Cracks in the Ivory Tower: the Business of LNH (RR)

[Liberated New Hope]

The following letter was just this morning sent via secure nuspace channel to the Empress Friedilinde of Valinon and Archon-Prince Tiberius Corrin of the Federated Suns.

I regret having to inform you of what will be seen as regrettable news. It is the intent of the Collective Protectorates, after a closed, secret meeting and vote of the Congress, to fully recognize the new Wickian state at the next League conference. Director of State Dr. Haj will make the announcement. I alert you now as I only see it fit to give your governments time to prepare, to offer rebuttles, etc.

That such a matter might injure our great states’ relations greatly troubles me. I would like it to be understood that this action is taken not to offend the sensibilities of the Valinor and Ortagan states, but to uplift the Wickian people in their ongoing era of disaster. As an attempt at consolation, I have as of this morning sent a letter to Emperor Calimar stating the following:

“The Collective Protectorates will, under no circumstances, support Vernii as an aggressor in any war with Vakutu and, under the circumstances of a defensive war, will support no intrusion of Verniian or other forces into any part of the Vakutu Empire proper.”

The above resolution was passed by Congress in the same closed meeting, and additionally signed by both myself and Admiral Murphy.

I await your reply,
Darius

[Valinon]

Alpha Centauri
New Köln’s warming spring air blew through the partially opened windows that lined one wall of the prime minister’s office. The office dominated most of a floor in one of the two ministry buildings connected to the vast dome of the Imperial Congressional Building proper. Across the circular Peerage Pavilion, Archduke Faustus von Metternicht could just see the opposite ministry building that housed his own offices. The building given over to the prime minister stood slightly taller than that of Her Majesty’s Ministry for Foreign Affairs, as it did to all the other ministry buildings. Metternicht inhaled the scent of the Pavilion’s lingering tree blossoms as he contemplated the high seat he had yet to fill.

“This is unacceptable,” Metternicht turned to study Duke Adrian Sterling, Her Imperial Majesty’s Prime Minister, as he contemptuously cast the dossier with the Foreign Ministry’s seal on to his desk. “Is Darius actually fool enough to sign off on singularity weapons as an acceptable means of orchestrating governmental reform or did that moron in Gregor get his Proles to twist his arm?”

Metternicht offered the leader of the Imperial Conservatives a shrug, “He did at least mention his willingness to put stipulations on Gregor’s action.”

“Wonderful, now we simply must question if he will follow through on that or not. The fine tuning of Her Majesty’s special relationship with the Prime Guardian was your project from the beginning, Faustus. Are you going to suggest to me that three years of effort and cooperating with the fairly nauseating liberalism of Morning Star culminate in this?”

“Hardly, Adrian.”

“Praise unto to Almighty God for small favors then. But, before I am educated on your grand designs, riddle me this—was this message sent to the Empress?”

“Adrian, I am appalled at what you suggest! As First Minister for Her Majesty’s Foreign Affairs and Second Minister for Imperial Affairs, I would never disrupt the lines of communication to our sovereign.”

“But…?”

“But the message may be delayed in reaching from the esteemed offices of my couriers to Her Majesty’s. Besides, Adrian, this hardly represents the end of the world. Darius messages specifically outlines this letter precedes his government's formal announcement. I think we can make our case that the use of singularity weapons, which clearly have a single beneficiary in Ticonderoga, necessitate a very delicate and very special course of action.”

“Besides having a super-carrier in the system, you mean.”

“That certainly does not hinder our cause, no? I am prepared to compose a response to the Prime Guardian on behalf of Her Majesty’s Government saying that the Star Empire cannot and will not recognize the self-proclaimed Armitager government until the matter of the singularity weapons is resolved in compliance with standing international law. I will propose an international investigation spearheaded by the Protectorates and ourselves along with a third party.”

“The third party will be?”

“Does it matter? I will stipulate that neither the Verniians nor the Vaku can be the third party, of course. Jukaga’s involvement in this would only…well, I don’t think the term complicate does the situation justice. Having the Verniians involved is like inviting a drunken physician to perform your own castration. In the mean time, we will regretful have to disagree with the Prime Guardian’s assessment and will be transferring our embassy to the Wick to Thetis system. Admiral Brooks is, by all accounts, the only true member of the Concordat government left in the line of succession.”

“Brooks is a diehard whose attitudes place him so deep in our pocket he is as much of a dead end in terms of policy as the Berchester candidacy for the forthcoming Directory election.”

“We only need him for a few months, besides there is a small caveat in my plan. If Morning Star will delay its diplomatic recognition until the outcome of the investigation, we will recognize the primary objective of the investigation to be reconciling the Armitager administration of Ticonderoga with the remaining officials of the Concordat government. So long as Armitager didn’t order the use of singularity weapons of course.”

“Plausible, but will Darius buy it.”

“If not it means there is an impasse over the Wickian government and their seat on the Directory. Morning Star may follow Gregor, but Vakutu will follow us. I will presume the Berchesters will as well. At least the rest of my afternoon will be spent speaking with the other successor states ministers. If we can reach a consensus among them, Darius will be left in the minority opinion of the Oversector. The likelihood of Morning Star remaining with Gregor if the rest of the Inner Marches is lined against them is almost improbable.”

“The use of singularity weapons has Roum, Tyrador, and Kerezin in enough of an uproar as it is. You will have no problems securing their cooperation. In the mean time, Faustus, I will make some assurances toward Darius.”

“Such as?”

“We have a carrier group in Ticonderoga. It is there to preserve order, assist Wickian authorities, and prevent violence. Thetis should be treated no differently. I will contact Gorgas and have Tereshkova sent to Thetis,” Sterling smiled. “We will approach this with a fair hand. Armitager will be unable to launch any military action against Thetis. Brooks will be unable to lead the charge against Ticonderoga. Reynard Adonis’ wholly unfortunate demise continues to leave us with many unanticipated benefits.”

The lack of warmth in those words was enough to give even the Archduke of Pholus pause. Sterling had a deep-seated hatred of the Imperium, an entity he saw as personally demeaning the sacrifices his father made in trying to prevent the military occupation of Gregor under Gustav II. After the self-styled Lion Emperor was removed from power, Sterling continued to believe a newly independent Gregor should have been left as little more than a rump state. He viewed more than half the problems of the last fifty years to be caused by Lord Adonis’ plan to rebuild the Verniian state prior to the withdrawal of the Star Empire from the system.

“Stephan will be more than happy to assist, I am sure. It does seem that Lady Katherine’s return to the day-to-day functions of the First Star Lord will continue to be delayed for at least the rest of the month. But I think we must also demonstrate our commitment to this effort diplomatically. Ambassador Griswold’s consul is serving well as acting ambassador in Ticondero—“

“What was the man’s name again?”

“Corcoran. Fillin Corcoran,” Metternicht felt a little bile. Corcoran was one of the people Sterling had thrust upon him under the governing coalition—one of Sterling’s distant relative and a former member of the prime minister’s staff, if Metternicht recalled correctly.

“Ah, yes. Well, Griswold was a leftover from the Rolt Government. He needed looking after. But, as I think you were suggesting, below the rank this situation requires.”

Metternicht nods, “I wanted to send von Gentz.”

