Machiavelli Station (Open IC)

[Almajoya]

He came up towards her. "Hi, excuse me. I'm Jason. So, your setting up a shop... a jewellery shop yes?"

Jade was sliding the last display cases into place, and answered over her shoulder, "Yes, but the-" She turned around and actually saw Jason standing there, with an odd transparent organism on his shoulder. "The shop's not open yet, though. I've just arrived recently."

Jade didn't mean to be rude, but she kept looking from the man to the bubbly organism. The Almajoyese share a love for all things, animate or inanimate, as their religion teaches that all things have souls. However, it helps when the "thing" is adorable. Jade extended her hand to Jason. "Hi, I'm Jade. It's a pleasure to meet you. Forgive me, but what's that on your shoulder?"

[Scolopendra]

Dominion Hosts

Well, that seems fair enough. Kurt is relieved in two ways: first, he isn't rendered completely useless--being a Diplomatic Officer, diplomacy is something of his raison d'etre--and second, he doesn't have to intervene in what's probably a very tricksy and not at all pleasant personal feud between the Emperor, the Imperatrice, Super Demolition Christ, and the Latter-Day Reformed Ardans. The civil servants of his office had been reporting in over the last few hours regarding the general attitude of things; this ad hoc and completely legal intelligence network is the reason why he knows things are up and they are not particularly good.

Now to make a final response and maybe take a nap at my desk.

Imperatrice,

Many thanks for your understanding of my offer, and my sincere apologies for not being of use at this immediate point in time. I am glad, however, that I may be of service in the near future and I am certain my superiors will be interested in assisting you in re-opening ties and ensuring interstellar peace. Unfortunately, if personal friends among my countrymen are to be included, I'm afraid they'll have to be specified as I am rather unforgivably ignorant as to your social circle--while I am not one for protocol for its own sake, I do think that in this case formal invitations are probably for the best. Knowing the cordial and close relationship between our two nations, however, I do not expect they would have to be particularly verbose.

I look forward to working with you and yours in the near future regarding this endeavor.

Respectfully,

Diplomatic Officer Kurt Honnêteté
Consul, Machiavelli Station Consulate
Federated Segments of Scolopendra

* - * - *

Skeelzanian Guests

Il Palazzo d'Tskra is well-known as an orderly, polite, yet friendly institution of hospitality in one of the station's better parts. It is staffed by orderly, polite, yet friendly locals--clearly well paid and carefully selected--and the general architecture matches the Art Deco Arabesque of Tskra's salon: generally very Middle Eastern (with an emphasis on Persian and Turkish design elements) with streamlined geometries and an elegant simplicity to replace the rococo overlays all too common in the originals it is intentionally inspired by. Unlike the salon, the hotel hosts miniature gardens--much more than mere small trees in planters--in order to establish an artful contrast between the organic lines of the plants and the modern streamlining of the architecture; additionally, it tends to freshen the station air and add a pleasant floral bouquet to the mix.

When living in what is, no matter how it is gussied up, mechanistic artificiality sometimes the careful application of nature can be a nice touch. This is clearly the intent here.

The staff seems to have no problem with the Skeeks' height, nor their armaments, nor much of anything else so long as the guests at least seem to behave themselves. The palazzo has a lounge with a full-service bar which seems to have an unusually high incidence of attractive and classy single individuals of both genders, considering station demographics, and since these individuals are consummate professionals regarding their trades they somehow manage not to detract from the overall atmosphere whilst still being readily available for those who require their services.

[Dread Lady Nathicana]

Nathicana looked at her clock. There was time yet. Never the easy way, was it? She had almost forgotten that one tended to be direct with the ‘Pendrans. Not that they weren’t capable of subtlety – far from it. They just seemed to both tire of it easily, and make things as difficult for those trying to utilize it as possible, likely often for their own damned amusement. Or so she thought in any case.

Officer Honnêteté,

Understood. I appreciate your assistance all the same. Perhaps if the invitation to your leadership were forwarded on through diplomatic channels as a point of interest? In looking it would seem the Ardans are not the only group looking to start over, so to speak. We have a delegation from Skeelzania on board as well in the process of establishing an embassy for Sol. They have a spotty history with the area, as your leaders no doubt might be aware, but by all reports they seem sincere enough. In figuring it is better to make friends than enemies, it was decided that we would assist the effort. An official statement concerning both to our allies will be forthcoming, but it is never bad to know we have no problems with a more personable heads up either.

Again, my thanks for your attention and efforts.

Sincerely,

--Nathicana

While she worked on her own set of invitations, the Public Relations offices were instructed to put together a more cohesive missive for the official lines of communications to explain, in part, the current situation while she handled the proper invitations.

That being said, brief yet polite invites were written up for her closer friends. She knew any number of them might be unable to attend given time, distance, and the demands of everyday life. The fact that leadership had changed hands didn’t mean they were all without things to do, after all. None of them had ever struck her as the ‘quietly retire to a life of pampered ease’ sorts, and some like Speeks still had responsibilities.

Big fuzzy Space Pope that he is, she thought fondly as she finished off the invitation to him and his fierce yet lovely mate. The once-cadet-turned-Sky Marshall was included as well, along with Shorty and the twins. Family for all intents and purposes, after all, and both had been a stalwart support and excellent influence on both her children, even with the damned idealism and often cynical spin that often accompanied it. Razak, the adorably crusty old bastard. Always a source of strength, and no-nonsense advice, completely unapologetic for any ruffled feathers on account. She rather loved him for that, no matter how put out she’d gotten with him on occasion. Shodey went without question, though she imagined her sister-in-mind was already well aware of many of the events transpiring on the station. The personal touch was never a thing to take for granted, and it was a courtesy she intended to continue to extend. And of course that damned von Karma, if he could be tracked down at least.

All the leaderships of the varied alliance members, both Triumvirate and NDA were included in brief but personable notes explaining the situation from a more diplomatic spin, as she had promised Kurt – and a more factual and detailed report from the PR Ministry was attached. There were some nations who they weren't connected to by alliance, but relations either warranted an invitation, or personal ties as well as potential benefits or support suggested it would be a good idea. People like D'ron and Lesley, perhaps Bruce. And who was that ... ah yes, Nesar. She wanted a word with him in any case, and if she understood correctly, he was already on station. Obviously the Skeelzanian delegates were invited, and the station contacts should have already made sure any diplomatic teams on station had been advised and made welcome to the concert and subsequent soiree afterwards.

The Ardans, as they were likely well aware, were putting on an event, and all were welcome to come and see if they thought starting anew might be in their best interests. No pressure, no hidden agendas, just a simple reintroduction via a culture-exchange and an opportunity to meet and greet. In addition, the Skeelzanians were mentioned, with a special note to Owen about understanding the sensitivity of the issue, but feeling that an effort of peace would in the end be more profitable to all considered than a renewed war. And oh yes. The rumors of Alkanphel’s miraculous return were not greatly exaggerated.

Not one word nor hint of the more troubling events concerning the attack was made.

By the time she’d finished, her time was up, and the thirty minutes she had allotted herself had turned into more than fifty. So much for the power nap, but then she wasn’t certain she’d have managed it in any case.

It was time to address the operatives. She only hoped what she learned wouldn’t further damage an already difficult situation.

[Melkor Unchained]

The door slides open and the Angsiyan and his wife stride into the room, once again conversing quietly in Dunnish. Alkanphel stands to greet them. "Hello, my friends. I've been expecting you," he says cheerfully. "Come, sit. I'm sure we have much to discuss." Konrad and Nadia exchange a worried glance, and move to the couch opposite Alkanphel's.

"I've made some coffee, if you like," Alkanphel offers. "French press, of course," he adds with a wink. Konrad declines, but Nadia pours herself a cup as she sits.

"Thank you," she offers simply.

"I figured it'd be best if you heard it from us," Konrad starts abruptly. "Nathicana has allowed her husband to leave the station. Minutes ago, we went to her office and demanded he be recalled as a person of interest in the investigation."

"She refused, of course," Nadia adds. "And chose to interpret our demands he be questioned as blaming him outright. Suffice to say, I'm subsequently unprepared to believe a word that comes out of that woman's mouth in regards to the investigation. Whether she or Devon is guilty or not, she's clearly letting him carry on as if nothing is wrong. She was more than happy to ignore our concerns, and the subsequent conflict of interest presented by Devon's potential involvement."

Konrad rubs his chin. "She says she's had him questioned, but under the circumstances I'm not prepared to believe it was any more thorough than 'Did you do it?' 'No,' or some manner of subtle pillow talk."

"Well, in fairness," Nadia starts before sipping her coffee. "The two of them have been married almost as long as we have." She winks at Konrad. "Eru knows I can tell quickly enough when you're lying." She sets down the cup and shakes her head. "But no..." she trails off for a moment. "The woman is too frayed, too rough around the edges. She's not pretending to be worn down; she really is. Whether that was the reason for her oversight, I can't say."

"I don't honestly care," Alkanphel admits.

Nadia looks at the Maia incredulously. "Someone tried to have you killed, Alkanphel. If this gets out--"

"Why should it?" Alkanphel cuts in with a shrug. "I used to work for Morgoth; lots of people probably think I still do, and accordingly, are likely to want me dead. Publicizing every attack, when there's very likely to be more still in the future, will serve no purpose other than to alarm the general population. And I believe they deserve some quiet at this point."

Nadia looks to the Angsiyan, her expression an odd mix of incredulity and relief. "I..." she starts. "I don't know what to say. Given the mutual animosity between yourself and Devon, I had quite expected you would be enraged that Nathi would let him go so easily." Konrad raises a brow but says nothing.

"Don't get me wrong, I still think Devon is the likely culprit," Alkanphel answers. "But the attempt failed at any rate. What the operatives are prepared to admit, or what the investigation is likely to reveal; and what Nathicana is subsequently prepared to accept or report, are of little consequence."

"Well that's just great," says Konrad flatly. "You don't give a shit, and we just got done raising an unholy ruckus in Nathicana's office about all of this. Silly us, for assuming you had some kind of interest in an impartial investigation."

Alkanphel shrugs again. "I think an impartial investigation is highly unlikely, under the circumstances. I've already written off that possibility. Whether Devon did this or not, I can't imagine she'll very much enjoy the implications if signs do start pointing to him. Despite their fights, the two have always remained close. Especially with all of this going on..." he gestures broadly. "She doesn't want to lose him. Not now, not after everything."

Konrad furrows a brow. "Well that's quite a departure. Last time we spoke, you seemed quite interested in getting to the bottom of this."

"Yes, true," Alkanphel answers with a nod. "But the more I think about it, the less inclined I am to care. That Nathi obviously seems prepared to overlook Devon as a suspect for now means that making a big deal out of this is likely to accomplish nothing save to anger her."

Nadia folds her arms across her chest and falls back into the couch. "Well, that's just great."

Alkanphel raises a brow. "Why?"

"We just got done doing exactly that," Konrad answers. "When we last spoke you had some fears that Nathi had something to do with this, considering the nature of the attack and how it was subsequently handled by station security. When we found out she had let him go, the red flags shot up. We decided that confronting her with the bald accusations would reveal whether she was complicit or merely protecting Devon. Given her reactions, we're inclined to believe the latter. I don't think she had anything to do with it, but she's obviously uncomfortable with the possibilty of Devon's involvement."

"Why didn't you come here first?" Alkanphel asks.

"If there was a snowball's chance in hell of getting Nathi to understand our position and ask for Devon back, we wanted to take it, and immediately. We didn't know how you'd react, and assumed the worst as we're wont to do," Nadia responds. "We felt that Nathicana had compromised herself as an impartial judge; if this did get out, gods forbid, we can't be seen as just standing by while we let Nathi compromise the investigation by virtue of her relationship with Devon. The private media and conservative--" she pauses. "All of the nobility would go nuts."

"I understand," Alkanphel says with a nod. "But, like I said, I think the chances of an honest, impartial investigation under the circumstances are pretty close to zero. I don't think she thought twice about letting Devon go, to be honest. If she had, it might have occurred to her that we could take it rather poorly, and would likely ask as his wife that he stick around of his own volition. Let her find out what she'll find out, and blame who she wants to blame. I'll be very surprised, under the circumstances, if it ends up being Devon." He stands and starts towards the kitchen. "Besides, I tried to kill the man myself almost 20 years ago; what goes around comes around, I suppose. At least when I did it I had the balls to do it myself."

[Dread Lady Nathicana]

The interrogations began pretty much as expected. What was already known by station security and verified through intel had been compiled, and downloaded onto datapads for both Nathicana and Konrad to examine prior to the discussions. Neither seemed terribly interested in speaking with the other, and the cool attitude of both certainly set the tone for the rest of the staff involved.

First there was the question of weapons. In the hours that had passed since the unknown operatives had been taken in, teams had been busy trying to track down anything they could on them. It turned out they were black market materials, largely last generation Menelmacari gear. All serial numbers had been removed, and efforts to track back the points of purchase lead to various dead ends. Nothing had been purchased in any one given place.

Even the shuttle turned up a blank, much to Nathicana’s irritation. According to the records they could find, six more passengers had disembarked than had originally boarded at its previous departure point, but no explanation could be found to account for it – none that they accepted at least. The crew was extremely light-lipped about it when contacted, and given their absence from the station, and being registered under a neutral party, anything short of sending a team out to ‘apprehend’ them was going to net no further results. Obviously they had been very well paid. Unfortunately, they currently lacked the means with which to delve through their personal accounts to make comparisons.

International relationships, rules, and privacy issues were a right bitch now and then, she noted.

Attempts at tracing the people themselves were the most frustrating. They were veritable ghosts, the lot of them. The only identification that intel could track down were those used by them on entering the station. That always had been a weak point for initial contacts, and they knew it, but given the purpose of the station there really was no other way that wouldn’t stifle travel and business. Various points of origin were indicated, though none of them panned out when investigated. Even going so far as to try and compare genetic samples as a cross-reference for those nationalities and races in the databanks turned up nothing more than a seemingly random result. No one nation was represented in the markers that showed up.

