right decision.

[Bolslania]

After 30 minutes of various Generals speaking to the General Staff, finally it came time for Vandercalt to make his case. He got up and walked dignifiedly up to the podium, where, in accordance with customs, saluted the General Staff. After they returned the salute. He began to speak.

"Honorable Officers of the General Staff. I am Amban General Jac Vandercalt, Amban of Sao Eviticus. Recently, I have come under the attack of currently unknown marauders, who have so far attacked 1 freighter ship transporting Wolframite to the Nova Terra shipyards. My small flotilla of corvettes is no longer suitable to guard the tradeway, therefor I am requesting more military resources be allocated to me so that I can eliminate the attackers and guard the tradeway."

Simple, short, and to the point was the best way for him to do this, no easy way for them to twist his words and deny his request.

[Union Princes]

A rebellion is not a revolution. It may ultimately lead to that end. - Bhagat Singh. 2nd Millenium

Governor Irene Himmel
Betreuen
The Chancellory of the Sun
25,709 CE

When the Imperial High Command sent a message to Governor Irene for her contribution in the effort to suppress the Hyperborean Revolt, her selection on which divisions were sent was swift. Since this was a grand opportunity to set up a good first impression towards the Emperor, the Sun Daughter decided to send two corps containing the elite BB 1st Armored Division Leibstandarte Irene Himmel as a token of good faith. As the enemy were zealous rebels fighting against the Imperium, the rally to honor this commemoration was kept short mainly because there was nothing glorious in putting down armed religious fanatics. That did not mean it was not viewed by the public as the event was broadcasted to the hundreds of millions of people living on this planet. Irene’s speech was brief but straight to the point: this rebellion would be the Betreuens’ first major test not as a colony but as a military force as well.

“...through our own blood, bullets, and bandages, the Emperor will celebrate our legacy! May the Black Sun shine brightly upon the Imperium!”

The 1st Armored Corps will be commanded by BB Generaloberst (General) Manfred Wittman and he will be in charge of five armored divisions:

BB - 1st Armored Division LSIH (Rudolf Kunst)
BB - 2nd Armored Division Betreuen (Hugo Schuerer)
BB - 3rd Armored Division Trident (Frank Breytenbach)
BB - 4th Armored Division Deathshead (Hildebrand Brauner)
BB - 5th Armored Division Gungnir (Oliver Klopp)

Total: 200,000 troops with 6,000 MBTS, 500 TDs, 200 SPGs, and 150 SHBTs.

The 1st Mechanised Infantry Corps will be commanded by BB Generaloberst Norman Brauer and under him are five Panzergrenadier divisions:

BB 1st Panzergrenadier Division Charlemange (Walfried Pfennig)
BB - 2nd Panzergrenadier Division Leopold (Hermann Raedler)
BB - 3rd Panzergrenadier Divsion Maximillian (Guido Vorgrimler)
BB - 4th Panzergrenadier Division Sigismund (Theobald Schulhof)
BB - 5th Panzergrenadier Ferdinand (Bodobert Blum)

Totaling 300,000 soldiers with 1,000 MBTs, 300 TDs, and 500 SPGs.

---

"With that out of the way," Irene moaned as she marched back towards her office in the Chancellery of the Sun, feeling awfully tired after giving that speech in front of the troops being sent to Hyperborea. "I can resume my draft."

Being a Baroness and a Governor, her work never let her remain idle for too long. But of all the decades of backbreaking bureaucracy and reform, the experience gained contributed to what Irene would consider her magnum opus: her reform plan to uplift the Imperium. Affectionally nicknamed "Irene's Imperial Insights" by Nobuki and popularized by Giannozzo Boldu, Minister of Betreuen Media and Communications, this document contained 100 "recommendations" on how the Imperium could best save itself from further stagnation. Of course, to accompany that laundry list of a reform plan is a rather a more detailed book as thick as a dictionary to explain each bullet point. So far, Irene had only written 212 pages.

"I do feel like you should take a break, Governor." Oshi Nobuko advises as she joined the Sun Daughter in sharing a cup of black coffee although Irene had skepticism written all over her face.

"The sooner I get this done, the sooner we can release this to the Imperial Senate when the next session comes." the Sun Daughter stated quite frankly, "With the Hyperboreans revolting, I suspect a few emergency meetings between the Senators would occur. It might just give us an open window to give my proposal credence."

"I know that," Oshi said thoughtfully, trying to form a perfect sentence to break through her superior's iron will, "Perhaps the writing will be easier if you could discuss your plans with other like-minded governors and senators. There has to be someone in this universe that agrees with your plan."

"But could I trust them?" Irene asks suspiciously.

"Do you plan to convince the Emperor, his family, the Senate, and the entire Imperial Military that 'Irene's Imperial Insights' should be heeded with your voice alone?"

[Caltharus]

Vice-Admiral Theodor Melodon
Uninhabited Solar System Designated NONHAB-LEMSUBSEC-22
Lemorra Subsector

“Sir, the Admiral has halted the exercise” The man handling signals equipment blurted out with a surprised face.

“Huh? Does the message say what for?” Theo replied rising from his command throne and walking to the man to see the message for himself.

“No mention of it sir. Only that you among any other officer above the rank of commodore are to travel there for a meeting about new orders by tomorrow 1200 hours.”

“Curious.” Theo said to himself. “Perhaps we’ll be sent into some actual mission. Corsairs in some nearby system? Whatever the case make sure that every ship in our force got the message” he said whilst crossing his arms behind his back

“Yes, sir” the man said getting right to work.

Theo walked back towards his command throne deep in thought, pondering the possible explanations for this rather abrupt move. He would also need Raul to check that his dress uniform was as well kept as ever. It wasn’t that often that he personally walked in the hallways of the flagship of the fleet. However being sent into action would definitely make it harder to leave and visit home and his father. A thought that began troubling Theo more and more. Once again he'd have to disregard his father's wishes. At least it was for the greater good.

[Orostan]

Supreme Commander Hayar Tarass

Tenovalia Orbit, Former House Gaisere Holdings

The bullet had dropped back to behind Hayar's ship as the House freighter retreated back inside the big Guild ship. The retreat of the freighter meant Hayar's life had become much easier. A shudder went through the ship as the bullet disabled one of the main engines.

"The enemy small craft is cutting through our rear towards a hydrogen fuel tank." reported Tashmeta, the tension of the battle leaving her voice.


"Great. Helmsman, turn us around and burn us into a stable orbit. Gunner, wide beam lasers and light guns on that craft as soon as they can fire. Commander, tell one of the attack ships to watch that guild freighter and the other one to enter the planetary shield and talk to the ground forces." Hayar ordered as he returned back to the chair.

The ship began to move at once, a slight tremor reverberating through it as it did so. Damaged inertial dampeners, thought Hayar as Tashemta brought up the status of that system on the viewscreen.

Any thoughts about the state of that particular part of the ship was interrupted as the craft entered a good angle for the first defensive guns and lasers. A moment later the big artillery lasers sent out wide conical beams in the general direction of their target, the massive hole through the left side of the ship and torn up armor once again coming into view as the leaking engine systems left an arc of leaking plasma and a hint of hydrogen fuel behind.

While the heavily damaged light cruiser stopped itself from slamming into the planet, its smaller escort ships were moving to their own assignments. The first would take position under the guild freighter to prevent the House ship that had retreated into it from leaving again as well as to prevent the bullet ship from returning so easily. The second ship would head for the atmosphere and begin preparations to enter the planetary shield to provide support to the rebels. The fighters meanwhile would begin returning to what was left of the hangers on the OLGS Purpose and the smaller attack ships if they weren't part of the group going for the enemy bullet ship.

Tenovalia Surface - White Pine

The inhumanity of the House attack took the rebels by surprise, and they began to retreat to more defensible positions in the city and in their rear. The strange almost robotic movements and silence of the attackers was unnerving to say the least and allowed several enemy breakthroughs that had to be contained using more experienced reserve units. Behind the lines however the limited enemy numbers and high casualties from being attacked the moment after the lander doors opened allowed counter attacks into pockets of enemy forces at best and successful containment most of the time. The suicidal drop troopers, however, posed an extreme threat. Behind rebel lines and in such small numbers they were difficult to deal with and required much heavier patrols than the usual in areas they were common in. Alone and unable to organize they posed a much greater morale threat than a military threat, but even so information of their exploits could be contained to some degree and they could be dealt with in time.