Sterling paused for a moment, “That would be a considerable statement. Would it not be better to send him to Morning Star, reel Darius back into the fold?”

Metternicht smiled, “I think Her Majesty will take care of that for us, in all honesty. She has been less than pleased with the lack of reaction to the use of singularity weapons.”

Sterling smirks, “Despite her political tendencies, Her Majesty is still perhaps one of our most valuable allies. Let us get to work, Faustus, let us get to work.”

**********

Message To: His Most Honorable Highness Darius of the Morning Star, Prime Guardian of the Collective Protectorates of Liberated New Hope
Message From: His Grace Sir Faustus Metternicht, First Minister for Her Imperial Majesty’s Foreign Affairs, Second Minister for Her Majesty’s Imperial Affairs, Archduke of Pholus
Message FW: His Royal Majesty Tiberius Corrin I, Archon-Prince of the Federated Suns of New Ortaga
Message Re: Coordination and Cooperation Regarding the Emerging Crisis in the Wickian Concordat
Message Encrypt: HIMFS LEVEL: Scarlet, NCRYLVL: ALPHA-SPECPRO-1; PRIORITY: FLASH, RELA: Yalta, RELA: Morning Star, RELA: Baroness Anita Hollar, AMBASSADOR, MORNING STAR; PRIORITY 2: FLAHS, RELA: Yalta, RELA: Axis, RELA: Roum, RELA: Count Gerardes Broeffel, AMBASSADOR, ROUM

Your Highness,

Her Imperial Majesty and Her Imperial Majesty’s Government view the current crisis in the Ticonderoga system and across Concordat space as the utmost challenge to the continued peace, prosperity, and security of the Raumreich Oversector. However, we cannot in good conscious support the policies of the Collective Protectorates as outlined in your letter.

The United Star Empire continues to believe and support the sovereignty and self-determination of all states within the Oversector, but the crisis in Ticonderoga includes a specific incident we cannot overlook. The use of weaponry specifically prohibited by the Second Proxima Centauri Accords renders this crisis an international incident. The attack on Side Six resulted in not only the death Her Majesty’s Ambassador to the Concordat and the death of her citizens, it killed thousands of innocent Wickians. Her Imperial Majesty harbors deep feelings for the citizens of Concordat as a people who long labored without support against the Hegemonic menace—a crime that the Star Empire is as culpable in as the governments of the Imperium and the Greater Empire.

At this moment—and much to our considerable concern—the Armitager administration in Ticonderoga appears to be the singular beneficiary of the attack on Side Six. Neither Her Majesty nor Her Government believes this automatically implies Mr. Armitager is responsible for the attack or renders his proposed government suspect. But it does raise certain suspicions that are perhaps best allayed before diplomatic recognition of any sort is granted. Until the cloud of suspicion has been demonstrated false, Her Imperial Majesty and Her Majesty’s Government are transferring our recognition to Admiral Brooks in Thetis as the last member of the Concordat’s line of succession.

Bearing this in mind, we do wish to make a counterproposal to your own and keep our discussions hear in the utmost confidentiality we have come to enjoy and respect from the government of the Collective Protectorates. The United Star Empire wishes an independent tribunal to be organized under League auspices that would inspect the singularity attack on Side Six. Ideally, Her Imperial Majesty and Her Majesty’s Government believe the Star Empire and the Collective Protectorates should spearhead this tribunal as is due their position as neutrals and permanent members of the Directory for Security and Stability. On the question of the tribunal’s third member, the Star Empire is ambivalent so long as neither the Imperium nor the Greater Empire is invited to serve in this role. Their historic animosities and less than benign interest in Ticonderoga would irreparably damage the credibility of the tribunal and any of its potential findings.

But the United Star Empire is not opposed to the spirit of the policy you outlined. We fully believe the primary mission of this tribunal and its investigation should be to support the reconciliation and reintegration of all Wickian factions within a unified state. Unifying all the disparate viewpoints of the Wickians may seem challenging, but it is the only way to secure the stability of the Thetis Sector of the Great March and the Cronus Sector of the Inner March for the future. It is also the only way to entrust the Wickian state continues to stand of its own accord, rather than being at the mercy of its more powerful and more numerous neighbors.

In this effort, the United Star Empire can think of no greater allies than the Collective Protectorates and the Federated Suns. We will continue to cooperate with both your government and the government of the Archon-Prince. However, we feel we must begin to demonstrate movement on our part to resolve this crisis. To this effect, I have given instructions to Baron Karl von Hardenberg, Her Imperial Majesty’s representative to the League of the Raumreich, to prepare an emergency session of the Directory for Security and Stability in forty-eight hours, Standard Reckoning. I am also dispatching The Honorable Herr Friedrich von Gentz, Her Majesty’s Minister for Foreign Affairs without Portfolio, to supervise the Star Empire’s diplomatic efforts in Thetis, Ticonderoga, and Concordat space.

Her Imperial Majesty and Her Majesty’s Government will await your response in earnest.

Deepest respects and sincerest regards,
Faustus von Metternicht,on behalf of Her Imperial Majesty’s Friedelinde Alderman I and Her Imperial Majesty’s Prime Minister, Duke Adrian Sterling

Imperial Congressional Building

[Liberated New Hope]

Message To: His Grace Sir Faustus Metternicht, First Minister for Her Imperial Majesty’s Foreign Affairs, Second Minister for Her Majesty’s Imperial Affairs, Archduke of Pholus
Message From: Dr. Juilius Haj, Director of State for the Prime Guardian, Collective Protectorates of Liberated New Hope
Message Re: Coordination and Cooperation Regarding the Emerging Crisis in the Wickian Concordat
Message Encrypt: HIGH PRIORITY

First Minister Metternicht,

This is acceptable. The official proposal for the investigation must be sent to the Office of the Director of State immediately upon completion. Keep in mind, whether or not the new Wickian government is recognized, it controls the navy and the greater portion of the population. Any investigation will have to taken the new government's consent into account. One would be a fool to ignore the man with the gun.

Best Regards,
Dr. Julius Haj
Director of State
Collective Protectorates of Liberated New Hope

Gryps, Wickian Protectorate

A small portion of the Milligan Auxillary Fleet disappeared into the black a few weeks ago, and only now is its new location revealed--Gryps. The expedition--a half-squad of dreadnoughts accompanied by two squads of battle cruisers and an additional squad of strike cruisers. Their objective: secure the system on behalf of the new Wickian government.

The strike cruisers, however, do not bear the markings of the Silver Fleet--the insignia, names, and numerals hastily scraped off of the hulls. Onboard, Wickian sailors train to operate the newly built craft.

[New Ortaga]

Skye Complex, Isle of Clouds, Proxima I, Alpha Centauri system, United Star Empire of Valinon
06.12.1304 AF
0756 Valinor Local Standard

Gunfire and screams filled the streets of Silesia, even this close to the Foreign Quarter housing the embassies of the other powers of the Raumreich Oversector. A broken vid-feed monitor showed a soundless image of Channing Ansel addressing the remnants of Archduchy’s government.

Julien Fremont clung to his father’s shoulder, being carried as the family ran to the Valinor embassy. Jorge Fremont’s youngest son was still trying to come to terms with what he heard on the news. Uncle Raphael couldn’t be dead.

