Imperium: IC (See OOC to join)

[Elerian]

Imperial Center, Leon Tchaikovsky

He lay on his side, atop his uncomfortable prison bunk.

After the guards had taken him from the Joint Chiefs board room, he retained his dignity and walked for a few hallways before one of the guards used the butt of his rifle on Leon. They didn’t let him walk on his own thereafter until he neared his cell block, into which they literally threw him before sealing him inside.

He figured it would take less than an hour before they returned. Leon had no doubts that the prison guards would return for at least one beating, if not more. As a disgraced officer he was fair game for the prison jockeys that probably believed he came from a noble background. While still attending Academy, he’d shown up to classes at times with black eyes and bruised lips. He’d started learning martial arts at a young age, and so knew how to handle himself, but it was better to play their game. All he lost then was his pride, but now he’d likely lose his life.

Over the next couple days he’d receive only one meal, and some water here and there. They never came at regular intervals, and so it seemed they’d forgotten him. Or, perhaps the more logical conclusion was that they were waiting for the word to skin him alive and extract whatever secrets he may hold. Torture on a healthy victim tended to last longer.

But, it wasn't as if he was truly healthy. Over the course of his imprisonment he’d tried to stay active and pace from wall to wall, yet his body wouldn’t take the weight and he found himself crawling back to his bunk each time. Simple stretches from the bunk were similarly hard to take, causing painful spasms. All told, he remained on his bunk for much of the time, laying on his side in a fetal position. Even if his body was a prison for now, his mind was still free to wander.

He spent long hours between bouts of restless sleep running mental plans of the flotilla’s action and needs once he was freed of this damnable place. Unless the Navy used an entirely different flotilla, his battle group would either need to be replaced entirely, or be reconfigured with some replacement ships. In the case of the latter, it would take roughly two weeks to coordinate, train, prepare, supply, and follow through with the actual attack and scatter the pirate cabal. Without Rear Admiral Tchaikovsky, the present Imperial doctrine would allow for a fleet Captain to command such a flotilla with little insubordination from their fellow captains. However, it was almost always necessary to have an officer of Admiral rank to quiet any backbiting or questioning of authority that may arise.

Once the mental gymnastics of analyzing the situation had run its course, he switched instead to remembering past assignments. Drifting to sleep to the thought of his long lost elder brother’s voice playing in his head. He lectured Leon about what he should do versus what must be done. He wondered which side his brother would have taken during his discussion with the Admiralty. Tchaikovsky was sure that he wouldn’t have approved of the Admiral’s outbursts, as unbefitting of their station.

A smile crossed Leon’s face as sleep claimed him, at least in his dreams he wouldn’t have to worry about what was coming.

[G-Tech Corporation]

The Carnelian Suite, Imperial Senate

A quizzical look passed over the Senator's face at the Amban's mention of his name, and her eyes unfocused slightly.

"Amban General Jac Vandercault..."

Her words were soft, almost as if they weren't intended for the man's ears. Then her gaze sharpened, flickering from the lines of age on his face to the cords on his uniform before returning to his eyes.

"Amban General Jac Vandercault. Sao Evictus. Primary export of wolframite, followed by cassiterite and fourth-grade anthracite. Military priority grade seven. Current deployment of four million seven hundred thousand and ninety two personnel."

A smile flickered on her lips, and with a perfunctory gesture she brought a circulating servant hurrying over with a new cordial.

"A pleasure to meet you, Amban. What brings a man of your position away from his charges?"

---

Proximate Corridors, Imperial Senate

After introducing himself as one Lucius Anfalan the adjutant steered his quarry away from the hubbub of the social quarters, towards one of the conference rooms put aside in the outer ring of the Senate for official matters below the formality of the Grand Chamber, but necessitating a certain amount of discretion. Internally the man from Kas Matan shrugged. He had arrangements for a dinner meeting with the Logistics Corps this evening, but the Admiralty kept their own hours. He could have refused the summons, of course, as part of the privileges afforded to a noble of the Raumsraad. No sense in putting this off though.

The pneumatic doors hissed together almost silently at his back, bespeaking the adjutant's departure. He probably wasn't rated for this conversation, and the Admiralty Board, for all their occasionally cavalier behavior, were not prone to dispose of their tools with arbitrary callousness. Especially the useful ones. With a casual crack of one of his neck vertebrae, rolled to the side to relieve a kink which was building, the scion took one of the six seats around the low conference table, eyeing the two men across from him. Their uniforms bespoke more than just Logistics. Grand Admiral Sacar had built his reputation out in the Halo Stars and his presence at Imperial Center was... intriguing. And the silver epaulets of the Imperial Guard were not a familiar sight to the man from the Midnight Hegemony, since his affairs were concerned almost exclusively with the starborn components of the vast military apparatus of the Imperium.

"Nobilis. Our thank for your prompt arrival." The voice of the Lord General was mechanical, as if cut by a lathe from an amasteel block, without inflection. Not a good man to play at cards. Jarn merely inclined his head, resting one meaty hand the alabaster-smooth surface of the table.

"I apologize for the, unorthodox, nature of our meeting, Forgemaster." Surprisingly, the Grand Admiral did actually seem to be sorry - or at least chagrined by the deviation from standard protocols. Something to chew on, for a man apparently uncaring of little save results.

A sharp chopping gesture from the Lord General. Jarn noted multiple scars on his hands, betraying either a poor duelist, or simply a man who had fought in more battles than most saw in a lifetime. Only unique men and women became one of the Imperial stormtroopers. It showed in the witch-light kindled in the gray-haired man's eyes.

"We do not have time to waste. A query, Nobilis. What think you of the loyalty of House Celian?"

The northern blinked slowly, mind parceling the available information. He held up a single finger as the Lord General leaned forward impatiently, checking the motion. For such a question it would not to do use surface level recollection. His mind turned, sifting through memories, barely parsed images and words bubbling to the fore.

"Loyal. Or, rather, loyal enough."

It was, on the whole, a fair response. There were not many in the Great Houses who could be counted as perfectly loyal to the Imperial throne, especially not now when even a lackwit could see that many aspects of the fabric of the contract between Nova Terra and her holdings was fraying at the edges. If you looked hard enough, for long enough, at any House with even a shred of ambition, the crown's edicts were bent and even outright broken in a thousand ways on any given world. Great Houses sought to hold down their rivals in the Houses Major and Minor. Houses Major plotted to ascend to rule systems, or cast down ancient oppressors. Houses Minor sought the command of continents, of worlds, and petty grudges fulfilled. This was the way the Great Game was played, and fundamentally, at its apex, sat the prize of the Throne. None who played the Great Game could be truly called loyal. But there was a rather large gulf between being perfectly loyal and being a traitor.

House Celian's holdings, at least in part, abutted the Witch Stars and the Hyllian Spur. Their planets were more pastoral than those of his homeland, less efficiently managed, but they had had the good fortune to be blessed with more stable ecospheres, and so had not been pushed to the innovation of the Hegemony. They had marriage ties with, hm, seven of the Houses Major of the Hegemony. Their downfall would have awkward ramifications for the northern fringe, especially given the Messir Althair Celian was well liked in the guild-halls and commercial conclaves of the Galleian Arm.

The Grand Admiral turned to his companion, not speaking, but with triumph in his eyes. A curious emotion, again, for a man whose reputation was built on war. The frown that marked the still-unnamed Lord General's face said that that was not the response he had hoped for, but he nodded reluctantly.

"I... see. I thank you for your approbation. Of course-"

Jarn raised an eyebrow, and finished the statement in tones equally part bemused and grave.

"Of course there is no need to tell them we ever had this conversation."

The Lord General nodded, this time somewhat sullenly, eyes flashing.

"I defend the Throne's needs. You do not have leave to question me."

The tall soldier shrugged his shoulders, rising. He wasn't about to ask what might have triggered such an inquiry into one of the noble Houses. Even for a trusted member, or nearly-trusted member of the Raumsraad, no answer would have been forthcoming. Other methods would have to tell that tale. But it was certainly an interesting matter. For treachery to be suspected so close to the Hegemony... yes, these were interesting times. He left, not looking back, a predatory smile on his face as the door to the conference room closed at his back.

---

Low Orbit, Stellar Object Alpharius-Signum-Cataract, Honori Nebula

Lisbeth stepped back once, twice, then dance sideways three paces. The swirling nexus of glowglobes shifted about her, carnelian spheres, amethyst orbs, jade pulsars, weaving as her hands move up just past her left shoulder. There long ivory fingers plucked delicately at a sigil which pulsed in dull scarlet and a human voice spoke.

"Secondary phases occluded. Gravitics approaching perihelion. Mistress?"

A second, two, hung breathless in the void. Before the raven-haired beauty's eyes the stellar furnace danced and churned, angry auburn mixing with brilliant hues of ochre as the radiance below flexed under an invisible assault. Then her voice laughed out, as merry as a dancer at a Saturnalian feast.

"Commence primary ignition!"

Lisbeth vas Othnial's secondary plucked at the bewildering array of spheres swimming before her fingers at the secondary Nexus, and the Architect felt as much as saw the great body below pulse. Crackling lines of energy, solar winds trammeled and tamed, roared at unimaginable speeds across the face of the Category Eota star. Nearly invisible to the naked eye, but just barely able to be viewed through the eyes within of the Hegemonic, the condensate rings gorged themselves of the solar excreta.

"We have a solid lock. Degradation within tolerances for twenty hectomegacycle function." A few moments passed as the superluminal sensors on the ansible crunched the information from the device in the distance.

"Yes, solid lock. Engineering reports six orders of magnitude before noticeable deviations. Matterstream is coherent."

The Architect smiled, pale blue lips carefully concealing serrated teeth. Her eyes flashed wild and amber, like those of a feral beast. Her voice, though, was pure symphony.

"Set course for Fidelis. And tell them to warm up the amasec, and dispatch the tenders."

[Bolslania]

The Carnelian Suite, Imperial Senate

A quizzical look passed over the Senator's face at the Amban's mention of his name, and her eyes unfocused slightly.

"Amban General Jac Vandercault..."

Her words were soft, almost as if they weren't intended for the man's ears. Then her gaze sharpened, flickering from the lines of age on his face to the cords on his uniform before returning to his eyes.

"Amban General Jac Vandercault. Sao Evictus. Primary export of wolframite, followed by cassiterite and fourth-grade anthracite. Military priority grade seven. Current deployment of four million seven hundred thousand and ninety two personnel."

A smile flickered on her lips, and with a perfunctory gesture she brought a circulating servant hurrying over with a new cordial.

"A pleasure to meet you, Amban. What brings a man of your position away from his charges?"

---

Proximate Corridors, Imperial Senate

After introducing himself as one Lucius Anfalan the adjutant steered his quarry away from the hubbub of the social quarters, towards one of the conference rooms put aside in the outer ring of the Senate for official matters below the formality of the Grand Chamber, but necessitating a certain amount of discretion. Internally the man from Kas Matan shrugged. He had arrangements for a dinner meeting with the Logistics Corps this evening, but the Admiralty kept their own hours. He could have refused the summons, of course, as part of the privileges afforded to a noble of the Raumsraad. No sense in putting this off though.

The pneumatic doors hissed together almost silently at his back, bespeaking the adjutant's departure. He probably wasn't rated for this conversation, and the Admiralty Board, for all their occasionally cavalier behavior, were not prone to dispose of their tools with arbitrary callousness. Especially the useful ones. With a casual crack of one of his neck vertebrae, rolled to the side to relieve a kink which was building, the scion took one of the six seats around the low conference table, eyeing the two men across from him. Their uniforms bespoke more than just Logistics. Grand Admiral Sacar had built his reputation out in the Halo Stars and his presence at Imperial Center was... intriguing. And the silver epaulets of the Imperial Guard were not a familiar sight to the man from the Midnight Hegemony, since his affairs were concerned almost exclusively with the starborn components of the vast military apparatus of the Imperium.

"Nobilis. Our thank for your prompt arrival." The voice of the Lord General was mechanical, as if cut by a lathe from an amasteel block, without inflection. Not a good man to play at cards. Jarn merely inclined his head, resting one meaty hand the alabaster-smooth surface of the table.

"I apologize for the, unorthodox, nature of our meeting, Forgemaster." Surprisingly, the Grand Admiral did actually seem to be sorry - or at least chagrined by the deviation from standard protocols. Something to chew on, for a man apparently uncaring of little save results.

A sharp chopping gesture from the Lord General. Jarn noted multiple scars on his hands, betraying either a poor duelist, or simply a man who had fought in more battles than most saw in a lifetime. Only unique men and women became one of the Imperial stormtroopers. It showed in the witch-light kindled in the gray-haired man's eyes.

"We do not have time to waste. A query, Nobilis. What think you of the loyalty of House Celian?"