The distribution of enemy troops on the Ancardian Hills allowed the rebels to make defensive preparations on their likely paths to their targets. The space port and limits of White Pine under rebel control could be fortified and prepared for what they assumed would be a similarly inhuman attack to those taking place in the interior of the city. Until then though artillery fire on the hills would be adjusted and optimized with continued information flowing in from orbital, air, and ground reconnaissance to more accurately strike at those columns in an attempt to weaken or destroy them. There was already serious risk of pockets of House troops that had landed behind rebel lines linking up with their allies in the city center and causing an immensely larger problem. It was best to avoid that if possible, and do all that could be done until the ship about to enter the planetary shield could provide support.

[G-Tech Corporation]

High Tenovalian Orbit

The sea of spinning spheres before the obsidian throne shifted, and the Techsin wordlessly raised an eyebrow. He didn't even bother communing with the intelligence of the scoutship. If he took the time to lecture her on tactics, the ancient intelligence might actually laugh at him. The rebel cruiser was slowly yawing on her axis, a transparent attempt to bring actual armaments to bear on his charge instead of the small point defense lasers that were currently playing over the Traveler's skin. With minute movements the light vessel aped the rotation of the bulky ship, reaction engines mirroring her turning head over heels while maintaining the lesser ship in the shadow of her quarry's fields of fire. A bubble of amusement passed through Garasov's mind. The poor ratings on that cruiser must be having a rough time of things. No inertial dampener was perfect, and their captain no doubt had more pressing errands for the power his reactor was outputting than preventing a bit of motion sickness, like reinforcing the rear shields.

It was a slow awkward dance, much like that of an elfin woman twirling around a cripple missing his canes. But Garasov's partner was venting plasma at a most gratifying rate, and he did not discontinue the forward arrays, who had now all but pulverized the primary reaction drives of the larger ship and were coring their way toward the vital centers of the ship at an acceptable pace. He didn't have any specific orders about taking prisoners, but it wouldn't be long now before that became a true consideration. A vessel with only emergency thrusters and RCS to navigate by was just so much meat for the butcher.

Some of the slowest ships, planetary bombers detailed for ground support, were now beginning to return to the enemy vessel - having made less than little time on the outbound leg of their aborted attack. The Traveler watched carefully for any pilot foolhardy or brave enough to swing around their mothership and tangle with their parent's pursuer.

The Ancardian Hills

The artillery assaulted had continued, more accurate as the hours ticked by, but not unduly troublesome to the landed soldiers. It was eroding fire, a constraint of time, but not a deathblow. About the Ancardian Hills the two main columns began to run up against rebels diverted from the main assault to oppose their passage, and their casualties were heavy. Unsupported by heavy armor or air support, perhaps three of the white and green clad soldiers fell for every OLG man slain. But even where men with lesser will would have broken, the columns pressed forward, deploying into battle formations behind shield-clad sergeants.

This was just a part of the stratagem, however. The intelligence that coordinated their movements cared but little how many were slain, or how great their losses, as long as they removed pressure from the city and ground down those against which he had flung them with so scarce concern. His attention was on the meat of the matter - on the large machines which now rose from the ruined landers. Tossing aside the thin walls of the transports in which they had been housed, heavy walkers with vast arachnoid bodies began to stalk towards White Pine, unhurried but implacable. They towered above the wooded copses they passed as men walk by grass, and from their the weapons-platforms atop their striding forms gouts of flame shot upward into the gathering dark.

Gouts of flame that curved and fell to earth about the very batteries that had been assaulting their fellows. Guided missiles, fired from batteries of prodigious size born to ground by the assault force, smashed men and guns aside like toys, striking with a precision mere explosives could not match. The sky was alive with columns of propellant smoke and flickering lightning, a storm of steel and death. And beneath it all the barely visible forms of hurrying men could be seen, scurrying about the Ancardian Hills like so many ants about a mound, or an unquiet graveyard.

White Pine

"Well, we've stabilized the line. That's not a bad thing. Attrition is a necessary evil."

A man in gray and blue stood carelessly atop a set of fortifications near the local administrative headquarters of House Gaisere, gazing out at the flicker of weapons as night settled upon the city. Below him a brown-haired warrior with a bandage wound about his head looked distinctly green, almost green enough to match his uniform of green and white saltire.

"Techsin, I really would rather you step down from there. It makes the men nervous. And me."

The figure shrugged. A moment later a sniper's bullet panged off of a wall of force around the commander's head, which glittered momentarily at the impact. It was telling of the quality of the personal shield that the man from House Erudite wore - you could gauge the refinement of a shielding device by her degree of opacity, and this one was all but invisible, so fine-tuned as not to even disrupt the visual spectrum. A smile ghosted across the stocky man's face.

"Good for morale, you see. Nonchalance in the face of danger. Men who fear their opponents are already half of the distance to being beaten. I have no intention of being beaten, Colonel, and so I stand here, where I can survey the battlefield properly. Besides, better that a sniper should waste his rounds upon my head than that of one of your men who is not so well protected. I have no intention of spending their blood so cavalierly as that of my own."

Colonel Eritras swallowed hard. The words of the Hegemonic man were callous, and matched what he had seen today. The carpet of bodies, thoughtfully clad in House Gaisere colors to deceive the enemy as to their origin... it all but covered the ground that the new troops had pushed through today. His own men were only too grateful that they had been left in defensive positions, not thrown forward like a wave against the rebels who had been on the verge of surrounding Victory Square. That wave had been useful, had broken the momentum of the OLG assault, had allowed them time to regroup and fortify their positions. But the cost was apparent to any man.

These Hegemonics were strange folk, to be sure. There were more rumors about them than you could shake a stick at, and he was swiftly beginning to believe that those rumors he had dismissed as fanciful might not be so far-fetched.

"Sir-!"

The Techsin, a man who had given his name as Garasov, had leapt down from the armorplas gunwales to, to all appearances, stroll calmly ahead toward the front lines where his soldiers were still at close quarters with the rebels. Bullets spanged and sparked about him as he ambled forward, picking his way between the corpses. Eritras swore bitterly. A man from a House so Minor it didn't even claim anything more than a bloodline, the retribution heaped on his head if an ally was killed on his watch would be dire. He turned, about to order his men forward to retrieve the old fool.

Then he heard a voice shouting. It was the Techsin, somehow dramatically amplified. The tones were human, but wintry, so filled with harsh command that they chilled his spine.

"Rise. I command you. Dance the Danse Macabre."

For a moment nothing happened, weapons falling silent by dribs and drabs, the cold echo of the man's words resounding through the blasted city's streets and charnel-pits. Then a body twitched, and a trooper near the Colonel cried out in fear. Before the watching noble's eyes the carpet of the dead began to move, rising like so many puppets on strings. Some were new formed, no wounds upon them save where blade or bullet had parted armor to deliver a lethal blow, flesh whole and unblemished beneath. Others moved forward just as efficiently, but had only half of a head, or an arm hanging by a shred of flesh. They moved all the same, another wave of silent death that washed forward like a black tide. In the fading twilight of Tenovalia rebel weapons twinkled like stars briefly, before falling quiet and dark. The dead and the living alike swarmed forward, guns and swords wielded with no particular skill, but unwavering ferocity. From piles where they had been hurriedly placed after the counterattack had been pushed back, from forgotten alleyways and heaped bodies before fortifications, from slaughtered droptroops left ignominiously where they fell, the dead rose and marched.

[Segmentia]

Imperial Senate Building

Victoria returned to the Rosewood box, rather pleasantly surprised she hadn't been approached by some mob of lower house or corporate representatives seeking the favor of endorsement of House Rosewood. The debate resumed and Victoria tuned it out almost as fast. Her mind was already made up on which way to vote, and the considerable House Rosewood voting bloc had already been given their marching orders as well. Over the millennia the scions of Rosewood had built a large array of alliances and influence in hundreds of other Great Houses, through trade, marriage, favors, and a dozen other means. On its own it was easy to dismiss, but those who did often didn't look at the webs that those other Great Houses themselves had weaved, as well as the collection of thousands of Lesser Houses that in turn voted along with their patron Great Houses. If it came to pass that the Rosewoods called in every favor, leaned on every ally, and brought every dirty secret in terms of blackmail, it wasn't beyond the realm of possibility that they could perhaps muster a solid fourth of the votes in the Senate.