But Archduke Raphael Corrin III was dead. He was assassinated by his own nephew, Poul Corrin, and Earl Gihren Zabi, leader of the House of Lords. The ascent of New Ortaga’s new ‘royalist’ government was short-lived. The long tragedy of Raphael’s life ended at Poul’s and Gihren’s hands, but they had failed to eliminate the recently elected prime minister. The bumbling would-be autocrats had made the further misfortune of leaving Channing Ansel alive after murdering his wife and all but one of his children.

The fallout was immediate and deadly. Loyalist forces were fighting a losing battle. Poul Corrin and the Ducal Guard had been overcome on the very steps of the Great Hall. He and the other nobles captured by the rebelling Solar Army and Marines were immediately crucified before the center of the Archduchy’s legislature. Gihren Zabi was besieged in the Whisper Palace.

In the recently conquered High Dominion of Falasmayon, Admiral Aiguille Delaz was destroyed along with his flagship by admirals Garahou and Hellings. They had withdrawn from the system and were running rampant in Axis. News reports spoke of the confusion in the fortress system of the Solar Forces. Admiral Dozle was defeated and rumored dead . The scant fleet left behind in Axis was no match for the combined Garahou and Hellings’ fleet and the army led by the Hero of Gadsen, General Yuri Kellarny.

In the Great Hall, the House of Commons had met to decree an emergency recess. All governing power was given to an interim governing council led by Channing Ansel along with his surviving cabinet ministers. The decree also ordered the immediate execution of any and all members of the traitorous House of Lords and the murderous snakes surviving in the House of Corrin.

For some reason, Julien knew this meant his family was on the run. Jorge Fremont, former prime minister of the Reformed Democrats-Green Progressive coalition government, was an enemy of his state for the simple reason he had not protested the accession of Poul Corrin to the throne. Before Ansel’s revolution was three hours old, Julien’s father was told the news by Michel Fremont, his eldest son and a Solar Army captain.

The Fremonts had run to the one place Julien’s father thought was safe. The Solar Peers—led by Zabi—had pleaded with the recently crowned Emperor Gustav II of Valinon to intervene, but the armies and fleets of Valinon remained in the Gregor Sector while New Ortaga tore itself apart.

But Julien’s father knew the Valinor ambassador. He promised the Fremonts protection. So the Fremonts ran.

“We’re almost there!” Julien looked at his father’s forced smile and the tears his mother was barely holding back as she led their sisters. Julien turned to look at his older brother. He was carrying his side arm, his army issued great coat open to show his uniform. There were screams ahead and Julien turned back around.

The gated compound of the Valinor embassy was surrounded by desperate refugees. Valinor troops barked orders and fired a few shots into the air. Julien felt his father wince. Then there were shouts in German.

“Viktor, thank God—“ Julien looked at his father. He was staring at a rotund man dressed in a gold trimmed three-piece suit running as fast as his portly form would allow. The imperial ambassador scattered the soldiers before him.

“Lassen Sie sich ein! Lassen Sie sich ein!”

“Run! Damn it run!” Julien almost felt from his father’s arms. He turned with his father to look to Michel. Two squads of men dressed in black armor and mirrored visors were running around the burning hulks of cars. The men wore white armbands marked with a red cross. Michel lowered his pistol and a new roar filled the air.

Julien shut his eyes.

“Michel!”

“Run, Anita! Run!” Julien felt his father start to run. He heard his mother scream and started to open his eyes.

Julien Fremont—the Suns’ ambassador and permanent minister to the League of the Raumreich—woke in a cold sweat in his office. His head hurt from being slumped on the desk. Bleary eyes swept his office, and he shook his head.

It had been a long night. The meetings with the ambassadors from the other members of the Commonwealth of Great March States—Berchest, Kerezin, and Tyrador—blurred together. Julien rubbed his temples and stood. A quick glance at the clock confirmed his fears. In a few hours he must address the press agents attached to the League with the other successor state ambassadors.

He staggered toward the door and caught a glance of himself in a mirror. The picture was not pretty, but then the consensus Julien barely managed to scrape together wasn’t either.

Berchest and Tyrador concurred that an investigation into the use of singularity weapons in Ticonderoga must take place. But both refused to support the Suns’ policy of not recognizing any Wickian government until an investigation was called for and completed. Both were recognizing the government leadership of Admiral Brooks that would be recognized by the Valinor later today—Berchest to placate its Valinor allies, Tyrador to advance its dreams of a Vaku alliance and to frustrate any Verniian designs on making the Armitager Government its puppet.

Only Cynthia Gibbons, Rackham’s recently arrived ambassador for Kerezin, had agreed with what was being called the Fremont Proposal. Julien still didn’t understand the Freehold’s motivations, but Midas Rackham was perhaps one of the most inscrutable leaders in the Raumreich. And the Old Earth adage of not looking a gift horse in the mouth still rung true in Julien’s mind.

Julien staggered to his office’s door and opened it. He almost knocked the cup of coffee his secretary was carrying out of her hands.

“I was just going to ask for that, Gerry.”

“You usually do. I let you sleep when I looked in earlier, but there is a car standing by to take you Assembly Chambers. And, I made sure there is a new suit in your suite.”

“What would I d-“

“It’s too early for clichés, Ambassador. Down the caffeine and get out there. I would say you can sleep afterwards, but I don’t think there will be sleep for any of us today. I will look over the statement Kumiko sent up.”

Julien watched as Gerry Hogan ran for her desk with a data pad in hand. He had no idea where the Service’s personnel division dug her up when they packed him off to Alpha Centauri, but he was grateful. The smell rising from the plain white cup stirred him into action. He turned back to his office to collect his lectern and blazer.

On either side of the mirror next to the door hung a picture, to the right was a much old Jorge Fremont, taken a few months before Roum fell to the Grand Coalition. By the time the Hegemony fell, Julien’s father had been a broken man. Julien’s mother committed suicide a few months after the family’s petition for asylum was granted by the Valinor government. Jorge Fremont never recovered. He refused the reinforcing gene-bath treatments the Valinor offered and withdrew from public life. Only Tiberius Corrin’s personal request had made the elder Fremont return to his home world. He died shortly after the convention that would draft the Articles of the Suns held its first session. Julien heard the Senate had ordered a statue be erected in the park being constructed around the reclaimed Whisper Palace to commemorate the man many still called the Archduchy’s last prime minister.

To the left was a portrait Julien found when he arrived at the Skye Complex to open the Suns’ mission to the League. It apparently escaped the normally thorough staff. Channing Ansel’s face could pass for the one Julien remembered from that night. He wore the red and gold uniform he frequently wore after accepting the title of Hegemon and First Citizen of the Revolution and Its State. Julien studied the only other man he thought may have been as unhappy and broken as his father.

Our people have always had a problem with any god or gods, Julien. I’m not sure I believe either, but part of me wants to. We’ve spent the better part of a thousand years in denial and have made a mess of things. We created a system that makes us destroy our successes and drives our finest minds to madness. If this…if what is being done in Roum doesn’t work, then I hope there is at least one god. It will take the divine to save the Suns.

