Imperium: IC (See OOC to join)

[Imperialisium]

https://forum.nationstates.net/viewtopic.php?f=31&t=492285

Empires which turn their back on what made them great are doomed to fail-Unknown Ancient Terran Philosopher

Imperial Center
Nova Terra
Imperial Senate
19,923 IY/25,709 CE

"They've been bickering over this for nine hours," mused a woman of striking features. Lounging in a high backed, yet perfectly angled in recline, plush chair. The space around her one of many, though hers was larger by at least triple those to the right, left, and below. It looked like a box in a symphonic theatre except squarely placed to look out over an utterly cavernous expanse. The space was a giant oval shaped space approximately two-hundred and ten thousand square meters in size. Discounting the hallways leading to each of the boxes which sat representatives of the various Great Houses, Semi-Autonomous States, and the Orders Ecumenic. Their positions noted by banner and name displayed on their box.

Her voice carried much disdain, if not boredom, for the proceedings as various members of the Imperial Senate, convened in a general assembly, bickered over the formal taxation of commerce along the Polarian Way. A corridor of high volume FTL inter-stellar traffic stretching from Polaris all the way to the Witch Stars. Remaining one of the few extensively charted routes to reach that far and millions of commercial vessels plied this metaphysical space lane every Nova Terran year.

"The Galaxy West Trade Association won't budge unless a 1.5% tax is levied, they're depending on the Sagittarian Banking House Corporation and have several Great Houses pulling in votes by those who have stake in the matter," mused a Synthetic seated next to the woman. The artificial, but human looking robot, blinked as it addressed it's master. Though its voice was much more pleasant and upbeat than the annoyed sultry voice of the former.

Beside them a pair of gilt figures stood. Only the Praetorians were sanctioned to bear arms in the Imperial Senate and bear them they did. Their halberds, combination of a powerful projectile weapon and an energized gravity blade made out of an ancient material so far unable to be replicated by Imperial metallurgists outside of the Praetorians, gleamed in the artificial lighting. Their polished armor of golden and silver electrum coloration swam in the light. Their tall crested helmets bore crimson red plumes of smooth fibers and their helmet masks adorned in the shape of an Eagle. Thunderbolts adorned their armour as they kept silent vigilance. There were of course others of their number. Outside of the box stood two more Praetorians. While six more in total patrolled the Senate hallways, galleries, and sub-levels.

Outside, a detachment of the Imperial Guard, in polished silver battle-plate and bearing markings to identify them as Senate Guards watched and patrolled the perimeter. Controlling access to the building and maintaining a constant vigil on neighboring building structures. If one were to look there would be more than humans watching. Robots in the form of drones and automated battle machines scanned crowds and vehicles cruising on streets and air transit lanes.

Indeed, outside of the relative order and quietness of the Senate grand assembly there was the ceaseless bustle of the Galactic capital. Nova Terra. The capital of the greatest empire in the Milky Way Galaxy. For it is said that you could find anything upon Nova Terra if you knew where to look. Xenos of a myriad sort, creatures from far flung worlds in the zoos, art and artifacts from over a million worlds. Architecture and languages from one end of the Galaxy to the other dotted the planets surface. From its seething sub-continental spanning ghettos all the way to the gleaming pristine towers of the Over-City. Rising many thousands of levels from deep in the crust of Nova Terra were thermal heat sinks delivered crucial power generation for the teeming masses above. All the way to cloud piercing towers holding luxury officers and residences. Even beyond, as orbital elevators and dockyards pierced out to the Exosphere of the planet. Allowing bulk haulers, private yachts, commercial freighters, passenger liners, and the mighty warships of the Imperial Navy to dock.

Commerce never ceased on Nova Terra. The planet never slept, and the planet was one big city after all, the likes of which not seen anywhere else. As such one could only guess its population. Though Imperial Bureaucrats estimate it to be around two and a half trillion sentients at any given time.

The Synthetic spoke up again, abruptly snapping its master back to reality, "They're adjourning for the moment, Crown Princess."

The Crown Princess, Valeria, blinked her brilliant blue eyes as she stood quickly. The Praetorians gracefully following in step behind her as the ones outside the box remained at their posts. Already various representatives poured from their boxes or engaged in the endlessly complex, and ongoing, game of politics. Valeria walked past them all as she made for a major gallery. The Praetorians in step behind her. People in front of her path parting with respective bows or curtsies.

Truce is but peace between wars-Unknown Ancient Terran Orator
Flashback

Centauri Oversector
Omega Centauri Star Cluster
Chassid System (Binary System)

The Chassid System had been colonized in the 13th Millennium of the Imperial Calendar. A joint venture between the Zensunni Pashafar Sect and the Kalergi Haswadim Sects. They were peaceful sects of their respective religions and did much of the heavy lifting in chartering the system. Dutifully petitioning for the Rights of Colonization by the then Tsaraj-Empress Valeria I. A request which was granted and the first colony ships arrived in the following months. Establishing the City of Pashwadim as the official municipality on the nascent colony world of Hashzun Tertius. The only inhabitable planet in the system, a Cheti-Class world, though mining colonies were set up on its moons and one of its asteroid belts.

By the 15th Millennium of the Imperial Calendar the Chassid System was host to four and a half million inhabitants. By the 17th it had quintupled until by the 20th Millennium of the Imperial Calendar the system boasted a population approaching sixty million. A planet of peaceful prosperity like oh' so many backwater worlds in the timeless void.

Until a young Human under the name Sidhar-Mohaddim, whether this was a name or a title is open for debate since the Zensunni faith had an office of Sidha which denoted a traveling priest seeking enlightenment. While the Mahayan Catheric faith listed the name of Mohaddim on their traditional name lists as a varient of even older Terran names. Some Theological scholars suspect the Pashafar and Haswadim Sects were largely Syncretic by this time period and had even adopted the Catheric name into their own naming schemes. Either the case, the mane known as Sidhar-Mohaddim led a rapid, and at first peaceful overtaking of the planets administration. Even going so far as to be elected by planetary plebiscite, as was tradition on the planet, and getting approval by the Imperial Gespan Vilhan Prevantis as the sanctioned governor of the world.

The theocratic reign of terror started shortly after, with some suspecting the original Sidhar-Mohaddim having died only a couple years after taking official office, and a stand in ruling in his stead. At any rate all foreign faiths were quickly barred from practice, then forced to leave the world, often violently. Those refusing to go were met with ruthless barbarism. Such as Bahai'Shinto and Catheric farmers in the hinterlands of the world being assaulted, tortured, and murdered as the followers of the Sidhar practiced what they called a 'Holy Cleansing' of their world.

Imperial Intelligence was soon to catch on to this ordeal...

19,918 IY
Chassid System

<<NavSpecDiv>>
<Syncing>
<<<<S.T.A.R. Team Delta-2>>>>
<<Accessing Data Docket>>
-160 Hours before Operation Brevity

Emerging near a tight asteroid cluster the small, sleek, light absorbing hull of an Imperial Intelligence corvette entered the system via Gravitic Drive. Launching from a staging point one parsec away the corvette had traveled for two days in Gravitic FTL before exiting just inside the Chassid System's older Red Giant Star's perihelion sphere. Cruising into the system with most power off, forcing the crew to wear life support suits, the vessel moved largely invisible at incredible speed. Though perhaps no one was looking, and the Imperials knew it. As the vessel continued on a large curving trajectory, using other celestial bodies to sling shot itself, the corvette completed a rapid fly by of the planet known as Hashzun Tertius. Before making its way out of the system. But not before a single pod dropped to the surface in the hinterlands of the world.

Making impact mere moments later the pod landed in a dusty field. Its doors opening as a squad of individuals in black thermal absorbent armour and clothing exited. Bearing an assortment of Imperial Pulse rifles, LMG, and sub-sonic needlers. Their helmets scanning the environment about them, noticing the wavy band of Humans approaching, also armed. But the Imperials did not raise their weapons.

The denizens of the planet meeting them were a rag tag bunch. But all had Imperial icons tied to their left arms or cinched onto their hats. Imperial Partisans. Loyalist militia.

"I'm Barthol, I lead the local Imperial Self-Defense Battalion in the Kazhzun Uplands." said an Olive skinned man wearing a red beret cinched with the Imperial Aegis. His brows furrowed and his gruff beard shifted with the cool breeze. "Imperial Special Forces? We weren't expecting Special Forces?" Recognizing some of the insignia and gear that the troopers wore as belonging to the Imperial Marine Special Forces S.T.A.R. Units. Space, Terrestrial, Amphibious, Recon.

"Captain Azahara. Imperial Marine Corps."

86 Hours Later
Hazhun Tertius
Bloembuurg District, Kazhzun Uplands

The convoy of seven vehicles, all tire configured automobiles, moved through the semi-arid landscape of the Bloembuurg District. The Uplands would gradually go from a semi-arid landscape at lower elevations to a fertile savannah in the upper valleys and plateaus. Often given over to farms and hamlets by colonists whom had worked the land for generations. Yet, had now resisted the teachings of the Sidhar-Mohaddin for some time. As such the militant arm of the faith, the Holy Legion, had established garrisons throughout the region.

In the middle car was five individuals. A driver, a door gunner, and a trio of officers in the back. All the rest of the vehicles had .65 cal gun mountings and door guns on the passenger side. The front vehicle even had a rocket system instead of a .65 cal gun. Soldiers scanning the road and horizon for threats.

In the middle car the officers joked and jested. "So then I said, Habrahim! Habrahim! You got so pissed drunk you tripped into the pool. Your wife and sons had to fish you ou-."

A deafening boom. A throaty roar of flames. A cry went up as a shockwave struck the back of the middle car. The driver instinctively sped up, only for the car in front to burst into flames. While the second spouted fire from the right side. Blowing out the entire right side of the vehicle. The middle car by virtue of speeding up now rammed headlong into the burning rear of its anterior convoy member. The driver hit the steering wheel, breaking his nose, and crying aloud. The passenger swung his gun around frantically before crimson ichor shot forth like a shotgun blast. Dousing the trio of men in the back in gore. The head of the passenger gunner had been cored by a large caliber sub-sonic round.

Shouting, chaos, one of the officers opened the door as the glass on one side pocked. Bulletproof enough to absorb rounds. Hitting the dirt of the road the lead officer pulled his side arm and began shouting. Then his legs separated from his body with a violent blue flash of light.

"Ahhh! Ahhh!" The officer cried as his cauterized stumps sizzled. The smoke of charred flesh reaching the other two men's nostrils. The second officer dove to the right while the third actually opened the opposite door to fall onto his stomach. Activating a device on his belt as he simmered with an energy shield. Pulling his dagger the officer pointed to a staggering, shell shocked soldier, a soldier who crumpled after his body gave seven violent puffs of red. Seven needle like projectiles having lanced into his upper torso and neck.

The officer turned and there, rising from the bushes, were figures who shifted with the terrain. Their armour and clothes adapting to the patterns. Accompanied by even more individuals in rag tag outfits. The lead, active camo wearing individuals moved quickly, confidently, and with practiced precision. One of whom was walking right towards the shielded officer.

"Moha-!" shouted the other surviving officer as he charged one of the camouflaged figures. A blue flash from another active-camo soldiers bisected the officer in a flurry of pulsing laser shots.

The last officer, the oldest one, raised his blade in readiness. The approaching active-camo warrior, no, infidel! Did not break stride. Merely drawing a short sword from a scabbard attached to the left side of their calf. Ka'thur, for that is what the white woven lettering on his left breast pocket read, frowned as his opponent came into better clarify.

"Imp." Was all he said, as if in acknowledgement. The Imperial Marine said nothing as Ka'thur dove for a quick, snake like, stab.

City of Pashwadim
-74 Hours before Operation Brevity

"This is the third depot these...Partisans, have hit!" A bludgeoning fist struck a wooden table. Rattling it on its legs against the smooth red stone floor of the dimly lit room. Around the table a cluster of officials in green and brown uniforms, clerical garbs, or simple tunics but evidently important to be present grimaced. "They grow more bold by the day, no the hour! Where is General Ka'thur?! He is supposed to be taking control of the 6th Territorial Brigade of our Holy Legion!"

"He is supposed to be arrived in the Bloembuurg District thirty-minutes ago. Commander Afraim is goi-."

The clatter of running feet and a man in the garb of a junior officer burst into the room. "My Sidhar-Mohaddin, General Ka'thur's convoy has been hit. A drone has picked up this."

"Put it on screen! Now!" shouted the man known as Sidhar-Mohaddin. Sure enough, a camera feed showed several scorch destroyed vehicles and bodies of Holy Legion soldiers strewn about. "We have a detachment en route. Estimated arrival is fifteen minutes from Bloembuurg." Another fist struck the table.

"This is too precise. That is too clean. Too organized. We must assume the Galactic Imperium has betrayed us. Our Faith is strong, it will see us to victory, we must prepare to fortify the city."

CU-196/C-22 System

Charted, Uninhabited Sytem 196 Cygnus region 22 as per Imperial Stellar Cartography was situated just over two light-years away from the Chassid System. At least, not permanently inhabited, as dozens of ships had gathered in the system. Many stretching over two kilometers long, the largest being twenty kilometers in length. The mighty vessel shown with gunmetal gray hull and blue lighting from its observation ports.

On the bridge of the mighty vessel a figure stared out into the darkness of space. The crew in their terminal pits or raised terraces conducted numerous tasks. In conjunction with the ships artificial intelligence and numerous robots fullfilling additional tasks.

A pair of booted footsteps made soft steps on the smooth walkway which ran across the length of the bridge. Pausing behind the lone figure in a simple red uniform. "My Lord. Report from Delta-2. It as Intelligence predicted. Religious fanatics have taken the planet and are prosecuting Imperial Citizens. Delta-2 has linked up with Imperial Loyalists and has marked numerous planetary targets and information. I have Naval Intelligence going over it now."