As the vote came up to be voted on, Victoria voted with Ayes, and following a large number of other Aye votes were counted. She hadn't called in any favors, or leaned on any houses for their vote with this, in the grand scheme of things it was fairly minor, but she was pleased all the same that Rosewoods allies were voting their way regardless. Victoria seemed to have less need of the normal politicking that was needed to sway House Rosewoods allies, but then she was unmarried and of pure Solarian blood. Any House in the Senate would want her hand in marriage. Once the voting session was done and the tax was passed, the Senate was excused. Standing, Victoria exited her box with her usual guards and staffers following her. She heard Valeria coming, feeling her arm wrap into her own. She grinned at the Crown Princess' words. For all the rivalry between their Houses, Victoria and Valeria had gotten along rather famously well since their first meeting.

“Surely you know of the Rosewood voting block, your highness?” Victoria mused as they walked down the galleries, arm in arm. Between the Praetorians and her own unarmed guards, they were given a wide berth, though most senators were making to leave the building anyway. “Truth be told, I didn't even tell them how to vote this time, I think they are just trying to win my favor.” Victoria chuckled. “As for my angle? I don't much have one, but my brother bid me to cast our vote for the tax. Something about getting ourselves and a few allied trade guilds a larger percentage of the trade cut along the Polarian Way. Profits and power, my dear Valeria, profits and power.”

[Imperialisium]

Army General Staff

The Army General Staff, part of High Command, itself under Army Command as the supreme executive body of the Imperial Army to which reported directly to the Tsaraj-Emperor, had a small staff attached to the Senate. Indeed, just about every branch did so that they may be kept appraised of the Imperial Senate's latest session outcomes. The Staff present was organized under the overall authority of Marshal Semyon Tukhachenov, an old but unbowed officer. His cybernetic left eye opposite of a cybernetic right hand. The Marshal's scalp was a ring of white hair, for he'd gone mostly bald long ago and embraced it. Rather than the vanity of hair implants or growth hormone treatments. Semyon, seated in the middle of the small bench in which the Army could discuss with other officials in the capacity of a Senatorial attache, eventually called Vandercalt to stand before him. Beckoning him to speak with a gesture of his hand. And so Vandercalt did speak. Delivering his words as any consummate professional would.

"We are not the Navy, Amban, however, I will transmit this appeal for more resources to the Joint Chiefs in their next session. In the meantime I will allow a temporary exemption form to be lodged with the Imperial High Judiciary." Nodding to an adjutant synthetic whom began to meticulously type and transmit the appeal to the Judiciary. Semyon regarded the Amban, "Expect a response within the Nova Terran week."

There was no word bandying or twisting. Void based piracy was the Navy's purview. While Vandercalt was Army and an Amban there was only so much the Army could do about space borne threats without the Navy becoming involved. Vandercalt inwardly would know this. Understand this, as frustrating as it was to hear no doubt, but this was the separation of powers the branches had to follow under.

"Closing comments Amban?" said Marshal Tuckachenov as he made notation of Sao Eviticus with old fashion pen and paper.

Uncharted System

The small corvette dropped out of Luminal space at the edge of the system. Maneuvering on sub light power over the course of several Nova Terran days, the vessel passing by the various lifeless planetoids of the system until it arrived at one in the Goldilocks zone of its star. The planet was a dull red-blue marble. Liquid water but largely lifeless rock otherwise. The small mute gray ship entered the atmosphere. Only one life sign was aboard. The rest being automatons and synthetics. Cruising for an hour across the planet's dusty plateaus and windswept dustbowl plains till a dead petrified forest of pines rose on gentle hill slopes. Angling ever so slightly a few degrees left the craft slowed. Suspensor field activating as it lowered itself down till it was twenty meters above the ground. A bottom hatch opened abruptly. Casting artificial light in a focused beam down. A lone figure in white clothes and helmet drifted down via personal Suspensor field. Dry soil crunching under his white boots. The helmet lens dark via automatic UV sensors. The hatch closed above; the lone figure trudged forward.

Walking for several minutes the figure rounded a low outcrop to see signs of construction nestled before him. Half covered in parched soil and red iron rich dust. A stone bridge crossed a now long gone river. Entering a squat, domed structure, itself mostly buried in the dust and earth of the planet. The figure reached into his pocket and pulled out a small gold-silver material device. The top half separating away to reveal a diamond arrow pointing purely ahead into the structure. The device closed without any physical manipulation from the lone white-clad figure. Merely when it did so the lonely cosmonaut tucked it back into the fold of his clothes. Renewing his stride to cross the bridge. Boots scraping along the ancient stonework without interruption. At least, beyond the low sad groans of a dead worlds breeze.

Reaching the threshold of the entrance to the structure the cosmonaut was met by pitch black stillness. Slowly, a hand reached up and flicked on a shoulder mounted light, to compliment the smaller helmet lights which automatically turned on through interior voice commands. The figures male voice was met by nothing from the building. Panning the camera around the entrance there was nothing but more dirt, dust, and stone. The man moved forward. Stepping across the threshold and into the darkness, where only the beams of his lights kept his movements true in the gloom.

Taskforce 171

DATA SPOOL RECEIVED
DISTRESS SIGNAL||||| Hyperborea Epsilon...Analysis
Analysis confirmed and verification code keys identified: Origin: Hyperborea Epsilon Communications Array=Serial 28485022442/245i3ii2i44sdf11-BV-11fmXX0
Relayed...10%...20%...50%...75%...90%....100% DATA PACKET SENT/Addendum to Admiral Horthy from Commodore Maxine Morr

171, We've intercepted a wideband superluminal distress signal from Hyperborea Epsilon, and a garbled distress call fragment from Hyperborea Del'ta. We're not sure what's going on at either. But we've set course for Hyperborea Epsilon and will be arriving in twenty-one standard hours. Our goal is to render assistance wherever and link up with surviving elements of the local planetary security forces. Admiral Horthy of the 117th Fleet has been appraised of the situation. We're going in...

Hyperborea Epsilon

Beyond the gravity well of Hyperborea Epsilon, more than merely outside of it, about fifteen light minutes away. The Vengeful-class Imperial Cruiser Tyrant's Star dropped out of superluminal. Coming suddenly into existence is what the naked eye would perceive of this event. It was swiftly joined by a Corvus-Class Imperial Corvette and a pair of Bela-Class Frigates. The Vengeful's angular shape, like the blade of a dagger, contrasted with the smaller, more traditionally rectangular and boxy builds of the Bela's. While the Corvus was a sleeker, angular, corvette good for small operations and atmospheric support. While its heavy point defense load out made it a competent picket vessel.

On the bridge of the Tyrant's Star Commodore Maxine Morr watched the holographic projection of the binary star system she now found herself in. Her gray uniform was crisp and pressed. Black boots polished. Blonde hair shaved to a buzz cut on the sides and back while combed to the side in one of the approved military styles. She could have kept her hair long and tied up in a bun. But having some of the same styles as the rank and file made her feel more as part of the crew. Even if officers and rank & file were meant to be socially separate. Ping. The Holographic display updated every few seconds as new contact readings came back. Gradually filling out more and more of the space around her.

"Commodore. All ships in formation. Planets dark. No chatter on Planetary Security communications frequencies."

"Bring us in slow. Signal the Raven to drop Commander Numera's team onto the surface near the planetary capital. Goal is to access the situation with the planetary communications arrays."

"Yes, Mam'."

***

The Raven was the name of the Corvus-class Corvette which ignited its sub-light drives to rapidly propel it away from the Taskforce, which was following in a slower pace, towards the planet. The Corvus-class was equipped with sensor dispersing hull alloys and materials to confuse radar which may be actively looking for ships in space or orbit. It was not a true, stealth ship, though the class could be converted to such and was favorite among black ops units. But not the Raven. The ship, three hundred meters long, coursed through space in a random step vector. Moving semi-erratically towards the planet as it moved to insert the team which was readying itself in the dorsal drop bay.

The team in question was a unit of Imperial Navy Special Forces. Squad Crimson. A nine man unit in full. But only three were dropping to the planets surface for this reconnaissance mission. Boots on the ground. The rest of the squad was to be on standby.