Other than allowing live capture, the lot of them had covered themselves decidedly well. What remained to be seen was how they had managed to infiltrate the way they had, how to prevent it in the future, and of course, who had sent them. They had all been kept in separate cells, unable to communicate with one another. Basic medical services had been rendered to those who needed them, and it seemed only one was unsuitable for questioning.

That one puzzled Nathicana more than a little, because she simply couldn’t accept the explanation she’d been given – and subsequently ‘forgotten’ to explain to Konrad. Whether Alkanphel had shared that little tidbit, she didn’t know, but considering the implications, she kept her opinions to herself on the matter until she could do some further researching herself. It was clear he wouldn’t be fit for much anything without serious intervention. His mind was broken, he wasn’t coherent. Perhaps he’d taken a suicide pill of some sort that hadn’t done its job? After all, Naiya couldn’t have … tests would need to be done to check for any foreign substances. Just to be sure.

They started with the small woman who seemed to be the team leader. Nathicana sat back and quietly allowed intel officers to initiate the discussions. It began of course with simple questions. She, and the rest who had been observed, with the exception of the frothing one, had several things in common. One of which was they seemed very intent on not giving their captors the least bit of satisfaction. The woman sat there in the hard metal chair, her hands cuffed to it behind her, feet secured similarly to the chair legs, hard-eyed and defiant, her lips pulled into a tight line. There was no fear there that Nathicana could see. Resignation, perhaps, but not fear. That was something she would have to remedy before the end.

Every question was met with a curt answer, oddly enough. The problem was that the answer changed every time it was asked, or rechecked, in spite of additional … pressure applied.

"Who sent you?"

"The Dominion."

"Who sent you?"

"Scolopendra."

"Who sent you?"

"Arda."

"Who sent you?"

"Treznor."

"Really? Treznor?"

"No, it was Menelmacar."

Exasperated, Nathicana stood back for a moment, quietly wiping the blood from her hands. It was only the first of many such questionings, granted. But the lack of sleep, the stress of the entire situation, earlier irritation and lack of completion adding to the mix, and the gnawing suspicion that things were only going to get worse had taken their toll. Otherwise she wouldn’t have gotten sloppy enough to strike the face like she had. It was clear that it was time to stop, at least for now.

The woman stared back at her, still defiant through the mask of red that covered her nose and mouth, in spite of the pain she had to be feeling. The Imperatrice knew this type well. She’d been there, once upon a time. She’d trained with them. She hired them. Worked with them. And granted, she respected them – even this group. It was going to be a right bitch to break them, and no doubt a waste of good material. She hated wasting good material. But there was nothing to be done for it.

Instructions were given for the ‘treatment’ of this woman at least. The others were to remain as they were, and the process begun here, would begin again, each one in turn. It promised to be a long, arduous process – or at least as long and arduous as she had patience for. Wheels were already turning in her mind as to how she might deal with it all in such a way as to keep the Ardans satisfied, get the answers for herself she wanted, and if necessary, protect her damanble husband from himself.

It was with utter exhaustion that she finally managed to collapse on her bed in the same clothing she’d arrived on the station wearing. Further questions would have to wait. Naiya would have to wait. That damned Alkanphel would have to wait. And dealing with Devon would have to wait. In the meantime, instructions given to intel, and more to point, Pellegrino proceeded apace while the Imperatrice sank into a dreamless sleep.

[Actaea]

Even with the sudden arrival of the unknown visitors, the final approach and landing on the Machiavelli went smoothly. The ship touched down in the large, wide hangar, and everyone made their way off without a hitch.

Hal didn't pack much for the trip. All he had was his backpack and a carry-on. He wasn't in a hurry to get to his hotel, as he was too busy staring at his surroundings in awe. The young freelancer had not been on the station for more than ten minutes, and he was already amazed. The interior was sleek and clean, sprawling with dozens of humans making their way to and fro to their respective destinations. Large public viewscreens showed the news and various Dominion advertisements. It was a lot like the spaceport back in the Dominion nation on Earth, only it was actually in space.

He strolled through the port, making a few stops for food, water, relief, and security checks. Speaking of security, Hal noticed that it was rather tight around here. There were guards around every other corner, and the scans at the checkpoints were rather thorough. Understandable; with such a large station and so many people, anything could happen. He snapped around two to three photos as he went as well, though he'd rather use the film for more major events.

As he made his way out of the spaceport section, he found himself wondering where to go next. He'd have to check into his hotel, of course, but to do that, he'd need transportation. Hal looked around for anything similar to a taxi or a shuttle. If he was unlucky, he'd probably have to ask someone for a little help.

-----------------------------------------------------------------

As the waitress served him another drink, Brice noticed the drunk making an advance towards her. He frowned and tensed up a bit, ready to stand up and teach him a lesson if he didn't get the hint. Thankfully, the nearby bouncers took him away before he did so.

The mercenary sighed and just glanced back up at the waitress. "No, thank you. I'm fine." He grasped his drink, bringing it up for another sip. After this, he'd be done for the night. Not that he was a light drinker. He'd rather stay sharp. Life had a habit of throwing crap at him on a regular basis, anyway.

[Kaenei]

Sophia could feel the bile rising in her throat as she read the document held in her sweaty palms for a fourteenth time - printed out as if the stunning information it held would be more palpable, more real if liberated from its electronic medium. The nausea which had plagued her for weeks preceding reared itself once again and the Governor-General unconsciously cradled her stomach, unsure if the twisting deep inside was due to a lack of rest as she had believed before, or this disturbing new development.

A series of thuds reverberated through the office of the highest level of the Serene Union, pulling bright blue eyes up and away from the words that were proving - literally - hard to digest. "Come in," She replied after a moment to steel her will and calm her gut.

"You have read it?" Sophia asked finally, allowing the far older Kaeneian opposite time to lower his creaking bones into a sitting position. Riordan Likonesse, time-served Supreme Overseer for the Office for Foreign and Extra-Solar Affairs wore his concern as plainly as the younger stateskaeneian opposite; his wrinkled flesh twisting to match the frown on his features.

"I have read it," He surmised finally, "But I am not sure I believe it. It is a series of difficult blows to take - one surprise after another. I see you had to hold it in your hands as well; I half-expected that it nothing would come from the print point, as if it as a figment of the imagination."

Sophia waved the paper in the air as if to punctuate the point, "It is quite real. I even had the cryptographic analysed for discrepancies as if, somehow, this could be an elaborate fake. It is quite real and we have a vital decision to make ..."

"You have not invited a representative from the Fleet or Ground Component," Likonesse mused in a compromise between statement and question. "I do not suppose there would be much debate; their remit is war and in that respect there is a simple choice between going to war, and not--"

"There is no question of war," Sophia interrupted. "The Dominion have done nothing more than realign their foreign policy. It is not as if the ships of the Dread Lady are laying waste to Solarri and us along with it. The question is two-fold. Firstly, how do we react to this?"

Riordan cocked his head to the side, accepting the glass of warmed water and lifting it to his dried lips, enjoying the spice of the heat. "We are still in a formal state of war with Arda, its agents, its constituent nations and successor states. With good reason."

"With good reason," Sophia repeated, her eyes drifting to the large, expansive window which granted her office a view of the capital, Solarri, stretching out and occasionally peeking through the permanent plate of solid ice and snow which blanketed the metropolis. "There are many unanswered questions regarding just how much involvement the government of Morgoth had in aiding the Sketchen attack on the WorldDisc those years ago. There are unanswered questions about just how much change has really taken place for a regime that, until I received this information, I had thought universally opposed by the Triumvirate and the NDA."

Riordan nodded, "We are out of touch, Governor-General. We watch as if the decades have not rolled past. The snow still covers our cities and our ships still ply the sea between the stars but for the OFESA, for the KTSDF, for your administration and our billions of citizens, nothing of the outside world has changed."

"Our children still learn of the Ardan War as if it happened a year and not a half-century ago," He continued. You have reformed the people and their attitudes for the most part, but our government has remained static. Perhaps we are simply behind the times?"

The Governor-General's brow furrowed, her head shaking. "And Alkanphel? A former favoured lieutenant of whatever it is that used the name Morgoth - somehow risen from the dead as if he is more like his master than me or you. Apparently with full use of Dominion facilities as if he is a favoured friend and not a mortal enemy. We believed the snake was dead by virtue of its missing head. It is more like the Earth Hydra."

"You can sooner predict the weather than The Dominion as they say in my department," The aged Kaeneian offered with a shrug of his shoulders. "This would not be the first time that the Serene Union has not seen eye-to-eye with Devras. Iraqstan being the prime example of our occasional falling out. I think the issue here is that we are all made extremely uncomfortable by our lack of fore warning about this situation developing. The blow landed suddenly is the one most keenly felt."

Sophia nodded, the metaphor making sense. "I had thought - perhaps hoped - that the age of Arda was over. That the Five Kingdoms' back had been broken and our victory complete. That they not only endure is not as worrying to me as the reappearance of some key figures which I had believed surely dead by our hand, or others."

A loud thump at the double-set doors broke the conversation. The carved still of a bird with wings outstretched in resplendent mid-flight broke apart, the two separate pieces swinging inwards as a lanky Kaeneian wearing the duty uniform of the Kaeneian Intelligence & Security Service made his way to the desk as a matter of urgency.

"From Acting Supreme-Overseer Callistar, Governor-General," The nameless subordinate uttered before excusing himself.

Sophia's eyes scanned the document and almost immediately regretted the action, giving as it did her stomach free license to twist on the end of her throat until it had tied itself into further half-dozen knots. Bile was swallowed back quickly lest she lose control all over the day's official documentation. Wordlessly she handed the information to an inquisitive Riordan.

"Naiya D'Aquisto's father is Alkanphel," The Governor-General finally managed with a dry, stale throat that tasted sickly sweet.

Riordan nodded, his own concern deeply etched on his advanced years, "So the next Imperiatrice of The Dominion shares her heritage with a former Ardan General--

"And a war criminal who by all rights is dead," Sophia interrupted for the second time .

"I was under the impression," Riordan tried to continue, "That Empress Nathicana was wed to Devon Treznor, Emperor of Treznor. Our records cannot surely be so hopelessly out of date ..."

"She was - she is," Sophia corrected, quickly consulting the relevant information available at her fingertips. "The KISS directory holds nothing that disagrees. By my understanding she is almost eighteen years of age. Which means for almost two decades one of our closest allies, at the very senior levels of its government - the head of government and state, has been involved with a War Criminal and has gone as far as to father a child who is now the heir to the throne of Devras?"

Riordan leaned backwards, his comfort zone utterly destroyed. "Indeed," Was all he could manage in response. "This would seem more than a policy shift; The Dominion have always been willing to embrace change more quickly than us, and they are quicker still at making friends ..."

"Friends will never include states which may have participated or become involved in the deaths of our people," The Governor-General chided sternly with a tone brooking no argument. "Friends will never include War Criminals whose only remaining task at hand is to be put to death in a way that remains permanent."

"We have no way of knowing how much, if any involvement the Five Kingdoms' may have had in the planning or execution of the Sketchen offensive. The chance that they may have, however, cannot be seriously ignored except by a fool or those in denial. I will admit there is too much coincidence here to settle with me perfectly. A thaw in Ardan relations; an Arda led by the very same man - or god for whatever he is he displays powers over the mortality any Kaeneian enjoys - we as two seperate alliances opposed with heart and soul on many occasions."

"On the subject of Alkanphel there can be no disagreement from me," Riordan nodded. "While Althalon enjoys total immunity and total impunity as his position offers, the former does not and he is in every way I can see and in every way I am aware of, a War Criminal of the very highest order. That he should still be alive despite his acts and apparent death, is one thing but to be somehow involved in the very highest levels of The Dominion's government raises fundamental questions."

"Perhaps I do not know the Dread Lady as well as I thought I did," Sophia conceded. Perhaps I have not paid sufficient attention to my closest allies in the way I should. Either way I know now that I have made a mistake, and I have questions without answers."

"We find answers," Likeonesse suggested.

"We find answers," The Governor-General asserted, her eyes narrowed. "Inform Machiavelli Station of our intention to accept their invitation. I want a suitable show of force assembled. You, myself, a Fleet Marshall of the Fleet Component, A Field General of the Ground Component, a senior Agent of the KISS and the Department of Homeworld Security will travel on the Fleet Flagship Solarri."

"At once," Riordan acquiesced, slowly pushing himself up to his feet and excusing himself.







+++ TRANSMISSION SECURITY VALIDATED / DESTINATION VALIDATED / TRANSMITTING +++


FROM :: The Office of the Governor-General, c/o The Office for Foreign & Extra-Solar Affairs (S.O. R. Likonesse) The Serene Union of Kaenei.

TO :: Machiavelli Station, (Re-transmitted Devras, The Dominion).

SEC LVL :: White-General.

MESSAGE BEGINS



I will attend. There are questions that require answers, Nathicana.



+++ MESSAGE ENDS +++

[The Garbage Men]

"This is Arthur, he's really quite friendly." Jason smiled at Jade as he took her hand to . It was always interesting to see peoples reactions to Arthur and certainly on occasions Arthur himself plays up to it. That whole incident when they first came on board was a prime example. At least they didn't try to kill him that had happeneded a number of times especially with something so different as Arthur.

Arthur also responded, following Jason with could be assumed was a bow. Arthur sort of flopped forward a bit before straightening up again. However this was not the end of it. Arthur sort of rolled/slid down Jason's shoulder down, his arm. Arthur bubbled a bit before Jason translated the Gist of it. "He would like to shake your hand."

[Almajoya]

Jade positively melted. Which is amazing, because usually, Jade is as tough as they come, showing weakness to no one. But, as mentioned before, she also has a real soft spot for cute creatures. "Sure," she said, smiling and holding out her hand toward Arthur. "So what do you two do around here? You've already figured out that I'm a jeweler."

