Gardens of Fraternity [FT|Private|Diplomatic]

[Da Liang]

"Eels are similar to snakes. Silkworms are similar to caterpillars. People are scared when they see snakes, and surprised when they see caterpillars. And yet, fishermen are willing to hold eels in their hands, and women are willing to pick up silkworms. So, when there is profit, people turn as brave as Meng Pen and Chuan Chu."

Han Fei

Listening Music

---

People's Republic of Sinica- Lizhou System
Yang Xianjin and Chen Zhiqing- Vermillion Bird Palace
No Date

---

It was a sultry morning in the tranquil gardens of the Vermillion Bird Palace and the only audible sounds came from occasional rolling zephyrs, capering avians, sporadic wriggling of carps, and soothing Sinican instruments harmoniously played. This peaceful environment, however, was a major contrast to the already various active megapolis in planet Chiyang, whose sprawling sky-piercing infrastructure was among the many views that can be observed from the Garden of Harmony’s pagodas.

Yang Xianjin quietly stared at the seemingly placid lake alongside the assortment of trees, flowers, and rock formations from his pagoda. He would occasionally sip in traditionally brewed Jasmine tea that was recently served by a female servant who wore a traditional Xiafu dress. Although he had an absent-minded look, he could at least recognize the frantic whispers of the female servants about a handsome but unruly looking model.

Despite Yang’s unkempt appearance that made him look similar to a recently fired cologne company model due to his folded and unbuttoned long-sleeve formals, he was the man recently appointed by the Communist Party of Sinica’ Standing Committee to represent Sinica for a diplomatic summit with the Human Star State, the Greater Imperium of Pikasistan, the Federated Worlds of Olimpiada, and the Coalition Theomilitary.

There was suddenly a distinct sound heel clicking footsteps that slowly drew nearer the pagoda. As Yang glanced at his side, he saw that it was his longtime friend, Celestial Premier Chen Zhiqing, equipped with the usual smug and confident look on his face, slowly approached his place. The servants recognized the Premier’s presence quickly scrambled out to brew tea for him.

"You good, Mr. Yang? It's rare seeing you sit alone, why sport the long face?”

"Chen, stop being so formal with me. I’m just here luxuriating in the view while mentally preparing myself for some national deal making shenanigans.”

As Chen attempts to gesture a handshake, Yang stood up and attempted to crushingly squeeze Chen’s hand — an action that the Premier reciprocated. Seeing that both of them couldn’t overpower one another, they both patted each other in the back and laughed.

"I see, mind if I sit down?"

"Sure, but don’t you think that it’s strange that the Celestial Premier himself to ask for some lowly ambassador’s permission for him to sit?"

"Well, I'm the Premier and not the Emperor... I need the decency to ask for permission from my brotherly equal to sit down."

"Not an Emperor...Ha! That's what you want everyone to think, your highness." Yang sarcastically jabs at the larger-than-life Premier. Before Chen could make any
attempts at making a comeback, he adds "Jokes aside, what brings you here?"

"Clearing off some stress after a cat herding like organization for the New Silk Road project biddings... and if I remember correctly,
the diplomatic summit that I had your ambassadorship approved of is going to commence for this planet’s week?”

"Yeah, there’s going to be around four nations who'll be coming over for some mutual defense conference.”

“I’m actually not particularly oriented with the summit’s details, care to tell me more?”

“Back in the party meetings, there was a lot of discussion regarding the creation of an international organization to put checks on SATMA."

"The Stepford-Arnau Trade and Military Alliance? A pretentious name for nothing more than a band of barbarians.”

As Chen attempted to jeer at an especially threatening organization, the conversation between him and Yang was temporarily cut-off when female servants from earlier interrupted and served Jasmine tea to the Premier. Chen nodded at them with a smile before gesturing them to vacate the pagoda in order to continue his discussion with Yang.

"To continue where we left off, these so-called band of barbarians seems like a potential threat to our national interests in my opinion,”

"So just like every case of barbarians in our history... And so, what do you think of our so-called prospective allies?"

"I have varying opinions... I think that the Staatmen are a pretty solid group of people despite their obvious hints of a superiority complex.
They seem trustworthy, but that’s probably just my vain empathy for people that similarly gone through tough times like ours.

"Well….they seem trustworthy enough to the point of having some of our countrymen thinking that these guys are honorary Xia.”

“No amount of body scrubbing can turn someone into Xia...Although perhaps the Staatmen can.
The cultural aspects of their civilization may be one of the few that could possibly match our splendor and beauty.”

“Seems like a reciprocated sentiment since our diasporas over there become first-class citizens.”

"Hmmm...there’s also the Pikasistanis and while I think they’re pretty honest, they are somehow...questionable in some regards.”

“Those guys from Quadrant Beta? Yeah, I’ve heard the stories. I seriously have my doubts on entrusting these rabid dogs to watch over our backs.

“You have to give them credit, I think they’re surprisingly sophisticated and cooperative. Not to mention, their zealous jingoist behavior is pretty useful in the
future.”

“This reminds when proto-Xia employed warlike brigands from the steppes to defend their frontier against other similar minded brigands.”

“We’re technically not employing a bunch of brigands, just men with questionable philosophies.”

“We’ll see about their behavior during the meeting.”

“And there’s the Olimpiadans, an interesting bunch that needs a bit of caution to handle.”

“Ah, them...they’re a bunch of snakes that are basically Pikasistanis with more cunning and less barbarism. Their lot is especially
a pain in the ass to handle during biddings for the New Silk Road project.”

“They're truly something that's difficult to deal with. Despite the fact that they're one of our consistent economic partners, we should
keep a close eye on what they're about to pull off."

"Of course, that's already a given."

"Lastly, we have the Coalition guys, who are perhaps the most strange out of all the attendees."

"Truth to be told, I don't know much about these people."

"I suppose they're nomads with weird tastes, I guess? I think they're a potential ally whose description seems to fits closer with the
so-called brigands that we're trying to resist. One of the weirdest civilizations in my opinion "

"Now that you think about it, it's pretty ironic for us to comment that other civilizations are a bunch of weirdos."

"Tell me about it."

"For a civilization that boasts its beauty and splendor, no others manage to reset civilization and decimate around half of the entire population
after a civil war, a trait that we managed to inherit from the proto-Xia Chinese people back on Planet Earth."

"You forgot to mention the part that these gardens had the Crimson Emperors probably having similar conversations such as ours right now."

"Then perhaps, these gardens of fraternity is actually just a giant meeting for a bunch of weirdos?"

"Perhaps."

[Olimpiada]

---

Joki, Gaia
Offices of Katherine Iwakura, Caelene Pyramid

---

Above a sea of peach and periwinkle clouds that hid away the sprawling slums and arcologies below, the Caelene Pyramid floated on a gossamer strand of silk. It dangled tenuously from a hundred kilometers of nanotube cables, like a spider weaving a web. It had little risk of dropping in much the same way. A monument to everything mega-engineering could be, it was the collective boast of every engineer in BlueSky Industries: We have conquered the heavens themselves, and elected to make our home there.

They most certainly lived up to their promise. Ferry cars from the elevator made their way to and from the Aurora-3 ring, carrying personnel and material of all varieties in tow. Spaceplanes lifted off from and landed at hangars and airstrips along the top two open air decks. From one of these exited Athanasios Nikolaides. Despite the high altitude, the air was merely chilly; a remarkably extravagant but inefficient system of electromagnets kept the oxygen leakage on the upper decks to a minimum. He walked at a brisk pace to an elevator, punched in the bottom floor, and waited to be brought to the next stage of his career.

Two very important people waited for him at the point of the pyramid. The first was Katherine Iwakura, owner of BlueSky Industries and the roughly three planets it presided over. The other was the president of the Federated Worlds of Olimpiada, Alexios Cyrenacius. And then there was Nikolaides, a man who had only recently crawled his way to relevance in the world of public relations, and now found himself adjacent to the pinnacle of the nation’s power. Understandably, he was a bit nervous to say the least. He popped a mood stabilizer and chewed it. A thousand years of modern pharmaceutical development, and the damn things still didn’t get the grape flavor right. Was it intentional?

The doors slid open to a reception area. Tasteful wood paneling and broad windows filled the room. The former was likely real, owing to the wealth of the CEO’s office. The latter was most certainly not glass; synthetic diamond was far cheaper, and safer at this altitude. A human receptionist sat behind a desk, rather than a hologram. This was not merely opulent, but functional too, since bots lacked any of the subtlety and finesse that humans did. Her eyes defocused from whatever she was reading on her retinas, and refocused on Nikolaides. She had dark skin, short hair, and a pair of tribal scars under each eye. A rare phenotype in this nation, but nothing especially outlandish. “Mrs. Iwakura will see you in a moment, she is busy with a conference at present. Would you care for some coffee while you wait?”

“That would be good. Blend 3301, if you would.” It was a rough drink, but the extreme bitterness and high caffeine content would perk him up enough to keep him at peak performance during the meeting in combination with the tablet he’d taken earlier.

“I apologize, but Mrs. Iwakura prefers real beans.” Right, ultra-wealthy. The crowds he now moved with took some getting used to.

“In that case, I’ll have whatever she usually does.” The receptionist nodded and headed off behind a closed door. He reclined in his chair to wait. This tactic was one familiar to him. His elevator ride down had likely involved a series of subtle scans to investigate whether or not he was carrying weapons, dangerous infectious diseases, or had any augments which would need to be targeted by the area’s electronic defense systems to prevent electronic incursions. The receptionist had likely been busy checking over this data for any details the machines had missed. This waiting period likely wasn’t meant to give the CEO more time to finish her meeting, but was rather intended to comb his skin for hostile nanotechnology and monitor his biometrics for telltale traces of chemicals indicating dangerous bionic augmentation such as a bomb grown into the place where his appendix used to be.