"Very good. We commence the Operation on schedule, Admiral Piotr." The deep voice of the red uniformed man, despite his young features, made it clear that everything was to commence as planned. The gray uniformed officer behind him merely bowed and said, "Yes, My Lord."

Chassid System
Zero Hour

The system defense frigate Haswadim Dream was typical of many self defense ships about the Galaxy. Meant to patrol the system for pirates and provide orbital security. It was a 'frigate' only in sense that it was larger than a typical corvette or destroyer class vessel. But was smaller, lacked FTL, and under gunned and powered when compared to an Imperial Navy frigate. Such vessels formed part of the security forces planets often organized to keep order and stability. More glorified policing forces than any real paramilitary organization.

The captain of the vessel looked out as he watched its sister ship, The Righteous Chorus, begin its outbound route to patrol the edges of the star system. When a shout from an ensign broke the serenity.

"Captain! Eighty-Nine super-luminal conta-!"

An entire fleet dropped out of Luminal faster-than-light mere light minutes away. A massive vessel flashing into view. Its massive prow lancing through The Righteous Chorus in a small star like explosion. But the larger vessel was undamaged. Strong shielding had prevented any damage as it continued forth.

"Alert Comm-"

"Incoming!"

"Raise shi-"

The Haswadim Dream was struck by one hundred and thirty-seven laser bolts in short order. Reducing the vessel to a slowly falling wreckage as the planets gravity well drew the stricken starship down. Debris already wreathed in fire as the one kilometer long frigate broke apart. Its engines impacting a forest thirteen hundred kilometers away from where its prow plowed into earth.

The Imperial Fleet did not break proverbial stride as missiles launched, MIRVs, for as they passed into the atmosphere the nose of the missles opened to launch various other warheads. Each one guided by programmed sub-routines to home in on various targets. Eight hundred and ninety-six missile impacts. Half of whom were atomic warheads between sixty and one hundred and twenty megaton yields. Flattening forests, causing widepsread fires, entire bases and other marked targets vanishing in the fires of purging flame.

It was not over as a half dozen cruisers moved into geo-synchronous orbit and began conducting pinpoint strikes.

Bridge of the Spirit of Malevolence.

"First phase targets destroyed, Lord Valerian. Orbital strikes of secondary targets underway. The 5th Legion is dropping on schedule. The 22nd Imperial Army will be following shortly."

"Excellent, Admiral, Delta-2's status?" came the Crown Prince's reply as he watched blossoming mushroom clouds across the surface of the world.

"They have successfully infiltrated the City of Pashwadim's sewers and are en route to their target in the Palace of Holy Judgement. The Loyalists and their families are at the designated zones ready for extraction by Vice-Admiral Lothreng's squadron."

A silent nod of approval and Admiral Piotr relaxed ever so slightly.

+4 Hours since Operation Brevity commenced.
City of Pashwadim

The sky was alight with tracer fire as swarms of Imperial transports, gunships, and attack craft conducted an impressive aerial campaign. Arriving with such force and numbers that the defenses were quite frankly overwhelmed. Precise bombing and rocket runs had destroyed mobile convoys of the Holy Legion in the opening hours. Numerous AA installations lay abandoned as crews reported tasting metal, succumbing to radiation sickness shortly after a nuclear warhead detonated above the city just before the Imperial sorties began to leave their hangars; all, while the city's population huddled in their homes or civil defense bunkers. At least, those whom had not be unfortunate enough to be outside when the bombs began to drop.

The Imperial soldiery to land were the 5th Legion of the Imperial Guard. The Imperium's Fist, or Valerian's Fist as a more apt name, disgorging thousands of troopers in successive waves. The Legion, which this was not even it's total number, poured forth from their drop ships. Other Guardsman swiftly landed via suspensor fields to conduct aerial insertions in defender zones. Directly engaging the confused, demoralized, increasingly desparate defenders up close and personal. Imperial halberds cut through Holy Legionnaires. Imperial pulse guns and ballistic firing rifles scythed down entire platoons. Imperial shortswords and sabers rent limb from body. While Imperial suspensor equipped tanks and armoured vehicles provided volumes of supporting fire to crack the natives fortifications.

The 22nd Imperial Army, the main ground force, was tasked with the overall securing of the planet. General Parmenion Jahlren capably putting several hundred thousand soldiers onto the planet's surface by the 5th hour of the operation. Resistance was however already dying.

Palace of Holy Judgement
City of Pashwadim

The Palace of Holy Judgement was roughly 'H' shaped with dome rising from the central cross-section. Its smooth stone surface, ruined by impacts, now pockmarked and charred. Beautiful mosaic windows lay in shattered fragments across the ground. Fires licked the broken golden leaf dome's roof as the central wooden scaffolding beneath the dome burned from the fighting creeping through the building.

Delta-2 moved like wraiths as the Imperial Guard overran the outer plazas. Exiting with their quarry squirming in their grasp. Their blades wet with fresh spilled blood. Tossing the Sidhar-Mohaddin to the ground where the man looked up to see a figure in black and electrum armour. Black-red lenses looked down at the haggard looking man. Red and black cloak billowing in the wind. The Sidhar-Mohaddin didn't even seem to care to look at the pair of golden and silver, electrum, gird warriors standing behind the armoured individual before him.

A flick of the wrist and one of the Marines held the man so his neck was out, face down towards the pavement, before letting go and stepping away. The black and electrum armoured figure moved to the side and drew his blade. A blade which wreathed itself in silver white light. One swift swing and the fundamentalist rebellion was dead.

[Brusia]

High-General Johnathan Aetius
In Orbit of Kyotomo

"We shall not enter into any of the abstruse definitions of war used by publicists. We shall keep to the element of the thing itself, to a duel. War is nothing but a duel on an extensive scale." -Unknown Ancient Terran General

High-General Johnathan Aetius stood near the view screen of the Bridge of one of the transport vessels currently tasked with ferrying him and his men to the latest planet to declare itself independent of the Imperium, looking out on the world below while sipping a cup of coffee. He spent the past few days pouring over intel reports on the planet, its defenses, and its new self-proclaimed Shogun; one Takauji Ishimida. Unlike many of the overly-ambitious political "leaders" with IQs somewhere south of a Terran turnip who deigned to declare their worlds independent of the Imperium for reasons either completely self-serving or utterly insane, Takauji was by all accounts an honorable and intelligent man. In addition to being a respected leader, he was a well-trained and talented warrior who, like Aetius, had fought in the Wars of Religion. Takauji fought on behalf of a religion called Bushidism, which was similar in some regards to the Bahai'Shido faith Aetius had learned of from his Deynai instructor in his youth. Where it significantly deviated from the Bahai'Shido faith was in its profound militarism and the inclination of its adherents to incite conflict to provide a means of proving their honor, leading to a number of brutal campaigns against rival faiths during the Wars of Religion which became bloody enough that the Imperium dispatched a force, with Aetius among them, to intervene and put an end to the Bushidist invasion forces. The Bushidist condemnation of retreat in any form led to that intervention being one of the bloodiest for the Imperium during the Wars of Religion, but it proved a valuable lesson for Aetius and many other officers in combatting unrelenting foes.

As Aetius reminisced on the fighting in those battles, his adjutant suddenly approached with a message: "Sorry to bother you sir, but we just received word from the Joint Chiefs: it seems they want you to return to Nova Terra for a briefing in 24 hours."

Aetius let out a deep sigh at the news and brusquely replied: "Well, shit..." The Joint Chiefs had been ordering him to attend briefings more and more frequently lately, ostensibly due to worry over increasing unrest in an Imperial oversector, but in reality it was abundantly clear even to the politically uninclined that the intention behind the incessant summonings was to keep Aetius off the battlefield and away from his Army, and any good publicity, as much as possible. That this could markedly impair his force's response time in the event of a crisis meant little to most of Aetius' "colleagues" who were far more concerned with their own political ambitions and preventing the rise of a potential rival than they were with the well-being of the Empire or its soldiers.

It didn't help that his former XO had been reassigned to another Sector Army by the Joint Chiefs, and replaced by a hopelessly incompetent imbecile by the name of Leonard Crassus, whose only qualification for command was that his father was a well-connected Senator. After Crassus led an entire Division into an ambush so obvious that a first year cadet should've been able to spot it, his XO's connections didn't stop Aetius from submitting numerous requests that the man be either reassigned, court-martialed, or shot, but those requests inevitably fell on deaf ears. Knowing that leaving Crassus in charge of his men during an invasion of a planet that would put up fierce resistance was a recipe for disaster, Aetius knew he needed an alternative solution.

While taking another sip of his coffee and looking back out towards the planet and the stars flickering at the edge of the viewscreen, Aetius worked to recall the countless briefings, reports, and texts on the Bushidists he had committed to memory when fighting them during the Wars of Religion for something that could help him in his current situation. When he finally remembered a useful tidbit of intel that might prove to be just what he needed, he turned to his adjutant and stated: "Looks like we'll need to resolve this quickly than. Contact the Shogun and inform him I request to meet with him in person to parley."

"You...you wish to negotiate sir?" the adjutant asked, taken aback by the order.

"Something like that" the General replied with a grin "Now than, get me that meeting and report to the shuttlebay in 30 minutes; we have a war to win."

32 minutes later...

As the High-General's shuttle touched down on Kyotomo's surface, the loading ramp dropped open and Aetius walked out onto the calm and quiet garden the Shogun had chosen as their meeting place. He was soon greeted by a cool breeze and the sight of cherry blossom trees in full bloom surrounding a small pagoda where the Shogun currently awaited the High-General's arrival. Aetius took a deep breath of the clean, crisp air before making his way through the idyllic surroundings to the meeting place. Following close behind him were three of his personal bodyguards and his adjutant, who was far too worried to be in any way moved by the beauty of his surroundings.

"Are you sure about this General?" he quietly asked after approaching Aetius' side "How do we know they aren't planning to ambush you in there?"

"Because the Bushidist code states anyone seeking to discuss diplomatic resolutions is to be treated as a guest, and attacking a guest without provocation would be considered a grave dishonor. If there's one thing that every report and psych eval I've read on this Takauji Ishimida indicates, it's that he would never violate his code."

"And you're willing to risk putting your life in the hands of a sworn enemy just on the hope that they'll follow some code?"

Aetius shook his head a little and replied: "This isn't just 'some code' to these people, it's the very foundation of their culture and way of life; to violate it would be to turn against everything they're fighting against us for in the first place. It's a shame they had to go and rebel really, the Imperium these days could really stand to learn a thing or two from that kind of conviction."

The adjutant looked away and walked in silence as the group approached the pagoda. When they neared the stairs, Aetius ordered his adjutant and guards to wait outside, then proceeded to a small table where the Shogun was waiting for him.

"High-General Aetius, I presume?" the Shogun said while standing up from the table. He was dressed in formal attire, though quite unlike that which is found on most worlds of the Imperium; rather than the expensive, garish attire now popular on many such planets, the Shogun was dressed in a simple long, black kimono with very little in the way of adornments, save for a rare plasma blade tucked next to a more traditional Wakizashi blade in a sash on his hip. The General meanwhile was wearing his finest dress uniform, his chest covered with the ribbons and medals he'd accumulated over the years, with the Medal of Valor hanging around his neck, and his own plasma blade and trusty modified sidearm on either side of his belt. When the Shogun bowed to the General, Aetius politely bowed his head in return, and the two took a seat at the small table.

"Thank you for agreeing to meet with me Shogun Ishimida."

"I must say General, from what I've read about you, I was quite surprised to hear that you of all people sought to parley."

"Admittedly that wasn't my first choice of action, but my time here was unfortunately limited due to 'political constraints'" those last two words Aetius uttered with a particular loathing.

"Truly, there is no greater impediment to a good soldier than a bad politician, is there?"

"Well, suffice it to say that if I had my choice between charging directly into artillery fire or talking to a room full of bureaucrats, I'd take the artillery fire any day of the week."

The Shogun chuckled abit, more out of courtesy than anything, and with the niceties concluded prepared to get down to business. Leaning in close to the General, he glared at him for a moment as if peering into his very soul, before stating: "You did not come here with entirely peaceful intentions though, did you? Diplomacy is not your way, and I can see that the fire in your eyes has not yet been entirely extinguished by your political masters."

Aetius grinned a little, impressed at his adversary's astuteness, and with a nod replied: "I came here hoping to settle things in the old ways, with a magnikai. Just you, me, and our blades; no power armor, no guns, no armies, and no politicians."

The Shogun was slightly surprised by the suggestion "Well, you have certainly done your homework General, though there hasn't been a magnikai on my world in centuries. Why should I participate in one now?"

"Because it's the only hope your people have to survive." Aetius bluntly replied. "We both know you would've never agreed to any terms without putting up a fight, but with the full wrath of the Imperium now bearing down upon this world, such a fight would be utterly devastating. Now, I have no doubt you and your soldiers would put up a valiant last stand, and I can understand the appeal of going out like that, but it hardly seems fair to the countless civilians who would be stuck in the middle of the fighting, and I for one have no desire to see a land as beautiful as the one before me reduced to ash and rubble." Aetius then leaned in a little closer and continued "Besides, as you said we'd be fighting the first magnikai in centuries, each of us representing the fates of our entire people. Win or lose, this battle would go down in history, and I can think of no more honorable or glorious way to die than that."

The Shogun pondered what the General said for a few moments, then asked: "What would be the terms?"

"You inform your people that, if I win, this world is to cease its attempt at independence, and become loyal to the Imperium once again. Meanwhile, I'll inform my people that, if you win, they are to withdraw immediately. At the very least, that'll give you more time to prepare your defenses, and I can guarantee that whoever the Imperium sends in place of my men won't be nearly as experienced or well trained."