[The Ctan]

“Alkanphel, eh?”

“So all the gossip says. Morgoth’s repentant number two.”

“What’s that to do with us?”

“Us, nothing. He’s been let out, according to the Menelmacari. So we personally,” Erisavenus said, “have no interest. But the Empire does. There is an outstanding summons against him for long past actions.”

Anárion had returned, after talking to the Atlanteans for some time, eventually pointing them at a generous line of credit from the Confederate Finance Cooperative, an institution that despite its name, was not part of the state, and quite old. “What,” he asked, “do you plan to do about that?”

“Well, I expect nothing to come of it, but I have received instructions from the Senatorial Permanent Committee for the Enforcement of Laws, which I am obligated to follow.”

“Oh dear,” Anárion said, “I foresee a farce coming on. What does the Special think it’s playing at?”

“Oh, there are reasons. This is the message they sent with it.”

To Lord Alkanphel, High Warlord of Lord Melkor's Imperium, First Counselor to Melkor Himself.

We understand that you have been having some difficulties gaining acceptance with a number of states. It may in fact, seem that my task here is to continue to make your existence difficult. This is not entirely true.

You may notice that with this document is an official summons to appear before us. We do acknowledge your changed behavior, and furthermore consider ‘time served’ in Valinor to be a legitimate defense against charges, if it can be proven.

However, the reason you may wish to consider accepting this summons is as follows: we are, we like to think, impartial and fair, and further, will allow other plaintiffs to bring charges against you provided that they accept our verdict. This may not seem like a desirable practice, but as a supposedly reformed, justice-loving entity, we think that perhaps you may wish to face your detractors in a legal environment, and establish your punishment served for past misdeeds.

Furthermore, in violation of our customary procedures, we are willing to grant that any voluntary attendance must be subject to termination, and if you respond to this summons, you will be free to leave at any time, including during any sentence that may be passed.

Should you accept this summons, your trial will be held aboard the city-ship of Isasrach, located on Earth. You will, as a matter of course, have a choice between jury and tribunal trial, though in your case, we recommend the latter due to the likely technical nature of your defense.

Both this letter and the accompanying notice are documents of public record, and have been made available publically.

Lord Senator Evrard McArthur,
Senatorial Permanent Committee for the Enforcement of Laws

“Huh,” Anárion said, “so that’s their game?”

“Indeed,” the ship said, “I doubt he’ll go for it. But it’ll be fascinating to see what people come up with if he does. The rest” the image before Anárion changed to another document, “is fairly straightforward.”

By Order of the Senatorial Permanent Committee for the Enforcement of Laws of the Eternal Necrontyr Empire of the C’tan, I Erisavenus as a duly deputized agent of the Empire issue a formal Summons, consisting of this communication as at such time as it is delivered and understood, to ‘Lord Alkanphel, High Warlord of Lord Melkor's Imperium, First Counselor to Melkor Himself’ given on this date 34/4/B.246.

The defendant (Lord Alkanphel) is charged with war crimes of the second degree, consisting of:

1. Acts of Perfidy in violation of understood cease-fire agreement, one count
2. Murder, seventeen counts
3. Severe Injury and Bodily Damage, twenty six counts

Specifics of Charges are as follows:

1. The defendant is accused of abusing a truce to bring armed personnel aboard the Confederate Naval Ship of the Confederacy of The C’tan Killing Time for the ostensible purpose of negotiations, the defendant is accused of then deliberately using this flag of peace to commit an Act of Perfidy to murder seventeen members of the vessel’s crew, and cause severe injury and bodily damage to twenty six more.
2. See item 1.
3. See item 1.

The defendant is required to proceed to any C’tani vessel, world, colony, embassy or consulate, and present himself in order to answer these charges. Should the defendant be unable to afford legal advice, advisors or funds shall be provided for him.

In accordance with the practice of openness, the plaintiff in this case is made known as the Eternal Necrontyr Empire of the C’tan, acting in its capacity as sole legitimate successor to the Confederacy of the C’tan.

Should the defendant fail to present himself for trial, he will be considered for measures including but not limited to arrest on sight within any C’tani vessel, world, colony, embassy or consulate.

Additional: This document does not constitute any request for extradition from any state. Nor a bounty or warrant for arrest in itself.

Ordered and Authorized on 34/4/B.246 at The Hearing Chambers of Tephet-Sheta upon Duat by a Quorum of the Senatorial Permanent Committee for the Enforcement of Laws.

“It’s all been sent to ‘Alkanphel, care of Machiavelli station’ so I don’t,” the ship said, “even know if they’ll deliver it. We shall see if we get a response, anyway...”

[Skeelzania]

He liked the place, Enguerrand decided as he waited in the main foyer for the transaction to be finalized. Though raised in the baroque halls of Solomon, he had largely retired to his father’s holdings on Mahon, a more meteorologically agreeable planet conducive to seaside villas. The Palazzo reminded him of those piratical palaces, though it was a great deal more sumptuous than any Enguerrand had stayed in. Even the rapacious kapitans of old couldn’t compete with an honest Solar business when it came to conspicuous grandeur; another sign of Gamma’s backwater status. Not even as much wealth to steal.

One of the diplomats, a general before his change in careers, came back from the front desk, saluted, and sneezed. “Thousand pardons, my Lord. Something in the air.”

“Most likely one of these planets,” Enguerrand replied, glancing through a doorway at a small park. “Feel free to send a Schuetze in search of a pharmacy later. I trust our rooms are in order.”

“Correct, my Lord. They are being aired out as we speak –“ Checking for Bugs – “starting with your stateroom, of course.”

“Excellent. I will speak to Colonel Kidel as soon as it is ready.” Accepting his room key, Enguerrand and the rest of the party rode the lifts to their floor. The Skeelzanian suites were grouped around the end of the hallway, allowing the guards to seal off all of the bedrooms from the rest of the hotel if it became necessary. Also did away with the hassle of other guests having to pass in between rows of armed Fuerstentumsschutzen, and the accompanying security risk.

Nodding to the two Schuetzen guarding his room, Enguerrand entered and immediately began unbuttoning his jacket. He was a tad overdressed for the air-conditioned station. His stateroom was undoubtedly the largest of the five, and he was the only one who would have bedroom to himself. A pang of regret about that; he thought Andrea would like Machiavelli, but the decision was made to leave her behind for this mission. Sol was a dangerous place for a Skeelzanian, and he did not want his children orphans by the hand of a trigger-happy Yutter.

“You summoned, my Lord?” Horst Kidel stepped into the room and snapped to attention.

A nod from the Archduke allowed the Skeelzanian to adopt a more relaxed posture. “I did, Colonel. I wished to discuss guard duty. Half of your men should be on duty at any given time. The others may rest, though I am willing to allow some leisure time if you are in agreement.”

“Do you think that is wise, my Lord? This is technically enemy territory.”

Enguerrand waved dismissively. “Enemy territory two hundred years ago, maybe. The Dominion remained aloof of past conflicts. That is why we are here.”

“True, my Lord. But remember that time does not always flow evenly between the Sternreich and Sol. While our great grandfathers held our flag, it was these very same people who fought us in Sol. They have not had generations to smooth away hard edges.”

“Hmm.” A pause as Enguerrand fished in the closet for an adequate coat hanger. His back and shoulder muscles spasmed in irritation. I’ve been sitting too much today, he thought. “You speak truly, Colonel. But I believe these Dominioners can be trusted somewhat. All personnel are restricted to the immediate decks, where Dominion security is most heavy. And you may remove your helm if you would like.”

“Thank you, my Lord, but I will keep mine in place so long as I am on duty.” The FS colonel turned as a second guardsman stepped into the room. A salute and attention, their body as rigid as their armor.

Enguerrand glanced at their ID badge. “At ease, Captain Truk. I trust the transaction was successful?”

“Quite, my Lord. The Dominion seemed particularly eager to lug it around, if anything.”

“That gold sense I spoke of earlier.” The Archduke smiled. “So much more pleasant to deal in ingots and bullion than electronic pips, wouldn’t you agree?”

Turning his back on the two, he went to examine wet bar and was disappointed by what he found. “Trying to get me into their own bar, it seems. Perhaps I’ll send one of you down for something later. Until then, you are dismissed.”

The two saluted and left, Kidel motioning for Truk to follow him and fill him in on the details of the delivery. Entering his own room, Kidel pulled out a notebook and pen to begin working on schedules. “Sounds like it all went well. Those Dominioner’s eyes certainly popped when the Archduke dropped the G word. I’ll give you first shift off, an hour in the immediate decks. Rest of these louts can stand to stare down a hallway for a few hours.”

“Thank you, sir.” Reaching up with both hands, Truk removed the gas helmet with a subtle hiss of hydraulics. Running a hand through her close-cropped hair, she grinned at her commander. “Nice to get out of these sweat buckets for awhile.”

“I’m sure,” came the staccato reply. “Report back in one hour, I’ll have your times ready then. Dismissed, captain.”

After saluting yet again, Jeanne Truk dashed across the hall to her own room. Samantha still being on duty allowed for a bit of privacy in changing. The black breastplate and pauldrons were set aside, the combat weave of her uniform replaced with more casual tan trousers and a white blouse. Still rather militarized for casual wear, but Skeelzania was Skeelzania.

Glancing at her wristwatch, Jeanne was pleased with her speed: only a little more than ten minutes was lost changing. No sense bothering with her hair or makeup. Wearing a full-cover helmet necessitated having short hair, and the four inch burn scar that covered her left cheek and mangled ear had led to her not really giving a damn at how much the rest of her skin shone.

* * *

“Fulcas Esterhazy!”

He had been half expecting this since he had arrived: shouted, angry words, the sound of boots rushing towards him. Even then he was caught off guard by the assault, his arm being twisted back behind him as he was shoved into a planter. “Fulcas you wolf, what are you doing here?”

“Hello Jeanne,” he gasped up from among the hydrangeas. “I could ask you the same.”

“Yes, but you aren’t in nearly as advantageous position as I am.” She twisted his arm back a bit more, ignoring the looks they were getting from passerby. “You first.”

“I am on business.”

“So am I.” Lifting him up and spinning him around in a single powerful motion, Jeanne grinned at the Skeelzanian intelligence officer. “Escorting Archduke de Serrat. We just got out of a meeting with the Dominioners; he’s hoping to use them as an intermediary between them and the rest of Sol.”

“Hold on, the Archduke.” Esterhazy looked skeptical. “He’s been dead twelve years, and now he’s negotiating trade deals?”

Truk smiled, shaking her head and brushing a few petals off of Esterhazy’s tunic. “Dead sixteen; it is his son I speak of. Seems you have a bit of Jump Lag, Fulcas.”

“I thought the trip out was rather bumpy,” he grumbled. He knew the currents were still troubled when he set out, but a lag that large was still ridiculous. “Damned lowest bidder nonsense. So does that mean we’re working for Kaiser Bert, now?”

Jeanne nodded. Sighing, he continued. “Four years lost in the warp. But it isn’t like we didn’t need to catch up in any case. Why don’t I buy you a drink and we play some catch up?”

* * *

As the second shot of brandy made its way after the first, Esterhazy’s head remained tilted back for a few more moments. “Never would have thought things would get so bad. Though I suppose there was some writing on the wall.”
Cupping her own drink in her hands, Jeanne nodded in agreement. Her scar, normally off-white, had become flush. “The blame was still being passed around when we left. The Kaiser’s been holding his own, but there’s still tension.”

“You don’t me…”

“No, not a whiff of republican sentiment, thank all.” She ran a hand through her hair, a solely nervous gesture. “But there’s more disagreement than I can ever recall in the past. Especially about this renewed Solar push.”

He had chosen a popular bar for their drink, the noise and crowd would provide some cover for their conversation. Even so, Esterhazy frowned at the explicit mention of Skeelzania’s fascination with Sol. “There was skepticism even when things were good, when I originally left,” he said. “More than a few who think we’re better off ignoring this tiny little star.”

“It’s gone far beyond that , Fulcas. The Reich is weak, people are frightened. People act stupidly when they’re frightened.”

Straightening in his chair, Esterhazy looked hard at Jeanne Truk. Her hands were back around her glass, eyes cast down at the table top. Her shoulders, as broad as and much stronger than his own, were not slumped but resolutely fighting against the urge to do so. She went on: “The Archduke has revealed a lot since he’s been here. We’re worried what might come of that information. These fuckers might think ‘Now’s the time to take those Skeeks down a notch.’

“I’m not too worried about that. But I do worry about those who think it would be better to take this place down a notch before they can try the same to us.”

Esterhazy chose not to reflect on that nightmare scenario. “I don’t think we need to worry about Sol getting its act together in the immediate future.”

Now it was Jeanne’s turn to stare. She didn’t say anything, simply waiting for him to continue. He shrugged and leaned forward in his seat. “There’s been some paradigm shifts in the local power structure; one of the system superpowers has had a regime change. Their previous ruler was a God, if you can believe that. I don’t know the details, you would have to ask Van Pelt out Dragonway; he’s the one squeezing data out of every wavelength he knows of. But Sol isn’t a monolith, it has its own battle lines, and right now those lines are being redrawn.”

He raised a gloved finger up to the ceiling. “And, something has gone seriously wrong on this station. I’m not quite sure – I’ve heard some rumors only, werewolves and shapeshifters – but Dominion security has revved up substantially since I arrived. Someone pissed in their tea in the last 24 hours, and Serrat hasn’t been on board long enough for it to be him.”

“I think he’d be flattered if you thought so. Any theories?”

Esterhazy answered by means of opening his briefcase and taking out a flyer. He slid it across the table so that she could read the elaborate calligraphy. “That is the Empress of the aforementioned superpower, the one previously run by a god. She’s giving a concert performance here in a few days time. Whatever has gone wrong is most likely in connection with them. ‘Ardans,’ they’re called.”

Jeanne frowned. The Archduke wasn’t going to like the locales stealing his thunder.