He took this time to give himself one last check to make sure he was fine. In the reflection of the window, he still saw short brown hair, a pair of angular hazel eyes, stubble carefully curated to make him look more rugged than shaggy, and an angular pair of lines in the left side his face where his social implant hid, its pinhole camera and chemical sniffer poking out as a pair of black dots above his eyebrow. His suit and shirt still had a perfect lack of wrinkles, which meant that the piezoelectric fabric was working properly, and his shoes were as perfectly polished as when he put them on this morning.

The receptionist re-entered with a ceramic mug bearing the company logo which she placed on a short table near Nikolaides’s seat. He reached over to take a sip, and felt his wallet recoil in horror as he smelled it. It was leagues beyond anything synthetic blends could ever hope to achieve. Another minute passed. “Mrs. Iwakura will see you now.” A white double door pulled itself back and then folded into the other room on a pair of robotic arms.

Iwakura’s office was refined enough to actually give Nikolaides pause. The last person of import he’d had to deal with was self-styled Shogun Yoshimasa Oshiro, a blind yakuza boss who ran most of Sabishii in the wake of the Red Death and wielded a katana liberally. His residence, headquarters, and personal playground was a repurposed soccer stadium filled with a ramshackle assortment of administrative and leisure buildings and overgrown with thick data cables to support the man’s information-obsessed style of governance. This was an unmatched display of elegance by comparison. A massive slab of synthetic diamond covered the floor, leading to a vertigo-inducing view of the clouds below and the occasional skyscraper poking out from them. A hammered gold ceiling reflected this brilliant light and cast a soft golden light around the room. Large potted cherry and maple bonsai trees perched on simple stone daises, the genetic tweaks to their base code keeping them in eternal red, green, and pink bloom. A single skylight above the back of the room kept an angelic shaft of light on a squarish desk hewn from a single gargantuan redwood log. Iwakura sat behind it, her eighty years of age apparently reduced by more than half by a battery of experimental pharmaceuticals and augmentation. Next to it stood President Cyrenacius, wearing his mere fifty-four years with far less concern for its appearance.

“Mr. Nikolaides, a pleasure to see you could come.” She knew he had had little choice in the matter, but preferred the pleasantry regardless. “Won’t the two of you sit? You’re making me tired just looking at you both.” Her vaguely asiatic features wore a practiced smile to create a sense of calmness, one which he felt despite knowing exactly how fake it was.

“Do you know why we called you here today?” began the President. A rhetorical question he’d been hearing for decades now.

“My briefing said we would be discussing the New Silk Road project, sir.” replied Nikolaides.

“Right, but I meant you specifically.” Shit. That was a dangerous one. He went with a route that would promote his career.

“At a guess, I’d say it has to do with my experience handling the situation on Sabishii.” A glance at the other pair suggested that was not the case. His social implant measured the slight narrowing of their eyes and a few tenths of a millimeter of frown and displayed across his retina that they didn’t agree.

“Not so,” said Iwakura. “This is a large company with billions of employees. There’s thousands of people with similar qualifications and trust levels to yours. The truth is, within those parameters you happen to be the only one who can speak Sinican without a translator.” Nikolaides was somewhat miffed by this. His travel to a plague zone to parley with a burned out wirehead gone rogue and erroneously placed into power had been entirely overshadowed by his arbitrary choice to pick a Chinese offshoot to fulfill the language requirement for his undergraduate degree in business, which in and of itself was just a means to acquire his doctorate in conflict investment. The entire concept was vaguely insulting. He took it in stride as best as he could. Iwakura picked up on it.

“Don’t take it badly; we ourselves were only given the contract for dealings with the New Silk Road to balance out some other changes,” she said with a nod at Cyrenacius.

“After giving Aurelius-Kawahara the contract for the Polydeuces cloud cities, Hex the contract for the rest of Vosporos system, and Mykonos took all the mining operations on Selene, we sort of had to hand this project to BlueSky to keep a comfortable balance of power between the major corporations.” Nikolaides acquiesced to this with a nod.

“Anything not mentioned in my briefing I should know going into this?” If the situation had already gone this sour for him, he might as well risk admitting to a moderate lack of knowledge.

“As you’ve probably already surmised, the Sinicans will likely appreciate you speaking their language. They’ve got a sense of superiority over us laowai, but we’re better than xenoi at the very least.”

“I suppose using their tongue would appeal to that belief.”

“That’s the idea. We decided to opt for one fluent in Sinican rather than German since the Staat is less concerned with ideas of race. Your augments will be viewed poorly by them, but it was believed that favoring the people hosting the summit would be beneficial to our ends.”

“How poorly, do you suppose?”

“They believe that the human body is meant to be kept pristine and pure, and that any sort of prosthetic should only be as a replacement to parts lost due to accidents or combat.”

“Sounds lovely. Any others I should know about?”

“The Pikasistani-”

“I’m familiar,” interjected Nikolaides. He was familiar with their strange brethren. Extremely similar cultural base, but their life in the strict environmental controls on FS-285’s Titan lead to a much more militaristic and authoritarian way of life than their own.

“Right. The Coalition are a difficult lot to measure.”

“So I’ve been told.”

“No real planetary holdings, little correspondence to Old Terran cultures, and rampant genetic alteration.”

“Please define ‘rampant’, sir.”

“They have a fighter pilot caste they’ve engineered into pygmies so that they’re easier to maintain life support for.”

“That...does make sense, in an odd way.”

“Don’t delude yourself. We really don’t get them at all, but we’d like to. Their nomadic ways make them useful for trading information and rare minerals with.” Nikolaides inhaled sharply at that. Figuring out an entire nation on the fly. Now that was a challenge.

“I think that about wraps things up here,” stated Iwakura, somewhat irritated at having been left out of the conversation for so long. “Your ship departs from Aurora-3 at 10:30 tomorrow morning. You’ll be shipping out on the Melos with SecUnit 399Tav. Good luck out there, and do try to make us look good, Ambassador.”

---

Fusang, Lizhou
The Melos, Chiyang

---

The Melos was an unusually luxurious ship considering the rigors of modern space travel. Its hull was painted a stark white and inlaid with golden geometric patterns. The interior was entirely computerized and compatible with leading Olimpiadan manufacturers’ brain control interfaces. Apparently fragile computers and furniture inside was actually carefully engineered from robust ceramics and carbon polymers and managed to accommodate a suite of modern safety features. Its attachment to a drab and utilitarian port station above Chiyang proper was almost an insult to the craft.

Unfortunately, the shuttle Nikolaides and his security team now flew down in was a great deal less luxurious.

The Melos was never designed for the rigors of planetfall to begin with, and even if it had been, its only engine would create a nuclear fireball on ignition. This was generally deemed “wholly impractical” and an “international incident” by experts in air traffic control, national security, and aerospace engineering. As a result, Nikolaides, a handful of corporate soldiers, and Sibyl Apostolou, his head of security for this outing, were shaking as the bottom of the shuttle bludgeoned its way through a few kilometers of atmosphere on its way towards the planet’s surface.

After twenty minutes of rumbling, the shuttle finally had a solid grip on the atmosphere and slowly dropped from supersonic speeds as it flew toward Chiyang. Once everyone could hear themselves think again, they got to work. Apostolou placed a dull cylinder with a surface like brushed steel on the now stable surface of the shuttle. Everyone waited silently as a millimeter radar scanner and a near-infrared laser flicked around the room disabling anything that its database could recognize as a listening device. “They run a surveillance state here, we’ll need to do this in every room where we expect privacy.” She rummaged around in her bag for a data chip. “As a precaution, plug this into your head. They’re encryption devices with quantum keys. Any attempt to eavesdrop on feed communication between us or try a skullhack will change that incoming data, making the attempt worthless. Our wirehead, Sawa-” A stern looking Japanese man with an array of gleaming dataports embedded into his bald head nodded. “-will be monitoring our comms from our room and tipping us off to any surveillance problems that arise.”

Nikolaides was already familiar with some of these procedures, but nodded along regardless. Best to let his security expert be a security expert. “What about physical security? I doubt they’ll encourage us carrying rifles and grenades around.”

In response, Apostolou swung open the arm of her suit jacket to reveal a stubby looking machine pistol. “Type 83 Smart Pistol.”

“Ah.” Working for the company, he was familiar with the lineup. They were wholly nonmetallic, largely invisible to millimeter radar, and mostly transparent to x-rays. Pure chemical propellant and carbon-silicon light based computing interfaced with a series of data connectors in her palm to track targets mid combat and send sprays of guided flechettes after them. “I believe we’re all set then, aren’t we?”

“Not so. Remember, you’re white, as is most of your security detail. I’m asiatic, but still a riben guizi in their eyes. Be careful on the streets. You’ve got a panic button in your head, use it if you think you need it. Our most important job here is to get you in and out safely. We aren’t yet certain how much we can trust these people.” The shuttle bucked as it began its braking approach to the runway in Chiyang proper. “Do a good job of finding out for us, if you would.”

[Menschlicher Sternenstaat]

“There lies a solace in the travel between your start and your end - it is that of knowing that you are embarking on a journey to completion, yet far away enough from such to savor the experiences along the way.”

— anon.

---

SSM Kufstatt, Zhuque—Lagrange 2 Interplanetary Transit, Lizhou System
Staatsführer-SS Vincent Heitmeyer, People's Republic of Sinica [Gamma Quadrant]
June 7th, 790 S.A (Staat Ära) — 12:30 p.m. Synchronized Veran Operator Time

---

[ ♫ Complementary Ambiance ♫ ]

Stadtverisch (Urban Veran)
Sinican

---

The single blip of a message was what woke Vincent from the lulling numbness of sleep.