Ishimida again pondered the offer for a few moments, turning to look at the calm and silent garden, and out towards the skyscrapers of the nearby city where millions of innocent men, women, and children lived, before bowing his head and replying: "Very well, I accept your terms."

Aetius nodded, and the two got up from the table to inform their people of their decision. Aetius' adjutant was clearly not thrilled, but at this point simply sighed and stated: "There's no way I'm going to be able to talk you out of this, is there sir?"

"No, no there isn't."

"Well than General, I'll just say good luck." The adjutant saluted, and after returning his salute and giving him a pat on the shoulder, Aetius took off his formal jacket, removed the medal from his neck, and took his pistol out of its holster, then handed them all to his adjutant and guards before heading out to a grassy area near some of the cherry blossom trees where the Shogun was already waiting for him.

When he was a few feet away, the two drew their unignited plasma blades, and the Shogun bowed while Aetius raised the hilt of his plasma blade a few inches in front of his face in a more traditional Imperial salute. The two then ignited their blades, Aetius' shining with a bright blue in contrast to the yellow hue emitted by Ishimida's blade, and entered into a combat stance. Both men were expert swordsmen, and as they slowly circled each other, both ran through the coming fight in their heads; each attempting to estimate their opponent's likely attacks and counters, winning and losing dozens of battles in their heads in the time it took for the nearby cherry blossoms to fall to the ground.

Both calculated that the battle would be over quickly, though neither was yet certain who would emerge the victor. Deciding it was time to find out, the Shogun raised his blade above his head and charged at the General, ferociously slashing at him with the blade, but narrowly missing as Aetius dodged and countered with a thrust of his blade towards the Shogun's chest. The Shogun quickly parried the attack, breaking the silence with a loud cracking noise as the blades met each other, then swung high towards Aetius' neck. The General moved fast and narrowly deflected the strike, the heat emanating from the weapons felt clearly as they approached the side of his head. The deflection bought him enough time to bend low and deliver a firm kick to the Shogun's chest, knocking him back but not down, and after a quick flourish of his blade he and Aetius again began to circle each other.

Again the two began to run through the possible outcomes in their heads, now utilizing the knowledge gained from the strikes made so far, and though the two were well matched in terms of skill, Aetius could draw on the training of his youth for an advantage; where the Shogun had spent a lifetime mastering one swordsmanship technique, Aetius had learned many from his Deynai instructor, including some lesser known forms he felt would serve well as counters to his opponent's strikes. Using this knowledge, Aetius began the engagement this time around, leading with a quick thrust towards Ishimida's midriff in hopes of drawing his foe back into attacking, and after quickly deflecting the blade, his opponent obliged, lifting his blade overhead for a powerful strike against the General. What the strike had in power it lacked in speed however, and Aetius used the opportunity to dodge left, shift his weapon's hilt in his hand such that the blade now exited from its medial rather than lateral aspect, and jabbed the blade into his opponent's side, searing through a rib, puncturing liver, rupturing gallbladder, and ultimately transecting the Shogun's spinal cord, leaving him unable to stand.

Aetius took a deep breath as the Shogun collapsed to the ground, dropping his weapon in the process, but though the fight was won, the General knew his opponent's code meant there was still something he had to do. Deactivating his weapon, Aetius knelt down next to Ishimida and asked: "Do you wish to finish this?"

Though death drew near to him, the Shogun managed to nod, and Aetius helped him up enough to kneel forward, then drew the Wakizashi blade from his foe's belt and placed it in its owner's hand. The Shogun was clearly grateful for the trust Aetius showed in giving him his weapon, and placed his opposite hand on Aetius' shoulder before barely managing to say: "Truly, it is a sad state of affairs when honorable men must kill in service to dishonorable masters."

Aetius couldn't disagree, and frowned at having to end the life of one of the few honorable leaders he had met, but he knew what the Bushidist code required, and he would not dishonor his opponent. He responded with a simple nod, and as he stood up and walked to the Ishimida's side, the Shogun used the last of his strength to plunge his blade into his own belly. As he did so, Aetius reignited his blade and quietly stated: "May you find peace in the fields of Elysium" before raising the weapon above his head and driving it down through the Shogun's neck with all his might to end him with as little pain as possible. As the Shogun's head fell away from his body, his guards nearby drew their weapons, causing Aetius' guards to raise their weapons in response, but rather than attack the General, the Shogun's guards instead took their own lives. Aetius returned to his guards and adjutant to collect his things, and the young officer asked: "Why the hell did those men do that?"

Aetius sighed while putting his jacket back on and replied: "Because they could not bear the dishonor of allowing the man they were charged with protecting to be killed by an enemy." The adjutant again just shook his head, and after he collected all his things, Aetius returned to the pagoda, where the only surviving man who had accompanied the Shogun was waiting for him. "The Shogun informed you of our terms?" Aetius asked the man.

"He did General. As his second-in-command, I will honor his agreement and see to it that Kyotomo becomes loyal to the Imperium once again."

Aetius nodded, and motioned for his adjutant to join them. "My adjutant will write up the official terms which we'll need you to sign." The man who was now responsible for leading Kyotomo simply nodded in response as the adjutant began writing. The terms were fairly standard for a world which had attempted to declare independence from the Imperium: all citizens would be required to publicly swear an oath of allegiance to the Emperor, all planetary military forces were to lay down their arms, and an Imperium force was to occupy the planet until such time as the Senate deemed it to no longer be at risk of revolt. The only deviation from the standard agreement was a small addendum which Aetius added that allowed the former Shogun to be buried with full honors; he felt the man deserved at least that much. Once everything was officially written up, Aetius and the Shogun's second-in-command signed the accord, then the latter returned to the planet's capital while Aetius and his men returned to their ship.

After a planetwide address was made to inform Kyotomo's citizens of the accord, a large number of Aetius' men descended down to the planet to temporarily occupy its cities as-per the agreement in the accord until an Imperium force specifically designed for that task could arrive to replace them. They landed without resistance, and once they were planetside, Aetius left his adjutant in charge of the occupation while he made his way back to Nova Terra for his meeting with the Joint Chiefs. He had won the war with a single blow, but the victory felt hollow to him. As he stared out the window of his personal quarters while en route to the capital of the Imperium to sit amongst a room of dishonorable politicians pretending to be soldiers while they bandied about useless information in a pointless briefing, the Shogun's last words echoed in Aetius' ears, and he pondered the truly sad state of affairs the Imperium now found itself in...

[Revlona]

Uncharted Space
The Lucky Lady
Amelia Orion

“Well it’s definitely a Beta class world ma’am, 2 mega continents with about 66% of the land mass covered in water. Situated in the goldylocks zone of the solar system...and with a breathable atmosphere...” The ships onboard computer said in a emotionless voice, it’s programming having been set to neither male or female voice and instead had been turned to what most robots sounded like millennia before.

“Moons?” A petite brown haired young woman asked from the bridges central command chair. Amelia Orion, first born daughter of the Orion Explorations Incorporated, sat at the edge of her command seat, she was fixated on what the computer was saying and as always, was excited by her new find.

“2 minor celestial bodies orbit planet BETA-111-562...the largest is currently situated on the opposite side of the planet from us and the smaller is closer in below the larger...” The computer monotoned. The planets designation, BETA-111-562, was a simple yet effective system of designating planets that was used by the OEI and many other civilian exploitation businesses. The first part of the designation, BETA in this case, told what type of celestial body it was. The second, 111 in this case, was the ID of the ship that had discovered the body, and the third was the number in which the planet was discovered by the ship that had discovered it. Most planets eventually switched from their designations to actual names once colonization began, or immediately as the explorers had the right to name the celestial bodies of they so chose.

“Have you scanned for ruins and any other pointers to ancient civilizations? As well as any pointers to current sentient civilization?” Amelia asked the computer, it should have been included in the initial scan of the planet that the other information was from but she liked to ask anyways.

“Affirmative...the scan showed no evidence of current sentient civilization, however there are several sets of potential large ruins in the northern hemisphere of the larger of the two mega-continents...” The computer said.

“That’s all I needed to here, XO!” Amelia said, turning to another, slightly older, young woman standing beside her.

“Ma’am?” The blonde haired woman said, smiling as she saw the glimmer of excitement in her captains eyes.

“Compile the data from the scan and send it back to Nova-Terra, inform them that we will be scoping out the ruins for at maximum a month. Have a party ready to be on the ground in three hours, the usual security-scientist bunch,” Amelia said

“Yes ma’am,” the XO said before turning to carry out her orders.

[Union Princes]

The great questions of the day will not be settled by means of speeches and majority decisions but by iron and blood.
- The Iron Chancellor. 1st Millennium

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

“Another prime example of religious dogma in action…” Irene Himmel groaned as she sipped on her black coffee. She was reading the latest news report delivered to her main office. Given the vastness of the Imperium, no doubt that there were a dozen more revolts just like the one on Kyotomo that have yet to be reported by journalists and news outlets. “Only a matter of time until these zealots are put down by the Imperial Army and Navy.”

Oshi Nobuko, Himmel’s personal confidant and Secretary of the Betreuen Chancellory, shifted uneasily on her feet. Although she never doubted the judgment of her leader, the harsh disapproval pricked her nonetheless. Given that Oshi grew up in a Bahai'Shido household, she felt the sudden urge to at least try to excuse her brothers and sisters of the faith. Except that Himmel seemed to have read her mind.

“No need to defend the likes of them, Nobuko.” The Sun Daughter reminded her as she continued reading through her morning intel report, “Blind obedience towards the words of a priest or monk is not the people you should associate yourself with.”

“Yes, Governor Irene!” Oshi saluted fervently, “I hope they will see the errors of their ways!”

“I hope so too.” her governor remarked, “One more religious revolt and the Imperium would sunder in two..”

“Now then…” turning her full attention towards Oshi after finish reviewing the intel report, “Anything noteworthy requiring my guidance?”

“Nothing out of the ordinary.” the Secratary stated as she handed in her report of the current state of the Betreuen colony. As Irene flipped through the papers, rapidly picking out details with her intelligent mind, Oshi spoke up once more.

“Should I cut my hair, Governor Irene?” she asked, prompting the blondie to give a quick glace towards her assistant. Standing at 6’ 4”, Nobuko stood a whole head taller than her superior with long, gorgeous raven hair flowing down to her waist whereas Irene tied hers into a ponytail. Her pale complexion contrasted the pitch black and white uniform of the Betreuen Blackguard. Being more physically mature than Irene only enhanced her beauty and she could’ve been easily mistaken to be the Baroness of Betreuen. Nobuko’s sapphire eyes revealed nothing but her inner diligence towards her duty.

“It is entirely your own volition.” Irene answered, her crimson eyes matching Oshi’s gaze for a brief moment before looking back at the report. It detailed that the penal colonists have recently conquered an acre’s worth of land from the hostile environment and uncovered a cave entrance. Several drones and a flamethrower squad were sent in to clear it out. “If the length proves to be distracting you from your tasks, then do not hesitate to cut it shorter.”

Oshi nodded along as the Sun Daughter leaned forward to give her last input. “Although, I do like your hair long.” she whispered, turning the Secretary’s checks red.

[G-Tech Corporation]

Emerald Corridor, Imperial Senate

The immense man stirred, limbs creaking, as the final intonations of the ceremonial dismissal for a recess were intoned by the magistrate. Less rising and more unfolding from the small Senate chair, Jarn stalked out of the chamber with a fluid grace belying his height and obvious stocky constitution, moving lightly on his feet like a dancer, a fencer, or a predator. His eyes did not dart as did those of many of the representatives leaving their personal boxes, flitting to and fro for political allies or superiors with which to curry favor, but instead scanned the crowd languidly, never completely still, the restless gaze of a combat veteran. Always weighing, always assessing, perceiving the pattern of the social dance unfolding and watching for perturbations in the weave that might indicate danger.

Even here, in the hallowed halls of Nova Terra, one could never be too careful. For all the Imperium's vaunted stability and ponderous security apparatuses, she also had ten thousand organizations and rebellions that would be only too happy - that would give practically anything - to sneak a bomb or shooter into the masses of the jeweled aristocracy and financiers that teemed in these halls. The guards that stalked here and there were good, some of the best the Imperium could boast, but they were still human. Only men who trusted others far too much did not take charge of their own security.

Not that the scion of House Volitans was excessively concerned for his own safety. But there were others here, friends, colleagues, cosponsors, who would suffer for any lapse. With a mental shrug, and several more seconds checking over the jeweled peacocks that strutted about the promenade of the galaxy's halls of power, Jarn made his way toward the bar. It was one of the few perks of coming all the way to Imperial Center from his home; plenty of vintages to occupy the palate.

The greatcoated man parted the crowd effortlessly, more by tacit presence than actual physical pressure. Part of that was that most nobles and viziers and the like weren't fond of speaking at too close of quarters, a disinclination that the northerner felt well. Unlike Nova Terra, there were many noble houses boasted fiefdoms with only a few billions inhabitants, or even millions. Humankind was far from evenly distributed across the galaxy, after all. You could almost tell, if you knew the signs to look for, when noble bumpkins arrived from nearly-forgotten smallholdings, or heirs with little experience of the Senate arrived to replace beknighted fathers. The little bubbles of space that they tried to create around themselves marked them out from those of the august assembly more acclimatized to the crush of the informal meeting spaces, and were, to the mind of the man from Kas Matan, quite amusing.

"Cavalian brandy, double neat, side-twisted."

His voice was gravely, more clipped and precise, more stilted than the speech the Nova Terrans used themselves. That probably came of engaging in nearly exclusively formal communication, but couldn't be helped. Though Jarn was aware of it, to take the time to do otherwise when it was a case of water to a fish was wasted effort in such a setting as this, and the barman certainly understood. His bow and a glint of recognition in the portly man's eyes betrayed that the servant had picked him out as one of the Rhaumsraad, not the lesser entity. The drink followed with welcome alacrity, a neat crystal vial that disappeared into Jarn's shovel-like hand as the tall nobleman placed a glinting prismatic chit down for a gratuity to the servitor.