Commander Numera, an olive skinned woman from Santonni, checked her SRG-92 battle rifle, adjusted her blades, riot stick, and checked her personal shield, suspensor field, then finally upon pressing on her helmet, the seals of her combat suit. A sleek and trim suit of close fitting battle armor, ballistic resistant thermal fabric with heat dispersion material woven in, and her camo setting on the armor's exterior plates. The other two operators did much the same until they gave the all thumbs up. The trio moving to the lip of the still closed hangar doors. Nearby a robot held up three mechanical digits. Drop in three minutes. Three minutes sounded short. But in truth that was three minutes for the ship to enter atmosphere and get relatively near to the planetary communications array were the operators could be inserted into the field.

Valeria
Imperial Senate Building

Valeria smiled, "I should expect such a remark by now." The Crown Princess mused as they moved down the gallery. Passing various diplomats, including the Midnight Hegemony representatives as they made for the docking ambuscade. Valeria smiled and waved politely to them both. No doubt what happened today would cause a stir, and the inevitable political pushback. Cries of, Overreach! Imperial Government repressing commerce and travel! Valeria could just imagine, and of course the pro-articles which will likely be already in publication by the time the duo left the building. Valeria glanced at Victoria, "You know there has been a sighting?" Victoria knew whom she inferred. A gauge of Victoria's response was all this could be. The Krakatoan representative leaving his own box passed by, Valeria nodded to him, the Imperial Worlds nearest the domain would be receiving a superluminal transmission to begin rendering aid to the Krakatoan's. But Army response would take longer as the Imperium's war machine allocated resources to aid the Krakatoans in this insectoid menace. Pushing the thought aside Valeria returned her attention to Victoria.

Imperial Ministry of Minor Religious Monuments

The autoress beamed with a happier sounding pitch for a voice, "Ah yes, welcome, welcome, Manager Carlo is ready for you. First door on the right, behind me." The Autoress indicated with a holographic hand behind her. Which, once Alojs opened the door he would be met by a thin man with greying hair and a small trimmed moustache. Another man was seated off to the side but rose as well. An even older man. Both men had the same fair skin and cat like reflective eyes of Nova Terran natives.

"Mr. Wolodensky, please have a seat!" The Manager indicated to a plush chair before his desk. The man off to the side smiled and sat back down. The manager quickly adding, "And this is Minister Clymer, head of this ministry, who was most intrigued by this society and church you belong too. Please, tell us why you've come to Nova Terra and specifically this office?" Perhaps, through Alojs own determination, there was a bit of serendipity to be had today.

[Parcia]

Upper ring of the Antedeluvian Arcology
Nova Terra

Rose was a high class gall. A nice red day dress, silk gloves, sun glasses, a pair of 4 inch heels alongside her bag and she was ready for anything the day would throw at her. Of course, having the ability to have a pair of mono-edged mantis blades fling out of her arms aided in her confidence. Nonetheless, she was the perfect image of high born genetics. A face considered divine, a lith, graceful figure that seemed impossibly perfect and waist length honey blond hair that accented a pair of lilac eyes.

The day was nice, sunny with a hint of cloud and a nice breeze that occasionally lifted the edges of her dress, giving the nearest of the men who turned heads at her a nearly scandalous glimpse at her nether regions. She basked and welcomed the attention, all part of the cover. She did a little shopping, using the Company card to rack up some minor bills on some nice jewelry, a sexy set of lingerie and a new set of perfumes. All in the day of a fem fatale.

As her allotted appointment time neared she made her way down the nice stone paved street towards her objective: The Prize Pleasure Yacht dealer operated by one Mantellus of House Aridani. A interesting fellow to say the least from the info the company dug up on him, mostly dirty criminal dealings with a few juicy conspiratorial rumors. Nothing concrete, but good to keep an eye on. The young man working the reception raised his eyes to great her, only to pause and stare for a moment. She flashed him a pearly white smile framed by a pair of heavenly red lips before reaching in to her handbag and showing him a small business card.

"Hello my good man, Miss. Arachne here to see your boss the good Mentellus about a special order."

[G-Tech Corporation]

Glitterheight Shipbuilders, Upper Ring, Antediluvian Arcology, Nova Terra

A soft chime signaled the entrance of a customer to the small shop, and a man with shaggy brown hair looked up. He smiled politely, dimples sinking into a young face, and gestured towards one of several chairs that sat around the reception area of the light and airy establishment. The chairs hovered very slightly off of the ground, and were rather obscenely plush.

"Arachne. Yes." His eyes flickered down, and then up again, the polite smile becoming something more than polite. "I will check if Master Aridani is ready for you. Please feel free to avail yourself of any of our beverages or refreshments, with our compliments."

A slender golden tray appeared out of a panel on one wall, a delicate filigree of brasswork on the underside concealing a tiny suspensor. It was artfully arranged with several Old Terran pastries and light white cordials with heady but fruity aromas. As the young man, obviously a receptionist or front-end worker, departed, several of the light cream walls of the shop entrance twinkled for a moment. Their opaque nature transitioned into one of apparently clear crystal, displaying large rose gardens of beautiful bloom beneath some azure sky tinged with sunset. This was not the tableau outside the shop, of course - such a large amount of space here on Nova Terra would be fearsomely expensive. But it did help to lift the oppressive nature of crowded humanity which oftentimes suffused the ecumenopolis.

After perhaps four minutes the young man returned, bowing deeply in his pale green tunic suit.

"My master will see you now. The first door on the right, if you please."

[Orostan]

Supreme Commander Hayar Tarass

Tenovalia Orbit, Former House Gaisere Holdings

Two of the three primary engines failed just before the light cruiser could achieve a stable orbit. A burst from emergency thrusters and the last remaining engine got it there but put it at a slow spin. Almost right after the engines shut off groups of fighters came over the rear of the ship's hull, having using its bulk as a shield on their approach to attack the bullet ship. The moment they entered sight they opened up with lasers and missiles. They would take casualties, no doubt, but there were a lot more of them than there were of the bullet ship.

Inside the OLG Purpose the deck shook with every burst of energy sent into the ship's rear.

"Fuel storage compartment two is depressurized." reported Tashmeta as a particularly large jolt shook the ship. She glanced down at her tablet again.

"Engines two and three are offline. Emergency thrusters have fired, and we are in a stable orbit." she said again in her typical calm tone.

"Vent the fuel in that storage compartment and send more of the fighters over our back. Divert unnecessary power to the rear shields." ordered Hayar. The deck shook again when he finished his sentence.

At the same time the fighters near the purpose were attempting to force the bullet ship off of the Purpose's rear, the first attack ship had reached its position underneath the guild freighter and had moved close to its hull. Not close enough to cause any problems with the freighter's captain, but close enough to prevent the House ship from leaving safely or at all if it didn't want to risk a collision and being shot at. The second ship was just now moving completely through the shield around White Pine, it's fighters close behind.

Tenovalia's Surface - White Pine

The literal zombies that were now fighting the rebel forces had been unexpected, and an organized retreat from the city center was taking place with heavy artillery cover. The arrival of the friendly attack ship in orbit would begin to provide a good deal of that cover once it had obliterated any obvious anti-air positions it could detect to make way for the friendly attack fighters. The heavier mass drivers on the ship were powerful enough to obliterate city blocks, and did so as they covered the rebel retreat. The lighter weapons focused on large concentrations of relatively soft enemy troops, while the missiles that were shooting out of their tubes went for the House troops that had massed on the Ancardian hills. Following them were strike craft that were delighted to see the very tall enemy walkers present themselves as easy targets. The enemy rocket counter artillery barrage from those walkers would be interrupted by missiles and mass driver rounds from the attack fighters as the rebel artillery began to redeploy themselves and switch around which batteries were firing on which targets to prevent the enemy from easily finding their artillery's locations again. The swarm of enemies at the city limits of White Pine had also forced a rebel retreat, but had also presented an opportunity to use a very special weapons system. The incredibly closely packed enemy troops made for excellent targets for a series of bombs packed with what was essentially napalm. The House soldiers would be cooked alive - or dead, in many cases. Either way being on fire made it very difficult to fight properly. To accompany the napalm, incendiary artillery shells hit areas just ahead of the enemy advance in an attempt to delay them while the ship overhead worked its way through the list of targets to bombard the attacking House forces.

[Bolslania]

IMPERIAL SENATE,

Vandercalt bowed from the hip.

"No sir, that is all I have. Thank you for your time." He said, stepping off the podium to make way for the next speaker. He wasn't required to stay for the rest of the meeting, and he chose not to. He met his Deynai by the door to the auditorium.