The northern blinked slowly, mind parceling the available information. He held up a single finger as the Lord General leaned forward impatiently, checking the motion. For such a question it would not to do use surface level recollection. His mind turned, sifting through memories, barely parsed images and words bubbling to the fore.

"Loyal. Or, rather, loyal enough."

It was, on the whole, a fair response. There were not many in the Great Houses who could be counted as perfectly loyal to the Imperial throne, especially not now when even a lackwit could see that many aspects of the fabric of the contract between Nova Terra and her holdings was fraying at the edges. If you looked hard enough, for long enough, at any House with even a shred of ambition, the crown's edicts were bent and even outright broken in a thousand ways on any given world. Great Houses sought to hold down their rivals in the Houses Major and Minor. Houses Major plotted to ascend to rule systems, or cast down ancient oppressors. Houses Minor sought the command of continents, of worlds, and petty grudges fulfilled. This was the way the Great Game was played, and fundamentally, at its apex, sat the prize of the Throne. None who played the Great Game could be truly called loyal. But there was a rather large gulf between being perfectly loyal and being a traitor.

House Celian's holdings, at least in part, abutted the Witch Stars and the Hyllian Spur. Their planets were more pastoral than those of his homeland, less efficiently managed, but they had had the good fortune to be blessed with more stable ecospheres, and so had not been pushed to the innovation of the Hegemony. They had marriage ties with, hm, seven of the Houses Major of the Hegemony. Their downfall would have awkward ramifications for the northern fringe, especially given the Messir Althair Celian was well liked in the guild-halls and commercial conclaves of the Galleian Arm.

The Grand Admiral turned to his companion, not speaking, but with triumph in his eyes. A curious emotion, again, for a man whose reputation was built on war. The frown that marked the still-unnamed Lord General's face said that that was not the response he had hoped for, but he nodded reluctantly.

"I... see. I thank you for your approbation. Of course-"

Jarn raised an eyebrow, and finished the statement in tones equally part bemused and grave.

"Of course there is no need to tell them we ever had this conversation."

The Lord General nodded, this time somewhat sullenly, eyes flashing.

"I defend the Throne's needs. You do not have leave to question me."

The tall soldier shrugged his shoulders, rising. He wasn't about to ask what might have triggered such an inquiry into one of the noble Houses. Even for a trusted member, or nearly-trusted member of the Raumsraad, no answer would have been forthcoming. Other methods would have to tell that tale. But it was certainly an interesting matter. For treachery to be suspected so close to the Hegemony... yes, these were interesting times. He left, not looking back, a predatory smile on his face as the door to the conference room closed at his back.

---

Low Orbit, Stellar Object Alpharius-Signum-Cataract, Honori Nebula

Lisbeth stepped back once, twice, then dance sideways three paces. The swirling nexus of glowglobes shifted about her, carnelian spheres, amethyst orbs, jade pulsars, weaving as her hands move up just past her left shoulder. There long ivory fingers plucked delicately at a sigil which pulsed in dull scarlet and a human voice spoke.

"Secondary phases occluded. Gravitics approaching perihelion. Mistress?"

A second, two, hung breathless in the void. Before the raven-haired beauty's eyes the stellar furnace danced and churned, angry auburn mixing with brilliant hues of ochre as the radiance below flexed under an invisible assault. Then her voice laughed out, as merry as a dancer at a Saturnalian feast.

"Commence primary ignition!"

Lisbeth vas Othnial's secondary plucked at the bewildering array of spheres swimming before her fingers at the secondary Nexus, and the Architect felt as much as saw the great body below pulse. Crackling lines of energy, solar winds trammeled and tamed, roared at unimaginable speeds across the face of the Category Eota star. Nearly invisible to the naked eye, but just barely able to be viewed through the eyes within of the Hegemonic, the condensate rings gorged themselves of the solar excreta.

"We have a solid lock. Degradation within tolerances for twenty hectomegacycle function." A few moments passed as the superluminal sensors on the ansible crunched the information from the device in the distance.

"Yes, solid lock. Engineering reports six orders of magnitude before noticeable deviations. Matterstream is coherent."

The Architect smiled, pale blue lips carefully concealing serrated teeth. Her eyes flashed wild and amber, like those of a feral beast. Her voice, though, was pure symphony.

"Set course for Fidelis. And tell them to warm up the amasec, and dispatch the tenders."

A look of surprise flickered across his face at the Senator's computer like analysis She must have some computer file augmentation, and a very detailed one as well It was quickly controlled, either she knew of his reputation but wasn't mentioning it, or it hadn't made it into the database.

"Well Madame Senator, as you may know, Sao Eviticus is the primary shipper of construction and ship building materials, as well as holding the largest Super-freighter docking ports along the Polarian trade way, so this tax discussion is of some importance to me and I thought it fitting that I attend. I have also recently come under attack from some unknown attackers, and as you noted, my population and security forces are rather small, so I've come to request more forces from the Imperium. Although I don't know if our tight-fisted friends will grant my requests." Vandercalt said, making a subtle gesture over his shoulder to a group of senators. Hopefully the Senator would catch on to his lead, and he could bait her into negotiations.

[G-Tech Corporation]

The Carnelian Suite, Imperial Senate

Prismidia's lips tightened at the word 'attack', and her brow furrowed slightly.

"An assault on an Imperial Amban? From within? Without? That is... unfortunate. And, though not unprecedented, concerning." She nodded, slowly, perhaps in thought. "And a disruption to trade, attendant with these increased levies, would be irksome to those planets in the Inner Core which rely upon imports for survival. You might do better talking to my colleague though, the Forgemaster. He works closely with the Imperial Navy, and oversees a good chunk of the distribution of the auxilaries throughout the Havanian and Garelian Arms."

The Senator smiled brightly, looking over Jac's shoulder, and a light flash of brilliant white teeth betrayed some pleasure.

"Yes, he will be along shortly. But you should address a full report to the General Staff, if you have not done so already. An assault on an Imperial World is an assault upon us all."

[Bolslania]

The Carnelian Suite, Imperial Senate

Prismidia's lips tightened at the word 'attack', and her brow furrowed slightly.

"An assault on an Imperial Amban? From within? Without? That is... unfortunate. And, though not unprecedented, concerning." She nodded, slowly, perhaps in thought. "And a disruption to trade, attendant with these increased levies, would be irksome to those planets in the Inner Core which rely upon imports for survival. You might do better talking to my colleague though, the Forgemaster. He works closely with the Imperial Navy, and oversees a good chunk of the distribution of the auxilaries throughout the Havanian and Garelian Arms."

The Senator smiled brightly, looking over Jac's shoulder, and a light flash of brilliant white teeth betrayed some pleasure.

"Yes, he will be along shortly. But you should address a full report to the General Staff, if you have not done so already. An assault on an Imperial World is an assault upon us all."

"Quite right Madame Senator." Vandercalt said pleasantly. He had had an aid right up a report of the incident, and hopefully it should be reaching the General Stafff soon. He looked over his shoulder, the Forgemaster was hard to miss in the crowd. Vandercalt looked down at his watch

"Well it appears that the recess is soon to end, so I should let you go Madame Senator." Vandercalt said with a smile, it was clearly a way to break off the conversation but it was done so in a polite manner. Vandercalt, with a final nod to Machariusn departed, making his way to a collection of other generals. It appeared he did not have the time to speak with the Forgemaster at the moment. But he would be able to make a verbal appeal to the General Staff after the taxes had been discussed.

[Caltharus]

Vice-Admiral Theodor Melodon
Uninhabited Solar System Designated NONHAB-LEMSUBSEC-22
Lemorra Subsector
11:08

"Enemy contact sir, long range skirmish distance"

Theo snapped out of his thought. Now they would see if his plan was worth anything. The wait had felt excruciating, his will to prove himself to Admiral Lafel once again burning hot. It always seemed like he had to not only succeed but exel to gain his superiors respect, no doubt due to the nepotistic reputation of the house he represented. And excelling never was an easy task.

"Smith, you are clear to engage, but be adviced we need to draw them closer. So employ your shields when practical." He said in a polite, yet commanding voice.

"Copy that, sir" Smith answered before disappearing from the holoprojector, no doubt to contact his own underlings.

"Aresky, you may now begin your flanking manouver. Be sure to keep your distance and not be drawn in." Theo said looking at the remaining Rear-Admiral.

"Will do sir, we'll try to silently float as far as we can before engaging. Though i regard our chances of going undetected for long as rather low" Aresky replied meeting Theo's gaze.

"Such are the chances we are given in this scenario" Theo uttered before the second admiral disappeared from sight.

Being left alone he again pondered his chances and the strategy he had chosen. Though he outwardly seemed confident, it was clear that he was once again rolling the dice. An intentional gamble yes, and one warranted by the situation, but a gamble no less.

Yet to him even a risky gamble was better than just taking a loss without any chances of victory.

[Wasi State]

Besplo-Prime, Cycle 28
Hyperborean Cosmic Front

Martellus and the other men of his prisoner group were once again, like clockwork, rudely awakened at the crack of dawn from their disheveled bunks for what must've been the fourth week in a row since the beginning of their internment since their defeat on Nova-Perma, now being called Hyperborea Alfa by their ruthless captors. At least he thought it was technically morning, he could hardly tell after having spent a month already trapped on this dustball of a tomb world that him and the other POWs are transferred to in makeshift camps on the planet's ruined surface shortly after their forced surrender. All because they still held the audacity to remained loyal to the Imperium and having refused to the offer to defect to this Separatist Regime of cultists.

Being dragged out forcibly at the ass crack of 'dawn' from their poor excuse of a barrack that they were given as meager shelter, the long and grueling nights in between the prisoners quickly grew to hate. They were quickly assembled outside by bunk pod number and rank. The camp's warden, a crooked looking augmented figure who seemed to have a personal grudge against anything that remotely stood for the Imperium. Examined each and every one of them for whatever cruel or menial purpose he would arbitrarily decide for them for that day that'll be hatched from his wicked mind. Their barrack's unit in particular had been lucky so far with the punishments, but as far as Martellus was concerned, that only meant that something horrible was bound to be waiting for them in very short order around the corner.

"Pod 13! Today is a special day, you get to go on well needed exercise walk outside of the facility, and extra rations will be granted as a reward for cooperation afterwards!" The Camp Warden then announced to them, much to both the POW's initial shock and surprise.

"This son of a bitch can't be serious, can he?" Lucius then muttered right behind Martellus under his breath. Indeed their rather lax treatment for today seemed rather uncharacteristic from what they brutally came to know of this terrorist movement's usual treatment of prisoners of war, something was clearly up.

They were then soon ordered to march in a column outside of the camp, armed guards and K-9s in tow escorting them against their will. No prisoner dared to fall behind the pack on their forced march, less the genetically modified hounds were let loose to sic on the stragglers, their unnatural growls and barks being enough of a indication to know what'll happen if a man were to fall prey to them. However after some time of continuous marching, the unit's pace was then increased under orders and threats from the armed guards, a few of the men were starting to struggle to keep up. Likely as a result of the early onsets of malnutrition, lack of sleep, and the fact that the air around them was polluted to hell and back still after the original inhabitants of Besplo-Prime blasted themselves back to the stone-age some several thousand years prior.

One of the guards, arbitrarily deciding that the five slowest men were holding the rest of the unit back, preceded to shoot one of them through the kneecap with a lasbolt from his recurve bow and quickly barked for the rest of the four to stop in their tracks. Martellus didn't dare look back as he heard the man who was shot behind them screamed out in pain from the lasbolt searing his leg clean off from the kneecap, letting the fresh smell of blood permeate the dusty air, causing some the hounds to enter a blood frenzy and quickly sic themselves onto the five prisoners, ripping them apart as limbs and throats were torn out, and organs disemboweled and sprayed across the dead ground in a mist of gore.

"Get your asses in gear people! We're not even to the field yet!" The guard then barked to the rest of them as he ordered them to keep going.

"Clearing?" Martellus muttered under his tiring and stressed breath. They already killed five of them in cold blood in such a routinely brutal manner, for all he knew they may just be bringing them to the field just to kill them all in one quick stroke!

As they arrived, all 35 of them that were left, they were then ordered to halt by the guards. The 'field' as it were, was just a dusty clearing of land, though some sense was danger was with it clearly, if the warning signs written in a dead language nearby were any indication with a skull and crossbones on them.

"I want one long row here, Pod 13! Once everyone is in a straight line, you are ordered to march straight ahead through that field."
The guard then said, as the prisoners had no real choice but to comply with the demands.

"Now wait just a second, you're sending us through a fuckin minefield!" Lucius then called out the guard, and turned himself to face the man. "What purpose does any of this serve? Just to send us to our deaths? At least have the decency to just shoot us in that case!"