So armed for the battlefield ahead, the master of the Midnight Hegemony waded into the crowd, keeping an eye out for other individuals involved in the debate on the trade route taxes. Though hardly his primary concern, as the Hegemony's trade was predominantly in tax-exempt vessels of war for the Imperium, there were certainly those within his domain that would rather see the unpopular measure defeated than imposed.

[Bolslania]

General Jac Vandercalt sat almost statue like at his desk, his hands clasped. He stared straight ahead at the edge of his desk. Some would say he was asleep with his eyes open, but his XO and Deynai advisor, who knew him well, knew that behind his obsidian eyes was a whirring and clicking methodical mind at work. He was pondering a report he had received, that a supply vessel loaded with minerals had failed to reach its destination. His first thought was piracy, but it had only been 4 years since he obliterated that pirate force, leaving no survivors. It was that event that earned him his nickname, "the Bloody Governor". His nickname was more widely known then his real name, which was a useful tool, and also a pain in the ass, at times. It often kept any would-be pirates or revolutionaries from continuing down that path, but it also made diplomacy and social welfare programs a little difficult to pitch, seeing as how many believed it was a ruse to hide an upcoming massacre. Which it almost never was.

He struggled believing that any in his region wouldn't have heard the stories, and decided to attack regardless. Maybe it was religious zealots. The Imperium had recently been getting a fair amount of those springing up. He knew that the Shadow had been gone for a millennium, and he was still just a bit too far to not have heard about it, so that ruled them out.

"Any reports of vessel sightings Rear Admiral?" He asked of his Rear-Admiral, who was in charge of the flotilla of corvettes and frigates at Vandercalt's disposal.

"We did find a dead transport ship about 3 days ago General, It had a gaping hole blown in the side of it, and the insides were all but painted with blood." Rear Admiral Donowitz said. They were both nervous, someone with the firepower to destroy a vessel that entirely would be a difficult opponent to the rather small forces that Vandercalt had. As they thought, Vandercalt's aide came in.

"Sir, High General Aeitus just seized Kyotomo via Honorable Combat with the Shogun." He said joyously. Vandercalt came out of his trance.

"Excellent, send him my compliments. Anything else?" He asked of his aide. His aide was one to start with the good news first.

"Yes sir, the Imperial Senate requests your presence at a meeting to discuss trade route decisions." Vandercalt sighed and ran his hand over his face. There was nothing he hated more than dealing with politicians. But this might be a good opportunity to report the attacks and request more forces.

"Right, Vice-General, your in charge until my return." His XO, Vice-General Adeliase Kimball nodded solemnly, she was a smart woman, who Vandercalt would've suggested have her own planetary command if he didn't need her so much.

"Deynai, I requet that you come with me to the meeting." He said to his Chief Advisor. He had spent a fair amount to recruit him, and it had been a good investement, for he always provided good advice to Vandercalt.

"Prepare the fastest ship, hopefully we can outrun the marauders if they appear." Jac said, striding off to pack what he would need.

2 hours later

"General to main deck, General to main deck, over." blared into Vandercalt's quarters. They were on his private ship, which was a modified blockade runner. It was his fastest ship, and he often used it to zip around to his various dominions and meetings.

He stood up, buttoning his uniform, and went on deck.

"What is it?" He said. The captain looked nervous

"Multiple radar contacts just slipped in on our six. We are tied for speed with them." A FTL chase was no small matter, as contact could blast a ship into a million pieces.

"No pirates would dare go after a ship in FTL such as ours." Vandercalt said. He had a sinking feeling in his gut, he and the captain shared eye contact with the same thoughts. It's not pirates, than who is it?

"Can we outrun them?" Jac asked after a moment. The Captain shook his head.

"The best we can do is tie them for speed until the border, and then we need to hope that they'll break off."

Jac nodded. This was going to be an unpleasant trip.

The next hour passed silently, the engines of the blockade running going at full speed with swearing engineers buzzing around to keep them from exploding. The tailing ships maintained speed and course, until finally they crossed the border into Imperium secured space, at which time the tailing ships peeled off. The engines reduced power, and the crew and passengers let out a mutual sigh of relief.

45 minutes later, Vandercalt was striding into the Senate building, wearing his full dress uniform. He arrived at the beginning of the mid term recess. Ordering himself a whiskey, he noted the gigantic man at the other end of the bar. He leaned against the railing, watching the crowd with intensity, sipping at his drink every so often.

[Remnants of Exilvania]

Winderzlaf, PREDI Headquarters

*gulp*

*bang*

The force with which the glass hit the desk was tremendous, as was to be expected of the bear of a man sitting behind it, wiping his mouth with his sleeve before checking the glass splinters he now held in his hand. A sigh escaped Vladimir Zakharin's lips as he quickly rubbed his hands together, rubbing the glass shards off and onto the ground. Yet another reason why he kept ALL the cleaners employed, despite what lowe ranked executives and statists tried to tell him was more efficient.

Luckily the bottle of good brandy hadn't fallen over when he had crushed the glass, Vladimir picking it up before slowly strolling over to his small bar, whistling a tune as he stowed it away, checking his personal collection of liquors and beverages while at it. It quite notably consisted of low class or strong beverages, few of the fine stuff that the higborne over in the Imperial Core were sipping on while affectedly smiling at each other. And gods was he happy about that, just the thought of the Imperial Core and its people sending a shiver up his spine. No, out here you wanted the strong stuff. It kept you warm on cold day and drowned your sorrows on a poor day. Oh, who was he kidding, every day out here was cold and most of the poor fuckers in his employ had a poor day every 24 hours, requiring some alcohol to drink themselves to sleep and forgetting about the grim realities of the business.

With everything where it belonged, Vladimir ventured back to his desk, slowly seating himself in his massive armchair, the cushioning giving way for his form, leather creaking under his weight as he did so. He leaned back for a moment, enjoying the relaxed sensation it gave him before he leaned forward again with a grunt, going through the reports his underlings had compiled for him just as they had every day. Overall, nothing of note really. No important messages from the Imperial Core and nothing too important from out here, mostly just reports and statistics about how everything was going smoothly. Acquired mining rights here, a cave-in of a shaft there, a clash between EGSS and Imperial Army when a criminal had escaped onto PREDI property and was shot dead, prompting a discussion about jurisdiction and the like.

With another sigh Vladimir shoved the reports aside, already eyeing the bar again. The curse of success really, once you had made it, once you had become someone of some clout, you suddenly had so preciously little to do if you didn't want to engage in all the political meddling of the Core. That was not to say that there wasn't political meddling out here too, oh no. It was just...things didn't fluctuate as much out here. Deals stayed deals, alliances shifted much more rarely, nobody had the time or patience to engage in grand political games for a bunch of mostly underdeveloped rocks.

His eyes fell onto something he had placed in his trashbin...well...there had been his invitation to getting out of his boredom. The Galactic Commercial Combine had requested that he be among their representatives in the Imperial Senate during the negotiations for the taxation of the Polarian Way. He knew full well why they wanted him there. So he could play the small, corporate chairman from the galactic fringe, singing praises for the Polarian Way and how much it benefitted even him all the way out here...with the small difference that technically it didn't He had built his business very regionally, the damned Polarian Way not even reaching all the way out here and that was good so! Not to think where all his customers would go to if they suddenly had better, cheaper alternatives to get their materials from.

Yeah, no, he hadn't been interested in that. And at this point it was far too late anyway. It would take too long.

Suddenly his gaze fell onto a report he had apparently overlooked, the damned thing having gotten stuck under the massive blue diamond which he had had cut in his likeness and was using as a paperweight. Lifting the small bust of himself up and fishing the report out from below it, he quickly skimmed it and was about to discard it with the other reports when realization struck him.

What he had before him was a report about a planet refusing to pay for delivered materials. Oh, sure, they were citing famine and the need to use the money for food imports, a reason he could wholly understand.

But not tolerate.

If one decided that they didn't have to pay then this could set a dangerous precedent. A precedent he preferably didn't want to see spreading. Instead, this presented the opportunity to set a precedent of his own, a precedent that would put all his clients in line. He looked over the provided information again...Zelton-IV, a Delta Class world, so barren. No wonder they were suffering from famine. A single settlement, 10 million inhabitants? Mus've been a fairly fresh colony.

With an amused grunt Vladimir picked up one of his pens and added a small note to the report. It read 'Lex Imperialis' and was just what he wanted. For his lawyers to bring this before Imperial Authorities so they could give him legal backing to extract what was owed to him by force. After giving it some more thought he quickly added 'Prep Debt Collectors, 2 Divisions' before putting the report onto the stack that would be gathered later when they came to bring him the new reports.

Vladimir's poor mood had vanished nearly completely now, the prospect of Zelton-IV proving quite exciting to him. If Imperial Authorities gave him right...then he could legally invade the planet. It would be the first larger scale engagement that the PREDI was engaged in and he personally had high hopes in his security service. Afterall, they were really there for more than just taking his money and getting into cussing matches with the Imperial Army. His eyes fell onto his bar again an and a smile quickly spread over his scarred face. Well, such good news clearly called for a celebratory drink!

[Wasi State]

Hyperborea Alfa, General of the North
Hyperborean Cosmic Front

General Bratislav Hermaszewski had called an emergency assembly with his War and Faith Council earlier in the day cycle to discuss urgent matters of the newly formed star state, and to discuss matters necessary to guarantee its sovereignty from the Imperium's seemingly inevitable and foreboding retribution for their movement's blatant act of treason they had committed very recently and abruptly. Having declared succession not long ago, and already having made moves to seize direct control of formally Imperial owned facilities within the reach their sub-sector. This drastic chain of events also has already resulted in some minor engagements across the Hyperborean Worlds as the Imperial loyalists remaining have been quickly overwhelmed in the initial chaos, the survivors having been sent to holding camps as their fate was now left both in the hands of their new Hyperborean masters, and to a wider array of interstellar politics that'll very soon come to play over their fate.

The eternal sunlight over the Northern hemisphere of their Gaia world gleamed over the panel and glass superstructure of the planetary capital facility, the inside interior was a more modest display in appearance, but still boasting that simplistic and brutalist aesthetic. The General had himself and a few other high-ranking members in his personal presence in the Situation Room, mainly individuals of high importance who were locally from Hyperborea Alfa, like the local High Volkhv, or the Planetary Defense Forces' General. His other high-ranking subordinates appeared before him on vidscreens, either due to having been off-world or in the middle of fleet transit.

"Brother Hermaszewski." They all began to say in unison after each of them came online to join the assembly.

"My fellow Awakened." The General then began, holding his hand up, then with a press of a button that quickly put up a holographic display of their three main world, Alfa, Beta, and Gamma.

"As you can all see, with the start of our Movement in recent times, we have acquire almost total control of our three Prime worlds and about a dozen other lesser ones, but make no mistake, the Imperial dogs will be on us like vultures in full force shortly once they realize who's rightfully in charge now. We must prepare in short order for the inevitable war in the likelihood that pax cannot be made, and we must prepare to fight fiercely and for many years if necessarily." Hermaszewski then said, quickly turning the hologram display to two other neighboring "Prime" Worlds,

"These are Hyperborean Del'ta and Epsilon, two more worlds filled with substantial amounts of our slavic populations currently under Imperial oppression, who have just recently been rallying openly as a direct result of our Movement. A brother is a brother who we support no matter what, especially if he is Awakened to the North as we are. I suggest we start moving our fleets quickly to secure these worlds in order to prove to the Imperium we have more staying power and capabilities then they could've initially anticipated." He then said, waiting to see who would agree or suggest otherwise to him.

"Hmm," Grigori Volgakopf of the more moderate Pan-Slavic Nation faction then muttered rather loudly, clearly unsure with this move of action Brother Hermaszewski was planning to have them embark. "It could prove to have the opposite effect, Brother General. Moving in now could provoke the Nova-Terrans into declaring a war of reconquest on us in very short order, leaving us with very little time to prepare for their assault. We could instead perhaps try to sue for a declared ceasefire, even a temporary one, in order to fully gather our strength before the outbreak of total war. In the case of Del'ta and Epsilon however, nothing to say we can't play into some more subversive and covert actions in the meantime in order for the planets to still topple over to our side, as long as the Imperium is none the wiser in knowing it." The Pan-Slavic then counter-suggested.

"Bah, why don't you tell them we're sorry then for rebelling in the first place while you're at it?" The Bloodknight, Rear-Admiral, Andrei Vasily then uttered in complete disagreement with Volgakopf, clearly not content with sitting and waiting for the fruits of their diplomacy to possibly come to them through more peaceful terms.

"We've already killed off or enslaved the local Imperial garrisons, as far as I'm concerned we're already at a state of active war with the bastards, it won't be long now that they realized this expanse is completely compromised and they'll send the Navy and Guard out to mob us out. I say we do what the Brother General suggested already and then some, causing as much damage as possible in the meanwhile and put our stakes out, incite this whole quarter of galaxy into open warfare with these overlords! The more chaos the better, more enemies for them to fight, less for us." Vasily then said, practically ready to attack the two mentioned worlds in open rebellion himself with his ships and crew.

"Perhaps a compromise of these two strategies could be met." High Volkhv, Sergei Antonov then said as he sat beside Hermaszewski in the Situation Room, "Let's simply wait first for a response from the Imperium, demand one even. If they refuse any sense of peace or compromise, we go with Vasily's plan and prepare for all out war against them for they given us no other choice. And if they're willing to meet at the table with us, we go with Volgakopf's plan and subvert them. Either way we must prioritize remaining on top here and protecting our people and sovereignty, Grand Volkhv." He then said to the General, who was already contemplating his decisions.