"Well, I achieved all that could be hoped for I guess." He sighed. He was dubious about what the General Staff would do.

"Do you believe that they will do what they said they would?" The Deynai asked in his velvety voice. Vandercalt shrugged

"Who knows with them. I surely hope they do." If his request for more forces was not granted, he would have to turn elsewhere for support. He and the Deynai began walking towards the front door, which would lead them to the dock where their ship was docked. Has he donned his cover he noticed the Crown Princess Valeria and Lady Victoria of Rosewood making their way there as well.

"Ah shit" He said under his breath. He retrieved his officer's sword and service pistol from the Imperial Guard Sergeant at the door, attaching them neatly to his belt. Straightening his uniform, he strided towards the docks. No rest for the weary it appeared.


POLARIAN TRADEWAY, SECTOR 12, SUBSECTOR 14
Corvette Echo

Commander Devre stood solemnly in the bridge. The cameras mounted on the exterior hull of the corvette were displaying the blasted out hull of the Horizon's Edge as it tumbled slowly in the asteroid field. It tumbled in a weird direction, eventually getting stuck on a large asteroid, coming to rest.

Colonel Kimball's voice came over the radio

"Commander, have you found the freighter?"

Devre picked up his radio and replied

"Yes ma'am, preparing to send the investigators aboard, over." on the second deck, a small craft was readying to go to the Horizon's Edge to figure out what happened to the ship.

"Copy that Commander, keep me in the loop, over and out."

"Yes ma'am, wilco. Over and out." He said, hanging the radio back on its hook. There was a whoosh from the second deck, and the cameras showed the boarding craft heading towards the derelict ship.

Boarding Craft C-17 "Beast"

Sgt. Brevet watched the Horizon's Edge get closer as the Beast approached it, the pilot guiding it deftly in.

"Take us around it." Brevet said, his arms folded over his body armor. The pilot nodded, putting the Beast into a sideways drift around the freighter. As they came around to the other side everyone sucked in their breath. The freighter had a large hole blown in its side.

"As good a place as any." The pilot said. Brevet nodded.

"Take us in." He said, the 2 other marines and the 4 investigators going to the airlock, where he followed them. The marines grabbed their rifles and everyone put on their pressurized helmets as they felt the Beast hit the freighter softly. The airlock sign came on, and the boarders went into the airlock. It closed behind them, and a moment later the ramp dropped and they stepped onto the ship, their boots locking onto the surfaces. The marines went ahead of the researchers, helmet and rifle mounted flashlights clicking on.

"Command, this is Brevet, we are aboard the frieghter, helmet cams coming online now." He said. Back on the Echo The HUD cam from Brevet and the other boarders came up on the display. Nothing weird so far, besides the hull breach of course.

They were in what appeared to be the boiler room, which would explain the large explosion if this is where the attackers breached in. As a PFC rounded the corner he gasped. He found the first body. It had gotten hung up on a broken support, it showed the signs of what happens to people in a vacuum. Brevet turned away from it, no need to linger. They approached an open bulkhead door, rifles at the ready, they went in. After clearing it, Brevet waved in the investigators. They poked around for a few minutes

"bullet impact" One of them said, indicating it for the people back on the corvette.

"Looks like a standard rifle round." they finished

"Some blood over here, no body though." commented another.

"Looks like the door was torched open, pretty heavy duty blowtorch as well" The final one commented. It made sense, once the ship was depressurized, only an input access code on both sides of the bulkhead could open it, so the attackers would've had to blow it open or torch it. Same had happened to the next one. Only this time, there were bodies.

Two space-suit clad crewmen were hanging in zero-G in what appeared to be the communications room. Brevet turned one over, he's suit had a hole in it, and his face was missing a large chunk, but the person was still identifable.

"Command, possible positive on Captain Verne, over." He said, turning to the other, which was...missing?

"What the fuck?" Brevet said, the suit had been opened and the body removed, but the suit lining was also gone. The suit lining would've protected the wearer for a little bit from the vacuum of space.

"We can presume the MIA to be Communications Officer Jarves, due to the location. Said one of the investigators. Another one gestured at a stool laying on the ground next to Verne.

"Looks like Verne tried to defend himself with the stool, although it appears he didn't succeed." They said. The group moved on

They came across the bridge, which was a bloodbath. Apparently the attackers just came in and started firing. Bits of wiring was exposed from where the attackers had blown holes in the side of the interior hull, and right next to Brevet's head was a bloodstain, where it appeared the crew had returned fire with a handgun. The walls were stained with blood, it also appeared that some of the attackers had melee weapons which they used to cut down the crewmates.

"Pretty hodgepodge selection of weaponry used by the attackers. All old as well, needlers mostly, but someone had an energy weapon." An investigator noted. From the bridge they could see the cargo hold.

"Nothing's missing. Its all here." the second investigator said amazedly.

"That rules out pirates then." Brevet said. The PFC nodded. The other Marine had gone to check the engine room and sleeping quarters. He stepped back through into the bridge.

"Nada, its all clean, looks like the attackers swept through it but its roughly how the crew would've left it."

Several spacesuits were empty in here as well, suggesting that whomever had conducted the attack had an interest in prisoners.

"Brevet, this is command. Come back to the corvette, over."

"Copy that command, on the way back." Brevet said. The group headed back to the boarding craft, which they boarded and returned to the corvette, which in turn returned to Sao Eviticus.

[Parcia]

Glitterheight Shipbuilders, Upper Ring, Antediluvian Arcology, Nova Terra

A soft chime signaled the entrance of a customer to the small shop, and a man with shaggy brown hair looked up. He smiled politely, dimples sinking into a young face, and gestured towards one of several chairs that sat around the reception area of the light and airy establishment. The chairs hovered very slightly off of the ground, and were rather obscenely plush.

"Arachne. Yes." His eyes flickered down, and then up again, the polite smile becoming something more than polite. "I will check if Master Aridani is ready for you. Please feel free to avail yourself of any of our beverages or refreshments, with our compliments."

A slender golden tray appeared out of a panel on one wall, a delicate filigree of brasswork on the underside concealing a tiny suspensor. It was artfully arranged with several Old Terran pastries and light white cordials with heady but fruity aromas. As the young man, obviously a receptionist or front-end worker, departed, several of the light cream walls of the shop entrance twinkled for a moment. Their opaque nature transitioned into one of apparently clear crystal, displaying large rose gardens of beautiful bloom beneath some azure sky tinged with sunset. This was not the tableau outside the shop, of course - such a large amount of space here on Nova Terra would be fearsomely expensive. But it did help to lift the oppressive nature of crowded humanity which oftentimes suffused the ecumenopolis.

After perhaps four minutes the young man returned, bowing deeply in his pale green tunic suit.

"My master will see you now. The first door on the right, if you please."

She looked over the offerings and smiled, though not taking any. When dealing with a contact, one does not partake of food with out multi-function antidote on hand. She took the small amount of time to sit down and gaze at the simulated flowers, enjoying her look at the closest thing to real flowers she had seen in ages. While her line of work afforded her many luxuries, having time to sit and gawk at roses was not one of them. Neither was being unattentive. She had memorized the face of every person in the room, their clothes, what she guessed their ages to be and any other details she either saw or heard.

Some would call this hypervigilance paranoid. These same people wouldn't notice the several armed plain clothes security officers circling the block and the dealer ship, ones likely in the employ of their client. Their own intel didn't give them any indications they were attempting to lure out and capture any of the Spider's men and they sure as well weren't II. She felt confident about the thing, and as she walked through the door she was being watched.

Several Thousand feet above.

The city planet of Nova Terra was among the few in the Imperium that simply held far, far too many people to count. This translated to air space. To any looking from the outward in, the sleek form of the Corsair floated above, lazily drifting from slow going lanes of civilian yachts to a nice box pattern over the block. The transponder signal the ship gave off identified it as the "Ozymandias" a yacht belonging to some fictional banking tycoon. Their hull gave off a sensor signal similar, with the added paint job, foux super structure and command deck, and even a nice pair of fake solar sails.

The sleek, elegant looking ship hung around in local space, seemingly looking for a spot to stabilize and no doubt let their wealthy crew lounge around the deck and take in the sights. Inside the actual bridge, a set of high resolution thermal and X Ray cameras had tracked the good Lady Rose along her stroll amid the world of the wealthy, aided by a subdermal tracking device hidden inside the internal workings of her left arm's mantis blades. They also had a team of agents on the ground, blending in with the locals. Hell, even the boss himself was down on the ground, the geriatric looking fellow sat across the street from the dealer on a small wooden bench, reading a thick paper back novel.