The guard then in a disturbing fashion, rather calmly walked over to Lucius and punched him squarely in the gut, as Lucius then fell to his knees on the hard ground, the guard then explained. "More of you are being sent to this tomb, however there is still an abundance of unexploded ordnance throughout the planet and needs clearing, and as far as I'm concerned you'll all do the job just fine in helping to clear this area in particular for another camp. The survivors will be handsomely rewarded, I can assure you." The guard then gave grim chuckle to them and then ordered the 35 men to start their death march across the field. At least to Martellus they might have a better chance with the millennia old landmines than being shot to death by the guards surely?

However one after one, anti-personnel landmines started to explode around them, the fragmentations launching shrapnel and debris across the field, if not killing a POW outright, was horrendously maiming them the next. Quickly the orderly line devolved into a full on panic as the men scattered, triggering either more mines, or getting shot by the guards for attempting a fruitless escape in the chaos.

As the dust and blood mists cleared after what was likely a few minutes, Martellus miraculously found himself on the other end of the field, though pretty injured and clearly bleeding, along with only a small handful of men who had also barely made it. Behind him the rest of his pod lay dead or too maimed to move. The Hyperboreans then marched through not long after, mercy killing the immobile survivors as they passed through, and ordering Martellus and what little remained of the Pod 13 to follow them back to the camp.

Once they arrived back, they were 'rewarded' the usual rations that were meant for the rest of their Pod, who were now mostly dead and not in need of them any longer...

[The National Dominion of Hungary]

Erramen - Outskirts of Tash'v'Ishagahn - The Luminant Hall

A lovely summer's day cast it's warm golden light across the planet at the center of Isrand, bathing it's capital city in a pleasant sheen, as billions upon billions rose to greet the day, to work, to take their children to school, to go home after a night shift, the countless gears that allowed civilization to continue and reproduce itself kept whirring within the vast machine of the great Imperium, across 35 million inhabited worlds across the Galaxy and the Clouds, the same process repeated. Those were the musings of Faeron Visyrath of Isrand as he looked up at the clear blue sky above him before returning his gaze to his sister, gently running a hand through her wet hair as she sat on his lap, leaning back into him. The warm water in the maze of interconnected pools in the backyard of Taelion's Cottage lapped at their feet in the warm morning light. The Luminant Hall was a vast complex spanning several square miles and stretching out across most of Serand Valley and Jakindo Plateu beyond the great sprawl of Tash'v'Ishagahn. Once nothing but a manor with a garden and some outbuildings, it had grown across the millennia as subsequent generations of House Stormoth-Spyre expanded the complex, adding parks, gardens, manors, palaces and more. Taelion's Cottage was built by Visyrath's great grandfather, Faeron Taelion II'd for his daughter the Princess Ellyn as a discreet place where she could bring her endless parade of lovers and mistresses out of sight and out of mind.

"What time is it?" The Faeron said, breaking the peaceable silence, the Faera stirred lazily, touching the polished chrome bracelet around her right wrist, a holopanel soon projecting in blue above it.

"Still half an hour before the Small Council meeting starts." She said and nuzzled into her brother's shoulder.

"We need to get going soon then." Visyrath said with a sigh. "Now that Sinitar Station is about to open at limited capacity, we're going to have to make sure we can keep the trade lanes secure. The investors will be gone in a flash otherwise, them and the trade profits we hope to attract."

"I heard Ordvan is going to be there with the Grand Admiral, the Lord Militant has requested their presence apparently." Faera Kharyn said with a frown. "I'm sure he hopes our dear brother will convince us to make the budget adjustments he wants."

"You know what, Khar..." Visyrath said, enjoying the warmth of the sun and of his wife's body pressed close to his own as they dried from their early morning swim. "We need to keep Isrand safe, sister, what all that's happening out there, the mad prophets and rebellious fools... raising their arms in their hopeless little rebellions. You know... I only pity the poor souls who were at the wrong place in the wrong time, and had to pay the price for the sins of these mad-men. But, we need to make sure our Isrand stands safe, a bastion of safety and stability, and that is granted by security. I heard the Jahwalids are having greater issues with cultist of their own, if that get's worse the space-lanes intersecting at Sinitar will be threatened, and House Kalkstein will not let us profit from this without a fight."

"Do you think we should meet with Jahwal XXI'st?" Kharyn said, turning to look her brother in the eye. "If the situation destabilizes further we can kiss the Noshik Projects goodbye and that's alot of Gold Backs, Vis, I don't think you need a reminder of that, it took us years to negotiate that with the GCC so they'd even entertain the idea. And if the space lanes connecting through Jahwalid space between the Polaris Route and Sinitar become dangerous, or gods forbid, blockaded..."

Visyrath smiled, but the smile didn't reach his eyes. His squirming signaled it was time to get up and so the Faeron rose and walked over to where they had left their towels as his sister took a step up out of the pool they had been sitting by. She smiled at him and he drew her into a warm embrace, planting a kiss on her lips before releasing Kharyn from the embrace, he looked at his wife with concern.

"What is it, Vis?" She asked concerned, placing her hands on his shoulders.

Visyrath gestured to the great palatial grounds around them, to the distant spires of the planet's capital rising in the horizon. "This." He said. "This, all that we have, is at risk. If things keep deteriorating, how much of father's work will be lost? How much of our work? Isrand is in us, we are in it, if it decays, we decay. And while it may not happen this year, or the year after, I can feel it, there's a time of unrest and transition ahead. Not just for our little corner of the Galaxy, for all of it, for the Imperium..."

"So, you fear there will be a war, a real war." She said.

"I do. If the Emperor calls our banner we need to send men and ships. It's coming, Khar. One of these years they'll tell us to go fight some rebels, or maybe the situation in Jahwalid space is going to spiral out of control. Or perhaps the Kalksteins will employ some dark subterfuge against us. Either way, I fear for what's next. And for us. We have to secure our House, Khar." Visyrath said, caressing his wife's cheek. "Cousin Esmond needs to be married soon, and..." Visyrath paused, brushing a strand of hair from his sister's face. "And it would not be unwise for us to stop using protection and really try for an heir, you know how hard it was for mother and father before they had us. We must plant firm roots before the storm comes."

Kharyn grabbed him at the shoulders. "Then we will, Vis, we will. Look at us, we've made sure father's work continued, we kept the damn Kalksteins at bay, we haven't failed, and we won't. I know you'll be my rock, and you know that I'll be yours, Stormoth-Spyre's stand together."

Visyrath met Kharyn's steady gaze, and found there a strength that took even him aback. "They do." He said, and this time his smile did light up his eyes too.

---

Erramen - City of Tash'v'Ishagahn - The Palace of State

"Really, Ordvan." Kharyn said, looking up from the document on the table's screen as they all sat around it in the middle of the large room which served as the Chamber of the Small Council. Outside the bustle of Tash'v'Ishagahn, one of Erramen's vast giga-cities could be admired but the building was constructed to block out the noise so decisions could be made without such distractions. After all, the decisions made in this building, in this room, affected billions upon billions of sentients. The most powerful people in Isrand had gathered around the large smart table, all clad in their finery to show their status. The Faeron and Faera themselves were dressed in voluminous, luxuriant robes that made them look small when wearing them.

"You really need another Assault-Carrier? To secure trade lanes? Wouldn't corvettes be more prudent? Destroyers? Frigates?" The Faera said tersely.

"My Faera... we also need to be able to project a credible deterrent posture to Houses in the region that we are not on good terms with." Admiral Ordvan said sharply. "And what if our banner is called? Are we going to send half our strength? A third? What happens then?"

"The expense of purchasing and maintaining another full carrier battlegroup would result in several of the social programs we instituted that markedly, markedly improved the conditions in the Rosetta Sector having to be cut back in order to finance this. We have made great strides in improving the conditions in our most impoverished and overpopulated areas, what needs to be focused on is making those areas productive again, then we can use the funds generated there to pay for increased military spending, if relevant." Lord Remin Castravan said.

"Please." The Faeron said, silencing the bickering that had been going on for almost half an hour. He pitied Uncle Vrarloth on Nova Terra, having to be in the Senate. "What we need to do is secure the trade lanes around Sinitar, that is our immediate concern and the only naval expansion I would consider authorizing, we can use funds from projects and programs that have failed to give and viable results and use them for the purchase of some mothballed corvettes before they are scrapped and bring them to fighting condition."

Ordvan sat down with a frown while Grand Admiral Gilaed nodded. "I appreciate that your majesty sees the importance of this, I shall send you a list of possible acquisitions along with my personal recommendation and costs, I am at your Majesty's disposal if there any need for consultation on the matter at hand."

"Very good." Visyrath nodded. "Now, what is next on the agenda?" The Faeron asked and turned to the syth standing next to him.

[Elerian]

Rear Admiral Tchaikovsky, Imperial Center

Two prison guards held his arms tightly. A further two Intelligence Agents were to his front and rear with rifles at the ready. The barrel of one such rifle prodded him forward every few steps, even when he was keeping pace. Not only did he have four escorts, his hands were cuffed securely behind his back. It was a bit much for a prisoner that could barely walk on his own. With little in the way of food or water over the past few days he felt weak, and yet his legs held steady the farther he walked. Unfortunately his confidence had been challenged by a particularly hard jerk from as the elevator jolted the disgraced Rear Admiral.

The elevator doors opened, and the grip on his arms tightened as the first Agent cautiously exited the elevator. He scanned left and right for potential dangers, and finding none signaled for them to continue.

Leon didn’t recognize this area of the Joint Chiefs headquarters, but according to a placard on the wall they were in some part of the Communications wing. The room they entered next had a single large projector in its center. It didn’t move, but was lit and ready. The rest of the lights in the room were off, leaving the projector’s dim glow as the sole source of light. It could indicate that the details from the signal were unstable and from a distant connection. As the five of them moved closer to the projector, Tchaikovsky could begin to make out the form of a uniformed officer, frozen mid conversation.

“Leave us,” a familiar cold voice instructed. Behind the projector sat two Joint Chiefs he knew, and one he did not.

With great discipline, the guards marched from the room and left Tchaikovsky to his fate.

“We gave your flotilla to Rear Admiral Barclay.” Though he made no comment, Leon raised an eyebrow.

“He made great assurances,” Grand Admiral Pyke continued, “that the pirate cabal would be dispatched in a matter of hours. This was to be accomplished with minimal casualties and damage.”

Tchaikovsky continued to stand at ease, hands in chain behind his back. His face remained stoic, giving away nothing to the three before him. In his exhaustion, however, it was difficult to keep focused on any of the three figures.

At the flick of a switch, the projector began to move again. The woman in the projector certainly wasn’t Admiral Barclay, as he was a man. According to her rank pins, she was merely a captain.

“-Lords, I regret to bring you news of the loss of Rear Admiral Barclay’s command ship along with all hands. The secondary command ship Blinding Light was scuttled due to severe damage suffered during the battle, though we managed to save over half the crew. My own ship sustained the least damage, with less than 30 percent. Following emergency repairs at-” with another flick of the switch the projector turned off.

Even in his state, and from this distance, Leon could feel Grand Admiral Pyke’s fury. Leon was certain that Pyke’s anger had only grown since his first viewing of the message. Though much of that was still directed at the barely lucid prisoner before him, it was now mixed with disdain for the incompetence of the fallen Rear Admiral Barclay.

“They failed,” Pyke hissed.

Tchaikovsky remained as still as he could manage, and locked eyes with the Grand Admiral.

The other familiar face was the next to speak. “It's as if they knew the late Rear Admiral was coming” said Grand Admiral Uchis accusingly.

The three pairs of eyes bore into him as he did his best to remain at ease. Grand Admiral Uchis was more level headed than Pyke, but certainly no ally of Tchaikovsky's.

“Your men are loyal to you, prog. Perhaps too loyal. Would they betray their Emperor for their former commander, I wonder?”

“My men are loyal to their oaths to the Fleet and the Imperium, my lords.” Leon was careful to speak slowly and clearly so as to avoid any misunderstanding. “They will follow any order given them, even those not well planned, and without question.”

Grand Admiral Pyke took back the mantle then, “Perhaps it's you who has betrayed our Emperor! They knew, prog! They knew the fleet composition, strength, and formations. It had to have been you who passed on this information!”

Leon waited then, more out of exhaustion than any other reason. With no other accusations forthcoming, he coldly replied, “My oath was to the Emperor. I vowed to serve faithfully in his fleet, and take orders from my superior officers. I would never betray my oath and give a group of criminals intelligence that would directly lead to the deaths of loyal Imperial Officers and Spacers.”