Not the distant, background echoes of rumbling ion engines, nor the ever-so-softly spoken words muttered outside of his expansive quarters, but instead the simple bell-toll of a message sent to his PlasComputer. This roused Vincent awake into a haze of newfound consciousness that was bathed in the dark, cyan ambiance of the otherwise dimly lit and devoid office. Accompanying the now-dissipated blip was a small, blue dancing number one that lingered atop the holocasting module on his personal computer, indicating a new message of importance that meandered its way through the interstellar lanes of cyber-information. With the previous filters that he had ordered the Screen’s AI to uphold, this could only mean that someone very near and dear to his heart was trying to reach out to him.

As Vincent arched upwards from the soft, almost swallowing recesses of his office chair towards the beveled glass edge of his working desk, he couldn’t help but notice small specks of refracted light scintillating off of the idle PC’s monitor. Almost faint enough to be subsumed into the surrounding black, they periodically glinted enough to enrapture Vincent and cast off the hypnogogia that tugged at his mind. Swiveling backwards and sliding deeper into the comforting plushness of the office chair, he came to recognize where such specks were coming from.

The window screen in front of Vincent yawned with a bone-chilling beauty that lied only meters away from exactly where he sat in silent wonder. Infinity itself was laid before him in all of its summation and existence, with its ebony seas being pocketed with those familiar shimmers and shines of distant stars and galaxies. All thoughts of the past and present became consumed by the ever-arching stellar symphony before him. As each moment of this enrapturing dream passed by, Vincent grew more and more attached to his previous state of slumber, with the universe at his feet spilling forth like a portal into this new mental, astral idyll.

That lingering blip resurfaced in Vincent’s mind just as he was about to cross into the threshold of a comforting sleep. With a renouncement of comfort through a low, wispy sigh, Vincent swiveled away from the ever sparkling window screen and towards the darkness of the unlit office. With a single, defined snap of his fingers, light gradually began to fill the room and uncover surfaces hidden by the precursor blanket of darkness. As the overhead concave inlets of lamps finally reached their full brightness, his eyes were now adjusted enough to re-assess his surroundings and leap back into the work that awaited him.

The personal study that Vincent had to himself was, surprisingly, rather simplistic and utilitarian in its present aesthetic and furniture. In contrast to his “official” office that was hosted in a suite near the primary command bridge of the Kufstatt — which was in itself emblazoned with all of the regalia and symbols that were ascribed to the monumental position of Staatsführer-SS and the Menschlicher Sternenstaat as a whole — this room bore the bare minimum. There was, of course, the sleek titanium desk that the PlasComputer’s holocasting modules sat upon, with a glass surface beveled with the twists and turns of the faint Zentrumband pattern. The very chair that he was being sunken into was another centerpiece of the room, being of a glossy sliver metallic frame and with cushioned inlets of true villog fur. The floors and walls shared much of the same recipe, being metallic in texture and a softened silver in color. Those concavities that laid above him broke the monotony of the roof, shining with a white light that was tempered enough to lay easy upon his eyes in even the most laboriously daunting of hours.

Apart from that... the study was quite barren. Vincent liked it that way, too - his true office was often distracting from the plethora of wooden colors that blended with the reds, blacks, and whites of state insignias strewn forth. In his very own study, though, the only thing to truly steal Vincent’s attention away from his work sat behind him most of the time, with the window screen usually sitting cold and empty when not in ephemeral use projecting outer space.

Vincent was a stickler for the stars as a means to aesthetically appeal to himself; more so than for the traditional conventions of flavor that many Verans shared. It wasn’t that he disliked such tastes, for anyone could appreciate the sanctity of macroscopically imposing state architecture and more localized birch wooden desks or hefty, plush chairs ripe in their pine shine. He just never cared much for it, instead looking to the easing onyx of the universe at large as a means to flush forth style and complement.

Once he finished the impromptu inspection of the barren and monotone study, Vincent powered on the PlasComputer fully through a mere snap of his fingers. This sent the holocasting modules into their dedicated states, instantaneously knitting a web of dancing amber holography in the midst of the air. The strings that they weaved constituted things such as a silken clock reading twelve thirty at midnight, in SVOT1 time, and a general notification screen for the Kufstatt that slowly rolled automatic diagnostic summaries in its breadth. Everything was reading fine, from the stability of the ship’s WM XIII-MK hyper-drive to that of the oxygen circulation and dehumidifier recollection systems. None of this was an immediate concern to Vincent, however.

“Bring up the emergency alert from my personal communications, please.”

His voice sailed through the thin, almost chilling air of the study, like one of his personally handcrafted pykrete sailboats back home on Vera. In response to this, the PlasComputer’s artificial intelligence muttered back, quiet in a preset tone.

“Right away, Vincent. Emergency alert: chronoline video message from ‘Wilhelmina Heitmeyer’, received thirty minutes ago. Playing...”

“...Dad! Dad, can you hear me? I hope you can - Mom said that I could stay up all night for this! So... I hope it works!”

The bright, bubbly face of Mina sent Vincent’s previous emotions of situational apathy into the void, replacing it with a surging warmth in his chest that only his daughter could ever bring.

“Uncle Widmann said that he gave you a suuuuper task, even super-er than ever before! I asked him about it, but all he could tell me is that you were going somewhere far, far away, like in the stories teachers tell us about. He did say one thing about this super task, though; that you will be bringing souvenirs!”

The giddiness that Mina showed now fully encapsulated Vincent’s attention, with the background of the video showing their manor’s wide windows and the glints of arcologies far, far away from the countryside. She was safe there, in Vera, and it seemed that Staatskanzler Widmann shared similar sentiments with Vincent about her safety.

“Can you bring me a big dragon? My friends say they don’t exist, but I don’t think so - not after seeing those aliens from the north! Uncle Widmann and Mom might want one, too... but I want the biggest one!

...That’s it? But I wanna tell Dad more... okay.

Mom wants me to sleep now, since those big exams at school are being given soon and I gotta study. Please get me a dragon if you can! Love you!”

As the video reached its conclusion, Mina’s radiant face and the expanse of night behind her slowly disappeared into the waves of amber that constituted the holography of the PlasComputer. With her gone, Vincent slowly fell back into reality, his familial warmth being replaced with the present cold that flowed into the study. Shivering him up into full alert, Vincent gently rose from the confines of his seat and stretched to revitalize his body for moving once more.

And, at that moment, a different alert came to him from the speaker that laid above the door to the study.

“Staatsführer Heitmeyer, this is Rottenführer Kapsner reporting. Someone is currently awaiting entry into your residential suite.”

“That someone being...?”

“...Identified as Oberführer Hans Schröpfer. Credentials pass for said identity... admittance?”

“Admittance approved. Tell him the suite will be as good to him as it is to me, and that I’ll be waiting.”

“Right away, sir.”

Just beyond the study’s door, Vincent heard the faintest sliding sound reverberate, indicating that the entrance to his suite was unlocked. Heaving a final sigh in the silence of the room’s isolation, Vincent waved for the door in front of him to slide away and reveal his quarters in full.

---

Although not as grandiose as the conference room for all of the high-ranking Staatsschutz officials onboard, Vincent’s own residential suite did enough to cast the potent energy of authority that his own position held.

Upon exiting from his personal study, the minimalist and metallic themes disappeared and were thus replaced with the Veran thematic customs of glossy wood and stone. The specific room he had entered was the very centerpiece of the suite itself, and that was the atrium - dually functioning as a living room, an utterly colossal standard of the Staatsschutz laid embossed upon the center’s ground, black and white of onyx and marble and complemented in its circumference with bands of granite. The rest of the floor was natural, tree-felled wood glossed over with slicked coats of wax that allowed for the overhead, golden lamps and chandeliers to shine vividly and in a manner of refraction.

Every step he took away from his study and towards the central seal issued multiple clicks that bounced off of the walls of oak and marble. With the background scent of saffron flowing through the air coupling with the aged smells of ancient antiques and items around him, it was as if Vincent was teleported away from the frigidness of the ship’s metallic reality and into that of a Veran manor...

Like his home.

The brief reverie was interrupted by the reciprocation of boots upon wood, echoing forth from Vincent’s right and seeming to originate from the entrance of the suite itself. Both he and whoever was making the sounds were heading in the direction of the circular sofa that encapsulated the Staatsschutz’s seal upon the floor, and both soon found each other at the cusp of such plush and leather-bound furniture.

“My Staatsführer! It has been quite a trip so far, hasn’t it?”

Hans - Vincent’s personal adjutant, young and haughty as most novices were - stood proudly at the leftward cusp of the sofa, clutching a bottle of amber alcohol in his right hand all the while sporting a rather doofy expression.

That bottle wasn’t his.

“Is that not my brandy, Hans? The hell are you doing?”

“It...uh...” Hans stuttered, realizing Vincent’s stinginess to the drinks that he often kept in his suite’s aft cellar. As a means of assuaging the Staatsführer’s impending rage, he quickly set the bottle down on the companion coffee table that convexed in the same vein as the sofa between them.

“Your stuttering doesn’t really answer the question. Why did you take it?”

“Well, heh, the recent news I got can only be really told with maybe a drink!”

“Hans, that brandy is to be given after meals. For fuck’s sake, I even had it served two days ago! You could have brought a malt or something; I know the information you have isn’t serious. And stop acting so damn anxious as well - this is my home for the time being, not the main office!”

Hans plucked his officer’s cap from his head and began to scratch his head in confusion, tufts of brown hair being tossed around by the black gloves still being worn.

“Well, sorry, sir... and how do you know my information already?”

“A guess is all I need,” Vincent responded, hauling himself towards the apex of the sofa’s curve in preparation to flick on the dormant television module hovering over their heads. “Can you put this brandy back where you found it, please? We can’t drink that right now.”