He did not often walk around Nova Terra, too closely patrolled by II and other individuals he had made enemies of in his youth. Still, this mission was short and their own intelligence told them II wasn't even aware he was in the system, if they were still even searching for him. Still, concealed in his business suit was his Jacobin, loaded and ready.

[The Empire of Tau]

Co-write between Tau and Union Princes
Somewhere in Betreuen

Two weeks have passed since the arrest of Polan at the Senate floor. After Senator Uri pleaded for the revolutionary’s life to be exiled to the Betreuen penal colony, Polan was put on the first blackship headed towards the planet. Like all other prison transports headed towards the Imperium’s wastebasket, the spaceship was filled to the brim with all other persons of ill reputation. Polan himself was one of the few criminals convicted of political terroism as he was among a horde of crackers, murders, rapists, loan sharks, counterfeiters, and burglars. The prison wardens and guards spared only the same amount of compassion as the food given to the prisoners: fundamentally lacking.

Only when Polan arrived at one of the landing sites on Betreuen did he get to enjoy fresh air and sunlight. The checkpoints he had to go through looked no different than a railway terminal with BB personnel conducting their business like this was an immigration center rather than an entrance to a prison facility. The convicts and exiles were given clean prison uniforms, IDs, directions to their new dorms, and even a half-decent meal. If they behaved well at night, the people might get the opportunity to take a morning shower!

Of course, several gunshots echoed in the air as some criminals proved to be too rude to be cooperative and earned a bullet between the eyes. The Betreuen Blackguards looked on to these dead men and women with noticeable disdain in their eyes and forced some of the new arrivals to transport the corpses elsewhere.

When it was Polan’s turn to be registered, two Betreuen Blackguard soldiers, cladded in heavy armor, approached the revolutionary and placed him under heavy cuffs. A black bag was tied over his head and he felt himself dragged away to who knows where.

Who is Irene? Polan thought to himself as blackness engulfs his vision. He only heard of her in brief from Uri and other sources. Supposedly, she was a part of a growing number of high-profile individuals who are less then happy with the current affairs of the Imperium, with some more open to the idea of openly revolting against their Empire if push comes to shove. Whatever the case may be, Polan knew that his days are not yet numbered as he is dragged along by the Betreuen guards.

After what seemed to be like ages with his feet dragged along the concrete and carpet, Polan found himself seated onto a chair in front of a table. A glass of cold water was awaiting for him as the bag was quickly ripped off his head. Bright light shone down upon him as if it was purifying his soul. He was obviously in a secret chamber, possibly a bunker, with the few exits guarded by Walkyre with their intense gazes boring straight into Polan’s head. His shackles were taken off allowing the communist to relax a bit.

Unfortunately, one cannot be too relaxed in front of Irene Himmel as Polan would come to realize. “Have a drink.” she commanded while her crimson red eyes studied his every movement.

“Good to meet you too,” Polan rubs his wrist shortly before he takes a big gulp of water. The man stares upon Irene, curious on what next she will say. It is not everyday that you get dragged into a room to be interviewed, or in this case interrogated.

“Finally been captured, detained, and spared all while infiltrating the Imperial Senate.” Irene listed out his aggressions, “Quite the achievement that you’ve been sent here. Tell me why the Emperor decided to spare you life?” Irene questions, quite curious about the man’s exploits.

“It was the Crown Princess, not Emperor. She’s more merciful than her father, and I would be dead by now, if I was given a sentence by the Emperor himself,” Polan noted, “but that’s besides the point. I got a lot ahead of me and so do you,” Poland pasues, emptying the glass of water before he places the glass nicely on the table.

“How’s your prison going?” Polan quick fires, pointing around the bunker with a finger.

“Reaching my expectations.” she grinned, amused by her captive’s nonchalant attitude. “Already planning on escaping?”

“Less of a escape and more of a early release day,” Polan grins.

“Early release?” the Sun Daughter inquires. “Pray tell me why I would decide that your sentence ends here?”

“There's a good reason why Uri sent me to Betreuen. He knew that you won’t kill me, or forced me to rot in a cell,” Polan states, knowing full well that today was not his day that he would die, quite the opposite in fact. Irene was someone that Polan knew, but Uri has trust in her for one reason or another. A so-called ‘ally’ as told by the chairman himself.

“Of course, this is Betreuen.” she smiled, “This isn’t a death camp, it’s a rehabilitation center. It would go against my principle to needlessly kill you when you haven’t done anything too disruptive in my presence nor have you warrant solitary confinement. But still, you haven’t answered me,” the Sun Daughter responses.

“You and I know that the Imperium is in mass-decay. There’s no doubt about it. I saw the injustice done, and I took direct action against it,” Polan noted. The experiences of the outer-rim has deeply engraved its horrors and injustices into the mind of Polan. There was no escaping it. What he saw and felt was a deep concern for the livelihood of billions. Some might call Polan naive for believing what he believes in, but Polan would say otherwise.

“Is destroying injustice with violence and murder your answer?” Irene huffed, “Forming a petition is always the civilized way to resolve these issues, like what I’m attempting to do.”

“The Imperium is too far gone for reform. I won’t sit by as billions suffer,” Polan snaps back.

“And millions will die for your actions.” Irene scoffed, “Perhaps it was good for Uri to send you here and be contained. Your righteousness is matched by your ambition to burn the galaxy to ash. Betreuen has taken in many criminals and outcasts before but you’re certainly a first.”

“Want to make a deal?” Polan asks. Looks like Irene was a tougher nut then most. No matter, things will just have to take longer to do then.

“What kind of deal?” The Sun Daughter leaned in, his words sparking interest in her mind, “What could you offer to me that is worth freedom and safe passage back to your home?”

“Not my home. I got a mission from Uri to do,” Polan quickly notes.

“What sort of mission?” she inquires, “Why does Uri trust you to accomplish his work? You were captured and delivered in front of my doorstep.”

“Build up popular support among the people, and educate them in class struggle and solidarity,” Polan says.

“How adorable.” Irene jeered, trying to contain her laughter. “But seriously, what do I gain from your mission? What can you offer me that the Emperor can’t?”

“You need support for your reforms? I can help with that, as long as they’re actual reforms to the people, and not more laws and bills to grant the ruling class more power,” Polan calmly noted.

Irene laughed a little harder this time, “I can assure you, these reforms are legitimate. Take it from me, we’re both from poor and destitute lives. The Betreuen of today did not exist a generation before my birth and if I was not the woman I am now, the colony would’ve been eaten alive by the planet. With that in mind, I think we’ve come to an agreement.”

“That we have. So, how do I get out of here?”

[Europa Undivided]

Fyodor Karamazov
Explorator Class Grand Cruiser
Outer Rim

Sixteen years.

Sixteen fine years have already passed since Fyodor had left the confines of the Karamazov House. He had been a young lad back then; twenty years old, barely knowing the true hardships of the average man. All he had known were the luxuries of the Great House he had been born into, the knowledge imparted to him by his tutors… and the stories that Morai had filled his mind with whenever she came in for a visit. Those were hour long tales of exciting discoveries within ancient tombs hidden beneath dead alien worlds bereft of all life; eerie shadows that stalked abandoned space stations that had been in the halcyon ages of the Imperium's hayday; and the everyday interactions with the friends that she had made. People from all walks of life; former nobles, farmers, craftsmen, and everything in between. The League had no bars, no filters. All it asked was that one was to be ready for a life of peril and… well, fun. It will be nothing like sitting on a couch everyday while servants fatten you up; no similarity whatsoever to the lives of deathly intrigue and premeditated murder that the Imperium's socialites led. No. There will be treasure, money, and… occasionally, occupational hazards.

Fyodor had abandoned a life of unparalleled luxury for this one. He had gone a long way from home now; the realm that his brother now rules over was near the center of the galaxy; a domain of half a thousand worlds that was but one of the millions of polities that made up the Imperium. Sometimes, Fyodor paid his brother private visits when he had the chance; in those rare, precious hours, he would always see to it that Nicholas was doing well. He usually was. And Fyodor's brother was a crybaby.