A hand shot up from the other side of the projector and revealed a skeletal finger pointed squarely at Leon. “This has not been the first time you’ve broken your oath! You-”

“I did what was necessary,” Tchaikovsky cut off Pyke, voice cold as the surface of Krieg, “to protect my people from external threats.”

“By breaking your sacred oath to the Emperor!”

“Because I was the only one willing to do what had to be done to see my oaths fulfilled.” His own father had said of Leon that he possessed excesses both of fervor and ability. “Even if there are those that didn’t agree with my actions.”

Pyke locked eyes with Leon, “you knew he would fail didn’t you?”

“I told your lordship that when last we met,” he said warily.

“You foresaw it then?”

Tchaikovsky was once again in a very precarious position. He proceeded with as much caution as he could muster, “I foresee nothing, my lord. I merely used thorough analysis to determine that the chances of success were very small.”

Finally the unknown officer spoke up, “all our intelligence reports indicated the pirates were disorganized and unprepared. We concurred with the Admiralty that this should have been a simple rout.” And now the pieces began to fall into place. This third man, a senior Intelligence Officer, was truly the one to decide Leon’s fate.

Obviously this was wrong, a voice inside Leon’s head said. “I studied this group extensively, and came to the conclusion that they were at peak effectiveness when circumstances were highly chaotic. Although they may seem highly disorganized outwardly, the pirates are a dangerous force when presented with wild combat situations.” Leon took a deep breath, as he began to sway. “It is- er, had been” he quickly corrected himself, “my plan to attack when their lethargy was at its greatest extent.”

The Intelligence Officer said nothing at this. The three of them conversed too quietly for Leon to hear. Long minutes passed as Leon stood at ease, his hands firmly locked in the binders behind his back. Keeping his swaying in check was taking all concentration he had left, leaving him unable to focus on the three Officers at the other end of the room.

Then suddenly, there was a click and rattle of metal cuffs hitting the floor. He began to rub his wrists to promote circulation, and waited for what came next.

“You will be given the chance to prove your loyalty to the Emperor, Rear Admiral” Grand Admiral Pyke announced, crestfallen. “You will take immediate command of a new flotilla and destroy these pirates within two weeks. Succeed and you will retain your position. Should you fail like Barclay, you’d be better off going down with your ship than return, Rear Admiral” snarling the last bit.

“My lords,” he said with a bow. He turned to the elevator and strode out as smoothly as he could manage. Once inside, and the door closed, he leaned on the wall for support. First things first, he needed to find a good meal and seek some medical attention aboard his own ship.

[Yaruqo]

Imperial Center
Nova Terra
Imperial Senate

Sergius had been playing with the embroidered hem of his veil as the proceedings pertaining to the taxation of commerce along the Polarion Way, for the most part keeping silent as the thousands of other Senators made their speeches, denouncements, commendations, and arguments around him. While the Great House of Amakiir had some interests in shipping along that way, it was not enough to really push the Senator and Crown Prince one way or the other. He was more curious as to how the additional taxation would be spent: maintenance of the Imperium's naval fleets? Terraforming ventures? Stipends for Senators and their offices? Social welfare? So far he didn't seem too convinced that the funds appropriated from this tax would be spent at all in a way benefiting the Imperium. He was very grateful when the Senate was adjourned for the time being, and he had made the decision to stretch his legs, flanked by a couple aides and two unarmed guards that his father had sent along with him when he departed Nefrimaion at the start of his tenure.

He had not congregated with the other Senators in the Carnelian Suite - he had learned very quickly that drinking with these well established men and women of the Imperium was so much more than that, and he preferred that any personal interactions that could speak to him be in an environment that he could control - and had instead made his way to his personal office rooms. The guards would stay outside while he and his aides retreated within the office, their eyes lowered to the floor, a habit that Sergius had tried to coax them out of, but the influence of apostrofimati was much stronger than his personal sensibilities. "Your Serene Highness, you have a message from Nefrimaion, from His Serene Majesty." "Thank you, Donatus. Give me the room, if you please." The aides gave a deep bow and went into the waiting room just outside of his office doors. After waiting a few seconds, Sergius removed his veil, grabbing a kerchief and wiping the sweat off his face before turning on the hologram, being greeted by the wizened face of his father, King Justinianus XI of Niframaion, and Patriarch of the Great House of Amakiir.

"My son, I have new instructions for you regarding the Polarion Way. These are nonnegotiable. You are to vote in the affirmative for the new levies. I would say that it is in the interest of our family and the kingdom, but as it happens, there are a few magnates that need to be taken down a few notches. On an unrelated note, your mother and I need to know if you have made any progress finding an eligible bachelor. I am sorry for that business with that man a few months ago, but you are a-"

*click*

Sergius paled as he quickly turned off the damnable hologram. Why? Why do you always need to bring that up? He thought angrily. He hadn't discussed it with his father since the incident in the hopes that he'd let it go. It appears he was wrong. He would do his duty...eventually. But for now, the young senator reflected in his office, clutching his prayer beads and thinking about happier days before he would head back to the Senate chamber, his thick, emerald green veil shielding his tear stained face from a vicious world.

Galínieró Palace
Iremivousa
Nefrimaion

King Justinianus XI pored over the reports compiled by his Cabinet, and as he expected, it was a mixed bag: agricultural output was trending up, meaning that the Imperium would be well fed...at least, that is what he told himself, even though the Bacchus System was but one of a few systems that kept the Imperium fed; the Diet was considering a few pieces of legislation concerning AI that would ultimately be defeated; the Nefrimite Defense Forces had been running into a higher than anticipated number of sorties against pirates - apparently, they were getting bolder. Sure, the Bacchus System was in the Outer Core, but pirates mostly kept to the outer regions of the Imperium. He'd have to submit an inquiry with the Admiralty as to why pirate fleets were getting through the Imperium's fleets, and he'd no doubt have to submit a request to the Diet for further funds to build up the Nefrimite Navy. And then there was Sergius...

He loved his son. He was his heir, he was dutiful, he...He wasn't Belyeras. The old king hated thinking that. It wasn't Sergius' fault that Belyeras was killed, he never even met his would be older brother. But he could never fit Belyeras' shoes. It wasn't that Sergius was gay, Lord no. Nefrimaion had gay and lesbian monarchs before, and the dynasty always continued. All the same, Justinianus couldn't help but feel that Sergius just wasn't as capable as Belyeras. Another shameful thought. The fact of the matter was, Sergius needed to marry, and the Great House of Amakiir needed the line to continue and an alliance from within the Imperium. And so long as he didn't fulfill that one, primary obligation to the continuation of his House, this doubt would continue to settle in the king's mind.

[Orostan]

Supreme Commander Hayar Tarass

The Orbit of the Planet Samarka

Shipyards and orbital industry cluttered the sky, and the continuous streams of arriving and departing star ships from them could remind you of ants rushing around food or their nests. In a higher orbit over the clutter were military shipyards and docking facilities that hosted the planetary defense force. Only slightly below them were stations owned by the wealthiest houses and corporations of Samarka, and some not of Samarka. Many had their own military berths among the gleaming spires and towers that made up the floating cities.

The normal activity of orbit was interrupted by a cigar shaped Imperial patrol ship throwing itself out of gravitic drive a fair distance away from the activity of orbit near a navigational beacon. It only took a moment for the PDF to notice the gash along one side of the craft and the irregular glow of its engines before what caused the damage emerged right behind the ship. A large asteroid burst into space moving at great speed as large and primitive chemical engines attached to its sides steered it along a set course. The damaged patrol ship was shattered into pieces within seconds. The normal stream of civilian traffic underneath it began to scatter as military ships scrambled to leave their berths or move out of the way of the massive projectile that was being steered towards a row of military stations. The PDF ships that weren't fast enough were obliterated by the rock right before it slammed into one of the military stations and broke apart itself.

A moment later a group of wedge shaped warships and boarding shuttles dropped out of Alcubierre FTL a short distance behind the asteroid. The warships were formerly Imperial, but instead of Imperial and house crests they bore revolutionary symbols and the blue and black color of the Organization for the Liberation of the Galaxy. In the chaos of the asteroid attack the PDF forces had become scattered and disorganized. Just as the PDF began to realize what was happening and send their warships in boarding shuttles were already bringing themselves alongside military ships in dock and civilian freighters with noble house insignia. The rebel warships ducked below the expanding cloud of debris that now dominated high orbit and into a position just below the military shipyards being boarded. This had the effect of shielding the now evacuating lower orbit industries from debris damage while forcing the PDF that usually stuck around in high orbit to risk hitting those orbital industries if they fired on the invading warships, which they did anyways, striking civilian ships and stations as they did so. A few of the rebel ships attempted to shield freighters hurriedly leaving industrial docks as Imperial mass driver rounds struck their shields and the remnants of the asteroid that had started the chaos tumbled into Samarka's planetary shield over a polluted greyish green ocean. Response lasers lanced out against the PDF ships as hijacked freighters and stolen military ships began to jump into FTL and get away from the planet. A moment later the rebel warships followed suit - but not before throwing a few blasts of their lasers into the palaces of the elite that dotted the highest orbits. Their shields meant to defend against space dust held up for a moment just before shattering and allowing the glistening stations they surrounded to explode into equally shiny fragments.

The rebels left only chaos behind them and a great deal of destruction. But to the poor populace of the planet below they'd attacked only the military and the rich. In fact, the responding PDF had killed far more people with their accidental destruction of evacuating freighters than the rebels had killed. A few days after the attack OGL agents began to distribute stolen medicine and food from house freighters to the working population among the decrepit and polluted cities of Samarka. Some bread and medical supplies went a long way with the revolutionary pamphlets that came with them.

The Bridge of the OGLS Purpose

Hayar put the set of papers down on his lap again. "We did a good job. We got ships and recruits out of this. Not to mention supplies. I don't see what the problem is." He said to a woman sitting in the executive officer's position next to him.

The woman responded quickly. "It's not enough. To many we look like friendlier than usual bandits rather than a rebel organization. We have to make our goals clearer."

Hayar rested his elbow on the armrest of his big command chair as he glanced at the technicians and officers working consoles around his bridge. The large view screen at the front was displaying a feed of several of those stolen patrol ships being repainted and refitted in an improvised dockyard drifting in deep space.

"Look - Tashmeta... we've talked about this. Education can come later, the important part is we've got the people in our group and they know who they'll be shooting at. I don't see the issue."

The woman frowned for a moment, scratching the back of her head where her short blond hair met skin for a before responding. "We talked about first names on the bridge. All I'm asking is that you take another look at it."

Hayar sighed. "Alright, that's fair. I'm not changing my opinion though."

Tashmeta chuckled. "I shouldn't expect you too."

The two turned back to watching the ships being painted on the view screen.

[Sarderia]

Imperial Senate Chamber
Nova Terra
Co-write between Empire of Tau, Imperialisium, and Sarderia

---

Uri strode back into the office. By this time there were only a handful - less than a dozen officers left, and most of the tablets are gone. Polan was still sitting in front of his desk, though. “Change of plans,” he started. “Give me the ring.”

“Looks like it’s plan B now. Not surprising since the Imperial Senate building is the most guarded thing in this whole galaxy. You know the drill,” Polan stands up from his seating, dusting him off. The man throws the device onto the table, and heads towards the office exit.

“Want to repeat what we laid out in case of the event that security knows that someone here should not be here?” Polan asks, wanting to make sure that both him and Uri understand what comes next.

Uri sighed. “Long story short. You’re a criminal, you tried to stole classified documents from the Tianju Dominion, you’re masquerading as a Party member, and I’m angry. I will vouch for you to be sent to Betreuen,” he continued, thinking of the desolate penal colony. “And for that I need to go directly to the Crown Princess.”

“If all goes well then I should be alive and well. If not then you’ll hear about my death in about an hour or two, depending how long they take to kill me,” Polan chuckles, understanding fully well that his life depends on how good of mood the Crown Princess is in.

“Yes. And one thing to remember… I never knew about anyone named Polan Brown, whatever he did, or whoever he is. You’re a stranger and we’ve never met before except on this occasion, and you’re probably sent by one of my rival Lords,” he finished. It should be a good cover-up.

“Let’s not keep her waiting, or else the Praetorians will come knocking on our door as they search for their invader. Come on,” Polan places his hands behind his back, awaiting for someone to forcefully restrain the man.

Uri snapped his fingers, and two tall, brute Party officers held Polan’s hand in unison. One of them produced a glowing rope with a metal clasp on both its ends, and tied his hands. “Stay calm,” he said, “you aren’t going to die. Yet.” A minute later, with Polan tied and held by Tianju Dominion officers, they walked through an alternative route into the Gallery - where the Crown Princess Valeria took her rest. Uri knocked on the door, and curtseyed. “I humbly wish for the honour of Her Imperial Majesty’s presence.”