“Well, about that, I was gonna ask to... borrow it.”

“...Borrow a goddamn brandy? Hans, my boy, did you drink something else before coming here?”

“Wh- No!”

Vincent chuckled, removing his glasses and putting them on the table near the bottle of Kellemeti brandy. With the light from the above chandeliers passing through the bottle, an amberous glow was beset upon them and thus creating a miniature spectacle of dancing orange and red hues.

“Then why the hell do you need it!? You can’t borrow something you expect to use in full!”

“I meant, like, to pay back, you know? And it’s for, uhm-”

Hans jumped in surprise as Vincent’s hand smacked the back of his shoulders, shaking the white aiguillettes of his neatly pressed uniform. This was followed by a hearty laugh arising from the Staatsführer, who shook his head in self-confirmation as he waved his hands for the module above them to initialize.

“You really want to impress her to get some attention, don’t you?”

“Huh!?”

“Don’t play dumb with me, boy! I‘ve always seen you freeze up whenever Okino comes by to talk ,or stand guard, or... anything; it’s obvious.”

At this point, all that Hans did was merely issue a deep sigh mixed with relief and further anxiety for his own commanding officer knowing of one of his idling secrets, sinking into the cushions of the sofa in resignation to such a fact. Vincent, seeing his adjutant quickly depress in mood within the mere span of a few seconds, began to mess around with the television module above them in order to bring them closer to the true topic lingering.

“I mean, I can’t blame you for developing feelings for her. Our dear Okino definitely knows how to keep an appearance, that’s for sure - but make sure not to fall for that age-old makeup trick! And, besides, when did you start liking her? Out of all the well-groomed, fit, and beautiful Veran women on this boat, you choose a half-alien.”

“I can’t remember, if I’m being honest with you. And she isn't a half-alien!”

“For all we know, she could be a ticking bioweapon. Fucking Kuesans...”

“What!?”

The module above them finally burst to life as Vincent finished his distraction of a conversation with Schröpfer, sputtering its iridescence over them in a rain of light and color.

“I'm joking, you dumbass! Why would I sincerely hate my own goddamn security chief? Shut up and watch this - if I even put it to the right channel, that is...”

---

[ The projection above them shifts into a sea of maroon as the ambient lights around them dim. The intro piece of the most premiere state media of the Menschlicher Sternenstaat commences, displaying the Zentrumband with the accompanying anthem. ]

“I almost fall asleep whenever this plays.”

“...Sir! Isn’t that-”

“Shut up and watch, will you?”

“...”

[ The anthem subsides and the projection subsumes back into the darkness around them, before returning with a soft glow of orange and yellow. Materializing before them is a sunrise on the capital world, Vera, with a news host walking along a crowded boulevard before the Summit of the Nation - one of the many ceremonial pulpits used by the Staatskanzler to deliver messages to the public. ]

“As all dedicated citizens of the Staat may know, our country has recently begun a round of diplomatic interactions and missions between itself and numerous other nations - as our Staatskanzler Michael Widmann puts it, as a ‘means of ensuring human security both domestically and abroad’. Although his plan has been met with some criticism with noble families over the possible economic repercussions of such an undertaking, he has announced that our country shall remain fully capable of its own operation and fully reliant on its own strength despite any passage of treaties or agreements that may occur. Today, he has announced a last-minute press conference to address the new diplomatic mission to the People's Republic of Sinica, being spearheaded by the Staatsführer of the Staatsschutz, Sir Vincent Heitmeyer.”

“I have no idea why they called me a ‘sir’, as if I am a noble or something...”

“Look, sir- uh, I mean-”

“You’re using it different than them! What?”

“Isn’t that timer for the live conference? It only has thirty seconds remaining.”

“Thanks for the information, it’s not like I can see the same fucking projection you can.”

[ Some time later, and the screen shifts to the Precipice of the Summit of the Nation - a pedestal looming over a gathering of tens of thousands of local citizens, Staatspolizei, and Staatsschutz soldiers assembled for such a hasty meeting. Vincent chuckles as the bobbing head of the Staatskanzler enters the frame, igniting roars of applause that bring the speakers of the module to a near breaking point. ]

“Guy gets a full encore for just walking. What a fucking legend... can't believe me and him were both shithead grunts before.”

[ Widmann raises his hand to his shoulders in a salute to the masses, rousing evermore applause and cheers. The battalions of Staatsschutz troopers below Widmann salute him in return with arms fully outstretched, stoic and yet attentive to every move of their dear leader. As he brings his arm down, the audience silences immediately, and the troopers snap back to a position of ease in preparation for the words of the State Chancellor. ]

“Here it goes... pity we don’t have a snack.”

“What about the brandy?”

“You’re actually, legitimately retarded, Hans.”

“Ladies and gentlemen of the Human Star State, from this blessed world to the farthest reaches of the nation... thank you for listening. I must give my sincerest apologies to each and every one of you for such a conference happening at haste, for I myself was not prepared to make an address today. It was to be expected that the Sinican diplomatic summit would be commencing in a few short days, but the diligence of our diplomatic corps and foreign affairs ministry has allowed such a convention to occur even earlier than expected!”

“Michael, you sly bastard...”

“As I speak to you now, Vincent Heitmeyer - our dedicated diplomat to the summit and revered leader of the State Defense - has graced the Sinicans with his very presence in their capital system. The road of our nation to galactic influence and determination has been paved by the sweat, tears, and blood of countless millions, and I can assure you that he will not fail in his duty to entrust the future of us and our future generations to the grace of God and His peace. I come to you now not only to inform you of this, but to tell you of a revelation that has swept the consciousness of the Star State for quite some time.

That revelation is of our true position in this galaxy, and the abyss of astropolitics that our nation navigates every passing day. For nearly a thousand years, we have placed ourselves at the top of the proverbial pyramid for all who have surrounded and threatened us in the past. As Humans, both in blood and in spirit, we have persevered through times of seemingly everlasting darkness, and prolonged eras of bountiful concord. This was accomplished by the sacrifices of all of our ancestors, from the manufactory worker to the noble director and from the land trooper to the naval officer. Our march unto history as one of the most powerful nations to ever exist has not been conducted alone - we, as Humans, march together, ignorant of our race, our class, our origin! Yet, we all know of the threats of subversive ideology, of idolatrous heathenry, and of foreign devils. This national cognizance is what has made us survive the worst and birth the best of ages - and we must rely on this cognizance to steer us further.

Take heed of the new dawn that is arriving before us, ladies and gentlemen of the State. Distant aliens that have been enlightened of our very existence now plot to destroy us all simply for our autonomy! Our decisions to preserve our cultures, our heritages, our societies against their formless monoliths of social progressivism and scientific unrestraint have been called into question of destruction! From their wrathful demagogues of reprisal is where our new direction is begotten. We cannot grace this galaxy alone with our presence of glory, lest we fall subject to a fate of annihilation from the hordes of the blind and the fallen. From the Norma to the Orion, there are nations that lack our bonafide and good-willed nature for the tenets of Human sanctity and supremacy. Yet, with the Sinicans, we nevertheless have forged bonds before with such folk that have hardened into carbide! This, my people, is what we strive to accomplish.

A fraternity of nations, united in spite of their difference against plotters and schemers that seek to despoil their traditions and foul their hearts to commit the ultimate sin of life - the loss of self. I ask you all to stand ready and truthful with one another for what may come, as the dreams that Sir Heitmeyer shall be bringing will spell a novel and mighty age for the Human Star State!

Hail the State, hail the Sternenkaiser! Hail to Humanity, and hail to Victory!”

[ The crowd riles into a final cry of praise, chanting the verbal slogan and raising their arms in the national salute as Widmann delivers his own unto the masses. The camera zooms backward to reveal the titanic flags of the Human Star State flanking him, almost frozen in their weight from the winds barreling past, in addition to the black mass of Staatsschutz officers and soldiers positioned before him. The purpling sky now falls ahead as the camera finalizes its outward zoom, before transitioning to the outro - the Zentrumband once more, and a round of patriotic songs to follow. ]

---

With his eyes gazing on the hibernate key of the module, Vincent shut off the hologram and allowed it to trickle away into the surrounding darkness. The lights of the room started to slowly return to their normal luminosity, with his wrinkled but energized eyes soon snapping to and fro in a newfound burst of confidence.

“I told you, kid. I already knew what you were gonna show me! Head of the largest fucking organization around has gotta know when he’s mentioned.”

“Huh... our Chancellor always seems to have a way with words. Even then, with you being locked up in your office for most of the day, I thought you were oblivious to the impromptu address.”

Vincent tapped on the coffee table before them to reveal a hidden humidor hoisting several Moncalanan cigars in various channels. Wide in their breadth and tapering to their ends, he placed the cap of one into an adjacent automatic guillotine to have it chopped away. After the cap fell into a discard port, Vincent ignited the cigar with a smart lighter, warming the foot with an oscillating flame. He finally hoisted it in his mouth as the final flame of the lighter shot forth to light the cigar itself, before extinguishing as he began to savor the smoke billowing into his mouth.

Hans watched the process with only scraps of interest, as he saw his commanding officer do this a multitude of times wherever they went and whenever it was possible to. After all, Vincent was a sucker for such a thing, and him trying to nudge Hans at that moment to light one with him only affirmed such a fact. He waved Vincent off, instead twirling the bottle of brandy in his hands in a bout of ponderance.

“Widmann was being cocky to me a few hours earlier in direct tachy messages,” Vincent said, twirling the cigar around puffing out a cloud of smoke. “I knew some asshole was just pinging him nonstop that we had arrived earlier than expected; the damn rat took advantage before we could broadcast our own address!”