Julien had wanted to go back home with his father. The nation he heard so much about had taken too much from the Fremonts in his opinion. Before leaving for college in Yalta, Julien already thought that people like Yuri Kellarny and Tiberius Corrin should be the ones to labor and suffer. They should pay some penitence for the crimes their generation visited upon the rest of Ortaga. But his father’s dedication to the struggling post-war Ortagan state drew the younger Fremont back in—but not enough to run for a Senate seat when the Province of New Ortaga asked him to consider that ‘honor.’

There was merit in Jorge Fremont’s last words before leaving for the Valinor warship that took him back to Roum. Ortaga did need a higher authority to keep the mistakes of the Revolution from ever being repeated. The whole Raumreich needed that. Following that idea through was something Julien felt he could do. He looked at Ansel’s portrait and then at his father’s. Part of keeping that particular faith involved keeping the emperors of Vakutu and Vernii from having anything to squabble over.

Julien drained his cup, tossed it up in the air, and caught it before turning around and leaving the office.

Old Federation Assembly Hall, Braavos, New Ortaga, Roum system, Federated Suns of New Ortaga
06.12.1304 AF
1702 Roum Local Standard

The heads of the Ministries of the Suns slowly left the committee room that had served as the forum for the Federation Select Committee on Defense, Security, and State Emergencies before any Ortagans had sent even a subluminal probe out from Roum. Yuri Kellarny and Ibram Thrace, Praetor of the Suns Foreign Ministry, were soon left alone with the Suns’ Archon-Prince, Tiberius Corrin.

Kellarny set in silence, his hands held together in front of his face. Behind him the images of the correspondence Tiberius received from the Prime Guardian and Archduke Metternicht gave off a quiet, white light.

The door to the committee room was drawn shut by one of Tiberius’ Guardians. The Archon-Prince studied the Consul of the Suns. His look of concern was shared by Ibram, perhaps the last serving member of the government who knew Kellarny the best.

“An aureus for your thoughts, Yuri?” Tiberius finally said quietly.

“My thoughts aren’t politically correct enough at the moment, sir. If I express them now, Ibram might have to explain away an international incident.”

Tiberius put his hands on the table and kept looking at Yuri, who finally sat back and entered a key command in the recessed panel at his chair that killed the holograms.

“At this point, I’m willing to assert the region as a whole would be a better place if the Observers had managed to polish the Wickians off,” Kellarny closed his eyes. Ibram managed a weak smile. “I’m sure this moment will pass, but I have no doubt some part of my brain will revisit it in the darkest hours of the night—when even the Hegemony can start to make sense.”

“It is not a very politically correct statement,” Ibram said quietly.

Kellarny leaned forward again, pulling the hard copies of the Liberation and Valinor messages forward, “The Wickian issue is always awkward for us. The Concordat’s varying governments—and I use that term loosely—have made it no easier for us, sir. But these correspondences are ultimately addressed to you in your position as the sovereign. I can see your desire to have the Ministries advise you on this sensitive issue…but Ibram stated correctly your reply would not necessarily contradict the policy the Senate already instructed me to have Ambassador Fremont pursue.”

Tiberius closed his eyes and sighed, “Our senators are for the most part a very wise and astute group, but they can be very dense. Darius and Director Haj are correct in their assumption that Armitager’s emergence as the head of a new Wickian government is almost undeniable—“

“With all due respect, sir, that doesn’t make it right. Ansel emerged as the only logical choice for head of our own state. I don’t think anyone in a 2500 light year radius would pass that off as a sound decision. At one point, I’m sure Admiral Setties looked like a good choice for Darius’ countrymen. Gustav II made sense to at least some of the Valinor before he got too crazy and they orchestrated his exceedingly polite execution over Mars. For all we know Armitager may have bought those singularity missiles from Saharin and then put in the targeting data himself. Does that mean Darius would sign off on it? I sincerely doubt it. Policies like that would give even the rightwing nuts in Alpha Centauri, Gregor, and Vakutu pause.”

Kellarny stopped for a moment, picking up both hard copies, “We need an investigation, sir. Once we get outside that, I will freely admit I don’t really give a damn about Ticonderoga or Thetis. The Concordat hit us over the heads with their rhetoric since the end of the war. Our proposal of an apology for the crimes committed by the Hegemony—in front of the entire League Assembly—was spit on. Our attempts at establishing normal diplomatic relations are rejected. The Wickians’ admirals wanted to blast the whole of New Ortaga into radioactive dust. Now we are expected to grant their latest tyrant our diplomatic seal of approval? For all we know, Armitager could have two or three more warheads he would just love to set off in Roum, Gadsen, and St. Ives.”

Kellarny looked at Thrace and then to Tiberius, “Publically, sir, I will support you in the continuing efforts to create dialogue with Darius and his government. Privately, I will agree that his government is perhaps the sanest out there besides ours. But I cannot support Darius policy in this letter, and I’m glad the Senate did not. I’m even glad Metternicht and Sterling called the Guardian out on it—though I’m sure the two of them have their own motivations for doing so.”

“And so what course would you advise me to take, Yuri?” Tiberius looked on with what may be the closest thing to anger Yuri thought he had ever seen the older man show.

“I think Darius should be informed of our policy, and the statement Ambassador Fremont is making to the League. I would welcome any dialogue you have with him and will personally carry it to the Senate where I will defend its merit no matter what. But, privately again, sir, I wouldn’t care if you told Darius I think the Wickians are getting all they deserve and more.”

The room was silent for several minutes. Finally, Tiberius drummed his fingers on the table. He managed a smile.

“Frankness is one of your best qualities, Yuri, and another is knowing when to keep that frankness muted. I’m afraid you are right that you and I must disagree on this issue—much as we are agreeing on the rearmament bill. I will continue to hold in my belief that Darius’ idealism is not wholly undeserving in the Raumreich.”

Kellarny nodded, “I will leave this issue in yours and Ibram’s hands then, sir. But you will need to work fast. How many hours before Fremont gives his statement with the other ambassadors?

Ibram looked at his watch, “Four by our standard.”

Tiberius nodded, “It’s not much, but it will do. I will take care of the message to Darius first. Would it be possible for you to start one to the Valinor, Ibram?”

Thrace nodded, “I’ll start at once.”

The three men stood. Kellarny looked at Tiberius and Ibram, “Good luck. We will all need it.”

Morning Star, Collective Protectorates of Liberated New Hope

Sent under the highest priority the Federated government can muster, Tiberius message arrives at the Suns’ embassy barely two hours before Fremont’s announcement. Alois Marian Radomil's, ambassador to the Liberation, mission is sent scrambling. Three separate couriers are sent out in hopes of expediting the messages arrival

To: The Right Honorable Darius, Guardian of the Protectorates of True Hope, Director of the Collective, Representative of the People of True Hope, Trustee of Hamunaptra, Leader of the Free Worlds
From: Tiberius Corrin, Archon-Prince of the Federated Suns of New Ortaga
Re: Wickian Crisis
Encrypt: Cor-Cor-ForPri-1Send It! Send It! Send It!

Esteemed Guardian and Honored Friend,

In principle and spirit, I concur with your assessments on the issue of the current crisis in the Concordat. However, I am afraid the Senate of the Suns has responded along lines similar to the Protectorates’ Congress. In a special closed session, the Senate instructed Consul Kellarny to pursue a joint policy declaration with the other members of the Commonwealth of the Great March States.