The Praetorians and by extension the Guard had realized Polan was an intruder before he even entered the building. But they knew he didn’t have weapons and thus allowed him to enter.

The Praetorians kept motionless and still as Uri approached with Polan. The Crown Princess however raised her head, before being distracted by the Krakatoan delegate, and she beckoned Uri to speak first.

“Your Imperial Majesty, it is a great honour for me to be allowed into your presence,” Uri bowed gracefully. He switched to the persona of the sweet-talking, elegant diplomat, refined after years attending the court of the Tianju Dominion. “Pardon my interruption, Majesty. There has been an interruption in my office at the Senate Recess. One of my aides informed me that I am going to attend a virtual conference in my room, so unfortunately, I missed the session at the bar. However, I noticed that someone, that is not supposed to lurk in my office - nor the Senate Building, for that matter, was present there. This man,” he pointed to Polan, “had forged identification cards, entered the Senate Building as a Tianju delegation staff, and sneaked up into the Tianju Dominion representative office to steal several classified tablets. I suspect that he’s a spy from any of the major energy corporations. Pardon me, Majesty, but he did this outside of my surveillance - the commercial docking bays of Nova Terra can be such a mess, and even the most effective of organizations cannot keep all of its staff in order. It was far away from the Senate Building, especially noting that I had arrived here earlier for corporate business, so I haven’t the opportunity to use the Senate ports. Under the Senate law this should be a major offense,” he continued, “and I ask that he should be punished accordingly. Perhaps an exile to the planet Betreuen?” He spared a condescending look at Polan once more. “Let him rot away in hard labor. Such filth like this man does not deserve the graces that the Imperium afforded to its citizens.” Now Uri realized that what he said might be taken as overly praising the Crown Princess or he’s a bit hyperbolic, but what matters is that he made a mistake, and he wanted to give the impression that he’s willing to get rid of this mistake.

Valeria blinked at this sudden revelation. A man falsifying identity to steal information from the Tianju Dominion? That was a grave offense and spoke ill of the corporation that would sanction such a cover operation. One of the Praetorians leaned down and seemed to whisper something to Valeria. The Crown Princess tilted her head as the Praetorian returned to a standing position. Valeria leaned forward, “Why not just execute him for corporate espionage?”

It was a solid question. The whole thing seemed pitched rather than a sudden catch of a culprit. After all, apparently Uri and this Man had spent close proximity to each other for several minutes at least.

“Believe me, I want to, Crown Princess. However, that would prove counter-beneficial to the Dominion’s interests, Majesty,” Uri responded politely. “As a businessman, I still wanted an insight to this… thing’s masters,” he gestured to Polan in a condescending way. “It would be better for me to keep him alive and barely fed. He could be a potential asset. Unfortunately, I do not have the means to keep him on my planet - it is crowded and full of visitors, public relations could be a hard thing to manage, plus there are concerns that he could possibly escape from my jails. Keeping him in a dedicated prison facility, like Betreuen, would be more efficient for my needs.” He bowed a little again. “By your permission, of course, Majesty. He is yours. But pardon me, I hope you can consider my reasons.”
Valeria breathed in and out slowly as she contemplated, speaking slowly, confidently “Very well. However, should he prove more troublesome. You will find yourself explaining this to the High Courts and my Father. A much more scrutinizing assortment than myself. Additionally, should he be seen here again, he will be put to death, and I will formally charge you with treason against the Imperium.”

Uri wanted to breathe a sigh of relief, but he knew better. Instead, he bowed respectfully and expressed his gratitude. “I shall do my very best to keep him contained, Majesty,” he answered, “and I thank you. Pardon me, Majesty - I ask your leave.”

[Bolslania]

Jac and the other military officers stood bolt upright when Uri brought into the floor and before Crown Princess Valeria an intruder. Vandercalt watched him like a hawk. Something tickled in the back of Vandercalts mind, but nothing was forthcoming. His lip twitched at Valeria's commandment for the prisoner, he understood the logic, personally Jac would have this man tortured for information and then publicly executed to make a point. Then again, he wasn't a very diplomatic man.

What concerned him more was that the Senators would panic, and rush to withdraw forces to protect themselves on Nova Terra, which would make his job of getting more forces much harder.

[Imperialisium]

Nova Terra
Imperial High Command
Meeting of Joint Chiefs

The Imperial Military was a gigantic machine that had defended the Galactic Imperium for a thousand generations. The greatest military force ever assembled, billions upon billions of servicemembers toiled daily on countless worlds, to keep the Milky Way Galaxy safe and secure. It was an onerous and unending task. But it was a task the Imperial Armed Forces took too with enthusiasm. The Joint Chiefs were the Tsaraj-Emperor appointed officers, one from each branch and other selected officers, that handled the day to day intermediary tasks of formulating His Majesty's Will into orders. While appraising and advising His Imperial Majesty on all military matters. The Joint Chief's meeting room was not marked on official blueprints. Some could say it never had a formal meeting place at all. But it was generally kept within the Imperial Palace. A relatively small, circular, room around a polished black granite table outfitted with holographic instruments and projectors. A pair of Praetorians stood at attention beside the only entrance into the room.

Several individuals sat around the table. Each one viewing reports. Grand Admiral Ray Nerva and her blond locks tucked into a back bun. Gray uniform perfectly pressed. Her right eye was an expensive cybernetic that looked entirely natural. While cybernetic and synthetic vat-grown organ replacements had allowed the two hundred and twenty-eight year old to appear in her mid-50s. Beside her was Marshal Bastonne Jerjon of the Imperial Army in the pinks and greens of his branch, while slightly her senior by two years, and a veteran of the Perdatus Gulf campaign. Next there was Lord General Maximus Thade of the Imperial Guard. His dress uniform was scarlet. Next was Chief Director Rathe Del-Zhai'here of the Imperial Intelligence Special Military Directorate. The overseeing body in the Imperial Intelligence apparatus that oversaw the Naval Intelligence and Army Intelligence divisions. Alongside their own clandestine military oriented departments. Del-Zhai'here was accompanied by Director Orethenes Kaj-Oixu of the Imperial Intelligence Covert Operations Division. Finally, there was Colonel-General of the Marine Corps Ohmar van Zandt and Imperial Vizier William Zoran. Zoran being the former Guvernadur of the Ophidian Gulf to the North-East of Nova Terra and a former career officer in the Imperial Navy.

"The Hyperborean Rebellion, The Tsaraj-Emperor wishes to have a report on the planned resolution of these insurgents by the end of the day." Zoran spoke with clear, clipped, precise pronunciation. The tone of a no nonsense official.

The first to respond was predictably that of the Imperial Intelligence Chief Director Rathe Del-Zhai'here. Whom was only outranked by Quintara in the Imperial Intelligence more fluid upper command apparatus. "The strength of the rebellious forces are minimal in space. However, it is at ground were initial calculations from Army Intelligence, based on data from the last three Nova Terran years, predict to be the hardest."

"Hardest?" queried Zoran.

"Most of the rebellion's strength is expected to be ground forces on their habitable worlds." Replied Rathe smoothly as he moved a strand of gray hair from his brow. Smoothing it over with a cybernetic digit. His right hand was replaced by a fully integrated cybernetic-computer set up allowing him to interface with terminals for the artificial intelligence assistance programmed directly into his hands small computer.

Grand Admiral Nerva clasped her hands, "The 24th Fleet is conducting exercises. They are free to be repurposed to the Hyperborean theatre. The 55th Fleet in the area, under Admiral Rayder will rendezvous with Admiral Lafel to begin operations in preparations for the ground war?" Nerva eyed her Army counterpart who cleared his throat, "Army High Command can select High General Aetius and his forces. Reinforced by the latest batch from Betreuen as the first wave."

"The sacrificial lamb?" remarked Nerva with a raised eye brow.

"Criminals who are given the honour of redemption in serving their empire on the battlefield," responded Marshal Jerjon. His twinkling blue eyes cast ever so reflective by the light of the room.

"Will that be all?" mused Zoran.

"We will issue these orders once this meeting is adjourned," confirmed both officers.

"Now, I have a question. What is this I hear of an Admiral...," Zoran read from a small data-slate, "Tchaikovsky, insubordination over an issue regarding faulty intelligence against a pirate threat. One resulting in the loss of a few non-capital ships and a cruiser under an Admiral Barclay?"

"Tchaikovsky's insubordination is due to his incompetence. He is to be stripped of rank and dishonorably discharged as per Admiral Pyke," responded Nerva.

"A bit harsh. Considering he was right about the faulty intelligence." Zoran finished his sentence with an eye to both Intelligence officials.

"Would you recommend some other course of action?"

"Bunk him down to Commodore and attach him to Admiral Lafel. If a man is skilled he will regain at least his integrity," responded Zoran.

Nerva mulled it over for a moment, "Very well. I will give the firm recommendation to Pyke that Tchaikovsky's sentence is to be commuted to loss of rank and assignment to the 24th Fleet."

"And your plan about the piracy issue. May I amend my initial suggestion, perhaps?" continued Zoran with a twitch of smile. Nerva exhaled slowly, "Of course. What do you wish to revise for your suggestion?"

"Perhaps it should be done after he deals with the pirate problem?"

Nerva sat back in her seat, "What if he succeeds. To demote him after a success as that would not be looked at as normal."

"True. If he fails then, demotion, if he succeeds he will be ordered to rendezvous with Admiral Lafel?"

"I will agree to this, as a favor, Vizier"

Zoran nodded and stood. "The Emperor shall receive the minutes of this meeting and our official reports. This session of the Joint Chiefs is adjourned." Nerva and the rest stood, nodding to each other, some occasional handshakes as they left. Nerva, however, eyes Zoran as she left. The Imperial Vizier kept his blue eyes upon the Grand Admiral until she left. Leaving him in the conference room as he checked his personal data slate. A message from the Praetorians, Code: Black encryption, on behalf of Crown Princess Valeria in the capacity of Imperial Executer for her the Emperor. Thumbing his biometric, Zoran read the report, no doubt just as the Imperial Intelligence Chief Director and Quintara received the same message. Reading through it smoothly Zoran pressed a holographic rune projected onto the table. A click sounded and the man spoke, "Encrypted message on my authority. Guard Command, Division 6, Commander Bakhara..."

The Imperial Senate Building

As the first audience was over Valeria beckoned the Krakatoan delegate towards her to speak as he had initially requested too. Valeria noted his helmet and armour remained on. Despite having surrendered his weapons. From memory she vaguely recalled the Krakatoans as one of those warrior-cultures. There were so many unique cultures in the Galaxy, Human or otherwise, that she couldn't keep them all straight in her mind. Nevertheless, she recalled this culture and deferred her head in a nod of respect. The Praetorians remained motionless.

As the Krakatoan approached Valeria turned to one of the Praetorians and whispered, "Send a missive to Imperial Intelligence. Code: Black Encryption level. To monitor Senator Uri. If he is indeed up to traitorous activities I want a strike team to deal with him and all close associates." The Praetorian nodded and while he made no outward appearance at typing or sending any sort of message. Valeria knew the Praetorian likely had already transcribed and sent the message via their internal suit neural interface.

[New New Sriker]

Oldstone Military Checkpoint, Northeastern Antelope

The officer sat at a table cleaning his pistol while whistling a tune, as he finished cleaning his firearm a gunshot rang out in the air and the local garrison troops rushed out to find the source. When the men arrived outside they saw the massive hole in one of their vehicles and moved up into the woods, as the soldiers moved deeper into the woods they were met by the sound of hooves and then they saw the source of the gunshot and the hooves, a group of Ra’Shide warriors mounted on horses charged at the men cutting the leading squad like wheat to a scythe. The soldiers that remained assumed positions fired at the warriors with their rifles, their bullets failed to pierce the exoskeletons of the warriors and as they fired the chief of the band of warriors dismounted his horse and looked at his warriors

“Brothers, dismount and we shall face these weaklings with our own might” said the chief as he pulled out two large blades and charged at the soldier alongside his warriors, some soldiers stayed behind to fight while others ran back to the HQ, the ones who decided to stay behind fired very few shots before being cut down by the charging warriors. Some of the soldiers had reached the HQ and equipped themselves with weapons able to pierce the Ra’Shide’s thick exoskeletons, the warriors reached the HQ and swarmed the inside and as they entered they were met with heavy gunfire from the troops inside, the warriors in the front fell to the gunfire while the few who survived the gunfire took cover to avoid further casualties. The warriors fired back at the soldiers managing to kill a few of them, after a while the warriors decided to spring an attack and pushed into the building, the fighting spread throughout every room in the building with guns, grenades, and blades being used. After an hour the only holdout was the office of the checkpoint’s officer, the officer stood behind his desk with his pistol aimed at the door then the door was knocked off of its hinges and standing behind it was the chief of the warriors’ who then charged at the officer and grabbed his gun and managed to get it out off his hands and put a sword through the officer’s chest. The chief grabbed the body of the officer and cut the head off, as the war band left they gathered all of the checkpoint’s weaponry and supplies as they could hold and rode back into the forest to continue the fight…

Revolutionary Hall,Greensboro, Antelope

John sat at a poorly set up war table, it was covered with maps of Antelope, lists of weapons and supplies, and known information on the Home Guard. John read through the various reports and lists and as he was doing this Colonel Jeffery Hart , the commander of the Greensboro Garrison, which had come out and supported the General Strike, entered the room.