"We'll message them then, and demand an audience and work from there." Hermaszewski then said, much of his Council being inclined to agree with him on the course of action for the time being. "And of course, send what aid and material as we can to our struggling brothers in Del'ta and Epsilon, while staying under the Imperium's nose in the meantime." His high-ranking officers then nodded to that idea.

[Lunas Legion]

For extreme diseases, extreme methods of cure, as to restriction, are most suitable. - Old Earth proverb

Deep Space

To be alone was something of a natural state for Quintara Negata-Stasa. To be with others was a reminder of what was at stake should she fail. Her ship, the Aurelian Cervidae, was by all standards larger than it should have been as it hung in the void, for most explorer ships were equipped for crews numbering more than one. She had made good use of all that extra space, however, to house vast computers, each housing an AI dedicated to a singular purpose.

Previous explorers and archaeologists had done much work in aiding her, and their works had to be processed. Records of settlement, mapping patterns of colonial expansion and exploration, sorted by reliability of the accounts and age, turned into maps of the Galaxy. Mapping of the spread of linguistic changes as they inevitably did when one moved to a different planet where settlement was unrecorded. To search a Galaxy blind would be beyond searching for needles in haystacks as the ancient saying went. Yet still, her work went unrewarded.

She did not pilot her ship. She could, but her time was much more important, and an AI could do that anyways. It was not a difficult task, after all, and she much preferred to spent her time here.

It had originally been a meeting room, but it was large enough to be repurposed into what it was now. A panopticon of data, holographic projectors and sensors on the walls filling the room with projections that she could summon or dismiss with a barest flick of her hands.

On her left was a simple black box. A fitting representation, for the Shadow. She had been to the Megallanic Cloud, seen the ruined civilisations within, but none of it had provided a clue of what the Shadow was, nor what had provoked it to action. Nor evidence of its continued existence. For the better, perhaps. The Shadow had bought the Old Imperium to its knees; were it to come again, she was not sure the Imperium would survive in its weakened, degenerated state. Humanity had to survive the antithesis, and so the Shadow was not, as she had believed in her younger years, an option. It was too risky.

Next to that was a simple image of a planet, blue and brown and green, the name displayed next to it: Procyon Primaris. One of the Original Twenty, and the location of the first known Data Blight. She was not sure that it was where the Data Blight had first arisen, however; simply it was where their records, fragmentary as they were, first mentioned it. Regardless, it had yielded up precious little. Archaeology could only carry one so far, and the Data Blight had lived up to its name on finding anything salvageable there.

To the right of the center sat an image of Polaris, white and blue. Another of the Original Twenty, but one that had yielded little. Like Procyon Primaris, it had likely been picked over enough by archaeologists and treasure hunters to have little to offer that she did not already know. Sagittar Prime, once Sagittarian, brown and red, had yielded the same. Little that she did not know, and likely a victim of Data Plagues and thousands of years of archaeologists and treasure hunters.

On her right was a larger list. The rest of the Original Twenty, Aurora, Melpomenia, Solaria. Old Earth. The mysterious 'Red Planet'. All next to artistic depictions of themselves, commissioned personally by her with no guidance given, simply the name of the planet to be depicted. Her elusive quarry. Finding a single planet in a sea of stars was a mammoth task.

Were she younger, she might have returned to Nova Terra, to peruse the Imperial Archives once more in search of information. But she did not have time for that. She was not young, not anymore, and although she was quite satisfied that Imperium Delenda Est in its current state would be enough of a manifesto for her belief that someone would take up her cause upon her death. But trusting in others was a fool's errand in a society as degenerated and corrupt as this.

And so she stared at a map of the Galaxy, as overlays were shuffled through. Colonisation patterns, analysis of dating of technology, the presence of gene-markers of different types among planetary populations, the back-tracing of patterns of linguistic evolution where colonisation data was insufficiently accurate. There was just the question of would it be enough for her purposes.

[Sarderia]

Grand Jade Courtyard
Tianju Heavenly Palace, New Shanghai

---

"Block!" "Parry!" "Block!" Arnst shouted, swinging the plasma-encased titanium sword against his opponent. He blocked an uppercut aimed for his head and kicked his opponent's groin backwards, until they caught their breaths, raced again into the middle of the courtyard, and began striking blows again. "Pathetic," Arnst said, "I've always expected more of a man that spent his life wandering the fringes of this Galaxy and the Clouds." He flicked a button at the bottom of the sword - the plasma instantly went off, concentrated in only a small part of the sword. He swung the blade towards his opponent's, and broke his blade into two pieces.

"Get up, Joseph," Arnst beckoned. "You are a Captain of the Soviet Navy. I did not give this honor to a man who can't fight," he extended his hand. The young man accepted it, stood up, and panted. "But you're so old..." Joseph answered.

"Old age does not equal to a depleted stamina," Arnst shot back. "People look to me for guidance. People look to me to be their leader. The proletariat looks towards us all - the Party - the Armed Forces, we are their lifeline and their hope." He sheathed his sword and walked back. "And I honor my name."

Joseph looked rather curious. "My Lord... who is Uri?"

He stopped, his body shaking a little. Arnst turned to the other man, clearly annoyed, with a stern face. "First of all, there is no My Lords or My Ladies or My Liege in front of my presence. Not here, not in this planet, not throughout the Veil Nebula or the Cygnus-Norma Soviet. We're trying to create a new culture, remember?" He continued to walk, essentially ignoring the question. The Jade Courtyard, a legacy of the former Tianju lords, was very enormous - tens of hectares in size, paved with black marble and coral stones, where parades and other festivities are usually held for the Lords' entertainment. It was abandoned, however, with his ascension - and it was turned into a training site and sports track for Party members.

A beautiful, gleaming, race speeder was hovering above the middle of the Courtyard. It was old, one of the items he salvaged from Emmerkar Station post the Tianju civil war, but Arnst would never discard the speeder for anything else. The neon-green hue of its engines, the smoke that came out of its exhaust holes when it opened up - all felt too pleasant. "Come in, comrade," he told Joseph. "This old man will drive."

The speeder hovered up, about three hundred or four metres above ground, before he launched it nearly supersonic towards the mountains just north of the Courtyard. A sea of verdant, emerald hills, sapphire blue lakes and rivers, and grey granite mountains appeared as they cruised across the planet. New Shanghai was among one of the first planets settled by mankind - with a very ancient history dating back to the time of Old Terra - but unlike other planets, it kept its pristine landscape and nature largely intact throughout the milleniums. The atmosphere was indeed serene and peaceful. No wonder the Tianju nobles kept their lavish lifestyle - oblivious to the hardships that the workers and serfs throughout the Dominion experienced. Ignorance is bliss, they say, but Arnst was determined that he would be as far from that bliss as long as possible. Which reminded him to an old friend...

"Uri was a factory worker," he said to Joseph. "He was a good and diligent man. Always smiling, always jolly, always my friend. I was appointed the governor of a small nebula - this was sixty years ago, mind you - I had a vague memory, but... I would always remember him. He was a true example of a proletariat. Paid so little, worked so hard, breaking his back for some rich Lord's ass." Arnst spat to the land beneath.

"I was the losing side in a struggle between Heinz Emmerkar's heirs. I got my ass kicked far away to some fringe nebula at the border of the Arm. You can say that I'm exiled, but apparently my brother was dumb enough that he didn't realize the nebula was a major shipbuilding center. There's where I met him," Arnst continued. Joseph was listening closely

"And there I saw the life of an everyman. You know, the Soviet didn't happen in one night. I was given little freedom as well, and a retinue of Emmerkar guardsmen - courtesy of my brother - followed me in every step. They were even present in my bedchamber. But this fallen noble was still a noble. I had the luxuries the workers didn't... and I felt gulity for it, honestly. Do you ever wonder why there's been so many religious uprisings, civillian and workers uprising you heard so much in Imperial news, Joe? Why they're all branded as traitors, radicals, and all maners of derogatory words by the Emperor?" Joseph shook his head.

"Those are the oppressed snapping. The proletariat whose voices are worth as much as shit, and they took the time and effort to made themselves heard. Yet the Emperor's dogs - these noble Admirals and Generals who licked his feet everytime he made a move - they seemed so eager to crush these movements. Do you know why?" Again, the other man shook his head.

Arnst slapped the speeder's dashboard. "Because they're afraid! They are all cowards. They fear the mass uprising of people like you - people like my old friend Uri. They fear the idea that you, a commoner, can rule yourselves - seizing the means of production for yourselves and your compatriots - no longer having to work two-thirds of a day with little pay just to buy their brandy. Well, to be honest, I've banned all kinds of expensive whiskeys and brandys from this planet outright. Everyone drinks the same drink - everyone wears the same clothes. Back to the topic.

"It was him who vouched for the uprising. It was his idea. We planned the attack carefully... snatching a ship meant for the Sagittarius Sector to Emmerkar Station instead. He was the brain and I the commander. Word of the revolt... this strange new idea spreads across the Dominion. People flocked into our cause. Yet... yet, life could be unfair. I had the honor to witness him being cut down by a noble guard," Arnst's eyes watered, "right in that Courtyard, where we dueled earlier. The bloody bastard hacked him to pieces. I was left only with his hand. That was the only piece of him I could bury."

"But we won. And if there is one thing I could do to honor his legacy, it would be using his name to fight for his cause. The dreams of a Galactic revolution..."

---

Imperial Senate Chamber
Nova Terra

---

The Tianju Dominion's retinue in the Imperial Senate looks rather different than the other Noble delegations. For one, they wore very simple attire, consisting of a plain, black suit with red armbands. On the armbands, the black-and-crimson shaking hands symbol, topped with a pink rose embalzoned, the sigil of the Cygnus-Norma Soviet. They look rather militaristic, if not similar to the Imperial officers themselves. While the other nobles wore ornate clothes and intricate ornaments, the Tianju representatives kept a plain attire.

Head of the retinue was a stern-looking old man, which many knew as the "mad Noble" that overthrew the former Tianju noble lords in a violent civil war - or a revolution - as Arnst Urbach himself liked to call it. There were five delegates within the retinue - four humans and one a humanoid alien. As they all arrived into the bar, Arnst ordered all the retinue to spread out, blending with all the other delegations, but for his personal aide - Joseph Henry Morgan. He took a seat at one of the bar's many wooden stools, and beckoned for Joseph to sit beside him. "A glass of cold water," he told the bartender. Joseph ordered a scotch.

"This place is packed," Arnst started. "I thought most of them would sooner return to their chambers or offices, not drinking themselves to oblivion in this wretched place."

Joseph smiled. "Everyone loves to drink." However, Arnst's eyes was more focused on a giant man sitting across his position at the bar. He recognized him as a scion of the House Volitans. The rulers of the Midnight Hegemony are a peculiar sort of nobles, but every one of them invoked an aura of fear that is enough to make people around them shiver - Joseph included. However, Arnst already had his fair share of horrors - some he did himself, back in his Imperial Navy days, some he witnessed. "Watch out for that one," he told his aide. "Diplomats can be dangerous, but I would keep a particular eye on him. He possess the skills of swords as well as words," he finished, pointing subtly at Jarnassus.

"I would love to break my fast with an assortment of news, Morgan," he told Joseph. Immediately, the younger man produced a tab from his pocket, and scrolled through the glass screen. "Nothing major, comrade," Joseph answered. Arnst always liked that nickname. "But... oh, this is urgent. One of your deputies at the office. He said a particular guest requested for your presence immediately."

Arnst leaned his head closer to the tab. "What kind of guest?"

"She said you expected him," was Joseph's answer. Immediately, a realization struck him. "Stay here," he commanded Joseph. Arnst then beckoned for two of the five delegations currently present inside the bar to follow him. The recess would be long enough, he hoped, to finish this important meeting. And so he stormed out of the room swiftly, without anyone major noticing.

[The Empire of Tau]

Co-write between me and Sarderia

Senate Offices
Imperial Senate Building, Nova Terra

---

The room assigned to the Tianju Dominion’s senator was decent - not too large but not too small either - and very spartan in nature. Before, it was richly decorated with various luxurious ornaments, calligraphies, statues and paintings, but all of them were removed when the leader of the Cygnus-Norma Soviet, Arnst Urbach, attended his first Senate session as the Duke of Tianju Dominion. In the place of the ornaments and statues were numerous desks with hundreds of tablets and pads stacked upon it, and various holographic screens that made the place looks more similar to a military command center than a Senate office.

Uri himself entered the room, accompanied with two of his bodyguards. As usual, he wore a plain suit, with only the shaking hands-and-rose pin sitting at his right chest, the CNS symbol. There were several of his aides present in the room, most of them observing the holographic screens. But, rather peculiar, there was one man - dressed as a Party member - sitting on the chair in front of his personal desk, not working at one of the screens nor attending the Senate files. He took a seat on his chair, and started the conversation.

“Open your hood, please,” he said. “We’re all Party members here. I’ve made sure myself that there are no surveillance cameras or recorders present in the room. You may speak freely.”

Polan lifts open his hood before he takes off his mask, placing the mask on the nearby table. “You got yourself an interesting room here, friend,” the wanted man comments. Polan was not exactly the most welcomed person in the Imperium right now. After the chaos that was the Pejan Revolution, a bounty was placed on the revolutionary’s head. Luckily, a good while of time has passed since and new heads are popping up with better bounties, but a bounty is still a bounty, and someone will come around to claim that reward, but not today.

Uri smirked. “I decided that luxurious offices weren’t in my taste. As you see,” he pointed. “You wouldn’t even find a good whiskey here. All must be equal, according to the Party principles, and here the most expensive thing available would be cold water.” He took a cigar from his desk and lit it with his lighter. “The hero of the Pejan Revolution himself. Oh, I am very honored.”