Ambassador Fremont has been in consultation with the ambassadors of Berchest, Kerezin, and Tyrador since yesterday. His negotiations have reached a rough consensus that bears strong resemblance to the proposal outlined by Archduke von Metternicht. All states within the Ortagan community believe an investigation must examine the use of singularity weapons in Ticonderoga before the government emerging under Mr. Armitager’s leadership is formally recognized.

I will be composing another letter to Empress Friedelinde and her ministers soon, but to you I must express my deep personal concern over this issue. I fear this crisis in Ticonderoga may tear the fabric of the post-war alliances apart. I fear for the stability and peace of our region if the Valinor cannot be brought into our fold and bring their own allies with them. The actions of the Concordat government have also left them with few friends among the members of the Federated Suns government. I will be personally campaigning for an aid mission of food and medical supplies, as well as emergency personnel, from the Suns’ government and from private groups—of which I will personally spearhead the initial drive. I will extend my efforts to the other heads of states within the Ortagan community, but I fear there will be even fewer sympathetic ears beyond the Suns’ borders.

Despite my fears, I hope you will accept my personal assurances that I will do within my power to assist you in your efforts to maintain the fragile stability of our empire. As you try to restrain the impulsive nature of your friends in Gregor, so I will endeavor to use what influence I have to restrain the distrust and paranoia that plagues Alpha Centauri. If the Lion of Alpha Centauri can be entreated, perhaps it will cage the lesser lion in Vakutu.

In friendship,
Tiberius Corrin

Skye Complex, Isle of Clouds, Proxima I, Alpha Centauri system, United Star Empire of Valinon
06.12.1304 AF
0914 Valinor Local Standard

“…The members of the Commonwealth of Great March States cannot overlook the use of singularity weapons that caused the death of numerous government officials, military personnel, foreign nationals, and innocent civilians who lived and worked on Side Six. Too many times did the citizens of the Ortagan community ignore the plight of the Wickians, and too many times did we stand aside and through our inaction allow the innocent Wickian people to come to harm.”

Julien looks into the cameras and relays of the major Raumreich news services. He stands at podium on the steps leading up to the Assembly Chambers. Behind him stand Cynthia Gibbons, representing Kerezin; Eoin Winters, representing Tyrador; and Nicholas Stanley Utterick, representing Berchest.

“Ignoring the use of singularity weapons also undermines the peace many died for in the Great March War and thousands have worked for in the past three years. We cannot allow these efforts and sacrifices to come to nothing. We will petition the Assembly and the Directory for Security and Stability with one voice made of many to investigate the singularity attack in Ticonderoga and bring those responsible to justice.”

The SunsNet coverage is being beamed across the Federated Suns and across the Raumreich. Fremont’s speech spirals away, replaced by a single anchorwoman.

“The impressive events from the League headquarters in Alpha Centauri represent the first time since the end of the Great March War the members of the Commonwealth of Great March States have issued a joint declaration. However, there is some speculation as to how united this front is. Roum and Kerezin have refused to recognize any of the emerging governments claiming to be the successor to the Concordat. Tyrador and Berchest have already announced their intention to represent Admiral Brooks, the Concordat Navy officer formerly commanding Thetis, as the legal head of the Concordat government until a League investigation is concluded. Their move is expected to be supported by the Valinor government in a press conference taking place in a few hours. Our panel of experts is also predicting a similar declaration by the Vaku. Let’s take a moment to survey their opinions…”

[Liberated New Hope]

Darius sits the East Office overlooking the Canal, delightedly scrolling down his handheld Comm. As he reads Corrin's recent reply to his correspondence he excitedly exhorts "Haj, did you get it?!" Haj's face sits on the other side of the wall-mounted Comm, his eyes focused slightly off to the side as the message is likely in separate a window on the screen of his own personal communication gadget. "We have a friend!"

"That's very nice..." Haj's eyes scan down the screen before he points out a finger and highlights a passage for Darius to read:

Ambassador Fremont has been in consultation with the ambassadors of Berchest, Kerezin, and Tyrador since yesterday. His negotiations have reached a rough consensus that bears strong resemblance to the proposal outlined by Archduke von Metternicht. All states within the Ortagan community believe an investigation must examine the use of singularity weapons in Ticonderoga before the government emerging under Mr. Armitager’s leadership is formally recognized.

"The successor states are a problem. They want Armitager to have set off that bomb."

"I keep you around because of your pessimism, but I won't have it at the moment." Darius scrolls back and forth, trying to further decipher the subtlety of Corrin's message. "This man has our back. And though he might not be as powerful as many heads of state, that counts for something. With Kellarny in our boat--and I have no reason to believe he isn't or can't be won over, this thing is more than winnable."

Haj takes on a frustrated smile, "... have you considered the possibility that Armitager actually did detonate the bomb?"

"He assured me over the Comm that he did not. And besides, we're on the committee. A ruling that he had nothing to do with it is as good as it having never happened. He'll never repeat that trick again."

"You're a goddamn villain, Darius."

"I do not keep you around for insults against my character." He puts down the Comm and stares directly at Haj. "Awkward" is a poor word to describe the silence.

Haj takes in a deep breath before letting out an overly visible sigh. "I apologize."

"Good! Contact me the moment the Investigation proposal arrives. That is all." Darius clicks off the wall comm before sitting down to compose a new letter.

To: Tiberius Corrin, Archon-Prince of the Federated Suns of New Ortaga
From: Darius, Guardian of the Protectorates of True Hope
Re: Wickian Crisis
Encrypt: IMPROBABLY HIGH

I appreciate and reflect your deep concern over the issue. I am comforted, myself by the compromise and promise of resolution in the coming investigation. After the facts are examined a judgement is rendered, it will be clear to all states of the Raumreich the proper course of action--whether it be recognition of the Armitager government or another alternative altogether.

Until the investigation begins, I would like to take this chance to propose a united humanitarian effort from all the major states of the Reich, completely independent from recognition issues, dedicated to the stability and wellbeing of the Wickian people. I should think the Valinor, Verniians, and even the Vaku would have somewhat of a hard time justifying their own seclusion from such an effort.

Much thanks,
Darius

The office of Elias Al-Maruqi in the west wing of the Guardian's Palace

Mostafa Rizq, soul congressional Representative of the Miligonian Compact, and power player of the Market Conservative Party (MCP) strolls into the office in his tailored black suit accented with casually unbuttoned platinum shirt. His hair is beyond greased. "Hello, Mr. Deputy Guardian."

"Yes, hello Mr. Rizq." Elias Al-Maruqi sits back down at his desk, inviting Rizq to join him. "I was wondering about the reason for your visit. The agreed districts in New Hope will be allowed to vote in the next election."

"Something for which I'm very grateful, a fair deal considering." Rizq refers to the MCP's agreement to sign off on the recent Wick and Verniian-related resolutions. "I'm here about these additional special preferences being granted to the Wickians."

"Yes?"

"... They weren't part of the deal. Do you really intend to cripple the Liberation's textile and farming industries just to--"

Elias interjects. "I'm gonna stop you right there." He leans back in his chair, drumming two fingers on the edge of the desk as he goes. "I am not crippling anything. We are allowing the import of Wickian food and cloth products free of tariff to jumpstart their broken economy. The plan is temporary and the Wick don't even approach the production capacity to seriously endanger domestic producers. What I'm getting at here, Mostafa, is that you do not walk into the office of the second most powerful man in the Collective and give him the same bullshit political schpeel you're giving FOX News later tonight."