“John, we have reports off gathering Home Guard in the North and also recently a large amount of the Ra’Shide warbands are reporting large skirmishes in the Northeast, I think we should begin to plan an offensive into the North and cut the head off of the snake” Colonel Hart told John, John rubbed his forehead and looked at the Colonel “I see, but thankfully I have a pan for this.” said as he pulled out a map with even more symbols and lines than the last few that were on the table, John then pointed to a yellow arrow facing the Northwest. “You will take about 350k men and begin to slowly push up until you hit the coast or meet a enemy too tough fight, the Tribal coalition will take the Northeast with about 600k Ra’Shide and 10k of our boys, then finally I will handle the center with the remaining 1.84 million men and start a push all the way until we reach Ashfield, there all of the armies will meet up and we will take the city together. Thanks to the Navy no outsiders should come to the Authorities assistance, the only thing we need to worry about now is what we will do after.” As John finished his statement a guest arrived, it was High Chief Wa’hal, the elected leader of the Ra’Shide United Tribal Coalition and the leader of the Northeastern campaign.

“ Welcome Wa’Hal, we were just discussing plans for after the war, but let me finish my point. We can not declare independence from the Imperium, it simply is not realistic, not only do we not have a large enough army but we also don’t have enough of anything to use as a bargaining chip against them either.” Explained John, but before he could continue the High Chief added into the conversation. “Brother, I understand your explanation but what else could we do once we slay that dog General, is there any other options?” Ask Wa’Hal, John looked at Wa’Hal and handed them a drink. “ To put it simply, once we end the General, I'll take up the role of General and we will implement our ideals while keeping up the farce until the time is ideal comrades. other than that we will execute any Loyalist officers and make sure that no one leaks anything to the Senate, how about that?” Asked John as he stared at his two companions. They both looked at John and gave him a smile of agreement and then the three comrades took a single shot of whiskey to symbolise the agreement, with this John walked to his quarters to rest for the day, for tomorrow holds even more events for the revolutionary…

[G-Tech Corporation]

The Imperial Senate

Men and women began drifting back in after the crimson globe was lit, indicating that the recess was at an end. Even in the comparably small chamber of the Raumsraad, with active noise dampening devices in play, the background buzz of ten thousand politicians in hushed conversation was enough to rise to a loud drone. Prismidia took her seat in the low box the Hegemony had for her own, and gazed around primly at the assembled delegates. There had certainly already been enough speeches, counterpoints, sallies, and filibusters for her own taste. But to some this continued verbal sparring was the meat and bread which gave them life. The woman from the fringe was not so addicted to these opiates as most, and paid more attention to the undercurrents than the overt bloviating.

It was a matter of two factors, and innumerable lesser interplays. On the one hand, there were very few of the Great Houses, and even the Major Houses, that liked an increase in Imperial taxes. It smacked of centralization, and centralization smacked of infringement on their ancestral rights, their privileges and powers. Taxation on commerce, taxation on manufacturing, taxation on, well, anything - it ultimately boiled down to a stronger Throne and weaker polities beyond those upon whom Imperial favor rested. The Raumsraad was notorious for turning down even nominally beneficial legislation or military campaigns that would primarily benefit their stepchildren, the Imperial worlds.

But then there was the matter of the Great Game. A tax on the Polarian Way would hurt some Great Houses, aye, but only a very small minority of them. Thus it could be seen, from another perspective, as a means of reining in potentially powerful rivals, of cutting down an enemy without even the need for kanly. Thousands of Houses would be completely unaffected by this tax increase, and so stood to benefit, relatively, from the financial strain it would place on their political adversaries.

A delicate balance. To enable the Imperial centralization so as to harm another House, or to rein in the ambitions of the Throne? A dance upon a razor's edge for those of the Raumsraad.

---

Tenovalia, House Gaisere Holdings

It had begun innocuously enough - with protests demanding accountability for levy-assessors on the minor ecological paradise of House Gaisere after a particularly harsh season. A classic case really, of rule in absentia. The sires of House Gaisere were reasonable enough, even liked by most of the citizens of their dominion, but they could not be everywhere at once. It only takes one draconian taxman, one overzealous inspector, and you can see protests on your hands. Tenovalia's crops of Salivar wheat had been struck by a pox, which, combined with climatic fluctuations, left her unable to fill her quotas. A local inspector cracked down, demanding said quotas, and the citizens took to the streets.

The newsheets didn't say who fired the first shot. Protestors marched on the local seat of power, the House of a governor appointed by Lethwin Gaisere, and then fighting broke out. Official reports stated that OLG revolutionaries had infiltrated the protest, and begun firing on Gaisere soldiers manning the outer defenses. Underground publications trumpeted that the inspector had turned his weapon on the crowd, and the House troops had followed suit, at which point several armed citizens defended themselves.

Most of the original conflagrationists were dead. Perhaps the truth would never be known.

But now Tenovalia burned. A nascent rebel organization, the Organization for the Liberation of the Galaxy, had claimed several attacks against patrols, agricultural shipments, and bombed several military barracks across the world. Open warfare had begun across two of the four continents of the green and blue paradise, smuggled weapons and rebel fighters brawling with local defense forces and House Gaisere soldiers.

And so the Paternus arrived in high orbit. Her green and white slashes, clearly visible as she tumbled out of the cargospace of the Heighliner that had born her to the conflict, marked her out as an official part of the Greensword, the professional forces the Great House maintained to enforce their rule. The hundreds of landers that she disgorged swiftly clarified her role in the system to any watcher; she was a troop transport, here to end the disorder with the stamping of a boot.

"Fortunate we were so close." A short man, stocky and swarthy, observed the progress of the military craft toward the planetary surface.

A man in the forest-green outfit of the Greensword grunted at his side.

"Fortunate Commander Carrus still holds control of the planetary generators. If the rebels had gotten a hold of those, they've have dropped the shield and pasted our landers at a range of twelve c-klicks."

The swarthy man nodded, considering, and straightened his blue-gray uniform unconsciously.

"Casualties will probably be heavy in the landing zones we have chosen. But we have bodies to spare, and we need to contain this fire before it spreads. OLG."

His words made the abbreviation into a curse. Gold eyes flecked with blue flashed in anger.

[Orostan]

Supreme Commander Hayar Tarass

Near Tenovalia, Former House Gaisere Holdings

The image of a Greensword freighter deploying landing craft dominated the view screen. A small (and expensive) sensor probe a good distance away was relaying the blurry image to Hayar's warship hidden in the outer limits of Tenovalia's star system. The enemy ship had begun to deploy landers almost as soon as they'd dropped out of FTL.

"Not expecting a fight, are they?" Hayar asked to nobody in particular.

The sensor officer spoke up.

"It does not seem so, Supreme Commander. Their freighter has heavy weapons modifications however. Nothing overly dangerous I can detect, however."

Hayar smiled and turned to Tashmeta who was sitting next to him. "A freighter won't stand up to a good warship. Give the order Commander."

Tashmeta pressed a button on her armrest and a combat alarm rang out across the ship. "Jump.", she ordered.

The OLG Purpose flung itself into FTL followed by three formerly Imperial attack ships robbed from the Samarkan ship yards not too long ago. Only a moment later the image on the view screen suddenly became much more focused. At the edge of the gravity well where the OLG ships had dropped out of FTL they were much too far to begin firing effectively, but the fast attack ships could get into range quickly and sped ahead of Hayar's much larger ship towards the swarm of landing craft.

"Bring us into range with the Greens and target their shielding systems. Antu, make sure you keep the attack craft on those landing craft and inform our people on the ground of the situation. Tell them to prepare ground fire and to launch interceptors."

She was already on it when Hayar turned to his communications officer.

"Put me on a standard communications frequency with the enemy ship."

The communications officer pressed a few buttons on their console and a moment later Hayar was being broadcast to the enemy ship, if they had decided to listen at all. Hayar's black and blue uniform would provide a good contrast to the Greensword uniforms if he was ever in the same room as them.

"I am Hayar Tarass, Supreme Commander of the OLG. Surrender and you will be treated honorably. Resist and survival cannot be guaranteed."

Hayar had the communication's officer cut off the transmission the moment after finishing.

Tenovalia's Surface

The rebel tank crossed over a pile of rubble in the streets of what was once the planet's capitol city. The ruins of the commercial district had been subject to incessant artillery bombardment by both sides over the course of the conflict and had changed hands just as many times as it had been shelled. The rebels were trying to push up to the planetary shield generator in the center of the city but had thus far been repelled by the disciplined House Gaisere troops. There were many more rebels however, and they had received a great deal of equipment from off world in the time since their rebellion had begun. The tank leading the attack against a Gaisere position down this wide avenue was plenty proof of that.

The tank fired its long railgun a few times, brief distortions in the air signalling the deactivation and reactivation of the vehicle's shielding systems as it did so. Rebel soldiers moved from cluster to cluster of rubble for cover as the tank and a few machine gunners covered them. Bright flashes of light among the rubble signaled a projectile striking a rebel's shield as they scrambled for cover. Sometimes a shout or a scream would signal an unlucky rebel's death as their personal shielding system was overwhelmed. But more kept coming, and more tanks emerged from the rebel positions to back up their comrades. The discipline and efficiency of well trained House troops did not mean much if they were running out of anti-tank weapons, thought a rebel tank commander as he watched a Gaisere machine gun position explode from his scopes.

[Brusia]

Johnathan Aetius
Nova Terra
Imperial High Command

Following his arrival back to his homeworld, Aetius and his adjutant took a shuttle to Imperial High Command, where after running through the usual rigorous security checks and clearances, they were escorted to the Joint Chiefs' meeting room. His adjutant waited outside as Aetius briefed the Joint Chiefs on the resolution of the attempted rebellion on Kyotomo, then was escorted back out as the Joint Chiefs met for a closed session. While waiting for the Joint Chiefs to conclude their meeting and reassign him, Aetius made his way to the office that had been assigned to him in the High Command building within the subsection dedicated to the Third Sector Army, itself within the larger section dedicated to its parent Theater Army. It was a small office, one of many throughout the building assigned to high-ranking officers more as a formality than anything given that their would-be occupants spent the vast majority of their time scattered throughout the seemingly boundless Imperium, but they were a luxury appreciated by many when recalled for briefings or when stuck performing the dreaded bureaucratic tasks required of their station.

Though the more frequent briefings had resulted in his spending more time within his office lately, it remained sparsely decorated; little more than a desk, three chairs, and two flags: one representing the Imperium and one denoting his rank flanking both sides behind his desk chair. Aetius took a seat behind the desk as his adjutant sat at one of the two chairs at the front of the desk, and the two reviewed the latest reports coming in from the many fronts throughout the Imperium until a junior officer entered with a datapad containing their next assignment. Aetius took the pad, and after biometrically confirming his identity, reviewed the orders contained within.

"Well, looks like our next stop is the Hyperborean front; seems the 24th and 55th Fleets will be handling the operations in space and we'll be reinforced by..." Aetius stopped for a moment and rubbed his eyes before continuing "The Betreuen Blackguard."

"Is that a problem, sir?" his adjutant asked.

"If there are two groups of people in this universe I don't trust it's fanatics and convicts, and the Blackguard are both of those things rolled into one crazy package. Guess at least one of the Joint Chiefs must've been pretty pissed off about Kyotomo if that's who they're sticking us with." Aetius let out a heavy sigh and continued: "No matter, we've certainly been through worse on our own; for now best to focus on the task at hand. Pressing a few buttons on his desk, Aetius brought up a holocomm to get in touch with his XO and ordered: "Vice-General, we've received our orders; prepare the men for immediate redeployment." Aetius then clicked another button to end the call and turned back to his adjutant: "You get in touch with the offices of Admirals Lafel and Rayder as well as whatever poor bastard is stuck leading the prisoners and see if you can arrange a meeting; I'd like to get a strategy for dealing with these Hyperboreans hammered out as soon as possible."

"Right away General" the adjutant replied before standing up to carry out his orders.

"Oh" Aetius stated just before the man left his office "And see if you can get Intelligence to send us an expert on the Hyperboreans and their commanders for the meeting; should be easier than trying to sift through a mountain of data while we're working out a plan."