“You always speak of our Chancellor so rudely, sir! What if someone not knowledgeable of your past with him were to hear this? It would make my job quite, er, difficult.”

Vincent did nothing for a moment but grin and exhale, shooting another cloud into the air and thereafter watching the ventilator systems of the suite seize upon it and clear away the air back into total sterility.

“Hans, you do know our mutual past is known to pretty much everyone?”

“In our nation, yes... however, the Sinicans wouldn’t exactly know you two bled in the same trench. Or, as you always like to put it, were ‘battle-brothers’.”

“I guess that just gives us the opportunity to butter them up with more stories, huh?”

“Yessir...”

“Now, since we’re early as shit to this place, we may as well summon the diplomatic panel before we arrive to any orbital docks the Sinicans have. You should be happy, Okino will be there.”

“Why must you always torture me with the most incessant of shit, sir?”

“Boredom. But, to be honest, you two would make quite the comedic couple. I would love to see how the divorce turns out.”

[Pikasistan]

---

Distant Star
Aquilae, Federated Worlds of Olimpiada

---

Kristos Orascus was looking at the video feed of the ship's external cameras as the flotilla crossed the Vosporos-Aquilae wormhole, which was essentially a hole punched in spacetime, saving months of slipspace travel which spanned over tens of thousands of light years. Many sailors, both from Pikasistan and Olimpiada had said that it was truly a sight to behold, but despite the impressing nature of the natural gateway, the aging man was still glum. Thirty eight years, that was the amount of years of his life he had spent for the Greater Imperium, thirty eight. Yet, despite all of those years, he was sent away on the opposite side of the galaxy for some meeting in a nation that wasn't even known by the Greater Imperium until a few years back. He had spent countless year as the chief diplomat on Midgard, heck he was even there when the Aesirs first invaded the world. Millions of lives where lost on that world, even he lost his own right arm being evacuated by the Houseidians. Mere years after, his very own son died in the very same region of space, trying to reclaim the worlds that were lost, his body disintegrated by the enemy. It was mere months later that he was affected to a new task, forced in a life of lies and secrecy as he worked as a governmental liaison with the Olimpiadans on the Pardus Project. One would have thought that this alone would allow him to live a peaceful life back at home, safe from the threats that lurked in the cold, empty, void, but they instead "rewarded" him with a trip deep in the Gamma Quadrant, where most of the Imperium's most powerful foes possessed dozens of worlds and thousands upon thousands of warships which could quickly end his life. Yet, it was not the fear of death that made him despise his assignment as much, it was the fear to be captured alive by them. Indeed, as a liaison on the Pardus project, he had access to incredibly detailed schematics of the highest clearance on the most modern and powerful weapon systems of the two nations and if he was indeed found and captured, he would likely be tortured until he spoke. Despite all of his formal complains, he had still been sent because of his experience, although his concerns were partially attended to. Indeed, instead of being transported in a regular diplomatic vessel, he was aboard of an old, partially demilitarized Britannia-class frigate which offered a superior degree of protection, especially when escorted by a handful of Hemiola-class corvettes.

A lone marine entered the room, informing him that they would enter slipspace in five minutes and that he should enter a cryotube. Indeed, slipspace was an extremely odd plane of existence, one that could rapidly kill a human if precautions weren't taken. Orascus quietly nods and dismisses the soldier with a nonchalant hand movement and take a last look at the monitor before heading back to his compartment, his mag boots loudly resonating in the narrow corridors of the vessel.

This reminded him of another one of his concerns, his accommodations whilst being on Fusang. His fear of being captured by SATMA operatives had made him request to be hosted within a secured and strictly confidential location on the world's surface. This request had, of course, caused quite a lot of issues for the imperial authorities as the complex bureaucracy of the People's Republic swamped them with red tape and paperwork. After almost a year of back and forth, they finally managed to reach an agreement which was far from reassuring for the diplomat. Indeed, the compound would be guarded by a mix force of Sinican and Pikasistani soldiers, which meant that it was more probable that a foreign agent had infiltrated the operation, even despite the claims that extensive background checks had been made.

He entered his cabin, the bed which doubled as a cryotube waiting for him as an alarm rang, indicating that all personnel had only two minutes left before entering into slipspace. Kristos removed his clothing, leaving him only with a skin tight body glove which made him look a bit fitter than he actually was. He sat down, on the border of the bed, thinking to himself that if he was to die, he'd rather have his life taken by a slipspace anomaly than in an Aumani blacksite. The diplomat took a deep breath as he lied down, a sharp needle almost immediately piercing his flesh and discharging a cocktail of chemicals that made cryosleep possible, as well as a somniferous substance, making his fist grasp the uncomfortable mattress as the lid shut down, and the familiar sound of the cooling systems beginning to hum in his old ears. The took a last, deep breath, as hoarfrost began to form on the glass and his consciousness started to fade away.. when he'd wake up, he would be thousands of light year away, in a star system unknown to him and attending a summit that would change the future of all the nations present for decades to come...

---

Lizhou, 0.2 AUs away from Fusang, People's Republic of Sinica

---

The calm void was disturbed as a hole was punched between the two dimensions, the blue maelstrom ejecting the Nova Lutecia and its escorts at the rendezvous point with a small battlegroup of Sinican vessels tasked with escorting the vessels in orbit of the world. It took a few minutes for the Pikasistani to fully awake and respond to the hails of the Sinican flagship, the bridge officer speaking in a old form of mandarin that dated from centuries ago, dating from before the unification of Terra in FS-285. The difference between the two languages was however apparent and despite the best efforts of the poor officer, it took almost half an hour for them to confirm the destination, reason of sojourn and send the cargo manifests to the host vessels. The experience was quite embarrassing for the veteran diplomat, who found it baffling that no one deemed it important to procure more recent material to allow communication with the Sinicans and he intended to rectify the situation as soon as he reached the surface of the world. At the very lease, he knew that the Staatmenchs were able to speak latin, to to their religion being based on a minor sect that never survived in their own fractal.

The parallel evolution of mankind in dozens of system had always amused him in fact, how trivial events in the history of one world were of great importance in others and that some of them rewrote history, some where the Roman Empire crumbled because of infighting and christianity, where in FS-285, such events never happened as the Judean sect disappeared mere years after first appearing. Maybe that would be what he could do once he finally retires from the diplomatic corps, document the Histories of the many fractals out there and compare them to each other. Surely that would keep him busy for a few decades.

He dressed back up and opened a locker which would only open with a retina scan or a small explosive charge and took out a briefcase, which contained position papers and rundowns of the culture of all the nations present. Of course, he didn't need to read the file on the Olimpiadans, but he reckoned he could use a refresher on the other attendees.

The Coalition Theomilitary was probably the most fascinating of the bunch. A people of nomadic and genetically engineered humans that roamed the stars on their own volition, mining asteroids and conducting trade with many nations across the entire galaxy. So elusive they were that it took almost a full decade of contacts through large scale commercial contracts to have a glimpse into their society and some would even say they regretted to learn about it as the ways of their elite were quite hedonistic...

The Menschlicher Sternenstaat on the other hand was firmly anchored in tradition and catholic values, whatever the latter meant, proning that a powerful state was necessary to maintain order, which was indeed true as they had managed to rule across dozens of star system and to subdue many xeno races, which they strangely decided to maintain as an extra pool of military resources. The thought of having xenoi troopers was truly baffling for the man, as he saw them, like almost every Pikasistani as untrustworthy and as a waste of resources that could help Mankind instead.

Finally, the People's Republic of Sinica, the hosts of the summit and a nation where the plebeians had all the power, at least in theory. The nation bordered the Sternenstaat, only separated by a relatively narrow demilitarized space where criminals and dissidents formed small enclaves that served as safe havens and bases of operation to try to undermine the two states, in vain. Indeed, despite the ideological differences between the two states, they had became almost inseparable partners and both praised each other as being trustful and important allies. The Sinicans were more of a subtle nation when it came to displaying its power, more than happy to spread its influence by trading with others than by sending fleets to intimidate their foes. They were masters of careful planning and given enough time and resources, where able to make a lone star system in the middle of nowhere a prosperous hub from which hundreds of vessels would transit every month.

Truly, if the meeting was to succeed, it would cause a shift in the galactic history as SATMA would no longer be the sole major political player in the galaxy...

[Menschlicher Sternenstaat]

---

SSM Kufstatt, Zhuque—Lagrange 2 Interplanetary Transit, Lizhou System
Staatsführer-SS Vincent Heitmeyer, People's Republic of Sinica [Gamma Quadrant]
June 7th, 790 S.A (Staat Ära) — 1:00 p.m. Synchronized Veran Operator Time

---

The duo of state officials exited Vincent’s expansive residential suite with newfound vigor, both donning their officer caps upon their heads. As Hans and Vincent passed the suite’s security checkpoint hosted in front of the entrance, they noticed the energy screen in from of them dissipate to nothingness as the guard stationed there gave a quick and affirming salute. With Vincent returning the action to the soldier, he promptly sat down behind a shielded console and resumed his past activity of staring at whatever was playing on one of the ship’s many telecommunications networks. Hans marched faster in front of Vincent in order to trigger the automatic door leading to one of the main hallways of the ship to open, revealing another security checkpoint staffed by a small retinue of Staatsschutz guardsmen. Still puffing on his cigar taken from the suite, Vincent reciprocated yet again another salute to them as the bunch perked up from their seats in zeal.

“Hail to Victory, Herr Heitmeyer!” they exclaimed, their arms raised in emphatic allegiance.

“Hail to Victory; and at ease, gentlemen! Make sure Paul back there doesn’t sneak in my suite and steal yet another one of my precious rings, huh?”