Rizq does not appreciate being scolded, but bites his tongue.

"Now, I needed you for the Vernii resolution. And I thought I'd keep the good feelings rolling with the Wickian deal. But I don't need you for this vote. Market isn't united enough to waste political capital on defending pissant industries we're already getting on the cheap from the Cluster. This is my fault, though. I shouldn't have let the Conservatives think they had this much of a hand in things."

Enraged, Rizq stands from his chair, fists clenched. "Who the <i>hell</i> do you think you're talking to?!"

Elias is less than impressed. "Here's a deal I don't think we're clear on, Rizq. Every time I have to have an uncomfortable conversation with you, I'm going to tell the Collective offices in Milligan to look a little deeper into workers rights violations."

As Rizq storms out, Al-Maruqi messages Darius. "Need to meet soon. MCP will be mounting rebuttle to additional Wickian plans SOON."

*Talia is not a jealous wife. Simply cautious.

[The WIck]

CSN-Formidable
Liberty-Class Dreadnought
12 Days after the Change
High Orbit Slotter Key, Gryps System

Clang clang clang. The loud harsh tones of the intercom was designed purposefully to be one of the harshest and annoying sounds able to be produced. After all it needed to wake up sleeping officer’s as efficiently as possible. The hand rising out from the bed grabbed the handle of the head piece in its first attempt the officer hand memorized the location relying on muscle memory built up after years of practice.

“Terriel, go.”

“Admiral, officer of the day,” The voice said identifying herself to the COIC of the Lexington Taskforce, “Sensors have detected a hyper footprint.”

That could mean many things but his mind could only come up with negatives.

“Location and disposition?” He asked.

“Hyper Footprint, 2.2 AU bearing minus six-zero point two-six degrees.”

The navy plotted entries into systems in relation to the system primary, it used polar coordinates to determine the location of the new arrivals. The Admiral’s mind worked for a moment, the force was little more then 2.5 AU’s to the south of Slotter Key as it laid in its current orbit.

“We have positive returns on the contacts five dreadnoughts, twenty battle cruisers and possible dreadnoughts.”

That was heavy tonnage, there were not many fleets from which dreadnoughts could be detached from. It would represent to greater part of forces that belong to Kerezin or Tyrador’s respective navies. Or any number of the Inner March Fleets. He also wished he knew more about the questionable contacts. In any case it was to large of a force for his own units to defend against. They could hurt it, maybe if don’t right cripple the unknown task force but he didn’t have the assets to stop it if they intended to poise a threat.

“Get on the Ansible and contact Admiral Brooks and Gordon apprise them of the situation.” The two officers were in command of the largest fleets maintained by the Wickians. “ Ensure that the carriers remain under silent running and launch our parasites carefully do not reveal anything to those forces. The picket squadrons have permission to intercept the unknown task force and to determine their intentions. I will be up in five.”

In orbit of Slotter Key itself two dreadnoughts and four battleships and battle cruisers came online as their active sensors, armaments, and shields came online. They assembled into a small crescent and began to accelerate for an intercept with the unknown force, as they made their way to the edge of the FTL/I exclusion zone. Outside the exclusion zone the other vessels of the screening flotilla jumped into a position to rendezvous with the main body of the taskforce, once it made its way out of the exclusion zone. All of this took some time as the vessels had to be brought to general quarters and prepare for contact. As the forces of the taskforce mobilized the ready alert squadrons assigned patrol duties were much quicker on the uptake.

Twelve Wolf Class Monitors and twenty four Adder strike fighters jumped rapidly around the unknown formation never remaining in real space for more then half a minute and jump to spots around the formation as close as a million kilometers and as far away as five. The squadron commander of the monitors sent a message to the newly arrived task force.

Unknown task force you are violating the sovereignty of the Gryps Free System. You will remain stationary and you will identify yourselves. You will not arm any weapon systems or defenses until positive identity is confirmed. Any violation of these regulations will result in your vessels being declared hostile and you will be engaged with lethal force. I say again…

The voice repeated the message to make sure that there would be no misunderstandings.

CSN Warden
Strength Class Battleship
3rd Defense Fleet, Concordat Space Navy
Thetis, Junction System, Former Wickian Concordat
Change+12, 0443 Hrs

His eyes opened quickly without any sluggish drowsiness, his body had become accustomed to waking itself at this time every day. His right hand came up and rubbed his face a moment before it moved to the alarm beside him, he flicked the switch that deactivated the alarm, it was still two minutes before its set time. With a grunt the Wickian rolled himself out of his rack and face down in front of it. He wore only his service under trunks his tall Wickian frame showed thick with corded muscle, he moved his hands up to his shoulders and balled them into fist. Half of his right hand the pinky and index finger were missing, a wound sustained in the battle of Gregor, it was easy to push up with his fists. The Wickian began to do so until he had done fifty repetitions, then he rolled onto his back and held his legs bent at the knees above him, he sat up bringing his right elbow to his left knee and then back down to rise again bringing his left elbow to his right knee, until he had down so fifty times again. Then it was back to the front leaning rest and another fifty pushups. He continued until he had down six sets of each exercise before he stood finally and moved to the head, where he relieved himself. He grabbed an old green plastic canteen laying next to the sink and drank what remained of its contents the warm water getting rid of his morning cottonmouth. The Wickian then dressed in his PT gear, grey sweatpants, and an old green hooded sweat shirt, the neck had been cut to widen the hole for his head to fit, and the sleeves were cut off at the elbows. He then moved to the hatch and opened it before he jogged out into corridor to begin his morning run.

“Good morning Sergeant Major.” He said as he heard the falling booted footsteps of the Warden’s ranking marine fall in beside him.

“It is Admiral, did you sleep well?”

The shorter Wickian marine wore black skin-suit of the marines, his foot falls considerably louder then the admiral’s since he wore the heavy gravity boots of a marine trooper as well as the forty kilo un-powered body armor marines wore into combat in lieu of powered armor. But for all his burden the CSM easily kept pace with the Admiral who wore sweats and sneakers for PT.

Admiral Brooks turned his head slightly to regard the Marine non-com, and grunted as he thought of the extra weight. Marines were a different breed, there was something not right in their heads. But he was damned glad the man was his marine, even if his idea of training was a bit sadistic.

“For three hours.” Brooks said skirting questions as he usually did. He left whoever heard him decided positives and negative connotations from his cryptic words.

They ran for some more through the corridors up flights of stairs and down. They paused only at several overhangs to do sets of pull ups before moving on. As they jogged they moved past some other members of the crew doing the same, far more marines then sailors, but PT wasn’t organized it was up to the service members themselves to stay fit, needless to say if a PT test was failed remedial training would be required, and no one wanted to a participate in the regiment the CSM would prescribe to correct that deficiency.