"Of course sir" the adjutant stated "I'll see what I can do."

With that the adjutant left to carry out his orders and Aetius began reading up on the Hyperborean Cosmic Front to learn as much as he could about his new enemy...

[Revlona]

Admiral Shara Lafel
Uninhabited Solar System Designated NONHAB-LEMSUBSEC-22
Lemorra Subsector
11:24

“Continue pouring in fire on that flanking maneuver Rear Admiral Ferrion,” Shara said over the holoprojector as Ferrions portion of the fleet peeled off the meet the enemy section. “I hope that flanking attack is intentionally clumsy, that’s very bad if not..” She muttered to herself before turning again as the computer spoke.

“Ma’am, HMS Endeavoring Spirit reports simulated hit upo.....incoming priority massage Admiral. Highest level urgency, immediate attention required. Shall I read out the message?” The computer said.

“Wait one, Rear Admiral Ferrion you take over command,” Shara said before switching removing the others from the Holoprojecter, you could never be to careful, if it was an important message then only she was currently cleared to hear it.

“Computer transfer over to my quarters,” Shara said as she about faced and strode out of the bridge of the battleship.

The walk to her rooms wasn’t far, she liked having her work space as close as possible to her command center. Halfway to her rooms she opened her communicator and ordered for a security detail to meet her there immediately.

As Shara arrived the detail of Marines were jogging down the corridor, arrive mere seconds after she did.

“Ma’am!” The Commander of the squad said, going to attention as his detail did the same behind him.

“No one is to enter without my say so, understood?” Shara said as she opened the door and stood in the entrance, waiting for the marines answer. He nodded once before barking a set of orders that set his men in position around the only entrance to her rooms.

She smiled at this as she closed the door and locked it, she loved the marines, if she hadn’t have joined the fleet then it would have been the marines.

After locking the door behind her Shara walked to her desk and sat in the comfortable chair that sat behind it, she looked down at her desk and blushed, realizing that several of her favorite animations littered the desk. She quickly put them away and turned the Holo-projector on.

“Computer, report.” She said

“Aye ma’am, incoming orders. The 24th fleet is to immediately begin rendezvous with the 55th fleet for the purpose of suppression of Hypoborean rebellion. The orders make mention that the ground forces shall be vanguarded by the Betreun Blackfuard,” The computer said

“Understood, send messages to both fleets, exercises terminated effective immediately, officers ranking Commodore and up are to make way to my ship for meeting regarding new orders by 12:00 tomorrow,” Shara said, leaning back in her chair and massaging her temple as she did so.

[Antimersia]

The Imperial Senate Building

Serrat waited patiently, and approached Valeria when she beckoned him. Once he felt secure that there were likely no eavesdroppers, he began to speak. "Thank you for your time your Grace. I do not know how much you know of the Krakatoan Domain. But, the greatest threat to my people, beyond even the Shadow, are the Swarm. Enormous insectoid creatures of disturbing strength and malice. We have fought them off to the point of near extinction. Making our blades ever sharper, and our men ever stronger through their destruction." Serrat catches himself, nearly going off on a rant about the Path of the Blade he is so devoted to. But stopping just before to make sure he stays on track and doesn't waste the Crown Princess' time. "But, in the time since we have surveilled them. In hopes of finding where they breed so we might end them once and for all. This surveillance has come with grave news. We have seen signs of language, and advanced communication between these monstrosities. What we once thought were nothing but mindless drones like most other insects, appear now to be greater threats that we could ever realized. I would like to request the aid of the Imperial Navy, to find the breeding grounds of the Swarm, and to completely eliminate the planet that they come from. I would take this task upon myself. But The Krakatoan Domain does not have the weaponry available to use to atomize a planet as i believe we should. Futhermore, as the planet is not within the Domain, we do not have the authority to make such a decision unilaterally. And so, I stand before you today, requesting your support in this endeavor." He speaks with urgency and sincerity in his voice. Clearly not a fan of asking others for help. Especially in militarist applications. But he believes the swarm can be snuffed out by the might of his people. They just lack the weaponry to do the snuffing.

[Krugmar]

Jove X
Between Rivers

The sounds of critters chirping filled the air, as he struggled his way through the marsh. The sun's rays beat down mercilessly on all below, and yet his skin tingled and body shivered from the intense cold he felt. His muscles tightened with every step, as his lungs threatened to collapse from a mounting pressure. It was tempting to stop, lie down and accept his fate, but he could not. He felt compelled to move forward, compelled to search, compelled to die elsewhere.

After all, death had never stopped him before.

He moved through a clearing of trees, noting that they had been marked out. People had not only been here, they owned the area. Ahead was a small stream, and the marsh gave way to plains and farmland as far as the eye could see. In the distance he felt as though there was a city, his destination. Yet it was only a feeling, for there was nothing of the sort to be seen.

"Look not upon the water. Dwell your sight upon my city." Spoke a voice, though from where it came Jove could not say. He was alone.

He came to the edge of the stream, and initially kept his eyes fixated upon the city. But doubt filled his mind as weariness pulled at his limbs. He fell to his knees, and his head sand downwards. His reflection was not what he was expecting, yet it did not shock him. He had worn and forgotten many faces, of all ages, and of both sexes. This one was intriguing, for a bald man with bronze skin tone stared back at him. His eyes were light brown, and he wore the rugged marks of a stern man.

The water slowly became blackened, and upon an impulse, he reached his hand into it. It felt more viscous than it should have, and he noted with alarm that it began crawling up his arm. With a sigh of resignation, he laid down as the new black fluid began to cover his body, forcing its way down his orifices.

He would die, but that meant little to him.

Jove X
Pelagius' Canton
Nirvana

"Your Holiness?" Asked his companion.

His eyes snapped open. He was no longer a bronze man lost in a marsh, but the Dalain-Patriarch, safe and comfortable in his private abode. He felt the marks of tears down his cheeks, and wiped away the few still pooling in his eyes. He looked at his companion, and noted that her serpentine eyes were staring right into his. If she could have blushed out of embarrassment she would have, as she quickly pushed herself away from his side.

"I'm sorry, I was just a bit worried after you fell unconscious." She said.

That was right, he had been updating himself on the scandal on Nova Roma before, well... he couldn't quite remember. The point between that and becoming aware of his journey through the marsh was lost to his waking memory.

"Zvira." He said, pushing himself to his feet. He took a few seconds to take a few deep breaths, as Zvira held his hand to stabilise him. There would be little the 4ft reptiloid could do to stop him falling, but he appreciated her concern. Her pure white scaly skin was refreshingly cool, a nice contrast to the stuffy room. "Thank you Zvira, I am fine." He said, cueing for her to let him go.

"That was a most unnerving experience. I have often relived my past lives, they have often felt like dreams, sometimes I die in them. Yet that hurt, even now I feel frail and worn out. Even now I am shaking." He explained, his left hand shaking gently, while his right hand was still, aside from the occasional twitch.

Zvira cocked her head dramatically. It was difficult for her species to express emotions in a similar manner to Humans, and so exaggeration was a necessity. "You are certain this was a past life, and not a dream?." She asked.

He nodded, "Only the born may dream, we created see only what we are intended, only what will better us. My soul is sundered, split into a million pieces, and the God I preach for has never once graced me with true rest."

She looked at him in confusion.

He smiled, "Those who made me never intended for me to dream. My mind is designed to cycle through old memories, again and again, to learn from past mistakes and remember old victories."

"But you told me your creators were not infallible, perhaps now a dream has slipped through?" She replied.

He shook his head, smiling at her naivety, "It was a rogue memory, likely my Shruthi Implant having an error and forcing a playback. Not a good sign."

"Protocol mandates that we must go to Gehenna, have you looked at." Zvira answered.

"Mmh, it would not do well to collapse upon my return to Jericho. Yes, I wish to see if this memory can be accessed. Everything about it was so vivid, I do not want to admit it but I felt the fear of death. It's a feeling I only likely felt upon my first death, and even then assured that was to return, perhaps not. Standard protocol for a Gehenna trip, do not log it, leave my double here." He ordered, and Zvira immediately set into action.

He was returning home for the first time in near a century.

[G-Tech Corporation]

Tenovalia, House Gaisere Holdings

"Commander, reading superluminal disruptions. I count one - no, four, vessels emerging at the edge of the planetary envelope. They are launching attack craft."

The tall man in forest green glanced down at the sensors for a moment before frowning.

"Tac-con can't make anything out of their int-eff frequencies. We don't have anything on the schedule, and I'm not aware of any reinforcements."

"Incoming communication, wideband." A different bridge officer sang out words that made the stocky man grunt.

"Patch it through."

The entire bridge listened as the message snarled out of the ether. Faces around the chamber became more grim as the missive concluded. The short man alone appeared unperturbed.

"It appears your intelligence was dated."

"Imperial Intelligence didn't share anything we didn't share with you, Techsin."

A shrug from the stocky man's shoulders, and he turned to stomp towards the rear of the bridge.

"I'll take care of it. Continue the landings, and put those ships into ablative orbit. I don't care if they lose armor on the way down. They'll get a lot more scorched by orbital fighters than friction if they stay at altitude."

Commander Harolds glanced back toward the viewscreen, now displaying gravitic scans of the fighter-swarm fast approaching Tenovalia, and a flash of light in his peripheral vision startled him. The other man was gone, and he frowned. Working with these Hegemonics gave him far too many spine-chilling tingles. How the Grand Vizier put up with their idiosyncrasies was a mystery.

As the freighter continued her course toward low orbit over the green agricultural world, a different ship slipped out of the hull of the Guild Heighliner. Her lines were utterly unlike the conventional House Gaisere freighter, indeed alien to the big-gun designs of the Imperial Navy. She massed only perhaps a few dozens meters from stem to stern, and looked like nothing so much as an oblong silver cigar. Her acceleration was rapid, inhumanly so, and it was less than a minute before she began to pass through the fighter cloud launched by the inbound OLG vessels, though they themselves were still several minutes out from the orbit of Tenovalia herself.

Fire and prismatic energy rose and fell about the silver vessel. Kinetics launched by the fighters glanced or cut chunks away from the silver skin, black scorch marks swiftly adorning the previously mirror-smooth surface. Explosives detonated against her, but her course scarcely deviated. Sections of her surface glistened with a rainbow color, before attack craft detonated seemingly of no accord about the small cutter's path. Others caught pillars of fire that lashed with impossible speed across the vacuum to consume pilots and vessel alike.

And then it was past, having torn a hole through the attack swarm. Onward it rushed, closing with the larger OLG fleet with cavalier disregard for the odds it faced.

Back in orbit the House Gaisere landers soon began approaching the planetary shield, the first dozen slipping through at a near standstill to brave the planetary fighters and any captured defenses. One exploded, then another, caught by surface fire and now only so many fragments tumbling onto the planet below.

[The Hierophancy]

Nova Terra, One-Hundred-and-Fourth Equatorial Administrative District

Alojs gave his cheek one final pass with the antique, single-blade steel razor before dousing his face in the mid-tower hotel room's tepid sinkwater. It smelled different from the conice melt he was used to - felt different, even. He inspected himself in the holographic display, running his hand over his lower face in search of errant stubble. He looked tired, and not the sort of mad-eyed, full-cycle project tired he was used to - he appeared, he supposed, haggard. It wasn't an expression one saw often in the Monastery-Fleet. The Bononne weren't in the habit of rushing themselves - or, for that matter, walking dozens of klicks in high-G. Six months in an acclimating chamber had proven insufficient to dull the ache in Alojs' bones. Sighing, he made the sign of the Omega, muttered a prayer for strength, and set about collecting his scant belongings: a chip containing technical documents, an access chip to the Society's ancient account with Pacem Interstellar Bank, a fibreplastic letter biosigned and sealed by the entire Fleet, his visa - "Commercial Representative, Fourth Class" - and a hardfax copy of the Pacem Bible. The lot of it fit comfortably in his habit's inner compartments, along with the old razor - not nearly as effective as defoliating cream or scrubber, but cheaper, and a gift from his father in ironic celebration of his Parfahic vows. Alojs wondered how his father, mother and comrades were doing n orbit around Nova Terra. While preparing for his mission, he'd spent some time studying starcharts, hoping to be able to discriminate the lights of the St. Hlodestias from the countless other ships and stars occupying the space about the Imperium's capital - to draw strength from the ship he, and countless others, called home. Alas, the Nova Terran night played host to neither stars nor starships - the gray, fuzzy reflection of a trillion holoads was far too bright.

Two months ago, during Alojs' initial descent to the planet's surface, he could've sworn Nova Terra to be Yirshalem - the City of God - made manifest. From the grimy plastic windows of the Third Pauper Gate's lurching cable-crawler, the jewel encrusted, tower-top surface of the Galaxy's heart had been nothing short of breathtaking. It was the first planet which Alojs - which any Bononne in millennia - had ever seen, and it had been beautiful.