The assembled guards laughed in response to Vincent’s jab at the soldier he passed earlier, already being acclimated to the banters of their leader. Taking the cigar out from his mouth once more, he beckoned Hans to continue walking as he spoke with a surge of smoke billowing outwards and upwards into the air.

“I take it that everyone privy to the meeting has been already informed to convene?”

“Apart from those who stuck around the holocasters to see Widmann’s speech, I can only assume so.”

“Good... that’s the only excuse they can have for being late, anyway.”

“Hypothetically, sir,” Hans said, “we are the ones that are going to be the latest to the meeting. The assembly room is located on the other end of the ship...”

“And I hate taking the spinal trains! We are so early to visit our brotherly chinks, they should be energized enough to hold out a little longer for their beloved commander. Maybe.”

“Right...”

It was apparent to Hans that the mere presence of Vincent stirred up quite an atmosphere wherever he walked - although nothing like their beloved Sternenkaiser or Staatskanzler, the third (most arguably) powerful man in the entirety of the nation was bound to garner some attention... and garnered some he very well did.

Every person they passed seized up and stopped what they were doing in some way, ranging from naval officers halting their beratements on lowly sailors to engineers troubleshooting consoles and other electronic baubles. Some stared for entire seconds at a time before saluting the duo’s passing, while others did so immediately with the same zeal as the prior guardsmen. While Hans slyly tricked his brain into thinking that he was soaking up all the attention as a beacon of power, Vincent mentally cringed with each instance of such respect.

“You would think they would prioritize having this ship not implode over saluting me,” Vincent remarked, easing his neck with one free hand from the tightness of his collar.

“Most of the crew on the Kufstatt are relatively new, sir. You can’t exactly blame them.”

“That’s right... shit, I forgot they did a crew rotation just for this mission. Where the fuck is the old staff for this damn boat, then?”

“Over there,” Hans replied, pointing rightward to a holo-window projection. A speck of light brighter than the stars surrounding it glimmered as if affirming Hans’s statement, indicating the presence of the SSM Acacius, the only other battleship present in the escort fleet.

“...Acacius? Really?”

“Their original crew were not deemed secure according to the mission’s protocols. I think it had to do with some of them sneaking prostitutes on board after leaving Jiang-Schönau.”

“...Goddamn. I don’t know if I should feel angered or amazed by that.”

“Jealousy, sir? After all-”

“Fuck off, will you?”

As they rounded another corner and passed one of the few canteens on board, Vincent peeked inside briefly and noted a few stragglers snatching leftovers of supper that was just a few hours beforehand. The cinnamon smell of the most recent desserts made Vincent particularly agitated for some of it, making him stop soon after passing the door and leaving Hans bewildered.

“Sir? What are you doing?”

“Cinnamon, man... I got to get me some.”

“What!? From this... place?”

“Hans, this is my personal ship; whether I want to eat fucking posh quail eggs or some leftover well-done burgers, do you really think I shouldn’t have a choice?”

“I... well, uh, good point. With all due respect, though, if you start to pig on whatever you are trying to find, we will miss the entire meeting! You’re the reason its even being held!”

“We’ll take the spinal train after, okay? I need those fucking rolls. If you want some too, I won’t stop you.”

---

The spinal trains, as a concept, was supposed to allow passengers and crew of any vessel to travel between the bow and the stern without being subjected to the lower speed from navigating peripheral corridors and hallways. During times of combat, it was designated to only be used by medical staff and high ranking personnel unless an evacuation to other portions of the ship or escape pods were necessary. However, during normal operations, the crew was able to use it at will - as long as they had approval from higher-ups or were using it as a means to head to the canteens or their cabins from their normal stance positions.

With the Kufstatt embarking towards the Sinican world of Zhuque at faster speeds, the crew’s responsibilities were quickly racking up in preparation for maneuvering and docking at one of the many orbital ports of the planet. As a result, the progress of time led to more and more sailors and officers using the spinal trains to head to their newfound and required positions straight from their cabins and canteens. Never really causing a blockage or being overcrowded, they nevertheless became almost a popular location on their own accord from such heavy traffic flowing to and fro.

Hans and Vincent, as integral as they were to the apparatus of the State, found themselves boarding such trains out of necessity to get to their meeting as physically fast as possible. Teleportation was unfortunately not available...

“...Did you bring any more rolls with you, Hans?”

“You told me to bring six of them. I got seven.”

“Who told you to bring seven? I said six!”

“I-”

“Kid... don’t do what I think you’re gonna do with it.”

“Huh? What do you mean?”

“Firs the brandy, now this... Hans, this girl you’ve been eyeing has been through hell and back. Probably has laid eyes on some shit I don’t even recall seeing when I was with our Dear Leader Widmann in those fucking trenches, and you think you can woo her with a damn sweet roll? Holy hell, this generation... I swear to God!

But, since we are on this topic, give me one right now.”

As Vincent snatched a cinnamon roll from Hans’s outstretched hands and gnawed into it with impunity, they sat bunched together in the center of the moving spinal train with a pronounced crowd gathering around them. One of the sailors pushed himself to the front of the crowd with pride in his step, distinguishing himself from the mass of men and women either too dazzled by the duo’s presence or too scared to even address them.

“My Staatsführer; I knew you were on this ship alright, but I never thought I would catch you here!”

The booming voice of SS-Matrosenhauptgefreiter Roland was hard to tune out, as it rose above the cascade of background jostles and the whispers of the many people crammed into the train car. His own appearance was hard to ignore as well, with his large frame and brown skin being of quite a difference to the mostly small or short frames and pale or yellowed complexions of the Kufstatt’s current crew.

“Well well, Hauptgefreiter!” Vincent said, sending cinnamon spice billowing into the air as he spoke in surprise. “How were you not shuffled with the rest of the crew into Acacius?”

“The new crew didn’t have anyone acquainted with the new chronoline systems you had installed here yet. Can’t just let some two-bit techie come on and start screwing things up, now can ya?”

“That’s correct... I honestly don’t know what the hell the Commodore was thinking with this new shuffle. Who the hell else important got replaced?”

“To be honest, Sir Heitmeyer, I have no clue. There’s a good third of the old crew left, but like me, they’re all people acquainted with the new systems installed on the Kufstatt. These guys, though,” Roland remarked, gliding his hands behind him to point out the gawking crowd, “...are just filler.”

The remark brought some heated stares at Roland, but no one piped up to reply - most likely out of a fear for the Hauptgefreiter’s unusual relationship for their very state commander.

“Hauptgefreiter Roland! How can you call these men and women filler?” Hans said, seemingly irritated at the man’s cockiness. “I mean, they might be green and all, but...”

“I didn’t mean it in a bad way, sir!”

“The hell other way can you interpret that as?”

“Dunno. I was never very good with, you know... communicating.”

“You’re the ship’s communications specialist, Hauptgefreiter.”

“Oh. You’re right... well, shit.”

The conversation between the Hauptgefreiter and the Oberführer ceased when the doors of the spinal train heaved themselves open, letting in a gush of cool air that dissipated the collective heat growing from all the sailors stowed inside. Hauling himself up, Vincent beckoned Hans to follow him as he waved to Roland.

“Well, it was nice seeing you still serving on this shit-can, Roland! Make sure everyone knows when and where to dock with those chronoline messages... I don’t want any accidents happening on such a momentous occasion.”

“Will do without error, my Staatsführer!”

As the spinal train’s doors snapped shut and rocketed away to the next station on the warship, the duo re-assumed their route towards the briefing room they were supposed to be at quite some time ago.

“We’re late by eight whole minutes, sir.”

“That’s practically the standard for every government meeting. Haul ass if you care so much about being late, then, Oberführer!”

“Yes, sir... but, if you mind me asking, who exactly was that? Despite being the comm-spec, I’ve never actually seen Hauptgefreiter Roland around before even before the crew rotation.”

“Oh, Roland? He’s a good kid. Didn’t want to be an officer, which was pretty dumb, but he’s the son of a comrade my old war-friend knew. His father died somewhere on that same planet me and Widmann were on, and through that, I was able to get my friend some peace of mind by having Roland assigned here instead of some bumfuck Staatsschutz division on the edge of Staat space.”

“Hmm... a soft man at heart, aren’t you sir?”

“I hate you, Hans, and I can’t wait to get another adjutant.”

“I feel like I am going to be hearing this a lot more as the days come...”

---

The duo of officers found themselves shuffling themselves quietly through the doors of the meeting room’s upper viewing chamber, overlooking the massive auditorium where the briefing was to be held, and already having some key personnel seated in its plush, luxurious rows of seats. The centermost seat at the front of the rows was lying vacant along with the seat to its right, indicating the spots that the organizers left open for the Staatsführer and his adjutant to be seated at. Two Staatsschutz guards quickly ushered the men to their seats as the droning of the organizer’s attempts to delay for their arrival became apparent. Vincent specifically saw the Commanding Officer of the Kufstatt, SS-Kommodore Elias Mayrhofer, sitting some ways to the left and conversing with the Staatswehr’s attaché, General der Orbitaltruppe Norbet Kiesel of the Weltraummarine. To the right of the chamber’s seating arrangement was the government’s primary civil attaché Henry Gradl, who seemed to be speaking to a hologram of Detlev Misiak - the current ambassador of the Staat to the People’s Republic of Sinica.

Vincent plopped into his seat with an audible sigh as he toggled the overhead hovering mini-table to descend and hold the bountiful amounts of rolls that he and Hans smuggled into the room. After helping his CO with the highly valuable goods, Hans himself casually sat down and adjusted the seat to fit his taller form comfortably.

“Holy shit, these rolls are good! Hans, you want any more?”

“No, not really. I ate before I fetched you, sir.”