“Each according to his ability, each according to his need, is better then ‘all must be equal’ since that phrase doesn’t really echo any real value to anything. But we’re not here to discuss theory, are we?” Polan shortly chuckles, his eyes focused on the noble turned socialist, or communist, either one, in front of him - an older gentleman settled into his lifestyle of luxury of a high-man still.

“So, who should start first? Me or you?” Polan laids back into his chair, resting his arms on the arm-rests, awaiting for an answer.

Uri gave a thin smile hearing Polan’s response. This is a younger me, he thought, pragmatic, straight, energetic, and calculating. He could see well the potential havoc Polan and his radical ideas could unleash towards the Imperium, given resources. “As you seem to be very pragmatic,” he answered, “and I have a nebula’s worth of resources behind me, I am open to hear your arguments. I was once within your seat - I know well what young revolutionaries want and asked. Almost all of them failed.” He relaxed his arms. “To be honest, the only thing aiding me in my endeavor is the nature of my birth. As such… I am a kind man, like your grandfather, if you want to use that analogue. Ask, and you shall receive.”

A whole resources worth of a nebula. Polan ponders for a good minute or two, wrapping his head around the potential things that he could do with such backing. So many opportunities, yet so little time. Brown knows that his time is going to run short in the face of a declining Imperium. It would be a matter of when, not if, the whole bloody rotten structure will collapse on itself. He saw it himself in his homeworld and then the whole of Pejan, and that wasn’t even a planned revolution.

“Tell me, Uri. What does the soldier fight for, and what does the revolutionary guerilla fight for?” Polan asks with a straight face.

Uri tapped his fingers into the table. “A soldier…” he answered, “a soldier is but a machine. He fought as he’s told, and he did as he was commanded. There are no ideals, there are no motivations. There is only the mission.” He remembered his career at the Imperial Navy. “A leader, however, is different. A leader fought with his conscience. If he was a good man he’ll shelter the lives of innocent casualties. If he’s straight to the point… brutally effective, he’ll slaughter everyone. And most importantly, a leader gets to have ideologies. He gets to choose why and for whom he fought. He gets to decide for what cause he’ll fight for.”

He smoked the cigar again. “I was a soldier. I killed people without mercy, and I have the blood of babies and pregnant mothers on my hands. But I was also a leader, once. In that capacity, I saved the bloods of fathers - of workers and farmers and menial laborers - from being whipped and shed by tyrannical Lords.” The room was silent for a second. “Now I shall ask the same question to you… what are you? And what do you fight for? Why do you destroy the entire Imperial Sector? And most importantly… what motivates this mad endeavour?”

“What am I? Who am I? That’s quite the questioning. I’m a revolutionary. I fight for social justice and the exploited. I gave up my whole entire life of luxury and comfort. Now I kiss the dirt and kill the landlords for a living,” Polan softly laughs, pausing for a bit before he goes back to his straight face.

“Injustice has radicalized me, friend. Billions are exploited under the weight of unchecked capitalism in the outer-rim alone, where profits outweigh people. I do not think I would like to live under that system,” Polan ends, recollecting from his memories of the poverty stricken farmers back on Kebin and the prisoner slaves on Kebus. The amount of pain inflicted by the Galactic Commercial Combine and their quest for more profits was a disgusting fact to Polan. Others might attempt to justify the crimes and wrongdoings of the GCC, but Polan would have none of it. All of them will pay for their atrocities. Polan will make sure of it.

Uri pondered the words for a moment. “No one would like to live under that system,” he answered. “Not even the directors and the nobles. Because deep down in their dark hearts, there is a fear that the oppressed would rise up… and threaten the status quo that they so delicately maintained with each other.” He smirked. “You see, for all this proud talk about their influence and wealth, they are above all, sheeps. Playing a child’s game with one another, snatching a marble from another’s hands because it looks shiny. All under the watchful eyes of the Emperor. Now… you and your revolution, is a disturbing factor. Someone who’s fed up with having to clean the mess the kids create decided to rebel and opt out of the game. No… oh, no, they wouldn’t tolerate it the slightest. Rebellions, the Imperium could stomach, but this idea? This is cancer. Hence why you managed to muster up massive support and create chaos and a massive headache to the Imperials in a short time.”

He ordered two glasses of cold water to a secretary. “Now I am excited. Speak further, I like the way this conversation is going.”

“No revolution can survive without popular support. It is vital, no, a necessity that the public at large understand what they are fighting and dying for. Education must liberate the minds of the exploited and to build class solidarity for the coming class struggle,” Polan duly noted. Anyone with a basic understanding of guerilla warfare came to understand that fact. No amount of bullets, guns, and firepower can kill an ideology, especially one highly popular among the public at large.

“We’re getting ourselves too deep into our assholes right now, with our philosophical statements. Let’s get back to planning. The time is not right for an armed struggle. First, we need to set up multiple political organizations that’ll be hard to infiltrate, with mutually coordinating leadership on each planet towards a single goal, preparation of struggle,” Polan pauses, grabbing the cold glass of water to drink.

“There is a better future, I know it. We need to set up centers of education and economic relief for the working class to improve their lives the best we can. The people can form unions to fight for their interests as a whole, maybe even push some reforms if they can. Form radical media and news outlets to combat Imperial propaganda. Build-up clandestine caches of weapons and ammo, and much much more. We need to form a strong foundation for revolutionary energy,” Polan coughs, drinking his glass once more.

“Now wait a minute, young man,” Uri raised his hand. “What you are asking is madness. I am not the Emperor. I do not have the means to hide caches of weapons on important planets, sponsor schools and subsidies, nor funding rebels across the Imperium. Frankly, it would expose you and me both for being radical outlaws, and it would bankrupt the Tianju Dominion so massively that my realm would be an essential anarchy. I’d want something more reasonable… first - after all, this is my first time working with you, and I am paranoid to everyone. A weird old man, they called me, but it kept my neck far from any knives at night.” He sipped the cold water. “... I am willing to grant you a compromise. There is a planet… far from the Tianju Dominion, perhaps deeper into the Cygnus Arm, separated from the rest of my dominions. Resentment towards me still runs strong in that thorn on my side, and my governor there is inept. But you have a talent for miracles,” Uri smiled. “The planet’s resources are all yours to use. There would also be commissions coming from the Tianju Dominion’s strategic location as a trade hub… and also the Veil Nebula. Meanwhile… I will be patiently waiting for wonders.” He raised his hand again. “What do you say?”

“You mistake me, friend. All I need is the bare minimum of resources to do my work and time. Above all, always be capable of feeling deeply any injustice committed against anyone, anywhere in the galaxy,” Polan says to Uri.

Uri smiled, mischievously. “And you shall have it.” He pulled out a holographic projector from a locker below the desk. It quickly printed a seal mid-air, the calligraphy of Uri’s name in an ancient Terran script once known as Chinese, and it quickly landed on Polan’s hands. It is practically a seal of the Party’s Chairman; a quick way of getting things done all across the Dominion. “You shall not replace the Governor… but you shall have the resources of all that planet at your disposal. Send my token of love to the citizens.” He sipped the final gulp of cold water.

“The Revolution is Eternal.”

[Elerian]

Rear Admiral Tchaikovsky, Imperial Center

“No.”

The Admiralty was perfectly still as the word hung between the Rear Admiral and the most powerful military personnel in the known galaxy. Most of the Admiralty was more cybernetics than human at this point, an old guard of rich and influential figures. While he himself was no stranger to cybernetic enhancements, Leon still likened the men and women more to cold and unfeeling AI than to the humans they purported to be. “What do you mean, ‘no’, Rear Admiral Tchaikovsky?”

“The word, I believe, is self-explanatory, my Lord,” Tchaikovsky replied calmly, standing at ease. The Rear Admiral was worlds apart from nearly every member of the higher Admiralty, what with his meagre upbringing and more humanlike appearance. He stood with the practiced ease of someone with decades of service in numerous fleets and sectors, wearing his typical look of indifferent stoicism. “I will not take an ill-prepared flotilla into battle with an opponent that almost certainly defeats them. Especially when such a flotilla with a few more weeks of preparation would have little difficulty batting aside the same opposition with relative ease.”

One of the Grand Admirals drew himself up. Leon could almost hear the servos moving within his decrepit body. “You’ve had this flotilla in preparation for nearly a week, Rear Admiral. It is ready today, and will handily scatter this cabal of pirates” he spat, temper rising to the surface.

Tchaikovsky drew in a deep breath. Once again the Admiralty sees my caution as disobedience. “With all respect to the Admiralty, I have thoroughly examined the reports of the pirate band from Imperial Intelligence, along with my own sources, and have determined that a confrontation at this time will not be in our favor.”

“Imperial Intelligence has informed us otherwise, Rear Admiral” another member of the Admiralty board interjected. “They tell us the time to strike the pirates is now. Have you a gift for seeing what our own intelligence cannot?” The Admiral’s voice was soft and deadly as deep snow over thin ice.

Tchaikovsky raised his eyebrows, knowing the fragile surface he now stood upon. “I use simple reasoning based on the facts in front of me, my lords. Any Admiral worthy of his rank could, using the same methods as my own, tell you the same thing.” Though, they likely wouldn’t, but Tchaikovsky would not waste lives so needlessly as others. “I have no shamanistic ability, only intellect and the will to use it, in combination with my training as an Imperial Officer.” He was sure they would take this as an insult, but knew of no other way to say what had to be said.

The eyes of the board bore into the Rear Admiral now. There was little love lost between the Admiralty and Tchaikovsky. If not for his low birth and poor people skills, Leon likely would have been a Grand Admiral just like the men and women before him. They despised him, and ensured he knew it. If not for his talent, he would have been rotting away on some penal world sometime ago. They kept him around because he was good at extinguishing their little brush fires, but now . . . now, he was in stark mutiny in their eyes. What treachery and gall to question his social betters!

“How dare you,” a Grand Admiral hissed. “After all that has been given you by the grace of the Emperor. Our institution saved you from that inhospitable prison of a colony, and allowed you into the splendor of civilization that is the Imperial Center. You have even been allowed the glory of serving as an officer in the Imperial Navy, and now you would throw that in the face of your Emperor? Claim to be superior to the entirety of his Admiralty?”

Tchaikovsky did his utmost to remain calm and collected. He suppressed the thought of asking the Admiral if he was finished with his tantrum, but in the end replied with the same tone of voice as what he began this discussion with. “My lords, no disrespect was intended on my part. You welcomed me into this fleet, making specific mention of my tactical abilities in your decision to promote me to the Admiralty. It would seem to be a waste to not allow me to make full use of those abilities while at my post.”

None of the Admiralty board seemed pleased with his answer. Some even looked more furious. The same Grand Admiral was the first to speak, “ This flotilla has the sufficient power to destroy whatever threat the pirates may pose to the Emperor’s peace, and you will see to it that it does just that” he spat. “That is an order!”

“No” Tchaikovsky repeated firmly. “My lords, you don’t have the power to ensure success or fail-.”

“We have all the power!” he shrieked suddenly. “You will take your flotilla, Tchaikovsky, and you will defeat the enemy. Is that clear?”

Surprised by the outburst, Tchaikovsky waited a few moments to reply. “My lords, the flotilla will be defeated if it engages the pirates at this time. A delay will only-”

“Take this traitor from our sight! Notify Imperial Intelligence we require agents to ascertain what Tchaikovsky may be hiding.”

And so he was dragged away to await court martial and likely torture.

[Caltharus]

Vice-Admiral Theodor Melodon

His wakeup came at 0600 Nova-Terran time, as always. A familiar voice greeted him as the lights of his quarters lit up. “Good morning Vice-Admiral, ready to serve eh?” the servant said.

Theo sighed. “How many days Raul?”, he asked while rising up to sit on his bed, immediately receiving a cup of hot water accompanied by Calaathian leaves. “Thirty-six from the last port leave, Vice-Admiral. To the next… well, as long as the Imperium requires” the servant replied. “And I regret to inform you that we’re running low on Calaathian leaves sir, some problems with shipments” He continued.

“There always is isn’t there” Theo answered feigning a smile.

Still, he had to admit that sipping quality tea made any morning better. While enjoying his hot drink he remembered the message that had arrived last evening. Calling out to the servant about to leave the room he said: “Raul, care to put on that message that arrived yesterday?” The servant nodded and did as asked.

Soon Theo’s father became visible in the screen opposite to his bed and he had to admit that it was nice to see the old man.

“Greetings son, I hope the last months have gone well and that the Vice-Admirals duties have been… fulfilling. Still, I hope you always remember that the position of Grand Admiral of the Gilded Armada is open for when you return”.
Though Theo cherished hearing from his father, he couldn’t help but to phase out, with only occasional blurts of words coming through.

“Union riots on… houses Velder and Ravenstein have moved their fleets… noticeable drop in janissary recruitment…”

The old man’s message seemed clear. Come home. Having finished dressing up whilst listening, he paused the message, grabbed his cane and double checked he had everything. As he was about to step out of the room he halted in front of a mirror and combed his hair few more times before continuing. Making his way towards the bridge steady knocks of his cane reminded him of the message. The old man had looked as strong as ever, which came as a no surprise. He had always embodied two of the three Melodon virtues towards which they tried to gene splice themselves. Strength and intellect. Longevity however… Well the pain was visible from the old man’s eyes, despite him looking outwardly strong. And he was only 73 years old! Yet no rejuvenation treatment could help or bionic be accepted by his body.

With all that taken into consideration could Theo really blame his father for wanting him to return? With how volatile the situation was for their house, any sign of weakness could be fatal. Their house needed a clear succession should his father be incapacitated.