[Britmattia]

The Kingdom is a cultured place.
Really.
The World Assembly, who insisted on sending inspectors everywhere, even out into the very ends of space, said so.
Most people with some experience of the Kingdom found that rather puzzling as most of the time their experience had been someone in a uniform shouting at them or possibly someone with scales on killing then eating them*.
On these grounds, a fair enough assessment.
However, the W.A. had encountered a culture, which, in its natural environment so to speak, was soaked in at every level with its own memes. No external hegemony here, no waking up in a hotel, looking out the window and wondering where one was.
No.
If the putative guest looked out of his putative hotel window, he'd notice something immediately.
To whit, people in armour and weapons everywhere, looking like a renfaire on steroids.
Except here, it's not for play. These are their clothes. They don't feel dressed without big bloody knives and leaving the house without wearing some sort of uniform indicating affiliation with something makes the average citizen deeply uncomfortable.
Not so much a culture that was notable then, so much as a culture that had absorbed its own lessons to a bone-deep level.

Thus then, with a culture that fetishised the chivalric ideal to this extent, an almost universal disdain for subtlety. A lively respect for those acting so exist, but outside of Birné's Gaullois, it is something absolutely contrary to the behaviour of every man-jack of them.
Hence, this...

Erik stands, hands clasped in the small of his back, staring out into the vast spread of the stars before him as the vaulting command chamber replaces its own environs with those slipping past outside at .999 the speed of light.
No more quiet House Grays for him, instead, full uniform, rankless-but mildly be-medalled Navy Blues, and a single blue-gemmed medallion glinting at his breast, he stares outward blankly, even as a door hisses open behind him and a cheerful voice just shy of a bark sounds from nowhere in particular.
"Admiral on deck!"

So lost in his study is Erik that until a hand touches his shoulder, he doesn't move, then turning and blinking suprisedly.
"Oh. Admiral Falcata, my apologies, I was..."
He waves a hand at the starscape.
"Distracted. I-"

The other man waves a hand cheerfully, fingers heavy with rings, black eyes glinting.
"No a problem Erico. You have a lot of the weight on your shoulders, yes, indeed. Me, I have things a-simple. Owen-King, he says unto me, go here, and here I go. He says kill this one, and this one I kill. You, he asks to be his hand, where he cannot reach."
Erik smiles slightly at the Admiral's enthusiastic and always entertaining assault on Universal, then nods.
"Yes, Admiral. It's a lot simpler. But you still have to ride herd on-" he stamps on the deck, "-this trouble-maker."

The voice coming from nowhere in particular has an offended modulation to it this time.
"I'm not a trouble-maker!"
As the sentence ends a small...thing, pops into being at the Admiral's foot, which he scoops up, grinning as he does.
"Ah mi ami, I cannot argue with the Erik. You are indeed a trouble-maker."
The thing, which is probably best described as a small dog, licks the Admiral's face enthusiastically.
"S'okay. I forgive you, coz you're taking me to bash the guys who shot at Larissa. Right?"
The humans exchange a look.
"That's...yes. Sort of, but don't do anything bashing without the Admiral's say-so, alright Droppie?"
The...dog, frowns.
"'Kay."
"Indeed-a. You listen to Erico, Droppie he's got the wisdom. The King he give him the Imperia, the Voice of Man."
"'Kay."
The Admiral ruffles the little beast's ears.
"Now go play."

The hardlight holographic avatar of His Majesty's Planetoid Drop Bear mock growls and disappears leaving the two humans to share a wry look and then laughter.
"Eh, perhaps I see your point about-a riding the herd now Erico. Now you come with me, and we have some glasses of de grappa to calm you down."
"Admiral I-"
"I have told you not to calla me that. My papa, back under the old Exalted Lord Sansovino, bad bastard-that-he-was, he was the Admiral. Me, I am Rufio. And I, Rufio, say we are going to go have the drinks."

Broadcast in Clear: Whom It May Concern, Machiavelli Station.
In light of recent events His Majesty feels it prudent to reinforce Task Force Three in its patrol patterns around the Machiavelli Exclusion Zone, as the station appears to be undergoing some sort of raid, that being the only conclusion we can draw from the presence of a nation with whom the Kingdom considers itself at war with. To contain this beachhead he has dispatched Task Force Five and H.M.P. Drop Bear to ensure that no Skeelzanian vessel, be it civil or military, shall progress further into Sol.
These vessels need cause no alarm in parties unaffiliated to the Skeelzanians, they are merely here for the stated purpose and no other.
~ Erik Bathame, Voice of the King-Emperor.

Broadcast in N.D.A. Encoding, encrypted for Nathicana D'Aquisto's eyes only:
Dread Lady. I'm lying through my teeth. We're here as the big stick part of "Speak softly and carry a big stick." Whilst we would like to discuss the Skeelzanian situation, Owen understands your primary concerns lie elsewhere at present and TF5, along with Drop Bear, are here to rock those Ardan bastards back on their heels, should it become necessary.
Hoping this greets you in health,
Erik Bathame.

Task Force Five's arrival occurs in an eye-blink, one moment space on the 'upper' edge of the exclusion zone is empty, but for the comings and goings of commerce, the next and a gross of ships rumble out of hyper, the elongated blade shapes of dreadnoughts and boxy skate-fish silhouette of destroyers interspersed with the needle-pointed cruisers.
The usual boil of parasite craft isn't present, this is, after all, friendly space.
How long it remains that way is yet to be seen of course, especially after the enormous globe of Drop Bear's hull dopplers out of warp below the station, coming to a far more immediate halt than the warships above, it burps a single shuttle which heads towards the station at flank speed.
There are things to discuss immediately, after all.

* For a given value of 'people', doing the experiencing.

[Kaenei]

The space around Machiavelli Station had become congested of late; in addition to the hundreds of freighters, transports and bulk loaders plying the trade lanes between the stars a number of considerably tougher, considerably more menacing shapes cruised about the non-negotiable exclusion limit which formed an recognisably violence-free zone, for some two million kilometres around the bustling Dominion facility.

Warships of a half-dozen species, races, empires, ogliarches, monarchies, dictatorships and tin-pot Space Banana-Republics vied for orbital paths as the invitations to a most unusual meet-and-greet were issued and returned.

One such invitation was formally returned by the Conflict Carrier Solarri, Flagship of both the First Federal Fleet of the Fleet Component of the Kaeneian Tri-Service Defence Forces, and for now transmitting the official transponder codes for Government One. Eschewing vortexes, sheets of blinding lightning or the multitude of ways a ship might exit superluminal speeds the Solarri completed a short sub-light jaunt from Earth orbit to out past Saturn - Home of the Triumvirate of Yut.

Flanking either sides of the bulbous, armoured carrier were craft identical in their configuration to the Flagship save a different registry number painted upon their hulls and brightened by their running lights. Hastily pulled from their assignments in the Earth Conflict Sphere, the South Central Rain and the considerably older Invincible Belief slowed in deference to the automated message and security systems which warned that without good reason no warship would be permitted closer to the station than this perimeter circle.



From the Flagship's armoured prow the relevant formal requests for boarding were made to Dominion authorities on-board Machiavelli, while somewhere closer to the stern a handful of the highest ranking officers, civilians and officials in the entirety of the Serene Union gathered together to board a considerably smaller, if no less important craft.







Sophia watched as her first her ear and then her eyes were examined with probes, bright lights and a none-too-gentle finger. "Any headaches?" The young Kaeneian asked in a tone that suggested he had only the slightest interest in the answer to be had. The Governor-General hesitated before nodding; "A few. Nausea too."

He nodded, turning his attention to a screen that only he could see. "Fatigue? Muscle cramps? Disorientation?"

"Yes," Sophia agreed, shifting uncomfortably in her seat slightly.

"Classic stress-related work fatigue," The physician declared as if he had simple read it from a medical work and not arrived at his own diagnosis. Crossing to the massive integrated cabinet stretching wall-to-wall and floor-to-ceiling he frowned, his eyes working along the labels identifying the hundreds upon hundreds of vials, tubes, canisters and bottles containing cures to every apparent ailment under any system's sun.

"Three of these every day for as long as symptoms persist," The Doctor ordered with disinterest. "If you have further problems consult your personnel physician. I do not think it is anything to be concerned about."

Thanking and excusing herself from the Solarri's cavernous, expansive infirmary the Governor-General chided herself for bothering the ship's Chief Medical Officer with something that was obviously so trivial. Pulling the top from the non-descript green bottle, she pushed a a pill into her mouth and forced it down a dry throat.

Making her way along the winding corridors of the Carrier her mind turned to the business at hand. It had taken first persuasion then direct orders to prevent the Fleet Component of the KTSDF from deploying an entire Federal Fleet in support of her visit. While if she were honest she would not object to the comfort and feeling of safety such a show of force would provide, she was after all responding to an invitation from a close ally, not the opening moves in an invasion.

Finally it had been settled on the Fleet Flagship, two further Carrers as escort and a larger-than-expected military attache. Aside from the highest ranking representatives off the Fleet and Ground components she had taken along her own Foreign Affairs Overseer, and a represenative from both of the security services; Homeworld Security and the KISS.

Sophia knew this meeting would not be with the same veneer of diplomacy and good-will that usually characterised dealings between allies. The subject matter was tense, the implications serious. What needed to be said would be said, and what needed to be heard, where she could manage, would be heard.

The Governor-General's ears rang loudly as her heels clanged against the scuffed metal of the boarding ramp leading to a Khandrii-class Escort Frigate, hastily requisitioned as official government transporter. Scorched cannon muzzles formed tusks of a sort leading out from a sloping prow from which the Union's State Emblem - a bird in flight resplendent stood mounted with halves painted black and white, although the latter had gathered the soot and dirt of the void and the business of war and the distinction between the two was difficult to make.

Here and there additional weapons had been dismantled or capped in the slightest nod towards Dominion sensibilities regarding outlandishly-armed vessels. The ship that would transport the Serene Union's delegation from the three capital ships to Machiavelli station itself was only a few days before a weapon of war, hastily converted for the task in hand. Sophia only hoped when it came time to re-enter active service at the conclusion of this meeting, the political landscape would be as predictable as ever.





Clearing the starboard hangar which ran for almost as long as the main hull of the Fleet Flagship, the Khandrii-class Frigate bearing the temporary designation Government One ignited its aft drives and burned for Machiavelli; rapidly becoming another insignificant point of light amidst the hundreds which plied the impossibly busy spacelanes in and out of the Dominion trading hub.

[Roania]

"Thank you, Master Gino. I appreciate all you have done, and I will ensure you are properly rewarded by your mistress." Nesar Cheruv said, blandly making his way to the door. "I believe, now, that said empress desires to meet with me, and I never keep a lady waiting. We shall have to have our conversation another time, Lieutenant. As this problem is solved, the only thing to discuss is my offer to Master Matthias and his charming daughter, and that might wait. As well, Archivist Kyrie has suffered a great shock and is apparently quite... disturbed at present. That, I feel, should be your first priority."

"Master Nesar, I am not disturbed!" Kyrie snapped, a blade momentarily appearing beneath her usual softness. "I am certain I have seen you before." The moment of assertion passed, and she whispered, "Please..."

"I..." Nesar sighed and looked heavenwards, though the effect was spoiled slightly by the bulkhead. He did not turn to look at Kyrie. "I might have known your father." His shoulders fell inwards.

Whatever Kyrie was expecting, this was not it. Before Kione or Matthias or Silke could try to deflect the conversation back to more relevant fields, she began to babble questions, peppering Nesar with questions as if he was an interview subject. "You knew my father? Was he good? Who was he? Who was my mother?" She trembled. "Why... didn't he want me?"

"One question at a time." Nesar whispered, from a long way off. "He was... a fool. Someone with no sense of his responsibilities, and who made a mistake, and who let the mistake cost him the life of the woman he thought he loved." The assassin took a deep breath. "And he did want you, Kyrie. He wanted to keep you very much. And he tried for almost three years to raise you."

"Then why..."

"His father... against my wishes... convinced him that it would be inappropriate to raise a young lady in the lifestyle he lived at the time, and it would also be inappropriate in the extreme to have a young lady who would be... inappropriate... grow up with the idea that she might succeed to the house's leadership." Nesar seemed to shrink somewhat. "He killed himself three months after we gave you to Kouran to take care of. I'm sure he would be very proud of you, though."

[The Garbage Men]

Jade positively melted. Which is amazing, because usually, Jade is as tough as they come, showing weakness to no one. But, as mentioned before, she also has a real soft spot for cute creatures. "Sure," she said, smiling and holding out her hand toward Arthur. "So what do you two do around here? You've already figured out that I'm a jeweler."

An arm sort of reached out of the blob, that was Arthur, and met Jade's hand. Arthur was smooth to touch as he glided effortlessly over her hand spreading out for thin film. The thin film started to change though it changed from perfectly smooth to slightly tacky to full on sticky. Equivalent one might sa to a firm handshake, and with a small bubbling coming from Arthur. Jason smirked before he started to shake Arhtur which in turn made Arthur shake Jade's hand, though in a smother was as the energy caused Arthur to basically wobble up and down.

After a couple of seconds Jason stopped and Arthur 'let go' of her hand before retracting back into his perfered form of blobishness. He bubbled a 'Thank you', which Jason relayed and climbed back to be up on Jason's shoulder. For some reason it just seemed natural.

"I, well both of us, work for The Garbage Men, basically anything to do with waste, cleaning and 2nd hand objects are our forte. We've got a contract with the station to provide sanitation, cleaning and other such services for the entire station. If you have a query, a comment or even a complaint don't hesitate to contact me." He passed Jade a small card. "I.. well, We are the Service Manager... If there is anything I can do for you organise a collection system for gold dust, or something of the like. Let me know and I'll arrange it for you."

[Almajoya]

"That was really cool," Jade said of Arthur's handshake. She briefly examined the card Jason had given her. "Thank you, I'll be sure to. A collection system for gold dust doesn't sound like a bad idea."