“More for me, then. I didn’t eat breakfast, or lunch. Or dinner... I’m probably going to die from sudden mass sugar intake. You’ll be the Staatsbevollmächtigter in due time.”

“I hope you’re joking...”

“Kinda. However, I’m not fucking with you when I say this: the seat next to you is gonna have some opportunity!”

Hans froze when Vincent mentioned it. The seat to Hans’s right was empty... the one to Vincent’s left just had some random buffoon from the Staatswehr locking up in terror near one of the most powerful men of the nation - who was currently inhaling cinnamon rolls at an unprecedented pace.

Who was he talking about?

That was answered quickly.

A sharp, almost chilling voice cleaved through the conversation-laden air, making Hans’s veins ice cold with a burst of both fear and adrenaline.

“Was there any problems that stopped you from coming on time, Staatsführer Heitmeyer? You had the surveillance team worried and scurrying to find you on the ship’s camfeeds.”

“Nothing at all happened, my dear Okino! How has the Standartenführer life been treating you with the... lizards?”

His eyes were locked straight ahead at the gaggle of meeting organizers on the auditorium’s stage, his heart bursting at the back of his throat and numbness spreading throughout his extremities.

SHE’S RIGHT NEXT TO ME.

“They have their uses. Not as indolent as I expected them to be, and thus may find good use on Chiyang... what are you eating?”

“Oh, this stuff? Uh... snacks for the show, you can say. Want one?”

“...Sure.”

“Hans,” Vincent said, tapping his adjutant’s ankle with his shoes as a sly nod, “Give her one right quick, will you?”

His head instantly snapped to stare at his commander, who was still chewing the half-eaten dessert and spectating the same organizers prancing around the stage as Hans once was a mere second ago. With anxiety surging through his head at an unprecedented pace, Hans grabbed one from near Vincent’s arm and turned around to face the now-seated security chief to his right.

He froze.

Standartenführer Okino was, perhaps, one of the most demanding in appearance in that chamber, despite being dressed in the same black officer’s attire as both Hans and Vincent. The underlying Asiatic features from her Kuesan heritage were outlined, if not emphasized, by the flowing sculpt of her own complementary Kellemeti background. With her own eyes barreling down on the stage out of an increasing anger for each passing moment of dawdling, Hans could see the extent of Okino’s effort to beautify herself with the best of the Staat’s cosmetic products and procedures. The length of her eyelashes and the smoothness of her skin was what mentally hit him first, followed by the blissful smell of exotic perfume that flew up from her dress. Her hair was the icing on the cake, being a cascade of black that rested on her back and shoulders in neat, cut lines. Hans remembered the orderly bangs on her forehead from some time ago, now being hidden by her cap that sported the logo of Vincent’s personal security force.

“H-Here you go-”

Hans choked up as she turned her head to look at him, in expectation. The brown of her irises did not cast the icy stare he was expecting, but instead had an expression of warmth... probably because he wasn’t a threat.

Without noticing at first, Okino plucked the sweet from his hand and began to eat it in earnest, perking her eyes up at the surprisingly natural contents that wasn’t expected from a run-of-the-mill canteen. She leaned over to peer beyond Hans’s shaking body to verbally jab at her commander.

“This? From a sailor’s dining hall? You’re playing with me, Vincent...”

“Not at all,” Vincent replied in a bored tone, scrutinizing the shiny, bald head of a naval NCO barking commands about the lower seating areas for everyone quiet for the oncoming briefing. “I’m pretty sure they were stocking that shit to placate all these new guys in some way, especially given the gravity of their mission. And, by the way, it was Oberführer Hans’s idea to get one just for you.”

Hans’s mind now blanked out after hearing that, fear gripping his psyche in full.

“Oh, really?”

He turned his head awkwardly, sporting a worming and forced smile, to meet the gaze of Okino, who looked at him with a bit of surprise and satisfaction.

“Y-Yeah...”

“Well, thank you so much for this then, sir! Getting these wretches to finalize everything gave me no time to do anything else, including meet with Vincent for lunch... if he even cares about that.”

SHE ACTUALLY SAID SIR.

“I wasn’t even at the damn luncheon!” Vincent piped up from near them, muffled from the final roll.

“I mean,” Hans blurted in a slightly more composed attitude, “I knew you would be hard at work for the briefing... it was just the proper thing to do.”

“Proper indeed,” Okino said, flashing Hans a small grin before returning her attention to the spectacle now unfolding on the stage, with her pressed rivers of hair swaying in turn. What just happened sent a warm feeling through his chest that dissipated the utter fear gripping his body just moments before, leaving the adjutant to briefly stew in the second-long euphoria of not being a failure at basic social interactions.

“For God’s sake, can the fucking meeting start already?” Vincent moaned, brushing the crumbs off of his hands into the mini-table’s receptacle. “Now I feel like fucking sleeping... if you only brought the brandy, this would make things more exciting.”

“Sir, you literally told me to leave the bottle in the-”

“Too late for that, kid! That important looking lady’s about to say something I don’t know already... ‘make sure not to stray too far from the tourist guide’ kind of shit, probably...”

---

“Ladies and gentlemen of the Zhuque Summit! I apologize for rousing any of you from sleep if you were on night schedule, but... we are inbound for the Sinican capital, and as such, we must host a briefing of what to expect. I assume that everyone already went over the summit itinerary... yes?”

The presenter, clad in white officer’s dressing, swiveled her head around the spacious briefing room for any inkling of answers from the audience. Some nodded in acknowledgment, while others looked to their neighbors or away from the stage in a half-baked attempt to not meet her gaze.

Heaving a sigh from realizing just how many people neglected to read it, she went back to her presentation.

“So... regardless if you read it at all or not, it’ll be best to catch up on what’s going on right now, right? Let me begin...

“This specific diplomatic summit will be one to which the Sternenstaat will involve itself in a political regimen unlike anything else undertaken before. Of course, the programme and procedures to be negotiated have not yet been discussed with other foreign representatives, but nevertheless we are expecting to be subsuming the nation in what is, effectively, a supranational organization. Spearheading this summit on the behalf of the Sternenstaat is our Staatsführer-SS, Vincent Heitmeyer, and will be accompanied by a body of Staat representatives including...”

As the briefing’s presenter droned on, holography began to trickle into view for all spectating as the lights of the room began to dim. Familiar faces belonging to Heitmeyer and others were constructed and obliterated within the blink of an eye from such a spectacle, and was soon replaced by images of the capital world of Sinica and its various urbanscapes.

Vincent was finding himself getting quite bored of the whole briefing, using the holographic module on his glasses to independently view the itinerary and focus on his own train of thought. Hearing Hans constantly shifting in his seat from immediate proximity to Okino, Vincent opted to distract his adjutant while simultaneously drilling trivia into both of their own heads.

“Hey, Hans,” Vincent said, poking Hans with his elbow. He didn’t immediately stop looking at the presenter as to not offend her from paying little attention, but speaking to Hans was going to give a similar image anyway... thus, he had hoped that Hans would notice what he was doing sooner. Instead, Hans was focused solely on staring forward, as if distracting his own mind.

Is this guy really that fucked over from sitting next to a girl? Christ...

Elbowing him again seemed to conjure a response.

“Y-Yes, my Staatsführer?”

“You seem to be, uh... dying a little on the inside.”

“What do you mean?”

“Hans, you know exactly what I mean! I still got a cigar I smuggled in here from my room, you wanna have a smoke break?”

“But sir, the briefing-”

“I am the briefing, my boy. You’re not going to see that pretty girl’s face all over the news - it’s gonna be mine. So, instead of nearing a heart attack from being near-”

“Fine, fine!”

“Alrighty!” Vincent exclaimed, ushering a nearby guard to come to him. Whispering into the guard’s ear, Vincent beckoned Hans to follow him as the soldier began to make way for him through the crowded seating area.

“Sir, are you sure you want to just leave?” Hans asked.

“Hans, you’re studious, right? You’re my adjutant for a reason - I’m pretty sure neither of us needs to hear the same bullshit we read in the itinerary.”

“Okay...”

Soon enough, Vincent and Hans were escorted into what seemed to be the waiting area for the briefing room, which was oddly devoid of anyone except for their escort and themselves.

“What’s your name again, soldier?” Vincent said to the guard, who was mid-walk towards the entrance to the briefing room.

“Oh! I, uh- Oberschütze Himmal, my Staatsführer!”

“Himmal, your regiment leader is Standartenführer Okino, yes?”

“Yes, sir...”

“Can you tell her that me and Schröpfer are waiting in here for the briefing to be done? I don’t want her to stress out about what’s going on - we’re just having a break before all the busy shit begins.”

“Right away, sir.”

As the soldier continued on his way into the briefing room once more, Vincent turned to face Hans, who was seemingly much more calmer and collected than how he was a mere few minutes ago.

“Are you really that anxious around any woman you like?”

“With all due respect, sir... I can’t really tell you. Primarily because, well... I have no idea.”

“The idea I know is that you almost shit yourself when you were next to her, despite... well, you know, being her immediate superior. Anyways, I didn’t bring you out here to talk about that.”

“Then why are we here, sir? To get away from the commotion?”

“That and the repetitive bullshit that is that briefing, yes. You still want that cigar? We can just go back and use the-”

“I’m good, sir. Just... what are we going to do until its over?”

“Uh... didn’t exactly think about that all that much. Hot takes on the nations we are going to be meeting, maybe?”

“That’ll work.”

---

“Right, so I’m guessing you know all about Sinica already.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Alright, so you know what to expect... they’re not exactly like us Staatsmen, despite having a forged a cultural kinship from the Twin Star Accords. Take Matrosenhauptgefreiter Roland, for example, In the Sternenstaat, we don’t exactly give much of a shit what someone’s ethnic or racial background is, because that does not matter in the face of Humanity’s unification. Sinicans don’t exactly pioneer that whole Human unification shtick, though - seeing a black guy there will probably have lifelong residents over there gawking at one in amazement, or fear... or both. You gotta understand, a lot of these people never left their urban blocks apart from military service, so the only race they see are, well, themselves.”