Then the doors of the bridge opened with a hiss cutting his thought short. The bridge crew shortly rose to attention before being routinely dismissed by him. “Let’s see what exercises Admiral Lafel has planned for us on this beautiful day, shall we?”

[Revlona]

Admiral Shara Lafel
Uninhabited Solar System Designated NONHAB-LEMSUBSEC-22
Lemorra Subsector
06:35

Shara gazed out from her ships bridge towards the small red-orange star that the half a dozen barren planetoids of the system orbited around. She had been staring at the star for several minutes now, her hands clasped behind her perfectly kept uniform as she awaited her subordinates. She had scheduled their meeting a little later than usual, knowing that she most likely would have been late to the original 06:00 start time thanks to her acquisition of an entire season of an ancient animated show. It had cost her an arm and a leg but she had been willing to pay up. As her thoughts strayed to her her current favorite hobby, her mind left the present and a small smile played across her normally emotionless face.

"Admiral Lafel?" A voice asked, almost timidly like when a child answered their teachers question while expecting to be wrong. The smile disappeared from Sharas face and her eyes snapped to the holographic projector below and in front of her. Standing there at attention were 5 men and 3 women, the ranking officers of the 24th Imperial fleet which was under her command. Her eyes tracked to the young Rear Admiral that had spoken and she locked eyes with him, "What is it Rear Admiral Smith?" she said, smoothly ignoring the fact they had caught her day dreaming.

"Nothing Ma'am, my apologies for speaking out of turn!" The Rear Admiral said, bowing his head a bit as he did so.

Shara nodded once at him before looking at the other members of the call and addressing them, "All right let's get right to it. Todays drill will be a mock battle simulating the clash between a fleet and its numerically superior foe. Vice-Admiral Melodon, Rear Admiral Smith, Rear Admiral Aresky, you will be todays Opposing force, Vice-Admiral Melodon shall have overall command. You will take your forces just outside the fifth planets orbit and shall await the main fleets attack. You will be the simulated Imperial forces so shall have the Imperial intelligence on your side, they estimate that the attack will come sometime between 11:00 and 11:45. Any questions?" She said, her voice smooth and crisp as she felt the familiar sense of authority roll over her.

They were rather close to home she realized while awaiting any questions, she hadn't been back there in the over twenty years since she had graduated from the academy. She wondered if a pit stop could be had, Lemorra IV had substantial orbital facilities after all, it'd be reason enough to stop while patrolling the sector. That would be for the future she decided as her thoughts snapped back to reality.

[G-Tech Corporation]

The Carnelian Suite, Imperial Senate

A glass klinked against his, and the Forgemaster raised an eyebrow, half turning, before a wry grin crossed his face. He bowed at the waist, a dip of the head in the crush of politicians that aped the full ceremony though it wasn't, technically speaking, a necessity.

"Senator. What are we drinking to?"

Prismidia vas Macharius swept her leggings out, giving the impression of a wider curtsey, something the large man wouldn't have dared to pull off - but the representative at court had the advantage of stunning good looks, one the scion of Kas Matan couldn't hope to mimic. Or, rather, didn't bother to emulate. Her nearly moon-white visage shone with a mischievous air as she looked up the third-standard to where her feudal overlord regarded her with amusement.

"Why, to more time to talk the hotheads out of economic strangulation. And to drinking itself. And to prying you away from your dataspinners and neuroslates." The elfin woman kicked back a decanter of what Jarn's optics identified as rilec, a particular potent distillate from one of the Garth Worlds. Men climbed ancient fungal growths there, hunting rare mycelliforms that migrated amidst the impossibly old mushroom forests, a dangerous but lucrative venture. It was, ounce for ounce, roughly biochemically equivalent of a tranquilizer capable of downing a Havardian beast-worm, but her eyelids barely flickered.

"You do know, of course", the scion observed dryly, "that my time spent ensconced within the minutiae of the Hegemony I regard as far more valuable than ambling these teeming halls, however hallowed. Here I'm a warm body, fit to be seen and waited upon and little more. Quite a waste."

The political animal laughed, a movement of deliberate abandon so filled with good mirth and a lark's singing voice, tonally perfect, that more than a few heads turned around the antechamber where the two had drifted as they talked. One of the nearby sun-emulators gilt her throat as she did so, picking out the few red strands and pale blonds in otherwise honey-drop hair. That lent more credulity to the rumors of Prismidia's behavior at court than Jarn had believed was the case. These old, pickled, juiceless Senators couldn't hope to enjoy that level of vitality. It was a good thing, in the estimation of the Families. Young Senators were more pliable, and flocked to the representative's social circle like so many butterflies chasing the last sunflower at dusk.

"But your incisive wit is exactly what these hallowed chambers need. I find it refreshing." The Senator nodded her head curtly. "Yes, refreshing. The only Imperial military attaches that are summoned before full reading are usually such bloviate equivocators they might as well be Senators themselves. Your reports from the Admiralty are ever so much more stimulating, even if you do love to fill them with stuffy observations of material science and efficiency ratios which only the most spendthrift warlord might find useful."

It was... not an unfair observation. Something perhaps drilled into the Forgemaster over several lifetimes of men. Technically speaking, the Hegemony could afford to waste both mass, energy, and manufacturing hours, with no significant ramifications. Jarn knew to a fairly accurate tune exactly how much the Hegemony could afford to waste, and how fabrication margins the manufactories of the Jewels enjoyed would have seemed near witchcraft to any other industrial concern in the galaxy. But just because one could afford less exacting protocols, did not mean one should engage in more profligate behavior. He would leave that for the Great Houses of the Imperium. You could never tell when a planetoid unharvested, an extra datalathe allocated to a minor task, or another dozen idle manufacturing cycles might prove necessary at an opportune moment.

Not that the Admiralty truly appreciated these things. Of that Prismidia was not deceived. He sighed.

"Well, perhaps. The Maker certainly knows how many notes of concern to the Logistics Corps bidding process I've appended and never received a response upon. If you have a large enough hammer, the hammer need not be particularly refined to crush what needs flattening. Build a big enough bomb and it doesn't matter if you're using a fullerened matrix or atomics, the target will still end up as so much expanding vapor."

The spritely ambassador patted him understandingly on the shoulder, and gestured pointedly at his drink.

"I don't make toasts just to drink myself. I'm not that much of an alcoholic, not yet. I wasn't lying - it is good to see you here, Hegemon. There are far too few of our folk that make it all the way to Nova Terra these days."

With a jerky movement the tall soldier poured his beverage back, savoring the hot bite and burnt clarion-call of the brandy for a moment. He was about to speak more when he noted a man in the severe garb of an Imperial rating, cut with gold cord denoting his position as an adjutant, cutting his way through the crowd toward the pair.

"I'll look you up later, Senator. Best of luck wrangling your cats. I do have to actually work when I decide to visit Nova Terra."

[Bolslania]

Jac watched the Soviet delegation come in, glare at the Imperials, and then stride out almost immediately. Now there was a group of people who's attention he did not want to attract. As the Amban of a set of labor-intensive worlds, he was a juicy target for any of the well known revolutionaries like Polan or Joseph. His relatively small forces couldn't hope to fend of a Soviet attack for more than a month. The soviets were both his main reason for his vast array of social safety nets and worker's rights programs, as well as his attendance at these Senate meetings. He hoped to make allies who's support he could rely upon. He's eyes scanned the crowd and settled on a large man in Army garb. The leader of the Midnight Hegemony. Now that was a good ally to have. He and Jac's ships passed on the same trade route, but the two never had much contact with each other. Jac was preparing to greet the Hegemon, when Senator Macharius beat him there. A political animal indeed, she stood out from the barely alive senators in the room. He carefully positioned himself on the bar, waiting for either of them to break off so he could speak to either the Senator or the Hegemon. When the Adjutant appeared, the Hegemon left, leaving Senator Macharius in need of someone to speak to.

He casually strided over, coming to her front in accordance with polite customs.

"Senator Macharius, it is an honor and a privilege." he said, he had set his drink on the bar, and did a proper military bow for maximum politeness. He needed to be exceptionally polite if he hoped to win her alliance.

[Caltharus]

Seeing that no one else was going to say anything, Theo took attention spoke up:

"I have one, Admiral." Theo paused for a moment to avoid himself speaking to fast.

"Does our simulated intelligence give us any indications as to what direction the attack is going to come from?"

Defending against an opponent with numerical superiority and initiative wasn't going to be easy. Yet Theo knew that he needed to be able to handle any situation. Otherwise he could forget being promoted into an admiral.

While waiting for an answer he continued standing in attention, his navy uniform as immaculate as ever. A plan had begun to form in his mind. He needed to take initiative away from his enemy to avoid getting stuck into a statick defense. Using the fifth planet as a cover from enemy radars, he might be able to flank the attacking forces first ships and thus put the whole offensive into disarray.

[Revlona]

Admiral Shara Lafel
Uninhabited Solar System Designated NONHAB-LEMSUBSEC-22
Lemorra Subsector
06:55

Seeing that no one else was going to say anything, Theo took attention spoke up:

"I have one, Admiral." Theo paused for a moment to avoid himself speaking to fast.

"Does our simulated intelligence give us any indications as to what direction the attack is going to come from?"

Defending against an opponent with numerical superiority and initiative wasn't going to be easy. Yet Theo knew that he needed to be able to handle any situation. Otherwise he could forget being promoted into an admiral.

While waiting for an answer he continued standing in attention, his navy uniform as immaculate as ever. A plan had begun to form in his mind. He needed to take initiative away from his enemy to avoid getting stuck into a statick defense. Using the fifth planet as a cover from enemy radars, he might be able to flank the attacking forces first ships and thus put the whole offensive into disarray.

"Yes, that also ties into the simulated situation you will be in, let me explain in further detail. In this scenario Imperial ground forces are currently engaged in widescale surface warfare against a conventional foe. The larger enemy fleet arrived peace meal in the system over a period of one hour and is currently reorganizing itself behind the 1st planet of the system. You can expect the larger fleet to approach from behind the first planet." Shara said

She then turned to her right and pressed a button on the holoprojector, shrinking the officers and enhancing a map of the system that showed the estimated positions of both fleets.

"Failure to achieve a victory or stalemate in space will result in the inevitable destruction of all ground forces upon planet 5, in apparent coordination with the enemy fleet an enemy surface counterattack has begun which has forced Imperial forces out of position, leaving them vulnerable to orbital bombardment."

She pulled up another graph which showed the estimated casualty figures of that type of disaster, needless to say the figures kept rolling into the millions.

Shara then looked at the Vice-Admiral and then towards the other members of the staff gathered there, "On the reverse side, the relief force must also achieve victory or be faced with the loss of a vital world and large garrison. Defeat is not an option for either side. The victors shall be awarded an extra amount of leave the next time we are planetside, is this all understood?" Shara asked

[Caltharus]

Vice-Admiral Theodor Melodon
Uninhabited Solar System Designated NONHAB-LEMSUBSEC-22
Lemorra Subsector
06:56

“Understood Admiral” Theo replied saluting. After being dismissed he left to organise his side of the day’s exercise. Having ordered the operator of the holographic projector to invite Rear-Admirals Smith and Aresky to a private channel he headed for his command throne and sat. Immediately a servant rushed to his side awaiting for orders.

“Bring me some more Calaathian tea will you? No need to ration them too much, since next time we’re planetside we’ll have extra time to scour markets for them.”

“How come Vice-Admiral?” The servant asked.

Theo smirked and explained the rewards at stake on the day’s exercise. Then as the servant left once more, he turned towards the holoprojector which now portrayed both Rear-Admirals above it.

“Smith, Aresky” Theo said nodding to both. “We have a quite the task ahead of us. When the enemy offensive comes the greatest risk is that we get bogged down into an attritional slugfest above the fifth world. Then again we can’t leave it undefended either and engage in pure maneuver warfare.” Looking at the two rear-admirals Theo was pleased to see them nod in agreement.

“Instead we’ll split our forces up a little and use the planet to our advantage. In this scenario Smith will be the acting Vice-admiral and take control of the frontal portion of our fleet. Your mission is to hold above the planet and put out one hell of a fire show. I need you to look like you’re the majority of our fleet.”

Smith rose his voice to a question: “What kind of forces will I have, considering I’ll have to hold the most important area, let alone the one the enemy is likely to focus it’s forces on?”

“You will have roughly forty percent of our forces, including all our carriers. Like I said you’re supposed appear like you are most of our forces.”

Smith seemed to bow a little after receiving his orders, though Theo paid little attention to it, instead addressing Rear-Admiral Aresky: “Your mission Aresky, is to lead some twenty-five percent of our forces in a flanking maneuver away from the planet. You may begin this maneuver when the first sightings of enemy within firing range are made. However stay relatively close to the planet, so you can return quickly if needed. Your ‘flank’ is supposed to draw enemy attention away from Smith’s group, rather than to be an effective maneuver in on itself. ”

Rear-Admiral Aresky stroked his greying beard musing on the plan presented to him: “I take it that the remaining force under you will take part in the actual maneuver?”

“Indeed. I along with the remaining force shall wait on the far side of the fifth, hidden from the enemy’s radars. Then when a sufficient portion of the enemy’s vanguard has made contact with Smith and hopefully turned some of their attention to you, I will lead a flank around the planet, hoping to hit some salvos to their rear. Goal is to trap the enemy vanguard between our three forces and annihilate them there in our overlapping fields of fire. With their vanguard at least badly mauled their forces will be disoriented and easier to repel. Then we’ll go from there”

“Sounds good sir, I think we might have a chance” Aresky responded.