Reaching into her purse, Jade produced her own card. "Here's-" She looked at it. "Well, it still has my Almajoyese address on it, but you already know where I am on the station. The rest of that information is accurate." She handed him the card, which read at the top, "Jade Fireflint, Magnolia Jewelry Co. of Almajoya."

Jade found herself enjoying their company. "You're welcome to come in and chat with me, maybe tell me more about Machiavelli. Unless you're on the clock, of course."

[Dread Lady Nathicana]

Nathicana woke up feeling dirty and unkempt – reasonably so considering the clothes she still wore and all she’d been through in the past twenty-four hours. And then she realized what it was that had woken her – a nervous yet insistent pounding on her door.

Well it wasn’t the damned Pope before, I doubt it is now either.

“Enter!” she said more forcefully than she originally intended, rubbing a hand over her face and struggling to a slouched sitting position on the bed.

The door slid open to reveal Antonio Pellegrino, looking about as pleased as she was. “Apologies Nath, but we’ve got some serious trouble brewing. I know you’ve not had nearly as much sleep as you likely need, but we put this off as long as we could.”

“Come on in and talk to me while I clean up,” she said after a moment’s contemplation. More trouble? Of course. How was it she had possibly thought that things would actually get better rather than worse? Of course there was serious trouble brewing. She got up off the bed, and headed to the bathroom, already stripping off her clothing as she went.

Pellegrino cleared his throat and politely looked away as he followed her. It wasn’t that he was a prude per se, but he had never been one to be as sexually open as the Imperatrice. That, and he was utterly devoted to his lovely wife and had no intention of allowing even the appearance of impropriety tarnish that relationship. He spoke loudly enough to be heard as Nathi turned on the shower and stepped in.

“Right then. Several points. Security here was severely compromised in part, due to not keeping a more strict schedule of reprogramming codes, and having further layers of failsafes in place. That and I regret to say, we need to screen some of our employees more carefully – there were a couple we found to have been bought out. And no, we weren’t able to trace to who. Contacts were faked, transactions were very slick, and they paid them via electronic transfers that have been washed through a number of banks and accounts and drawn through more than one source. I can think of several who could pull it off so cleanly. Hell, we’ve probably worked with some of them ourselves before. They won’t be giving up any information, and we’ve not got a leg to stand on in regards to making any demands even if we could prove it.”

“Understood, Toni. Appreciate you being so thorough,” she commented, letting the water wash over her with a sigh of relief.

“As I’ve said before, our relationship with some of our allies has compromised us as well – granted, there’s always some we keep an eye on, drop hints of information or misinformation as it suits us, but for every few we know, I’m certain there’s at least one we don’t. Just as we’ve done with them. This is the last straw, Nath. I’ve already begun doing what should have been done years ago.” His tone was perhaps a little defensive, but considering the topic was a sore spot, he could perhaps be excused.

“Right,” she said, scrubbing the lavender-scented shampoo through her hair. “I’d figured you’d be doing that. Devon notes it’ll mean tit for tat – but then, you knew that. Continue.”

“Ardans have been quiet – no further outbursts like what you dealt with earlier, and they seem to be proceeding with the plans as we’d expected. That’s the high point, there. Which brings us to the next point. A missive from the C’tan has been sent to Alkanphel, care of Machiavelli Station. I took the liberty in having it examined before we passed it on to our guest. It seems they intend to bring him up on charges – it was a summons. Of a most unusual nature. They seem to be playing a game, really, and as annoying as it is, I believe they’re attempting to lend him some legitimacy. Unless of course it’s all just an elaborate trap, which it very well could be. If memory serves, C’tanelmacar supported Konrad’s ascension, so …”

“Ridiculous,” Nathicana snapped from inside the shower, furiously scrubbing the shampoo from her hair. “For one, I’m not through with him. For another, once I am, what he does is his business, but I won’t be handing anyone over to anyone else, so they’d best mind our space whatever else happens.”

“I don’t get the impression they plan on demanding anything of us, but it is something to monitor all the same,” Pellegrino replied, then moved on to the next point. “The Skeelzanians seem to be settling in well enough, though they seem understandably twitchy all the same. And as it turns out, with good reason. Our esteemed allies from the Kingdom have decided to drop a battle group as well as that monstrosity affectionately called ‘Droppy’ just outside the exclusion zone, and are publically threatening the Skeelzanians with military action. Civilian, military, doesn’t matter – they want them out of Sol and are making no bones about it.”

“What?” Nathicana said loudly, whipping aside the curtain to look at him incredulously. “You can’t possibly be serious. What in the hell are they thinking? My station, my rules, my fleet to look after our interests here!” His sober expression was all the answer she needed, and then some. “I take it there’s more. Spit it out.”

“There is a message from one Erik Bathame waiting for you – eyes only. Considering the urgency of the situation, I took the liberty …”

“Dammit Toni,” she griped, pulling the curtain back to continue her shower, clearly more than just ‘irritated’ at this point. He was right, it was getting serious. “I take it you kept it just to yourself, and didn’t let some bumbling operative muddle through it all?”

“You wound me,” he said dryly. “And you know, had it not been for the situation, I’d not have done it. They’re not just gunning for the Skeelzanians –they have their eyes on the Ardans as well – yes, the very Ardans we’ve accepted here as very visible guests. I believe his words were to ‘rock those Ardan bastards back on their heels’ if need be. They seem to be voluntarily taking on the role of Our Lord Protector and Savior, even if it is from ourselves. The Defense Ministry has been in a right dither over the whole thing, and in addition to the fleets we have patrolling at present, it was decided that two of our errant fleets would be recalled to the location. We expect them to be arriving within the hour.”

“Brilliant, Toni. Bloody brilliant, that. By all means, let us escalate an already touchy situation – with our damned allies no less. Trust me, the irony of having them create more problems for us than some others I could mention is not lost on me,” Nathi muttered from the shower, trying to finish scrubbing up as thoroughly yet quickly as she could.

“As you said, it is our station and we’re well within our rights to do as we like with it,” he said, studiously examining his nails as the water was suddenly stopped, and an arm reached out to retrieve one of the towels on the nearby rack. “It was thought making it clear that we fully intend to police ourselves and enforce our holdings was the proper course. The final responses however, given your presence here and the seriousness of the statements being tossed about, require your input and approval.”

“Of course,” Nathi grumbles again, stepping out and rapidly toweling herself off. She glanced over at the man, and arched a brow, pausing mid-rub while trying to dry out her hair a bit. “That … isn’t all, is it?”

“Never could fool you,” Pellegrino smirked, shaking his head, and still tactfully averting his eyes. “The Kaeneians.”

“Oh bloody hell, the Kaeneians. I should have known.”

“Yes. The Kaeneians. None too pleased it seems. They didn’t bring a fleet, but they did bring several large warships. By reports, we are to expect a decidedly top-heavy delegation from them. I’m afraid the tone they’ve set is not a terribly social one,” Pellegrino stated plainly. “They should be boarding shortly.”

Nathicana groaned at that, then stalked out to the bedroom past the Intel Minister to locate something more suitable yet functional to wear from her closet.

“I knew you’d be thrilled. If I may offer a suggestion?” he asked carefully.

“Of course,” she replied shortly, in between muttering to herself about this choice or that, and the general pain-in-the-assedness of certain of her allies.

“I would first instruct the Britmattians to kindly sod off with their big guns as tactfully as possible, then offer to arrange a meeting with any and all concerned parties so as to avoid a lengthy string of meetings because quite frankly, with everything going on, you simply do not have the time,” he said simply, making his way to one of the chairs and sitting down finally. “It may not offer you the opportunity to divide and conquer, but if it’s clear we’re operating above board and they are all getting the same answers, it might be helpful. Perhaps you could invite the representatives of the ah … ‘offending’ parties as well. No sense in you taking the heat alone, and after all, it is rather the point in establishing diplomatic anchor points, no?”

“Of course, Toni,” Nathicana said, still angry, but perhaps more tiredly than she cared to let on. “I want you there with me, if you would. And the highest-ranking PR officer we have on tap to boot. If you would make the arrangements, I’ll focus on the Kingdom and see what we can manage there. In fact, schedule two meetings. One for the main players involved here, and another for any concerned visitors, customers, residents. Let one of the PR people handle it – a good one mind, but PR all the same. We’ll keep the more ‘questionable’ guests to ourselves for the higher-ranking meeting.”

Sensing the silence was more than a lapse in conversation, she looked over her shoulder. “Now what, Toni? There’s more?”

“Well, in a sense – though the situation seems to have been remedied without your or my intervention. Station personnel and your daughter oddly enough, seem to have handled it all. The Roanian exhibit—“

“Oh gods be damned, not the Roanians too?” she interjected, both brows arching up.

“Well … to a limited extent. It seems a guest who was being escorted by one of our liaisons got to talking with the exhibit overseer, and in the course of events which were not our fault by the way, one of the display items was, well … broken. Rather spectacularly, I understand,” he began quickly. “Your friend Nesar got wind of it, and in the process ran into Naiya, who seems to have wheedled some promises out of him about the entire thing, which is why we’ve been able to keep the entire event quiet while it was repaired – in record time, no less, and in the meantime, been placed back on the exhibit, which is scheduled to re-open after … whatever excuse was made for it closing. By all accounts, things will be fine, but you might want to speak with Nesar all the same.”

“Oh, I will,” Nathicana promised ominously. “I certainly will. I hear he drew weapons on Alkanphel, in the presence of my daughter – who, now that I remember, seemed to be in a state of less-than-dressed at the time, though not scandalously so? And in further checking, seemed to be somewhat incapacitated at some point? If that son of a bitch slipped her a mickey, so help me god I will rip his testicles out through his ears, one to each side.”

“I don’t believe it’s as serious as all that,” Pellegrino said, trying to hide a grin at the terribly inappropriate imagery. “Though she did seem to be tempting fate a bit given her choice of dinner location. There was a minor kerfluffle involving one of The Garbage Men’s citizens and his pet, to boot. I’ve no idea if the Emperor is aware, or even cares, but again, details, devil in, etc.”

“Alright. Is that … all, or is someone else determined to piss me off this mo—afternoon?”

“No, I believe that covers it, for now – though I wouldn’t hold your breath waiting for it all to be over.” He paused after standing, seeming to consider something. “Perhaps an outfit more along the severe side? It may be time to remind them that your title, however dusty it may be from years of prosperity and all, was well-earned. Now is not the time to look soft.”

That gave her something to think about as she continued to look through her closet and the shelves and drawers within it. “I believe you’re right again, Toni. Thank you for the update. And if you would, look in on Naiya, let her know I’ll be checking in with her as soon as I can, but she is still not to leave the apartments. Not yet in any case.”

“Understood.”

As he left the room, and Nathicana finished selecting what she would wear, she pulled out her computer and started typing, the words having already been forming in her head since first the situation were mentioned. Taking a moment to use the towel to keep her still-damp hair out of her eyes, she sat the portcomp down on her desk, and took a chair there. Anyone foolish enough to barge in would simply have to deal with their sensibilities being offended.

To Erik Barthame, Voice of the King-Emperor,
From Nathicana D’Aquisto, Dread Lady and First Imperatrice of the Dominion,

Greeting. We understand that you have publically declared ill-intent to a group who is currently enjoying the benefits of Our station. It occurs to Us that We have yet to make any such request of the Kingdom to patrol Our borders, no less to infringe on Our hospitality to whomever We choose to acknowledge as guests for whatever reason We deign them worthy. It further occurs to Us that the Kingdom, however well-loved of Ourselves and Our nation, lacks the jurisdiction to deny entry of any vessels to Our station, nor to blockade Our holdings in any way and indeed, it would appear on the surface to be a rather egregious infringement on Our rights to do business as We choose, as We always have, both on Machiavelli, and elsewhere.

We therefore desire further explanation of your actions here, given We cannot recall any requests made to, as you put it so colorfully, ‘rock those Ardan bastards back on their heels’, considering said Ardan bastards have but a few transports in the area, and are here as publically stated, and advertised, guests on a diplomatic effort at re-introduction for their current regime. One We might note, was responsible for the overthrow of one Morgoth, formerly god-like despot of their nation. We are quite certain that your King-Emperor has been made aware of these conditions, or at least, that We sent out such information as was required to inform our allies concerning Our intentions.

Please be aware that Our fleets are currently being bolstered to compensate for what is viewed as an overreaction to a non-existent threat by overzealous friends – well-meaning though they be, so as to reassure the traffic in the area – which We note, is heavy at this time due to the upcoming event. We would find it most unfortunate were there to be any misunderstandings concerning this re-assignment of duties, almost as much as We would find any shots fired at incoming vessels of any nation or origin finding a target.

We would in fact prefer if you would kindly remove your fleet and all unnecessary ships from the immediate area, as they are alarming station residents, and may prove disruptive to trade and our usual traffic. Not only this, but We are at this time hosting several, and planning on hosting more rather esteemed guests who happen to be in leadership positions for their nations. Should your looming ominously prove detrimental to their perceived safety resulting in a rescheduling and indeed, a moving of the events planned – which have been some time in the making, We will be seriously displeased.

In the meantime, We invite you to participate in some discussions aboard Machiavelli which may prove enlightening, and perhaps assuage your concerns on both the Skeelzanians and the Ardans. Unlike some in Sol, We have chosen the route of peace and the mending of bridges in the interest of addressing past contentions, and hopefully finding a remedy. We note this cannot be achieved without discussion and effort – which is precisely why these groups are currently on Our station.

We await your response.

In public, across open channels, the following was relayed:

To all ships in the immediate area of Machiavelli:

The Kingdom holds no jurisdiction here. And while we appreciate an ally’s efforts on our behalf, any such threats attempted against the Skeelzanians, or any other ship in the area will be met with Extreme Prejudice, as per standard operating procedure, and noted on our beacons.

Our own forces in the area are more than adequate to police traffic, we have made no requests to any non-Dominion ships to assist, and we have additional forces incoming as we speak.