“I’m assuming that’s what other nations ascribe to be racism.”

“...Not exactly, no. That would be outright discrimination on whatever social plateau you want your argument to die on - this is just more of a culture shock, you can say. Sinicans, when they think of Staatsmen, usually think of us Verans mainly because we are the main ethnicity commandeering diplomatic and military ventures. Can’t really blame them for not expecting a bunch of brown and black people showing up in their shit, huh?”

“...Right. What about the other countries?”

“What other c-... oh! Shit, right, I forgot that this isn’t just a two-party meeting. Well, the next big dog there is going to be the Federated Worlds of Olimpiada. Less of a Federation and more of a massive socio-economic clusterfuck, but... to each their own.”

“About them, sir...?”

“Well, for one, they have quite a huge fucking population in proportion to the amount of spatial territory that they control. Despite it being rare, a Staatsmen could luck out and get some acres of land and a nice, spacious home for his efforts or service. Olimpiada, on the other hand, is one gigantic fucking cattle pen rivaling Sinica’s own cramped urban blocks. Money over there is the only thing that is going to get you anything more than some generic apartment... or, at least, that’s what I’ve heard. Never went there myself.

“Now, in contrast to them are the Pikasistani. Not as cramped, but shares the same Terran origins in... Greek, I think? You ought to know of the legacy that befalls them; antithetical to any and all xenoi life, down to the sociocultural core. I always use them as justification for telling our subjects to fuck off from the treasonous bullshit they always want to pull, because we can just as easily become Pikasistani-tier in an instant to any xenoi that wants to act up.”

“...But we never do that, because xenoi are profitable.”

“In a sense, yeah. Cheap industry that knows how to organically deal with problems of production, manufacturing, and economy without needing to be programmed and troubleshooted to infinity, and also cheap manpower to call upon. To be honest, we don’t really go on campaigns on extermination anymore just because of the logistical cost, so relegating them to a plot of stars and calling it a day becomes more useful to the state. That is, until they cause problems... the Slar know that shit the best from how much they were punished after that revolt they pulled long ago.”

“Okay... so, you might need to curtail on that xenoi entourage idea you had, right sir?”

“Probably. The Banzars we have are not a problem at all - more fucking human than some men we have on board right now - but the Pikasistani seem to have developed some genetic predisposition to flipping their shit at the sight of any xenoi in the immediate area. I’m going to have to probably tell Okino to give me an all-human entourage instead.”

“It’ll look better for us on the cameras.”

“It would, yeah, but those tall fucking lizards would really flex how much the Sternenstaat can impose versus some average-sized troopers... my opinion, though. Widmann would probably smack me when I get back to Vera if I go on with using Banzars, anyway.”

“Hmm. What about the Coalition Theomilitary, then?”

“...I honestly have no fucking clue what to expect. They are such an anomaly to us that even the itinerary had to bullshit something about them. All that I really know about those guys is that they are, in practical terms, interstellar nomads that have an affinity for editing the human genome to spit out body-forms of children en-masse.”

“...Why!?”

“Do you think I have a fucking answer to everything in existence, Hans? I don’t know. A fetish for whoever their leader is, maybe? Ask Widmann about that whenever he can see visitors, I’m guessing he’ll have an answer for you.”

“...So... four other nations. I thought there was another in association?”

“There is, but I don’t know jack shit about them due to their silence on all astropolitical mediums. When we get back to Vera, you can look up ‘Houseidou’ and find out more.”

“Okay... is that all?”

“Yes. I’m not giving you a hundred thousand-word description on each right now because my throat is about to give in, and the briefing is supposed to end in a few minutes... now, back to Miss Okino...”

[Da Liang]

GARDENS OF FRATERNITY
_{A GRAND ASSEMBLY
Theme Music: Mo Li Hua}

---

---

向前方，铁流滚滚向前方，乘风破浪，八方，势不可挡
Forward, the iron tide rolls forward, riding the wind and breaking the tides, in eight directions, its force unstoppable

Chiyang, Planet Zhuque, Lizhou Star System
Chen Zhiqing - Vermillion Bird Palace
Date to be Specified

---

The concept of diplomatic relations between equal sovereignties were not so common prior to the establishment of the People’s Republic. For the majority of the polity’s history, the Crimson Emperors saw it fit that the relatively isolated dynasties of Huaxia were to recognize other polities’ existence through its legitimate domination. Fortunately, these official attitudes of outright external hostility slowly cooled down after the Glorious Revolution of the Third Millennium due to the policy of Inward Perfection of Zhuist Communism and the subsequent signing of the Twin Star Accords with the Human Star State. Only in the current administration of the Celestial Premier, Chen Zhiqing, that the People’s Republic of Sinica saw major attempts to establish long-term friendships with more various like minded governments that share similar goals... and perhaps the aptitude for violence against certain undesirables.

However, despite Sinica’s attempts to appear more diplomatic in their approach with other sovereign polities, the cultural legacy of brute force will never be erased from the Sinican consciousness. Chen deemed it necessary for the Sinican Republican Army Navy to conduct a show of force near Zhuque’s orbit as part of the many hospitable ways to greet foreigners. After all, future military cooperation between nations requires a security guarantee from Sinica that the Republics will have the concrete military capabilities to act on treaties accordingly when called upon.

As Chen Zhiqing gazed up above the clear morning skies of Zhuque, his eye caught the sight of the darting vantablack missile ships of the Sinican Republican Navy which made overhead passes on the planet’s stratosphere. The grace of their presence pierced through the heavens above the Vermillion Bird Palace as they moved at almost hypersonic speeds, creating shockwave ripples in the skies as they moved. Trails of liquid-fuel rocket exhaust were the only thing visible in the sky just before the sensation of the loud sharp claps of sonic booms coursed through his body.

Chen smiled knowing that the ships’ loud presence and the sharp winds and harsh sounds from the sonic booms provided a direct contrast to the more tranquil environment of the Garden of Harmony’s gentle zephyrs and the soft-spoken sound of traditional Sinican instruments — this was truly the masterpiece of the prehistoric Sinican concept of balance in the making. So he thought. He remained in a relaxed and reclined position as the ships passed through, only turning his gaze towards Yang Xianjin as the sounds mellowed down after the show of display.

“Was it a beautiful sight, Mr. Yang?” Chen Zhiqing suddenly began talking as he took off his black protective sunglasses, revealing his intense phoenix-shaped light brown eyes that looked like it could pierce through the heavens.

“Of course, it was pleasing to the soul. But I do wonder if those... foreigners might find it impressive.” Yang Xianjin replied as he likewise took off his sunglasses, revealing his rounder dark brown eyes which screamed peacefulness and tranquility

“Hah! I’m sure they won’t.” Chen chuckled, already knowing how such the Sinican show of force wasn't much different from what others could potentially pull off. “I’m sure they had their fair share of flexing their own muscles or witnessing other people do it.”

“Why...did you arrange this entire affair with the navy, then?”

“Would you be angry if I said I wanted entertainment before I leave?” Chen remarked with a grin.

“You wha-” Yang's face shifted to that of genuine confusion.

“A joke, Mr. Yang.” Chen suddenly burst into laughter.

“Ahaha uh huh...nice one, Mr. Chen. But uh... is there any other reason for this?”

“A security guarantee, Mr. Yang. We can’t let these foreigners think we’re being half-assed in whatever we’re doing. It’d be an insult to our pride.”

“Our pride as humans...huh. That makes sense.”

“Not just any human, Mr. Yang. We’re descendants of a proud civilization with ten thousand years of history. All our ancestors would weep if others look at us and see weakness.” Chen paused as he turned his attention to the second round of Sinican military flexing as it made overhead passes through the Vermillion Palace. This time it was Zhuque's Local Atmospheric Airforce's lifting body aircraft darting around in much lower altitudes at supersonic speeds. Despite their ability to go much faster, the aircraft were slower and solemn in their presence as if to emphasize and clarify the fact of their existence due to their limited utility over the past centuries due to the relative peace and tranquility in Sinica. It wouldn't be out of the picture if retaining their organization as of the moment was simply a matter of bureaucratic apathy towards getting rid of bloated military excess.

As the sound of jet engines trailed off from the distance, Chen turned his attention to Yang once again. “But nevermind all that cheesy fluff, I was simply inspired for a moment.” He chortled.

“Oh no, it wasn’t all that bad or anything, Mr. Chen. The Garden of Harmony is indeed a good place for poetic inspiration.” Yang paused “But I wonder why it felt like we've been waiting years for this talk to happen. He reclined to his seat.

“Hmph. Maybe the forces which make our universe move forward forgot about letting time move forward or something.”

“A hand which makes us move forward...huh.” Yang was suddenly cut off when he received a beeping sound from his phone. “Mr. Chen, it seems our visitors have arrived.”

“About the time I take my leave then. Agh, felt like I've been sitting here forever. I still some other business to attend, Mr. Yang. I'll wish you good luck in guiding this country to new horizons. Our compatriots will be awaiting your success.” Chen grinned as he stood up and turn his sight towards his Presidential VTOL aircraft that was just parking by the garden's landing pad. The whirling sound of turbines broke the garden's silence as Chen motioned at the pilot to start turning on the engines.

“Go do your own thing and I'll do mine, Emperor.” Yang stood up and smiled.

“Fuck you for calling me that, cheeky brat.” Chen patted Yang's back before he started walking away from the pagoda towards his aircraft. Now it was Yang's time to shine as the long-awaited discussions will finally begin.