With out any warning the Admiral increased his pace, usually due to the constrained passageways they had set a leisurely 7 minute mile pace, Brooks just took two and a half minutes off of that time. He moved down the long corridor quickly his breathing becoming labored, but he did not slow. Crew members threw their backs to the bulkheads to make a hole for their commanding officer to move through as they saw his charge. Finally when he ran out of corridor he stopped running. He paced in a circle placing his hands on top of his head as he took slow deep breaths to slow down his heart rate. He only had to wait ten seconds until the CSM had caught up, the marine mirrored his actions, his face was flushed finally with exertion and his sweat proved to some surprised private who saw him at the moment that he was human after all.

“Still no word?” The marine asked his commanding officer,

For a second the Admiral wore a pained expression, but then it was gone.

“Nothing.” Was all he said about the subject, then he took off at a more controlled pace back in the direction they had came from. “Lets go we have another klick and a half to get to the showers.”

+ + +

More to come

[Valinon]

Alpha Centauri

Friedelinde listened to the echo of her own shoes as she strode across the marble floor of the Katherine Drawing Room. The room was at the front of the Steinmauer Palace. Friedelinde frequented it when she drafted correspondence or policy that dealt with the Congress of Lords. Some how being able to look out over the front palace grounds and see the Congressional Building’s domes and columns soothed her and frequently moderated her stance toward Sterling and Metternicht’s government.

“Because it reminds me the institution of the Diet will endure even the Centrists…” Friedelinde stopped and watched as the domes started to burn with the evening sun.

“Majesty?” Friedelinde turned to see one of the staff sitting the coffee service on the writing desk.

“It was nothing, Bernd, talking out loud. My thanks for the coffee.”

“It is my pleasure and duty, Majesty. Will there be anything more?”

“For the moment, no.”

“Then, please, excuse me, Majesty.”

Friedelinde turned back to the windows, barely hearing the door drawn shut again. But by the time she turned around the domes’ dull red-gold gleam had become more intense, and frankly, uncomfortable to look on. Friedelinde sighed and returned to the desk with its high-backed chair.

Another reason she frequented this drawing room was its décor. Empress Katherine Alderman, the only other woman to rule the empire, had decorated the drawing room over seven hundred years ago. Katherine had prefferred its secluded intimacy to the overwhelming splendor of the imperial offices several floors down. She had also abhorred bringing the work of state into the imperial apartments. A practice Friedelinde could appreciate, even if she found it much harder to implement in her own time.

She poured coffee as she looked over the cream colored pages bearing her personal message to Darius. Metternicht’s response to Darius earlier missive irked her, but ultimately there was little she could do to censor it. Foreign policy was one of those sensitive areas where the responsibilities of the crown and the responsibilities of the government were not clearly delineated.

At this, Friedelinde smirked. Metternicht was playing this one well and extraordinarily close to the vest. It was confirming her considerable suspicions that the Archduke of Pholus was the leader of the Sterling Government in all but name. Some part of Friedelinde couldn’t help but feel sorry for the former foreign minister. Adrian Sterling was brilliant, well-educated, and adroit at foreign policy, but he was out of his league at holding the premiereship. If the Imperial Conservatives didn’t hold the numerical advantage in the government, Friedelinde wondered if Adrian would still be the prime minister.

But Metternicht wasn’t alone in being skilled at manipulating the procedures of government, and Friedelinde was willing to use the frequent gray areas in the imperial government’s layout to her advantage this time. She smiled at the pages of the document as she tapped their edges against the desk and reached for an envelope. There was a knock at the door.

“Yes?”

Erwin von Ribbentrop entered quietly with his slight bow, made more slight in recent years by a stoop that was growing with his ever advancing age.

“Erwin, we can save each other a few steps. I will need this sent to the couriers to be sealed and sent on to Morning Star.”

Von Ribbentrop covered the steps between the door and the desk briskly. He took the envelope and lightly flicked it with one finger on his opposite hand, “Your Majesty’s message to the Prime Guardian, I assume?”

Friedelinde nodded, “It is. It won’t beat the Archduke’s message to Morning Star, of course, but it should outline a further level of our commitment to resolving the latest Wickian issue.”

The Kammerherr grimaced slightly, “Your Majesty, I offer my apologies once again. That I let that message slip through to Metternicht is…”

“Please, Erwin, the best of us allow momentarily lapses. The fault is as much mine as yours. We should have both anticipated that Darius would be advancing his own policy in this issue. He’s been pursuing closer relations with the Wickians for at least two years now. This was an opportunity to finally move beyond the intransigence of the Concordat government.”

Von Ribbentrop’s face contorted slightly. Friedelinde knew he felt Darius’ message amounted to a faux pas of stepping on the graves of the imperial ambassador to the Concordat and a few thousand Wickians to advance his government’s interest. To the Kammerherr’s credit he had been tight lipped about that opinion. Privately, Friedelinde agreed with von Ribbentrop’s assessment, but it was no use pretending that policy in the Oversector was not the product of a continual application of realpolitik.

Von Ribbentrop tucked the envelope into a leather folder he was carrying, “I will send it on to the secretary, Majesty. It will be on this evening’s courier.”

“Good, but I don’t think you came to pick up the mail.”

“Your Majesty has a request from Lord Ambassador nar Ki’ra for an audience tomorrow. He stressed its immediate urgency.”

“No doubt T’sahl will come with some borderline outlandish request from Jukaga. I wondered when their silence on the crisis in Ticonderoga would end.”

“I am not sure there is a request involved, Majesty. The ambassador seemed distressed by some recent intelligence gathered by the Imperial Navy on Gryps.”

Friedelinde froze with her coffee poised inches from her lips, “Gryps? And the Vaku are offering us information?”

“That was what was implied, Majesty.”

“If he’s relaying information to us that means he’s already been ordered to relay the same information to Adrian, and possibly Metternicht.”

“I will go over to the Congressional Building at once, Majesty.”

“And I will contact Director Seebach and Gorgas. There have been enough unwelcome surprises in the Thetis Sector lately. I won’t welcome any more.”

Von Ribbentrop nodded, bowed, and made for the door.

“And, Erwin…?”

“Majesty…?”

“After you give that message to Jeremy, tell him I need to speak with him in an hour. We will need to discuss travel arrangements.”

Von Ribbentrop nodded again, a slight quizzical expression on his face. Friedelinde didn’t bother to explain. She was already activating her n-plant and calling the ESS director.

**********

“This is swill,” Faustus von Metternicht set the dark drink down on the table and started to survey the café’s patio. The bulk of the Congressional Building, the Steinmauer Palace, and the government buildings of Imperial Centre could be made out in the distance over the central buildings of the Commercia Quarter.

“I don’t know, Father, I think it is rather good.”

“The cheap ales that fill the University ruined your tastes. Macchiato should not taste like chalk, and they could also grace this place with some appropriate potted plants to cast this offal into.”

Werner von Metternicht smirked as he tasted his French roast. He didn’t find it necessary to tell his father that the Café Garound was renowned for its good coffee, but cursed for its espresso. It was not that Werner did not care for his father. He simply couldn’t resist occasional playing a prank on the second most powerful man in the Congress of Lords. His own job within the Foreign Ministry was proving unbearably dull these days.