For those who are concerned over current events, meetings will be held on station at fourteen-hundred hours, Dominion Standard Time. We expect business as usual to resume shortly.

The Governor-General’s ship was of course allowed docking privileges and a formal invitation to a meeting to discuss the current concerns was extended. Whether or not it would be accepted was anyone’s guess, but the effort had been made. In addition, considering the general proximity to the Saturn system, however distant it might be in actual kilometers, the Scolopendran representative was invited as well, should he have any questions his superiors might need answered.

Any other leaders, or diplomatic offices who voiced concern or showed interest were extended invitations as well – the choice in meetings they could attend chosen solely on the importance of their direct input to the situation at hand, case by case.

Notes were sent to the Skeelzanian delegation, and to ‘those damned Ardans’, requesting they be present to the more exclusive one in the hopes that talks could be initiated, and disaster avoided – whomever they chose to send to represent them. A brief summary of the situation as it was understood, without giving too much away of course, was included.

Having finally finished reviewing her notes, and making her personal preparations, Nathicana was ready to move on to the next problem – A late and much deserved breakfast. Well, brunch. Early dinner. It didn’t matter so long as someone put some food down in front of her, stat.

Diplo-spinning and getting your anger on was, after all, hungry work.

[Scolopendra]

At Least He's Persistent

The sudden flurry of diplomatic messages, combined with the general madness surrounding the foreign services aboard the station, clue Kurt into the not-particularly-hidden fact that something is definitely up and a lot of those somethings involve nations that are either close allies of or strategically aligned to the astropolitical interests of the Federated Segments of Scolopendra. Even the Ardans classify as potentially strategically aligned now, and so for something to gum up the works now is simply unacceptable. Although the Segments may have done absolutely nothing to bring things closer together, it isn't about to let them collide and break up now when there is so much benefit to be had by pulling it through.

At least, that's how he sees it. Who he's talking to on the Dominion side isn't important--it's someone who can make a decision and make it quickly. Which is why he's speaking clearly but shortly. "Officer Honnêteté. Quick question, I know your time is short. Can I be of assistance? Yes or no."

A momentary pause on the other end. "-Yes.-"

"Where and when."

'The other end' provides a place and a time.

"Understood. I will be there. Thank you."

Easy.

* - * - *

Something Is Up

It's not the first time he's been invited to some sort of function by the Dread Lady. Such things have been a perennial part of his career. This is the first time, however, that he's been invited whilst on duty. The timing is also damnably convenient too.

He sighs and crumples up the onionskin before slipping the ball through the incinerator slot; a whiff of ozone completes the life cycle of an official missive. Of course it had to go through The Switchboard; of course the TYSS intelminds had to have a peek at it, especially considering that it wasn't encrypted. This is why he would be allowed to go, of course; as the seemingly eternal cold warriors of the Ardan Conflict it would only make sense that someone senior from the Triumvirate of Yut Combined Services be present to help bury the hatchet and declare that bygones would indeed be so... at least as far as the TYCS was concerned. Admittedly, considering the atmosphere, there was probably no one better for the job.

Still, the timing is damnably convenient. "Nothing additional?"

The comm sergeant shakes her head, tapping the now-silent secure teletype at her station in Gray Shark's command compartment. "No, sir. That's the whole of it. Routed through Special Services and the Switchboard, stamped off on both as approve. No additional hacks beyond what was on that slip, sir."

Bondayehr taps his chin and quells the urge to start pacing. He would not be emulating Rear Admiral Hornblower so blatantly, not today, not in such a stereotypical way. "Well, looks like I'm to carry the flag elsewhere. HangarCom, please prepare my Loki for launch and have it equipped with a courier pod. Comms, inform Fleet Admiral Pran that he has the Theatre for the time being. Thank you for your time, ladies and gentlemen," he says with a smirk, "but I'm being called away on diplomatic business."

Checking his watch as he marches through the corridors to the docking collar where his DropShip is being readied, the Sky Marshal does a quick calculation in his head. It will take some time for the Loki to make it on tesseract-assist from the fringes of the Periphery to Machiavelli. That's time he's out of the fight, for sure, but also time he can use to prepare. More like than not Shorty would make it there first at any rate; best to contact her and work out security arrangements and contingency plans ahead of time. That's the first priority, then...

[Roania]

Nesar tapped his nails on the desk in front of him, studying the ceiling very intently. He was, if possible, running on even less sleep than Nathi was, which is normally a big deal for a Roanian, especially a Roanian nobleman. He bore it well, though, not even yawning. From all he'd heard, he'd be damned if he was going to make a ploy for sympathy from Nathicana, sympathy he neither required or deserved. It took him a moment or two, though, to get himself in the mind for pure business.

Nathicana stormed in through the door looking every inch the part of Dread Lady, if her expression were anything to judge by. "Nesar," she offered curtly before taking a seat opposite him and settling in. "I hear you've been in the company of my daughter recently. Under potentially curious circumstances. And that you've been involved in a bit of an 'incident' due to a well-meaning yet clumsy caretaker for your nation's exhibit."

"An incident that I allowed to solve itself." Nesar subtly corrected her, looking up at the rather frightening dread lady. He'd already dealt with enough drama for today, and he could see that Nathicana's workload was only beginning. "I should have killed people, you realize But I did not. As for the matter of your daughter... well, I had to do something to occupy my time, Your Majesty. And Princess Naiya's company was most pleasant. I don't believe anything happened untoward."

"Thank God for small miracles," Nathicana said dryly. "So how is it you came to be on the station 'occupying' your time with her, dare I ask? And why is it surveillance clips show her in a less-than-dressed state - and further, why did you feel the need to draw weapons on my station, and with her present no less?"

"You wound me, Most Munificent One, and you wound your daughter, what's more." Nesar shrugged. "She took ill shortly after our dinner, and the clothing she was wearing seemed confining. As removing the confining clothes solved the issue, I stand by it." And that suitably dodged the question of how and why he was on the station to begin with, he hoped. "As for drawing weapons... what am I meant to do when a hostile force destroys my computer, and then a servant of the Dark Lord appears?" He held up what remained of his pocket watch. "I acted in what I believe were the best interests of your daughter, as I would for my own."

Nathicana arched a brow curiously as she looked at the object, then back to Nesar. "Former servant," she says absently, then seemed to focus again. "Who I'm certain you now know, if you didn't before, is her father. Brilliant first impression, if I do say so myself. Though granted, I doubt you expected him here any more than the rest of us."

Nesar smiled serenely and raised an eyebrow. "There is a saying, I believe, that a leopard does not change his spots. And there was little reason to believe that Master Alkanphel meant Naiya well. Especially in view of what My Empress has said about her, Imperatrice." Nesar tapped his fingers on the desk. "I apologize for drawing a weapon upon Alkanphel, but I will not apologize for defending your daughter from a man whom I believed to be a threat. Any more than I would apologize to The Most High for disobeying her rather explicit orders regarding contact with the Princess." Nesar shrugged once more. "Really, Your Majesty, you of all people should know that those in my profession cannot be careful enough, especially when it comes to those we care for, even remotely."

"I am ... curious to know what your Empress has said about her," Nathicana responded, eyes narrowing dangerously. "And why it is you claim to care about her after having met but twice."

Nesar's expression faded somewhat. "The Most High, may she reign for ten thousand years... is concerned, Your Majesty. She is not well, and she does not approve of things she does not understand. And alas, as you have met her, you know that that is a very long list indeed."

Nathicana nodded slightly, not trusting herself to not say too much.

"As for my feelings towards Naiya..." The man's expression shut down completely. "She... is interesting. I feel no romantic desire for her, though she is certainly beautiful enough. I... have a soft spot for girls who seem to be in need of friends. An unusual position, perhaps, as as I told your daughter, we are not a charitable race. It comes, perhaps, from a mistake I made in the past." Nesar tapped his hands on the desk. "Still, you have a right to your anger, Your Majesty. And if it will help you later in the day, well, I have lived 454 years," It was an offhand remark, "and there is very little you might say to shock me. So perhaps, Your Majesty, rather than unleash that rage I see bottling up in you upon your more important guests, you unleash it upon your humble servant, who after all, is well-disposed to you and your family, and who serves an Empress who is well-disposed to your... son and you, at least."

She watched him carefully as he spoke, clearly weighing and measuring everything he said. No romantic desire, yet beautiful. A Roanian with a 'soft spot'. And an Empress who was clearly off her nut. "I would rather know what it is your Empress has against my daughter," Nathicana said quietly.

"The Empress... after meeting your daughter... exhibited slightly more curiosity than I have seen from her in a long time, Your Majesty. She closeted herself with her council and the senior mages of the Academy, and then she called upon me and questioned me." Nesar's words were from a long way away. "She said your daughter was unique in the annals of this or any other world, to her knowledge, and should not be trusted, or should at the very least be contained. She also felt that your daughter would do well with some serious training, and regretted that she had not made the offer, or instructed Kouran to do so but she had not been feeling well on that day." Nesar stroked his chin, thoughtfully. "And then she told told me that if I was to see her again, I was to do whatever it took to draw her powers from her, to measure them, and to report back. And, if need be..." Nesar left the sentence hanging.

"Do not think ill of the Most High. As I said, you have met her. She is not well, and she... well, she believes she means well. For whatever that is worth." Nesar smiled slightly. "But I've never felt particularly attached to obeying orders that I disagreed with. As my daughter and her foolish friend have learned on this day."

Nathicana slowly drew herself up in her seat, looking unblinking across the desk at Nesar. "You realize the implications you're making here, on my station, in my presence? Your Empress would dare suggest what course I should take with my daughter, and further, plot against her and instruct others to manipulate or eliminate her? Choosing to disobey or not, I ought to bloody well send your head back to her on a platter as an indication of just what I think of ..." She paused then and looked at him sharply. "Your daughter and her friend? Clarify."

Nesar bowed his head, and he looked every one of his 454 years for the first time. "The... well-meaning, yet clumsy caretaker, as you termed her... is my daughter. Had I known, I would never have come here to deal with this matter. I only learned an hour ago." Nesar tapped his hand on the desk. "I would not fault your executing me, my lady. I deserve far worse, I assure you."

"Well if it would pound some sense into Alessa's occasionally empty head, let me assure you, I would do it," Nathicana growled. "Should you ever have the opportunity, you can let her know her paranoia has no standing here, and me or mine are of no concern of hers. And should I ever so much as catch a hint that something untowards is afoot, I will come down on her like the holy hammer of God Himself, and heaven help whoever tries to get in my way. That is what family is in the Dominion, Nesar. It would appear it means somewhat less in Roania, given what I've seen thus far."

Nesar's eyes flashed. "Would you rather I let my father have her killed to ensure my bastard child did not take the House's Title?" He said sourly. "As he killed my lover?" The flash of anger fled from him as quickly as it came. He clenched his fist for a moment, then released, defeated. "I deserve your anger, Your Majesty. I do not deserve your insults."

Nathicana blinked at that. "I ah ... was more referring to your countrymen, Nesar. If you recall, the event …"

Nesar paused, and then sighed, rubbing his head. "Forgive me, my race finds it difficult to work through the night. I have suffered a rather harsh shock, and it is coloring my mood considerably. I do indeed recall the event." He sighed. "Perhaps we are not so superior as we claim, Most Awesome One. But I do what I must, my lady. And if you wish me to take a message back to the Most High, I shall do so." His lip curled. "Hopefully, I will catch her in a positive mood. Yet I am not without influence. You will find you have a few years grace before she learns the truth about your daughter."

"Indeed, perhaps not," she replied, settling back in her chair, her expression thoughtful. "In any case, I should I suppose thank you for your consideration of Naiya. She at least didn't seem offended, and was curious as to your wellbeing when last we spoke. I'm afraid she's confined to quarters for the time being - we have things that require discussing. As for yourself ... you are of course free to move about or leave the station as you see fit. With your assurances that the 'situation' is well and truly resolved, and that there will be no fallout or aftermath from it, obviously."

"I will bide my time before I say my farewells." Nesar bowed his head. "And don't be concerned about trouble from that quarter, or any other quarter if I have the power. I made your daughter a promise, Nathicana, that should she need my aid, she need but call upon me. And now, at least, I keep my promises.” He rose to his feet and snapped his feet together, then bowed low. "With your leave, Your Majesty, I will withdraw."

Nathicana nodded, and rose to her feet as well. "Of course, Nesar. And ... if you don't mind my saying, good luck with your own daughter. It's never too late, you know. Alkanphel ... well, as much as I'd rather not deal with all the intricacies there, I believe he is trying to learn the same thing."

Nesar's lip curled. “Master Alkanphel at least had the rather good excuse, Your Majesty, that he was dead. Good luck with your other meetings."

[Skeelzania]

There were gasps from the small crowd as the two combatants slammed into each other, their breastplates cracking together, their swords both forced ceilingward from mutual body-blocks. Grunting with effort, Enguerrand and his opponent circled around one another, their boots scoring the soft grass beneath them, neither wishing to open himself up to an attack by retreating. Finally, enough was an enough: Enguerrand’s knee snapped up into FS-Major von Gurder’s flank, forcing the man to buckle which in turn allowed the Archduke to bring his right elbow down hard on the man’s shoulder blades. He stepped aside as the other Skeelzanian tumbled to the ground. “Two-three me, Otto.”

Some of the spectators, other guests of the Palazzo, clapped politely as Enguerrand stepped over to his sprawled partner. “Isn’t much of a sword fight if you don’t use your sword,” the Major said as he accepted Enguerrand’s hand up. Each taking a step back, the two bowed formally to one another. “You’re going to get rusty if you keep winning like this.”