Today was just another day. It had been a few hours since Fyodor's crew had began excavating on the barren surface of a desert planet simply called G78-102, and it had yielded some interesting results. For what the archaeologists could gather, there was an entire underground city under the desert sands, one that would have held no less than half a million individuals. Carbon dating showed that the place had been around for at least 10,000 years. There was an awful amount of xenos skeletons lying around too; their extinction must have been caused by an invasion, by any rate.

Right now, though, they were all looking at a rather large collection of sarcophaguses. Fyodor could almost smell the perfume through his gas mask; it seems that the old inhabitants had taken care of their dead very well. Best thing about this place though was that there were a lot of treasure lying around the resting places of the dead. They had jewels that sparkled with a kaleidoscope of colors, golden trinkets, and a... bed of silver coins.

Guess the invaders from the past did not care about plunder.

As the treasure hunters fanned out to marvel at what they just had found, Fyodor stepped towards the biologist in their midst; a blond, brown eyed woman that sported some tools of inspection. "Victoria, love.", he said to her as she scanned a pair of skeletons lying together. "Do they match any species in the database?"

"Nooope.", came the answer. "But… here's an interesting bit. Their bones are very dense and are crystalline under the scan. And I'm seeing a lot of trace nitrogen compounds"

"Which means?..."

"Whoever they were, they would have been supremely adapted to the radiation of the Core and the heat of the desert. Their demise would have been… artificial."

Fyodor snickered as he stood behind Victoria and back hugged her. "Huh. Too bad, love. Guess we don't have to ask anyone permission to get any of these…"

"These will fetch a hefty price alright.", she replied. "But… you'll be keeping the shiniest ones for yourself, won't you, you git?"

"Yeaaaah. Probably."

Later

Fyodor sat upon his office chair, his feet upon his desk. Orchestral music played whilst he pored over a dusty old book. As his reading continued in seeming peace, one of his aides came in and saluted.

"Status?"

"We're plundering the rest of the place as we speak-"

Fyodor waved his finger, disapproving of the choice of words. "Nah, I don't think 'plunder' is the right word. After all… no one is still around, right?"

"Uh… about that. We detected movement just a moment ago. There were a dozen of them…"

The Arch-Explorer hesitated. "Oh."

A pause. "Well, just let Vic deal with it. She's the biologist after all."

"Okay sir, but there's another thing. One of our contacts had given us information about a certain individual that could… further our interests for mutual benefit."

Fyodor laid down the book, as he was visibly interested. "Mmmmhhh? Who is this?"

"They call themself the Spider. Very interested in relics, just like us."

"Hm. Let's give this Spider a call, shall we?"

[G-Tech Corporation]

The Kaleidescope, High Arcology, Imperial Center

From the Senate building in the heart of the bureaucratic nexus of the Imperium, there was very little in real entertainment to be found for several dozen kilometers. Most men of law, order, and governance, preferred to uphold the facade of propriety, if nothing else in truth. For this reason it took nearly a quarter of an hour for the House Volitans skiff to settle into a glittering spire of crystal and neon, quite some distance from the official offices the Senator had taken for her own.

The bulky soldier offered his elfin companion an arm as she deplaned from the light gray aircar. It was an old affectation of the nobility, aping ancient Terran customs, from everything the historiographers could determine, but no less potent on account of age. Prismidia didn't even note the gesture, really, but probably would have been aware of its lack. Well-bred doormen with flawless skin and deep sable waistcoats, their heads shaven, bowed the Forgemaster and his escort into the outer parlor of the spire.

A riot of noise, light, and the vibrant pulse of entrancing music assaulted the senses as one entered the exclusive nightclub. Most of the sound was not words, or babble - the Kaleidescope had a name for discretion as well as diversion, and had placed several auditory suspensors around the various luxuriously appointed booths, which were themselves uncommonly well spaced for any establishment on Nova Terra, where space came at a premium. But it was for precisely those reasons that a significant proportion of the notables of the Imperium were wont to frequent the nightclub and her sisters; privacy was worth her weight in Solarium, and many offworlders found the lack of personal space the Nova Terrans took for granted repulsive. Here was an opportunity to get some space to breathe, and talk without much in the way of concern.

Hands rose and fell as the two Hegemonics paced across the scintillating dance floors. The Senator steered her older companion towards a booth which already had several young men and women sitting at it in well-appointed clothing, whose faces Jarn swiftly recognized. Baron Erlog faugh Hermich, of House Falsevor. Grand Duchess Ivonne of the Barbary Stars. Grand Admiral Paulus Andov, an heir to the Dioretic Marquisate. Prismidia went through the diplomatic dance of introducing the Forgemaster to her friends, but he merely nodded at the Grand Admiral. They were already quite well accquainted. There were several others of lesser Houses and lineages, drifting between tables and implicit powerbases, but the scion of the fer Volitans merely catalogued and dismissed them. Houses Minor with ambitions but not strength were tools, not allies.

"We are in for a treat tonight."

The comment came from Ivonne, after the introductions were concluded. She gestured with a pearl-studded finger of deep bronze towards the central floor of the nightclub, where several workmen appeared to be busy.

"A new troupe, the glass-dancers. I've seen them perform once. Have you, Prismidia?"

"No." The Senator's eyes glistened with genuine interest. "But I've read reviews. Ivonne is right-" she directed her comment towards her superior "-by all signs, they're quite the spectacle."

Jarn, glancing up from a hushed conversation with Paulus, quickly scanned the stage, before smiling at the other Hegemonic.

"I shall hope you are right, then. It has been long since I saw anything truly artistic."

---

Glitterheight Shipbuilders, Upper Ring, Antediluvian Arcology, Nova Terra

"Madame Arachne!" The boisterous voice came from the first door on the right, where a slightly elderly and stooped man, his beard and elegantly pointed mustache flecked with white, stood smiling.

"Come in, come in. Sit yourself down. No need for formalities here my dear, no no." His face was lined and weathered, reminding the operative of nothing so much as old leather. Gold-rimmed spectacles, an ancient affectation, perched upon a proudly hooked nose. Behind the glasses deep blue eyes sparkled almost merrily. Messir Mentellus - as indeed the man was - was dressed simply, a workman's garb of pale khaki set above charcoal black trousers tucked into heavy boots. His cloth was of a finer cut than the laborers in his shipyard, but probably not much superior. A faint aroma of hydrocarbons and hot metal hung in the air about him.

His office was much like the man; solid bones, with elegant, time-tested details. A small transparent globe sat at the middle of a vast true-wood desk, fearsomely expensive for Nova Terrans, and the walls were lined with both vidscreens and creaking bookshelves bearing reference volumes and scholarly treatises. A single window looked out, or rather, did not look out, on a small shipyard bathed in afternoon sun. It couldn't be Nova Terra, for the sky above the shipyard was a brilliant blue bespeaking a verdant ecosphere, and tall white beeches could be seen beyond the view of the marshalling yard.

The old man moved with a spritely step aside so the Spider might follow him, pulling out a thick leather chair, banded in some manner of polished brass. It was quite comfortable, though not so cushioned as to leave the sitter without support. That would have been discourteous, forcing a client to slouch as they negotiated for a ruinously expensive private vessel, and Glitterheight Shipbuilders were preferred by many noble clients throughout the Core for exactly such a reason; they were above such transparent and querulous tricks. At least, so that the average man of breeding could see.

Mentellus bustled around the desk, and seated himself on a different chair, one more upright but lacking the cushioning of the one he had placed for Arachne. It too bespoke quiet wealth, knotted and twisted red cedar worn almost smooth with much use. With a bright smile, the man from House Aridani steepled his fingers before him, and leaned forward.

"Delightful. Yes, delightful to meet you, my child. Your employer, such particular tastes. No trouble, of course. Of course. We do all sorts of work here, nothing standard, everything custom, unique."

He gestured with a wizened hand, and the globe in his desk lit with pale blue light. A visual hologram of a small solar sailor skiff, the type a nobleman with more money than sense, and an esoteric hobby, might favor, appeared between the two individuals.

"Very unique, his request. A steering wheel chased in pure Solarium! Most extraordinary. Expensive, but, of course, he knew that when he made the request. I'm pleased to say we are making good progress on his vessel - yes, very pleased, but we have hit a small snag."

A cloud passed over the old man's face, perhaps of pain at the admission. That or he was a very good actor.