First appearances were deceiving, however, and even twelve millennia after the defeat of the Demiurge, her creation remained one of sin. The middle city - where Alojs' little cable crawler had disgorged him - resembled less the City of Mind and more the ancient worlds of Bableon the Great, or Solaria the Seductress. A noocenosis built not to foster communication, or even to meet the material needs of it's citizens, but to deceive, and to tempt. Everywhere was the call to consumption - immense holoads flashed from every barren wall, gaudy storefronts occupied every interior boulevard and street, and what space wasn't donated to advertisement or direct-sale was, from what the monk could gather, office space. Still, Alojs could not help but be amazed at the city about him - a holograph near tall as the St. Hlodestias was long remained an awe-inspiring sight, even if it was an advertisement for some sort of stim-drink. A shopping complex that appeared to stretch into the horizon (an amazing concept in and of itself) seemed a grand testament to mankind's architectural might, regardless of content. Even twisted to sinful ends, the unified effort of spirit was truly grand.

What had worn Alojs out these last sixty odd days wasn't the sinful nature of the city, though - despite his initial hopes, he'd been prepared for a Gomorrah. Nor was it the simple strangeness of walking the surface of a planet, or baffling scale of it's structures. It wasn't even - directly, at least - the isolation he felt among so many silent, bustling and uncaring strangers. The blinding variety of dress, implants and body-forms blended into a uniform madness, and the eerie bubbles in which the slit-eyed Nova Terrans briskly walked from tower-to-tower - muttering under their breaths to synthetic aides or in small groups, seemingly oblivious and uncaring to their surroundings - were all certainly disconcerting and distressing. Alojs, however, had six-months practice in separation from his Society, and had even trained in interacting with the Sacrament of Communion dulled (a strange experience after half a lifetime of interconnection). He could survive massive, alien (sometimes literally) crowds, but actually speaking to these people in a system he felt he barely understood had proved draining.

Bureaucracy was a massive business on the Imperial capital - right up there with insurance and war-profiteering. Every district, tower, platform or even floor hosted a government office of some description, often representing esoteric and byzantine departments whose exact purposes Alojs had difficulty comprehending or justifying. Why, exactly, the D-Class Gravitic Tethers of the Santamadra System needed an entire office dedicated to their regulation was unclear, nor was the reason that regulating had to be overseen from several thousand lightyears away readily apparent. Unfortunately for Alojs, he had little choice but to try and learn.

Negotiating the intricate ceremony, convoluted hierarchies and impenetrable networks which bound together the planetwide constellation of pencil-pushers who drove the gears of Galactic bureaucracy was the cost that came with near anonymity - the six millennia old Corporate Charter of the Omegan Society of St. Hlodestias had bought Alojs a Fourth-Class Commercial Visa, and while that won him the right to petition low-level clerks and grant-sorters, it was lightyears from earning one the attention of even the paltriest of Senators, noble or otherwise. Petitioning the Emperor, as had been Alojs' tentative original plan, was - of course - entirely out of the question. And so the Bononne had been forced to immerse himself in a system - Bureaucracy - he understood only vaguely from academic papers and textbooks, running from the branch-offices of Imperial Office of Architectural Public Works to those of the Ecumenical Department of Charity, from the Sagittarian Macroconstructive Authority to the Senatorial Cultural Committee for Preservation of Ancient & Endangered Culture, and so on and so forth.

The weeks of back-to-back interviewing, grant writing and rhetorical desperation had not been entirely without progress. On the second week, sitting in the spartan lobby of the Ecumenical Council's All-Faith Temple Aid Program, Alojs had remembered a concept sprinkled throughout his earlier studies of Empire; bribery. The first time Alojs mentioned "donation", his world was abruptly transformed. Suddenly, he went from meeting with tower-clerks to anti-directors, lieutenant managers and junior magistrates. When he began offering direct credit transfers into personal accounts, he gained access to departmental directors and managerial boards. Putting aside the implications this had on Galactic governance, Alojs was overjoyed - finally, he thought, progress was being made! Alas, despite the bigger offices, fancier robes, more extravagant implants, biomods and false-smiles, the responses remained the same. Alojs' proposal was "outside of their purview", and "somewhat beyond the capabilities of our discretionary funds." If sufficiently compensated for their time, they'd recommend an office whose responsibilities more closely matched what Alojs asked of the Imperium before they showed him the door.

Of course, Alojs had not expected to be handed over a trillion credit check and the corvée of 17 systems the moment he stepped through the Ecumene Department of Superluminal Research's doors. He understood that, whatever the path he ended up taking after planetfall, it would be a long and arduous one. Governments didn't set about building planet-sized consciousnesses on a whim, and even sensical or modest proposals - neither adjectives which foreigners would, he knew, apply to the nascent datamind - could take years to reach the Senate Floor, only to be voted down for some grand, governmental reason beyond the understandings of ordinary, common folk.

The road before Alojs, however, was shaping up to be an especially long and costly one - from the ground floor he could, perhaps, start building a reputation. Bribe officials, build a few smaller dataminds with the aid of the Monastery-Fleet and Imperial grants. Slowly integrate the Society into the Bureaucratic consciousness, and, ever so gradually, build up to actually accomplishing his mission. He could probably convince his fellow monks to do it, too - despite this brief spasm of hopeful passion, he knew his people were a patient one. If he told them it'd take a century of politicking and corruption to start constructing the datamind, most would recant their new vows, beg forgiveness, and set to work on the "only way forwards." But crawling back to the fleet two months after planetfall to drag them into a sea of mud wasn't what Alojs wanted. When he returned to the Society, he would do so in triumph, unsullied by corruption, able to proudly tell his shipmates that they would see within their lifetimes more progress towards Ultimate Intelligence than his predecessors had accomplished in six thousand years. Alojs would be recorded in the Ship's Log not as a tentative, groping tendril of the Fleet who began the first stage of a new, millennium long foray into governance, but as a Savior, a Prophet, a Saint - the man who brought to the faithful the capability to accomplish all they could dream of, and to the faithless salvation.

With such thoughts racing through his mind, Alojs could not bear making his early-morning appointment at the Imperial Ministry of Minor Religious Monument's antipolar branch office. He - the Society - had cards to play beyond petty bribes and decent rhetoric. They'd been hoping to keep from building and selling more Trade-I's until it was absolutely necessary - that commerce was perhaps the Monastery-Fleet's greatest sin, and one they prayed over often - but Alojs believed that it was time to put them on the table. A Fourth-Class Commercial Visa, small change and the galaxy's greatest technical diagrams wouldn't get Alojs far past the doors of any Senator or Peers office complex, but - if they had staff who knew their stuff - the promise of a datamind might. Rushing back to his room's holoscreen, he searched for a map of nearby Senator's offices - proximity was as good a criteria as any to start off with. Feeling more awake than he had in weeks, Alojs hurriedly tidied up the room and, when he was satisfied it looked as he had first seen it, stepped out. He'd need to hurry if he wanted to catch the next cable up.

[Bolslania]

IMPERIAL SENATE


Vandercalt sat down in his booth, it wasn't particularly nice, but he wasn't here often so it didn't bother him. He just hoped that the Senators would get their narcissistic rambling done as soon as possible so that he could make his appeal to the General Staff, which would meet after the Senate meeting was done.

The senators quieted down as they waited for the Emperor or the Crown Princess to come in to oversee the session. Vandercalt's Deynai sat beside him.

"Well Deynai, how do you think my appeal to the General Staff will go?" Vandercalt asked of his advisor, Vandercalt trusted the Deynai to give thoughtful advice in all matters like this.


Polarian Way, Sector 12, Sub-Sector 14.

Freighter Horizon's Edge,

Captain Julius Verne was nervous. 15 years sailing this Tradeway and he had never felt such nervousness. With the recent attacks everyone was on edge, this asteroid field was a deathtrap. He had to cut FTL in order to navigate through the field without hitting anything, and it was prime hunting grounds for would-be marauders. The Horizon's Edge wasn't armed, but 2 Sao Eviticus Corvettes made regular patrols along this route. Problem was, they were late.

"Sir, you need to see this." Said his radar operator in a solemn voice. It snapped Verne out of his trance, he walked over, leaning on the back of the chair.

"What is it Chris?" He asked.

"I found the corvettes, but this is the bad news. They are in random tumbles and not in formation." Chris kept his voice down to not disturb the crew, Verne swore under his breath. Someone had hit the corvettes.

He walked over to the communications room, knocking on the door. Jarves sat up

"What's up sir?" He asked

"I need a tight beam back to Sao docks, someone whacked the corvettes." Jarves paled.

"Ye-Yes sir." Jarves was shaking as he put in the coding to beam back to Sao docks.

"Sao docks, this is Freighter vessel Horizon's Edge do you read? Over." He said, a moment later

"Copy that Horizon's Edge, go ahead, over."

"We have a--" The Intercom blared on

"All hands, brace for impact! All hands, brace for impact!"

"What the shit..." Jarves said, he still had his thumb pressing transmit when the ship was racked by a huge impact, throwing Jarves out of his seat, and Verne against the bulkhead. The wall containment units opened, revealing the Space-suits automatically deployed in the event of depressurization.

Verne and Jarves scrambled for the suits, getting them on as fast as possible. The intercom blared back on

"Boarders aboard, Boarders aboard!" was shouted over the PA. Jarves grabbed up the radio

"Mayday, mayday, we are under attack! I repeat we are under attack!" Verne heard footsteps approaching the bulkhead door, turning to face it, grabbing up a spare stool. There was muffled speaking, and then the crackling of a welding torch. After a few minutes, the door was kicked in with a plume of smoke, a humanoid silhouette stepping through it. Verne swung the stool, hitting the marauder on the shoulder, sending him to his knees, Verne was raising the stool to strike again when he felt a thunderous pain in his head, falling to the ground in a daze. He looked up to see a black-clad figure, all dressed in old tactical gear. His visor was tinted, but it had a red skull painted on it, it was holding a rifle to Verne's face, it was the last thing Verne saw.

[Orostan]

Supreme Commander Hayar Tarass

High Tenovalia Orbit, Former House Gaisere Holdings

Hayar looked on in shock as the tiny silver bullet ship tore through his attack craft swarm. Sensor officers ran through every scan they could of the object as Tashmeta quickly pulled up scans of the strange craft on her personal tablet.

"Put all our light weapons on that craft! Give me a flak screen and send our light ships in!" shouted Hayar as he stood up from his chair.

The OLG ships opened up with their light mass drivers that could track the quick craft as soon at it entered range while the large artillery guns began to fire flak shells in the general direction of the incoming craft, hoping to form a wall of shrapnel that would strike the craft regardless of where it maneuvered. The fast attack ships alongside Hayar's flagship began to accelerate in the direction of the enemy freighter and towards the oncoming bullet, taking up positions to shield the larger OLGS Purpose and firing missiles at the oncoming silver bullet as they did so.

As Hayar watched the ships get into position and the silver enemy ship get closer and closer his ship entered the farthest effective range from the enemy freighter. An instant after that the large artillery guns began to open up with the heavy lasers. Each firing of the big guns gave a slight vibration on the deck, and each blast of the lasers dimmed the lights an almost imperceptible amount.

As Hayar waited for the sensors to evaluate data from any strikes on the freighter's shield and watched the maneuvering bullet on the view screen, he gave another order.

"Commander Antu, tell our men down below to prepare for a boarding action and get the craft ready. Have half our attack fighters focus on the enemy freighter's weapons and the other half help us kill this 'bullet' thing."

Tashmeta only nodded as she relayed the orders through her tablet.

Tenovalia, Surface

Just under the planetary shield an air battle between remaining House Gaisere aircraft and rebel craft was developing as the OLG attempted to intercept the Greensword landing craft just under the planetary shield. Rebel craft that followed the landers down risked being destroyed by Gaisere aircraft diving on them, and at this height the ground fire the rebels had at their disposal was only semi-effective. The landers that passed through the shield successfully and were able to survive the aircraft battle would experience a brief period of peace as they accelerated towards the ground before they entered the range of rebel AA mass drivers, lasers, and missiles. The moment after they did though the barrage would be intense as rebels roughed to secure projected landing zones and prepare ground defenses. Missiles and fire that missed their mark would explode below the air battle that began to disperse the moment the last lander passed through the shield.

Near the capitol city the rebels were putting as much as they could into the attack on the shield generator and Gaisere command center near it to attempt to eliminate as many enemy forces as possible before the landing and possibly take the city center. The air battle was rapidly moving from just under the planetary shield to low in the air close to the war zone, and the rebels were throwing everything they could into it.