“Swords get rusty; muscles get stronger.” Enguerrand handed his sword to the second Schutzen acting as squire. He had decided that an hour of fencing was just the remedy for the tension he felt in his shoulders, and had convinced Major von Gurder to spend some of his leisure time doing the same. Lieutenant Asadehre, being a lieutenant and being on duty, was pressed in to service as a squire. He had remained in full sealed uniform, in marked contrast to the Archduke and Major, who both wore white short-sleeved tunics and trousers, with black FS breastplates standing in for proper dueling gear. Enguerrand had seen fit to bring proper wasters, however.

Glancing at the half-dozen spectators, the big Skeelzanian turned and bowed to them as well. “Thank you for your courtesy. We return the park to you.” Turning his back on them, he walked across the grass to the young uniformed woman who had been waiting since the start of the most recent bout. “Apologies, fraulein. How may I be of assistance?”

It turned out she was a Dominion courier, and her message did much to obliterate Enguerrand’s brief period of relaxation. Messages, matter of fact. “Lieutenant, my watch!”

Snatching it out of Asadehre’s hands, Enguerrand compared the time references in the message to those on his watch, still fortunately on ship time. “Damn Bussel, I should have known much sooner than this. Thank you, fraulein, you may go. Lieutenant, tell the Colonel and the Lords Diplomat that I wish to see them all in my stateroom immediately.”

The Skeelzanians beat a hasty retreat to their suites, Gurder assisting Asadehre in rounding up the diplomats and leaving Enguerrand to return to his room alone. He had just gotten the breastplate off when the others rushed in.

“My Lords and Lady.” Enguerrand waited for the door to shut, and for the general’s allergenic interjections to cease. He held the notes aloft. “I just received two messages. One, dated roughly two hours ago, is from Captain Bussel of the Zahhak, notifying us that we are currently blockaded in this port. He isn’t quite sure by who, but evidently it’s someone we shot at.
“In the second note, we learn that the blockaders are a Kingdom, as well as allies of the Dominion, who are not appreciative. Herr von der Kon?”

The red-faced general, an expert in Solar blocs, bit back a sneeze. “No known Kingdoms in the Triumvirate, per our most recent data. One confirmed state which uses the title within the NDA, a Britmattia. Information is unfortunately scarce on them.”

“Well they’re apparently capable of building ships rivaling this station in size, if Bussel is to be believed. And have one parked on the edge of the exclusion zone, of course.” Enguerrand again looked at his watch. “The Dominion’s message also invites us to a meeting to discuss the fact that things are going pear-shaped in regards to their allies. Fourteen hundred hours; we have some time yet. Frau Regina, Herr Bolton, I want you to accompany me as representatives of the Sternmarine. The rest of you, especially you, Wilhelm, I want you to find as much as you can about these Britmattians, particularly in regards to what might be jammed up their ass. This hotel has a library, I suggest you start there.

“Fourteen hundred hours!” He reiterated, and then dismissed them. He needed a shower.

He would have preferred hot water on the scalp, but had to settle for it on the shoulders. At least the ceiling was high enough, he reflected.

Events were moving in the manner expected. The players might not be known, but their reactions had been foretold by strategists far on distant Solomon. It was up to him now to parry the first brutish blow, to twist, turn, and exploit it for Skeelzania’s benefit. This conflict must be settled in Sol, one way or another.

The Skeelzanians arrived with five minutes to spare. Enguerrand had jumped back into his uniform, not having time to break a second, fresher one out of his luggage. His hat he had elected to leave behind. Accompanying him were the two chosen diplomats, as well as three Schutzen. He doubted they would be allowed into the truly secure areas, much less to stand behind him at the bargaining table as they had done earlier in the day, but they had again proved useful in clearing a path through the station’s thoroughfares.

He handed the Dominion’s note, along with identification card, to the first Soldati who stepped forward. “Inform your Imperatrice that the Skeelzanian delegation has arrived.”

[Reploid Productions]

Shogunate Space Traffic Monitoring Station, Dosei Colony - The Ring
Normally it's an easy job. Normally it's a boring job consisting largely of verifying spacecraft positioning with other such traffic control facilities that make up Saturnspace's network of knowing who's at what position and where they're heading.

Until something apparently goes haywire over at Machiavelli.

Traffic lackey Azari Bells knows this not due to any particular diplomatic hookups informing her of this. She knows because there's a honking load of warships hanging out a bare minimum distance from the station to prevent an accidental act of war, and she's got an extremely irate Flightleader on the horn demanding information on just what, precisely, is going on. Normally Azari deals with civilian traffic, so trying to calm one of the military honchos is a new one on her.

"I'm sorry, Flightleader Altana, but we've received no information other than what's available on open comms. Somebody's got an issue at the station and that's all I know." The traffic controller tries to keep the exasperation out of her voice. "And all I know is from the same stuff I'm sure you can see yourself."

"What nations are those ships registered for?" Oramos Altana's gruff voice replies.

"Oh for the love of the Goddess-!" Azari mutters to herself before flipping the mic back on to reply. "Best I can tell, we've got some Kaeneian military ships; given one seems to be docking I gather they've got permission to go into the exclusion zone. The military ships show on my screens as registered out of the Kingdom, one of the Dominion's allies. Don't you normally get this sort of information from the local Ticks theatre command?"
---

Firefury's office, Arpia - The Shogunate
"Why me?"

It's not often that the orange reploid permits her head to impact the surface of her work desk in a show of frustration. Of course word filtered down rapidly to Leona about warships in Saturnspace and rising tensions in the region. And of course, the Secretary of Defense brought the subject to her attention.

And of course, the Diplomatic Corps network relays an invite to the station in question from the Dread Lady, right about the same time a report lands on her datapad from an operative on station yielding additional information about Things Going On that while not as complete as anyone would like, clearly hints there is some Bad Things going on. Oh, and the Ardans are trying to make friends and influence people, and by the way, Alkanphel - yes, that Alkanphel- is alive and well and by the way he's there too.

"There are non-Triumvirate combat vessels poking about entirely too close to Yut-controlled space!" Leona interrupts Firefury's complaining. "Oramos is in a tizzy and waiting for orders!"

"Okay, first, cool the jets." Firefury sits back upright. "Nobody's shooting at anyone, right?"

"Well, not in regards to the spaceships. Seems the Chain is unclear about what went down on the station itself though."

Firefury nods. "And sending the Tenchuu fleet over to loom menacingly isn't going to do anything to ease tensions in the vicinity. I assume the TYCS has an eye on things and that the Dominion's own forces are dealing with the situation. Tell Oramos that he's allowed to send word to whoever's in charge of the Dominion forces in the vicinity that the Third Fleet is available should they be requested and leave it at that. What's next?"

"The Ardans? The invite to Machiavelli?" Tsume observes from the doorway, the reploid drake holding a datapad of his own.

"I don't like it." Leona states point blank. "I don't trust the Ardans, and I never will."

"You wouldn't, weren't you involved in a few of the old Ardan-Yut kerfluffles awhile back?" Firefury notes dryly. "Back when you were in command of the Third Fleet."

The casual dismissal of the taller reploid's sentiment clearly annoys Leona. Usually it's Queenie being irrational about some hangup like this. Tsume notes to himself as he observes the exchange. "Might I get a word in, being as I tend to deal with foreign affairs like this as a matter of course?"

The other two go silent, Leona apparently getting a hold of herself and stepping back with some measure of her prior composure. Firefury motions for the drake to go ahead.

"To be honest, I agree with Leona that I do not trust the Ardans nor their claim of having reformed. Especially also given the news that the Can Opener is alive and present there." Tsume begins, immediately having to interrupt Leona. "However, as the Shogunate was never as personally involved in the Ardan conflicts as much as our allies, I feel there is little to gain by maintaining completely cold relations. It was not our lands they may have threatened, it wasn't our people affected by any of the various historic exclamation marks on the international record. On these grounds I believe it is in our best interest to send a representative and at least leave lines of communication open."

"And you don't want me to go, right?" Firefury snickers. "I'm too rash, hot-tempered and-"

"Actually, it's more that Machiavelli is at the center of an awful lot of tension and I don't want to put a national leader there, even if she has an astounding ability of not dying despite doing stupidly risky things. Should the situation go badly awry, I would rather see you safe and sound here." Tsume interrupts. "As such, I can make arrangements to depart for the station and arrive in a timely enough fashion and I know just the DipCorps personnel to bring with me if we're dealing with the Ardans."

That remark receives baffled looks from Firefury and the other top brass in the room. They didn't have any particularly close ties to anything Ardan, and clearly have no idea what Tsume is on about.
---

RPDC-Queen's Wing - En route
"Just remember to behave yourself. You're only along for this event due to being the single most experienced member of the DipCorps in dealing with Alkanphel." Tsume warns his companion sternly while prepping a message to send to Machiavelli ahead of him.

"I can carry myself as a proper lady and I promise I'll behave." The DipCorps representative sitting across from the black mechanical dragon beams, tossing a lock of styled red hair over one shoulder, green eyes gleaming with excitement as the distinctive black and orange ship that usually hauls Firefury around makes for the station.

ALTIMIT Broadcaster
Encryption: Standard
Broadcast type: Diplomatic
To: Whom It May Concern, Machiavelli station
Return transmission band: OPEN
IDENT: Tsume Dragonis - Reploid Productions

I am en route to the station now to represent the Shogunate's interests on behalf of the Lady Shogun. Accompanying me is our senior expert in dealing with Ardan issues, one lady Patricia Christofer-Aina Keeari the Third. I am most curious to find out what is going on.


~Tsume Dragonis
~Secretary of Foreign Affairs
~Immortal Shogunate and Affiliated Territories of Reploid Productions

PS- I do not envy you in this, Nathicana. Best of luck.

<<END TRANSMISSION>>

[The Garbage Men]

"Well," Jason responded a playful smiling showing off his clean white and somewhat shiny almost perfect teeth. "I'm always on the clock, but luckily a major part of my job is speaking with people."

Jason had looked at the card and slipped it neatly into his pocket. Arthur bubbled a query to Jason which took his attention for a moment before replyin laughing as he speaks.. "No,no, Arthur. I want to keep that." he finshed laughing and turned his attention back to Jade. "Anyway sure, What do you want to know? though Arthur has managed to see more of it then me. Don't let him fool you though, he's quite a rascal under his veneer of respectibilty."

Jason would follow Jade into the store, he prefered to stand happy just to talk, Arthur was starting to get curious and so climbed down from Jason and started to look around. "Don't go out of the store. I don't want to get you back from security again, Alright." To which Arthur bubbled in ackowledgement "Alright."

[Kaenei]

Jets of corruscating red light flared from points on the Frigate's beaked prow, as the ship's forward momentum was killed to bring it into sync with the titanic station rotating steadily a short distance to starboard. Reaction Control Thrusters fired sporadically along the dented, armoured body of the hastily requisitioned transport as orbital characteristics were matched, and the Kaeneian vessel pushed towards the flexible docking arm as it crept out from The Dominion facility.

Sophia suppressed the urge to grimace, cupping her stomach as she felt it twist with the shuddering of the deck plating beneath her feet. The groaning or metal twisted slightly by the action of mating with the station's airlock collar reverberated through the corridor - ringing in the ears and scratching at the skin. A clattering of boots on steel announced the Guardians moments before a full combat squad of twelve - one officer, one NCO and ten enlisted - filed into view. Two further Kaeneians - one older with a pockmarked, gnarled face representing the KISS and the second considerably young, fresher-faced and in the employment of Homeworld Security followed.

A nameless Lieutenant-Major consulted a terminal mounted aside the sealed internal airlock door and nodded in satisfaction,"Hard seal completed. Venting coolant, equalising pressure and tensioning mooring lines."

"Governor-General?" A disembodied voice asked, pulling Sophia's attention up from her discomfort and to the team assembling around her. Blue eyes found the grey gaze of the oldest Kaeneian in the Federal Council and the coolest head amongst the coolest people that she could rely upon.

Riordan shifted the weight of the flat terminals stacked underarm and ignored the twinge of pain from yet another joint beginning to ache with the chores of daily living. Scratching at his smooth skull which had lost the last of its hair many moons ago the Overseer of the OFESA watched great gouts of thick gas spill out from the airlock as the internal door split apart and retreated into the bulkhead.

"Governor-General," The ranking officer and commander of the Guardian squad greeted as he nodded his head and led his team first through the docking collar. The two representatives of the Serene Union's intelligence services fell in behind the military,leaving the two ranking members of the Federal Council alone on the impressed Frigate.

Riordan frowned slightly at the discomfort etched - though masked - on the face of the far younger Kaeneian opposite. "Shall we?" He prompted, having learned well that what the Governor-General did not want to share would not be shared by his effort alone.

And so it was that the first Kaeneians to visit Machievelli set foot upon the station; a collection of well-drilled soldiers and high-ranking officials more suited to a grandiose reception than the straight-to-the-point, high tension of the situation at hand. This was no diplomatic overture consisting of pointless hand-shaking and pleasantries. Worries which had, for a time been forgotten were returning to roost and they would have to be confronted.

Sufficiently trained and strained to withstand the warmth that most species considered comfortable, the Guardians showed no signs of discomfort beyond the occasional bead of sweat. Less disciplined or decidedly more civilian members of the party - Sophia included - instead reached up and activated the discrete devices shaped around the neck.

Angled jets provided a cooling mist which calmed her flushed skin, even as she felt the platinum bands of office atop her head begin to sink into dampening hair. Ignoring the unpleasent sensation, the Governor-General followed the Guardians as they marched with impossible formality ahead as a screen.

[Melkor Unchained]

Gonna buy a tank and an aeroplane
When she catches up with me
Won't be no time to explain
She thinks I've been with another woman
And that's enough to send her half insane
--The Who, My Wife

The Angsiyan heaves a sigh and rolls over, thankful at last to be on more or less the same sleep schedule as his wife. She had spent some time in the Dominion immediately prior to their trip to Machiavelli, in order to rehearse with the Devras Symphony and the Scolopendran conductor. Needless to say, Konrad was glad to have her back; not until now had they any sort of opportunity for any 'quality time,' and they made a point to capitalize on the first opportunity as soon as they were able and in epic fashion.