"Only a small one, of course. Nothing that will prevent us from finishing on schedule. Ah, yes! I must give you the number for the safety deposit box where his material is being held for inspection. Here." A small digital drive, a biometric security key, had appeared in the old man's hand. He placed in on the desk before the woman in red.

"The purest, absolutely purest. It wouldn't do to use substandard materials on a job like this, no no. But the snag. Ah." He spread his hands wide now, in a gesture of apology, or perhaps chagrin.

"The drive specifications he made - we are at a loss. We have tried, and we have tried, but they are esoteric in the extreme. Hence my request! There are men, good men, who have taken employment with House Rosewood, who were making strides in this area. If your master could speak to them, a meeting of minds to obtain the relevant adjustments, that would allow us to progress at speed. We would be most grateful, indeed."

Arachne couldn't be sure, as the gesture passed so quickly, but she thought the old man even winked at her.

"A cautious journey though. I know men who speak poorly about the structural integrity of the balancing engines of the orbital ring over Lio, where your master must go. Well built, well built to be sure, but with a history of unexpected catastrophic failure. Brittle fracture in the diversion engines, or some such nonsense. Best to be careful when walking in such places. And we wouldn't want the plans to be lost in case of such a disaster, to remain only with House Aridani. Oh no! That would be a tragedy of the highest proportions."

Another gesture, and the globe winked out. The old man nodded to himself, and a flash of purple might have sparked in his eyes. After a moment he started, looking up at Arachne with something like amusement, almost as if he had forgotten she were there.

"Ah yes, my child. Any questions for me? Concerns? Comments? I am, of course, at your service, yes of course."

---

Tenovalian Orbit

A swarm of fighters boiled around the rebel ship. Missiles streaked in at close range, torpedoes designed to fight fleets. With a split-second's decision, the Traveler leapt forward, turning barely before marking the enemy stern. Her prow sheared through an exterior compartment, adding insult to injury to the near-crippled enemy cruiser. Two of the torpedoes managed to make impact with her stern, cutting deep gouges into the ship's armor with brilliant washes of fire. In the craters a prismatic shield glittered, but held.

And then the silver ship was away, accelerating. Columns of destructive energy lashed out from her sides, devouring fighter after fighter. Conventionally deployed as an escort in the Obsidian Navy, not as a ship-to-ship fighter, it was her purpose to ward larger and less maneuverable vessels against just such a swarm of fighters and bombers. Her ship-mind was finely calibrated for the predictable evasive motions of pilots under assault, and it happily dined upon a diet of men and light craft.

We're opening up that cruiser. It'll take us several minutes to deal with this flight.

We'll be out of engagement range before we have to worry about them. Take us down.

The enemy cruiser mauled and limping, the Techsin turned his attention to the world below. The scoutship dove for the atmosphere of Tenovalia, her skin glowing a cherry red even as she dueled with the dwindling fighters that pursued her. There were bigger fish to fry than one cruiser alone.

---

White Pine Outskirts, Tenovalia

"Firing solution plotted, colonel."

"Initiate."

The light shield overhead pulsed. Where Alexei stood, ears shielded by active suspensor fields, the anti-orbital weaponry of the local compound was only a dull roar. But in the city at large the shockwaves shook dust from rubble and made men look up in surprise.

The men at the half dozen MAC batteries the White Pine Government Building boasted had been on standby through the entire conflict so far, waiting for an opportunity that had never come. Their kinetics were far too powerful to be lobbed inter-atmospherically, not unless the governor wanted to glass a square kilometer of his own planet with each shot, and were direct fire anyway. Nobody was stupid enough to turn direct fire anti-orbital weaponry on the rebels as they advanced on White Pine, even though a green underofficer had made the suggestion before being promptly laughed out of the command center.

But now their foe had made a mistake. There was a cutter de-orbiting above White Pine, and she had just began pushing her way through the city-shield. It was the opportunity for which the batteries about Victory Square had been designed, to ward against any attempted planetary bombardment. Now their voices spoke in dire fury, and the ship barely visible above staggered in midair. The kinetics, accelerated with enough power to momentarily dim the lights within the bunkers where the command staff oversaw the defense, were designed to threaten anything short of a full battlefleet, or at least make such vessels take notice. Against a mere cutter designed for system interdiction, it was much akin to swatting a fly with a mallet. But that didn't mean the men on the guns accomplished their tasks with any less gusto, finally able to participate in the war for their system.

---

"Fascist fuckers. Let them burn."

The relish in the rebel captain's voice was obvious to the men about him, though it was almost drowned out by their cheers as the primary artillery battery in the assault bathed the approaches on the main highway with incendiary death. The men in green and white, and, to the captain's regret, some of his own soldiers, disappeared in columns of lurid white and red flames that leapt up several stories, battlefire of apocalyptic quality. He had seen the results of such deployment, only so much charred bone.

And then the charred bone staggered out of the firestorm and kept on killing.

Their bodies were black now, shiny even, stripped of their simulacra-layers meant to aid in civil deployments. Flesh and green-white uniforms had burnt away, revealing ceramic armor the edges of which glowed a dull red. Some of their swords had perished in the inferno, but the inhuman skeletons that surged through the fires kept on killing regardless. Bullets sparked and spanged off of their carapaces like so many firefires, but in the darkness they were like so many specters, nightmarish forms merging with the gloom as they advanced implacably, bounding forward as if hunting hounds with the scent of prey in their nostrils. Here and there shots penetrated the armor, sending a terror-form tumbling, but the captain soon lost sight of the enemy advance.

He lost sight because the civilians in front of his position were streaming back into the city, their whites showing all the way around their irises in panic. They didn't have his luxury of optical refinements to allow him to fight in the dark, and with no ability to see their enemy, and the sounds of ripping, tearing, and death coming from their comrades, they fled headlong away from the onrushing doom. Flesh could only take so much. And enemies that did not die, enemies they could not see, had sent them to that limit.

Even so, as they fled, the "House Gaisere" troops were upon them. The streets of White Pine, choked and blocked with rubble, filled with men in chaotic retreat battling sterner elements moving forward to plug the gaps, did not allow men to move quickly through them. But as the foremost defenses collapsed, the "men" of the enemy were swift enough. Swords sprouted from chests. A man had his arm bodily torn from his torso. Where the rebels broke, they were hacked down with a brutality that was both precise, and did not seem to understand the concept of mercy.

Toward the city center little was different. The calls to retreat came after the foremost elements of the rebel advance were already well entangled with the enemy elements, and repeated attempts to disengage with unexperienced troops and only scattered attempts to form a rearguard swiftly turned a retreat into a rout. And a rout which had every aspect of soon becoming a slaughter, knots of droptroops thought slain cutting communications, preventing the movement of strategic reserves along major thoroughfares, and showing themselves very happily willing to die again to disable crucial elements of the rebel army, like her limited quantities of armored vehicles and support pieces.

---

Ancardian Hills, Tenovalia

The thrust to spaceport had been successful. That, at least, was proceeding according to plan. The figure in gray-blue nodded as he digested a series of lights and dots before him, the chamber about him a dun gray steel. Men with blank faces stood stock-still at attention about the room, their green and white uniforms a useful lie he was happy to keep telling.

Overhead the earth rumbled. Rebel bombers were launching strikes against the Exaliths deployed to command the main route of escape from White Pine. Lighter rumbles bespoke answering volleys of guided missiles from the warforms, not exactly designed for air defense, but certainly capable of giving a good account to the few aircraft the OLG had begged, borrowed, or stolen from the former garrison of this world.

One of the walkers has taken a severe hit. She's running on six stabilizers, and is low on reaction mass.

The observation from his colleague in the field made the man grimace. Those warforms were meant to be hard to put down for light forces without dedicated weaponry, but that didn't mean someone couldn't get lucky. He had already exhausted most of the spare materials that the dropships had been able to haul along, and the vaults here at the facility he had been sent to secure were remarkably sparse.

It would have to do. The dataspinners were still winding down. With the rebels focused at White Pine, the extraction would proceed on schedule, on way or another. House Erudite would send him to some backwater for a millenium if he botched this.

To those with sensors to see, a stream of harsh radiation began to rise from the Ancardian Hills. Not anything too extraordinary, but enough to set off radiological attack warnings if you stood within a mile's radius of the area. And the soldiers massed about the landform continued their silent vigil, their numbers supplemented by more marching up out of what appeared to be a black tunnel bored in one side of a granite cliff.