[G-Tech Corporation]

As the Forgemaster departed, Prismidia heard a rustling of fabric at her back bespeaking another person approaching, and pivoted neatly on the ball of her foot - clad in whisperthread slippers appropriate to a diplomatic gala - before smiling brightly at the man who had appeared there. He was just rising out of a bow as she processed his words, politician's smile pasted to her face. The accent, hm. Not Core, too direct, no clipping of the words or sonorous syllables. That didn't rule out much though. The hundred thousand dialects of the Imperium could occupy a full lifetime of study, and that lifetime is not one the Senator had allocated just yet.

"The honor is mine, Master...?"

Perhaps a blush would have suffused the cheeks of a younger Senator at the lack of knowledge of the name of the man that addressed her. Prismidia betrayed no such emotional indicators, both through conscious effort of will and lack of biological currents. Her curtesy, a fairly cursory affair, was calibrated exactly as it should be - not deep enough to pay honor to a personage who might not deserve it, but with grace sufficient to avoid offending an unrecognized notable.

Her emerald doublet and leggings whisked slightly as she rose, drawing eyes from around the room to the panoply of interwoven threads the outfit afforded, vermillion green and riotous sea-azure tones twined so that one weave dove under the other, then around, before surfacing in a bloom of exotic jungle hues. It played up the copper tones in her hair, and her deep jade eyes with a flash of crimson in their depths. Just a flash, quickly vanished as she met the gaze of the courtier. The Senator had depths of her own, just like the shigawire strands built into her outfit to stop bullets, blades, and even a fair sized explosion.

[Bolslania]

As the Forgemaster departed, Prismidia heard a rustling of fabric at her back bespeaking another person approaching, and pivoted neatly on the ball of her foot - clad in whisperthread slippers appropriate to a diplomatic gala - before smiling brightly at the man who had appeared there. He was just rising out of a bow as she processed his words, politician's smile pasted to her face. The accent, hm. Not Core, too direct, no clipping of the words or sonorous syllables. That didn't rule out much though. The hundred thousand dialects of the Imperium could occupy a full lifetime of study, and that lifetime is not one the Senator had allocated just yet.

"The honor is mine, Master...?"

Perhaps a blush would have suffused the cheeks of a younger Senator at the lack of knowledge of the name of the man that addressed her. Prismidia betrayed no such emotional indicators, both through conscious effort of will and lack of biological currents. Her curtesy, a fairly cursory affair, was calibrated exactly as it should be - not deep enough to pay honor to a personage who might not deserve it, but with grace sufficient to avoid offending an unrecognized notable.

Her emerald doublet and leggings whisked slightly as she rose, drawing eyes from around the room to the panoply of interwoven threads the outfit afforded, vermillion green and riotous sea-azure tones twined so that one weave dove under the other, then around, before surfacing in a bloom of exotic jungle hues. It played up the copper tones in her hair, and her deep jade eyes with a flash of crimson in their depths. Just a flash, quickly vanished as she met the gaze of the courtier. The Senator had depths of her own, just like the shigawire strands built into her outfit to stop bullets, blades, and even a fair sized explosion.

"Ah, it appears that my reputation for once does not proceed me." General Vandercalt said amusedly, this made it a lot easier to get her support if she wasn't aware of his moniker.

"I am Amban General Jac Vandercalt, of Sao Eviticus, at your service madam" He said, his sharp black uniform with red trim was indicative of a position in the Army, and the gold stars on his epaulets signified his rank as a General. He noted the strong construction of the Senator's dress, which indicated a fair pool of wealth. And those that were wealthy always wanted more wealth.

The Midnight Hegemony held a fair amount of material goods, and those goods needed to be shipped. It happened that Sao Eviticus was home to some of the largest orbital docking stations for Super-freighters. Vandercalt needed allies, and the Midnight Hegemony, which was only a short trip away from him, could be a powerful ally indeed.

He was prepared to offer a docking tax exemption and reserved docking piers for Midnight Hegemony freighters if they were willing to render him military aid if he needed it, his small forces were just enough for security duties, and with the marauders who attacked him and his merchant ships were lurking around, his small force wasn't going to cut it.

[Antimersia]

Serrat Honora
Imperial Senate Floor
19,923 IY/25,709 CE

The bio-luminescence of Serrat's armor looks gaudy even among the eccentric dress of many of the Senators in this sprawling chamber. But Serrat could not care less. For while, as the Executioner of the Krakatoan Domain, he accepts the role as Imperial Senator. He despises the role greatly. Politics is not the way of who follows the Path of the Blade. Especially the nonsense about surrendering his weapons. Only a fool walks into a den of lions like the Senate chamber without a way to defend yourself. But a fool he freely calls himself for even attending these assemblies to begin with. But today he has a specific goal in mind. One that he needed to attend to see through. One that requires the attention of those at the very top of the Imperial power structure. And thus, his eyes never left the Crown Princess for as long as she remained seated. Though his helm makes it impossible to see where his eyes are focused.

The moment the senate adjourned Serrat stood up and made his way up towards Valeria, almost walking through several Senators that had the misfortune of stepping in the way of the six foot seven inch behemoth of a man. He makes sure his path is right in line with Valeria's as he walks towards her. His cape flowing as he walks. His stride powerful and confident, driven by determination and need. Once he gets close to the Crown Princess, he stops in her path a few feet away, to not draw the ire of her Praetorians. Serrat despises the idea of bowing to anyone he thinks he could best in battle. But he is not so stupid as to not realize that, in this moment at least, disrespecting Valeria would start a fight with the entire Empire. Not just one woman. So he bows to her, as courteously as he is able.

"Your Grace. I am Serrat Honora, Executioner of the Krakatoan Domain. I apologize for this disruption. But, I have an urgent matter I want to speak with you about. Would we be able to find somewhere more private to speak?" Serrat asked, forcing himself to speak in the most strictly polite and Imperial terms possible. His voice, powerfully deep and coarse, made more so by his helm. But it still comes out plenty clear for others to hear. "I of course have no issues with your Praetorians accompanying us. I simply want to get away from these politicians. Frankly if I hear one more person speak about taxes, I'll bash my head in." He said mostly in jest.

[Union Princes]

“...being in a position to know and nevertheless shunning knowledge creates direct responsibility for the consequences...” - The Architect. 2nd Millenium

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

When discussing Betreuen, topics usually fall into two categories: the environment or the colony. Being a death world, the planet is the home of a whole sort of unpleasantries that one would wonder why the attempt of colonization was allowed. Practically all environmental fauna and vegetation were hostile to the human colonizers and retaliation by the planet would’ve devoured the colony whole.

It was a miracle that the Betreuen colony lasted as long as it did even after being designated as a penal colony since being exiled to the planet was already accepted as a death sentence. All nature wildlife and plants can easily be classified as predators due to their potent biological offensive and defensive capabilities against non-native lifeforms. If it weren’t for Imperial technology and Irene’s leadership, the people living in Betreuen would fade into a forgotten memory.

This then brings attention to the great metropolis of Betreuen that housed 600 million inhabitants whose creation was designed by the genius Alfred Bohm, the self-proclaimed Vulcan of city-planning. After much bloodshed pushing the frontier as far away from the Volkshalle, it was a decade’s worth of constant construction to bring Imperial civilization onto the planet. It was practically terraforming on a near-state size scale as concrete and steel skyscrapers replace the carnivorous trees, roads replace the infested rivers and houses instead of dense jungles. Industrial zones, commercial districts, military complexes, and neighborhoods all connected to one another through extensive investments in infrastructure. Banners of the Black Sun flew on every streetcorner and high above roofs of government buildings. The city was a source of pride for the Betreuens as its existence was a testament to their resolve and further deified Irene as an infallible governor.

However, none was more prideful and convinced than BB-Oberkommandofuhrer (Senior Command Leader) Lothar Ludger, Irene’s Minister of the Interior and the most fanatical devotee in her cabinet, as he marched down the halls of the Chancellory of the Sun. He may not notice but he was certainly more eager in meeting with the baroness as the staff noticed the extra bounce in his every step. It was almost as if Irene has proposed marriage to him, a forbidden fantasy of many a Blackguard. With teeth of a tiger, a body as thin as a snake, and a nose of a vulture, Ludger was far from fitting the traditional handsome looks of a military commander. Once he arrived at her office, Ludger sharply rapt at the door with his gloved hand and waited for Irene’s voice.

“Enter.” the familiar voice was music to his ears.

Quickly opening the door before closing it, Ludger walked forwards the chair in front of her desk. It seemed he had interrupted a conversation between Irene and Nobuki. While he respected the ravenette, he regretted not taking up the offer of being the baroness’ secretary when he had the chance.

“Please sit.” Irene offered, “Black coffee?”
“Yes, please.” the BB Interior Minister hastily agreed as he took his cup, “Thank you most graciously.”

“Back to the business at hand,” Irene said, oblivious to the twinkling in Ludger’s brown eyes, “Have you brought me news or plans that require my input?”

“Yes, Governor Himmel,” he nodded his head, “Perhaps it is time to reveal your proposal of reform to the Imperial Senate now that they’re in session? The Imperium is dying like old Betreuen, I believe only you can save it!”

[Revlona]

Admiral Shara Lafel
Uninhabited Solar System Designated NONHAB-LEMSUBSEC-22
Lemorra Subsector
11:05

Shara stood once more with her hands clasped behind her back looking at the holo-projector before her, it showed an in detail map of the system they were currently in. Her of fleet of several hundred warships was displayed in neat rows and tactical formation behind the first planet of the system. It had been split into 4 groups to hasten its exit from the planets cover.

"Computer, upon my authority as Commanding Officer of the 24th Imperial fleet, activate training protocol 18-1C, mock battle." Shara said suddenly, as the clock hit 11:08.

"Understood admiral, training protocol 18-1C has been activated fleet wide. Simulated energy and mass driver weapons have been activated for both sides and we currently have had no error feedbacks, activation successful." The computer said, its monotone voice sounding throughout the bridge.

Shara then looked at the gathered officers, the rear admiral assigned to her and the captains of the larger ships, and said, "Commence operations now, upon sighting the enemy your are to disperse shields and fire at will, standard random time between shots." She said, watching the holo-projector as the officers saluted and turned to give their own orders, their voices muted as they weren't speaking to the admiral.

As the fleet left the cover of the planet, 1 section from underneath, one from above, one from the east, and from the west, the computer spoke "Ma'am sensor readings are coming in, enemy fleet confirmed to be in orbit above the fifth planet, however the readings are anomalous."

"Anomalous?" The Admiral asked, her eyes lifting from the holo-projector and towards one of her subordinates so she could receive the details.

"Ma'am the sensor scans have confirmed that only a portion of enemy fleet is in orbit above the planet, they are masking their readouts so we can't confirm the size of the portion from here," A Ensign said from where he had turned to face her from his station.

"Understood, update me when the scans are clearer," She said to the Ensign before turning to one of her subordinate commanders, "Rear Admiral Ferrion, send a small force of your section ahead to give us a clearer read," She said

As she turned away from the Rear Admirals salute the computer spoke again, "Ma'am the fleet has entered optimal distance for long range skirmishing, suggestion is to open fire,"

She nodded once and turned to the Holo-Projector, "All ships open fire, fire at will" She knew that at this distance damage would be minimal as they were still light seconds out and the enemies shields would be up, however there still was the chance of a lucky hit here and there so there would be no harm in the long range skirmishing shots that the computers of both fleets were now simulating.

"Your move Theo, your move," Shara muttered to herself, she was curious what the young Vice-Admiral had up his sleeve. It was bound to be something bold, that was why she was progressing towards the enemy cautiously, allowing the skirmishing to continue.

[Segmentia]

Imperial Center
Nova Terra
Imperial Senate

Lady Victoria Rosewood stretched as she rose from her seat, leaving the Rosewood senate box with the small collection of people who often went with her wherever she went, usually a few of them were armed but as they were in the senate building they had surrendered their weapons to the Imperial Guard troops before entering. Victoria both loved and hated attending the Imperial Senate. Too her politics was a game, one she often adored playing, but it could also be so dreadfully dull at times, and with how ancient and established the Rosewood House was, well, it was very often a game of little consequence. Increased taxes on trade? A non-issue really, though of course she had to take into consideration the desires and needs of their allies as well. She would convene with them during the recess.

Exiting the senate box, Victoria stepped out into the grand hallway, the ebb and flow of other delegates altering to flow around her and her retinue. She was not a member of the Imperial House, nor did she have any Praetorian's around her that would make people steer clear, but she was a Rosewood, and that name carried it's own respect. She already knew where most of the high and mighty would go, though no one single bar could hope to contain the vast amounts of representatives belonging to the senate, there were some that were simply more popular then others, and one in particular that her ancestors had been going to for as long as anyone cared to keep records about their preferred place to drink.

As she turned to head there, Victoria spotted Princess Valeria, the distinctive blue eyes standing out even if her Praetorian's wouldn't have made her obvious. Despite their families ancient feud, Victoria and Valeria had actually formed quite a close friendship since their formal introduction, which wasn't entirely unfounded in the history of the feud either, if historical scholars were to believed. The Rosewoods always maintained that they were the rightful heirs of the Imperial Throne, but they put their duty to the Imperium before anything else, and they were smart enough to realize that they would never have really stood a chance in open rebellion, even with their extensive alliances. At best they would have caused the sundering of the Imperium, and that served no one.

Valeria was busy, but Victoria gave a slightly exaggerated bow, favoring the princess with a friendly smirk before she herself continued onto her journey to the lounge. Being a pure blooded Solarian, Victoria scanned the semi-crowded lounge with her pure golden eyes, picking out minute details that most others would miss. Most of them were boring. A senator with a few wrinkles on their clothes, most likely had slept in their clothes after a night of partying. She didn't need the enhanced eyesight to see the Forgemaster of the Midnight Hegemony, and she picked out various other senators of note, and senators took notice of her. She was a Rosewood after all, and while the lounge wasn't packed, people gave her a little extra room as she walked to the bar. She ordered a drink and simply stood there to enjoy it.