Konrad remains on his back for the moment, his chest still heaving. Nadia turns and sits up, reordering her hair. "Quite amazing, as always," he says with a grin.

Nadia turns back around around and gives him a quick kiss on the cheek. "Don't I know it."

The Angsiyan folds his arms behind his head and Nadia extricates herself from the covers and steps off the bed. "What have you got on your plate today?"asks Konrad.

"I plan to spend most of it practicing," she answers. "The Toccata gave me some trouble the last time I went through my solo set. It's a tough piece." She looks at the clock. "Our last dress rehearsal starts in about 90 minutes. Enough time for me to go over my solo stuff up here before heading down to the concert hall to meet the symphony."

"Me," Konrad starts, sitting up. "I get to watch guys get beat up all day. I'm not sure I'm expecting too terribly much out of these guys at this point. The first few days of an interrogation are usually pretty standard fare, and the first session didn't stray from that expectation. It'll be interesting to see what sort of tricks the Dread Lady has up her sleeve."

"Speaking of her," Nadia starts as she walks into the adjacent bathroom. Konrad stands and starts dressing himself. "I want to meet with her again before the concert, if possible. Alkanphel's change of heart should probably be discussed with her, assuming she hasn't already spoken to him."

Konrad shakes his head. "I asked him to contact us if she did."

"Oh, good," Nadia answers, seating herself at the bathroom vanity and brandishing various tools of beautification and getting to work. "Of course his newfound disinterest makes our mutual outburst yesterday fairly well pointless."

"Well, still. It had some value for appearances, I suppose," Konrad answers. The Vzj'Nakai got to bare their fangs a bit and I'm sure the Dread Lady is quite aware by now that we're not going to be very tolerant of slip-ups or impartiality. Even if there ends up being a leak, the Military Court can't possibly say we sat inactive to protect our plans with the Dominion."

"She did raise a good point though, I don't remember Alkanphel having been brought up on charges for their encounter in Devras. If it does end up coming back to Devon, won't he just get a slap on the wrist like Alkanphel did?"

"Probably. I never expected criminal charges to be filed against him at any rate, I just want to find out who our potential enemies are. The Dominion claims to not practice diplomatic immunity, but Devon seems to enjoy it presently and Alkanphel apparently did back in the day."

"Mm." Nadia starts simply. Silence lingers for a moment. "So diplomatic immunity only for whoever the Dread Lady is fucking?"

"Seems that way. The way she was talking last night made it sound almost like heads of state get it but no one else. Alkanphel wasn't a head of state at the time, so I suppose it must have been some manner of dispensation." He appears in the bathroom doorway, by now fully dressed. "Dispensation on account of fucking? Perhaps. But we obviously can't point that out," the Angsiyan says with a chuckle.

Nadia peers suspiciously at her husband, wondering for a moment if Konrad himself were ever in a position to enjoy such dispensation. "Certainly not," she starts slowly. "We've already done enough 'damage,' I suppose, for having the balls to demand an impartial investigation without an obvious and potentially flagrant conflict of interest. But," she shrugs, "If Alkanphel really doesn't care, why should we? He operates out of our jurisdiction anyway. As long as we're confident he's not going to make a big deal out of this, I suppose we can ease up."

"Maybe," cautions the Angsiyan. My worry now is that she'll pin the blame on someone she wants it pinned on, to their detriment, Alkanphel's, or both. But without turning it into an international incident, that road is only so long. We know now she's playing things by ear, but that won't necessarily stop her from deceiving us."

"Possible, I suppose," Nadia concedes. "She mentioned earlier that she didn't trust me 'further than she could spit' in regards to protecting our interests. I respect that, but am nonetheless unsettled that she either can't or won't see it the other way." The Angsiyii pauses to apply a touch of blush. "Did you send for the children yet?"

"Oh, shit."

"You didn't?"

"No, I did, I just forgot to tell Nathi about them. She's already probably inclined to think we're keeping things from her; as far as I know she's not aware yet that we have any, much less how old they are. It keeps slipping my mind." Konrad pinches the bridge of his nose, pretty sure he knows where this is going.

Nadia snaps her gaze to her husband. "You haven't told her yet?" She narrows her eyes. "Why?"

"Don't give me that look," Konrad snaps. "I know what you're thinking and it has nothing to do with that. We've been over this and over this, I'm not about to go through it all again. With everything going on right now, I think I can be forgiven for forgetting a few details about my personal life."

"So I'm a detail, now, is that it?" The Angsiyii leaps to her feet and advances toward Konrad.

"No... dammit, that's not what I meant," comes the exasperated answer from the Angsiyan. "Come on, you know better than that."

"Why doesn't she know, Konrad? Are you trying to hide this from her?" She puts her hands on her hips. "What purpose could that serve, I wonder?"

"Come on, if you really think I'm realistically able to keep having six children a secr--"

"That's not the point. You want her to feel like we have the same fast and loose habits with marriage that she does. You want--"

"Enough!" snaps Konrad. "I don't have the time to deal with this right now. I've wasted quite enough of my life discussing this with you!" Konrad stalks off into the sitting room, an empty champaigne bottle sailing through the air after him.

[Sentient Peoples]

Omnes aequo animo parent ubi digni imperant
Office of the Imperial President, Imperial House, Griffin, Commonwealth of Sentient Peoples, FSP

The notes from the Dread Lady were received with little to no upset in the Federation. Thanks to the swift report of the Bronze Watch team on the station, they were well aware of the return of Alkanphel and who he met with when he had elected to reveal himself, as well as the scrambled response from station security at the unexpected reveal.

With the fall of Morgoth and the later ascension of Konrad to the throne, ruling the Five Kingdoms, the Federation had, at least, made its peace with those lands. While an active state of war still technically existed with the Empire of Kalessin, no one really cared about that. So, effectively, Arda and the Federation no longer had any quarrel, and rested in an uneasy, distrustful peace. There was no surprise at the Kingdom’s response, either. Owen had rejected the idea of peace with the former lands of Melkor when the opportunity arose, and he seemed unlikely in the extreme to ever shelve that grudge.

The situation regarding the Skeelzanians was unusual, to say the least. While the Federation had no intention of performing any sort of blockade of the Dominion space station, it also had its disagreements with the people who had attacked Neptune those many years before, violating the territorial integrity of no less than three member nations of the Non-Democratic Alliance, as well as the provisions of the Neptune Territorial Treaty, with a battlefleet of one hundred starships. The state of war that resulted from that incursion was yet to be resolved either, though the Federation was more than willing to talk about it… if the Skeelzanians brought it up first. Standing orders still remained to assist allied nations in combat operations if available, which, of course, would apply to any attacks against Skeelzanian vessels outside the exclusion zone by the Britmattians. Orders also remained to destroy any Skeelzanian warships that intruded into systems in which there was a Federation presence, and other ships that wandered within twenty lightseconds of stationary Federation assets. Other than those prescriptions, there were no orders for active interdiction of Skeelzanian commerce, though – the war was not particularly hot. There was, of course, a provision against pursuing Skeelzanian ships in the sovereign territory of another nation, with the standard ‘hot pursuit’ clause.

With the arrival of the Kingdom’s task force, the Federation naval vessels in orbit of Machiavelli station were ordered to return to their previous duties, sending the destroyer flotilla scampering back towards Saturnspace and the battlecruiser squadron, with its escorts, back to its patrol duties. Given that the patrol patterns were at the discretion of the unit commander, the battlecruisers dropped back along Saturn’s orbit roughly twenty million kilometers and simply followed the station on its leisurely course around the sun.

Dealing with these directives, mostly reconfirming them and the Federation’s other policy stances, took up most of the Imperial President’s morning.

The greatest form of upset came as D’ron was finishing up eating his lunch of a ham and cheese sandwich, when his eldest daughter burst in, visibly upset. Being a smart man, D’ron was easily able to figure what had her in that state.

“I take it you heard then,” he stated drily, rather than really asking the question.

The child with oddly dirty blonde hair flopped into the chair on the other side of her father’s desk with a huff. “Yeah. Why can’t I go? There’s enough tickets, and you and mom aren’t using them.”

“You aren’t going because you’re thirteen, Erika, and everyone else has a job to do on the trip. There will be no one to keep an eye on you,” her father replied sternly, though his eyes said he was clearly sympathetic to his daughter’s request. But practicality overrode the decisions of the heart.

“Isn’t that what my guardsmen is for?” the young girl asked, rather petulantly. “And I’m almost fourteen,” she added in a voice just short of a whine.

“No, Erika, you are not going to Machiavelli station without at least your Aunt able to keep an eye on you at all times. Preferably myself or your mother.” He cut off the pout before it could truly form. “No, Erika, not this time.”

The pouty lip returned to an angry face, and her eyes flashed. “But Mom said I could go.”

The Imperial President simply smiled. “Your mother said you could go… if what?”

A frown appeared on the teen’s face. “If you said it was okay.” All the children had learned early on the consequences of lying to their parents.

“It’s not okay, Erika. The situation on Machiavelli is very, very tense right now, and I don’t want you going into that, baby girl.” The affection in D’ron’s voice was unmistakable, and the young woman nodded reluctantly.

“I understand, Father,” she acquiesced. “But I still want to go someday.”

“Of course you do. But how about I let you in on a little secret?” She nodded eagerly, and he beckoned her around the desk to whisper it into her ear, and she pulled away, grinning, previous anger forgotten.

“Really? In Griffin? Dad, that’s so awesome!”

The father chuckled, and the Imperial President agreed with his daughter’s assessment of the situation. “They have to agree of course, but the ambassador and your Aunt will definitely be asking.” His face became severe again. “But since you interrupted me while I was working...” His voice trailed off at the shock in Erika’s face as she realized what was coming, then continued, “I want you to get Cyrano to pull up the tacscans for the Machiavelli exclusion zone and surrounding space and write me two pages on what you see up there.”

“Yes, dad,” she agreed.

“Now get, baby girl.” The dirty blonde scampered for the door, leaving the Imperial President to get back to what would have been in an earlier age, reams of paperwork.

Commune periculum concordiam parit
S.P.M.S. Forbidden Honor, Emergence, Machiavelli Station Exclusion Zone

Space twisted and bent, warping into an invisible spiral as titanic stresses tore it open, and then apart, and then… The Forbidden Honor popped into existence, invisible energy shedding off it like a soap bubble, just inside the location currently occupied by the four Federation Intelligence warships. Those ships flashed their running lights in the formal salute to a fleet flagship, white and green blinking in a relatively complex pattern along their hulls from bow to stern, while the EI aboard them began excitedly chattering with their oldest sister aboard the Imperial President’s personal starship.

While large, there were docking bays capable of handling the bulk of the Forbidden Honor aboard the Dominion’s space station, and once it was settled in comfortably, being unarmed (except defensively), the boarding ramp snickered down to the decking. Four Marines flowed down the ramp with practiced lethality, battle rifles at the ready, but the waiting Bronze Watch personnel in field dress uniforms had already made sure the bay was more than clear. The Marines were in their Diplomatic Protection Unit uniforms, a modified and shinier version of standard mess dress that allowed a clamshell unpowered armor to be hidden underneath.

Weapons having cleared the bay, they formed up in two lines with the members of the Bronze Watch, seven uniformed personnel to either side of the boarding ramp, and snapped to attention at a call from the Marine officer, the Bronze Watch using their swords in place of rifles against their shoulders in salute.

The first person at the top of the ramp was easily identified by her lack of height and her curly brown hair, similar in shade to her brother’s. Flashing brown eyes took in the formal drill with hint of amusement that was hidden from the rest of her features. Jessica Smith had a long and mutually suffering relationship with formality. At her back, as she took her first step from the ship onto the ramp, were two armor-clad forms, night black with the Sword and Stars pattern across the breastplate of the Presidential Guard. Ambassador Mulvehill and his wife followed the guardsmen, and in turn, were trailed by the Imperial President’s eldest son, Daniel. Who, of course, was trailed by both his new and old guardsmen, again in semi-powered armor of matte black.

Jessica nodded gravely to the personnel gathered to greet her arrival, as if they had been present the whole time, instead of arriving a mere moment before, and rifles and swords snapped down from shoulders at the silent signal.

“Welcome aboard Machiavelli Station, ma’am,” the senior marine said with the barest hint of a smile, all regulations allowed at the moment.

That brought out a broad grin on the thirty-something woman’s face, which helped contribute to the fact that it looked in her early twenties thanks to life-len. Admittedly, her brother, thirteen years her senior, only looked the slightest hint older than she did – two years at the most. The nineteen year gap between Jessica and Daniel was all but invisible from looking at them. Tobias Mulvehill and his wife were clearly the oldest members of the party, looking in their early thirties, despite being nearly three times Jessica’s age. “Thank you, Captain Dawes,” Jessica replied just as formally, though, schooling her expression to a relatively blank non-expression as required by the situation.

As she walked slowly down the two rows of military and intelligence personnel, there was little to comment on, and then she paused, waiting for everyone to break ranks and form up in the most comfortable manner for all the various guards. “Honor,” Jessica called back, over her shoulder, “if you would?”

“Of course, Representative,” came the melodious soprano from out of thin air, with the slightest edge of overbearing formality to it. The boarding ramp retracted with a whisper of metal, and the hatch sealed, securing the ship against intrusion.

“Let’s go meet the hosts, then,” Jessica instructed the group, clearly senior because of who her brother was, despite being far outranked on paper by Mulvehill. All the necessary paperwork had been pre-cleared, of course, before their arrival, but the appropriate identifying features still had to be recorded. The Marines made their weapons safe by the simple expedient of removing the magazines and secreting them about their persons, calmly ignoring the ten round ready magazines that were an integral part of the battle rifles. The guardsmen did not even bother with that, only grudgingly removing the necessary portions of their armor to allow for records to be made.

Despite their levity, the whole the delegation was clearly tense, and had undoubtedly been extensively briefed on the tensions on the station. Where they would figure in to the whole situation was yet to be seen, though.