New Köln was easily the smallest capital in the Inner Marches with decidedly less than two million inhabitants. The population shrunk noticeably when both the flagship campus of the Imperial University and the Diet were on their summer recess. The city was designed to be an enclave of the government, given an antiquated, vaguely pastoral quality under the House of Alderman’s direct administration. Government, culture, ceremony, and tradition (along with a sequestered bureaucracy) thrived in the city. The city seemed dull occasionally, but Werner wouldn’t trade it for the teeming techno-poleis like Port Rosario, Falas City, or New Arkhangelsk on any day. There was too much culture, too much class, and too much power in New Köln to simply move.

Besides, conversations with his father weren’t intolerable. He merely thought he would have other ways to spend this particular evening.

Their waiter approached, looking nervous as he walked between one pair of Garde du Kaiserinflanking the Metternichts’ table. The way the two men glowered at the waiter did not improve matters at all. Werner sincerely doubted there was a bomb concealed in his apron.

“Will there be-“

“Water, quickly!” Faustus snapped with barely a glance. The waiter nearly ran back into the café, almost colliding with a pair of customers exiting the building.

“I think you will be tipping well today.”

“It will be directly proportionate with the speed with which that water is returned. If he manages to spill it on the way out, the tip may be having Knoroz shoot him in the foot,” Werner thought he caught a slight smile on one of the guard’s face.

“I do not think we’re here to critique the staff, Father.”

“We could critique your choice in coffee houses. That would be a particularly useful exercise. But there are weightier subjects that need to be brought to hand first. You are aware of the new ‘government’ in Ticonderoga?”

Werner smiles, “I do occasionally take in the office gossip.”

“Then I will assume the basics are in your mind. I am sending Friedrich to Thetis to handle the situation personally. We will need to establish Admiral Brooks’ credibility as the legitimate heir to the Concordat before any negotiations with the Armitager authority in Ticonderoga can begin. Adrian is also having Gorgas make sure Tereshkova will be on hand should we have need of her expertise with respects to the Wickians.”

“We…?”

“You have been yearning for a greater role within the Foreign Service. I believe we have one here that will suit you well. I gave orders today to attach you to Friedrich staff for the duration of his mission in Thetis or until I decide otherwise,” Faustus smiled as he swirled his virtually untouched beverage. “You will do well, son, your aptitude at the negotiations with the Cluster Commonwealth showed that much.”

Werner sighed, “There is still something about trading New Köln for Thetis that reeks of a demotion.”

Faustus waved a hand, “It is a temporary necessity. There is still a minister without portfolio within the Service that remains unfilled. But it would be…difficult…to secure your placement there without actual field experience. What could be more frontier than Wickian space? Unless you would prefer some sort of placement to Yeltsin or Rembrandt.”

“I suppose Thetis is tolerable, for a few months at least.”

“A few months will be all it will take. There is little need for us to extend this charade any further than the League elections at the end of the year.”

“Ah…the plot thickens.”

Faustus arched an eyebrow, “I will take that for you using your various degrees to their utmost. Now, we need to get you to a shuttle immediately. Friedrich will be departing aboard the Visigoth tomorrow.”

“The Visigoth? We leave from Pholus?”

“Yes, I am a man of a certain economy,” Faustus snapped his fingers and one of his guards came forward with a package. “If you leave tonight, you will have more than enough time to give this to your mother. She is no doubt continuing to live la dolce vita in Kelanis at my expense.”

Werner rolled his eyes. His parents’ marriage was a pure orchestration of the Peerage’s byzantine politics, but he did feel his father was too harsh, “There is some reason why I must play your errand boy again?”

“It is the duty of the wife to maintain the home front. It is the duty of the children to obey. It is the duty of the first born son to act as his father’s courier. It is the duty of marriage to be loveless so that it does not interfere with the attention of one’s faculties toward the needs of policy and governance.”

“Do I get to pick out which one of those was sarcastic?”

“Be very thankful I deem it unnecessary to inflict arranged marriages on you. But be mindful of the fact there are herds of frigid cows in Pelledrine, Chandara, Madras, Proxima III or even Roum I could call upon should I change my mind. You will contact me when you and Friedrich reach Thetis?”

“Of course, Father, would you also like the report from your ‘home front’ as well?”

“That will be up to your learned discretion.”

“That means no.”

“Education is a wonderful thing. Knoroz!”

“Your Grace…?”

“Find the young fool. Put the charge on the ministry’s account and give him this,” Werner watched as his father handed the guard a hundred reichsmark note. “And tell him the person who makes macchiatos needs to be fired, or more preferably beaten with a crow bar.”

“Yes, Your Grace.”

“You have a heart of gold, Father.”

“I have a heart that feels someone should be allowed to get drunk on a weekend night if those with larger headaches cannot. Come,” Faustus put his hand on his son’s shoulder, “I will see you to the aerospace port.”

Message To: The Honorable Darius of the Morning Star, Prime Guardian of the Collective Protectorates of Liberated New Hope
Message From: Her Majesty Friedelinde Alderman I, Empress of the United Star Empire & Protector of the Valinor
Message Re: The Emergent Wickian Crisis
Message Encrypt: HIMPC LEVEL: <SEALED>, NCRYLVL: <SECTIMSEAL>, PRIORITY: IMPCOURSERV

Honored Friend,

I am aware that my loyal servants, Duke Sterling and Archduke Metternicht, responded to your earlier message post-haste. Undoubtedly, their message succinctly framed the requirements and necessities of my government’s policy with respect to the trials currently being endured by the citizens of the venerable Concordat. However, I feel the severity of this situation requires an outlining of my personal approach to this sensitive issue, especially to one I so frequently correspond with.

The recent attack in Ticonderoga is tragic and appalling, made all the more so by those who perpetuated its blatant disregard for international law and the lives of innocents. I will concur with the sentiments of my government that this atrocity must be investigated and those responsible for it brought to the form of justice they merit with their actions. Diplomatic recognition of Herr Armitager’s authority is conditional on his acceptance of this necessity.

But I do not think Herr Armitager’s role in this affair is as suspect as many would make it out to be. I fully concur with your sentiments that the best policy to pursue in Wickian space is one of reconciliation, not division. To this effect, I would propose we jointly agree to advance the forthcoming Protectorate-Empire conference to no more than two weeks from now. Together we can no doubt move toward creating a unified policy that may be joined with our colleagues in Roum and potentially by those in Vakutu and Gregor.

I also recognize the unique role my nation has played as being perhaps one of the few constant friends of the Wickian state in many of its darkest hour. There is no doubt in my mind that the involvement of a preeminent—and above all neutral—third party in Wickian space may moderate extremists in both Ticonderoga and Thetis. It is therefore my intention to personally travel to both systems and propose a conference between Herr Armitager and Admiral Brooks under my auspices. Among the three of us, I would have high hopes that a resolution may be reached that averts a crisis that will degrade the sovereignty and dignity of the Wickian state—potentially beyond all hope of repair.

In merited haste,
Friedelinde Alderman

[Vakutu]

Vakutu system

The city of Varu—home of the High Seat of Sivar, perpetual residence of the Steel Throne, great enclave of the Eight, and capital of the Greater Empire—had changed much over the past three years. Arrak nar Ki’ra, half-brother of Emperor Jukaga nar Ki’ra, still found it difficult to grasp the amount of change his brother had so far accomplished in a mere three years. As his silver, needle shaped aero car raced toward the Isle of Steel, Arrak contemplated the city.

The sense of decay and arrested progress that dominated Varu under the nar Caxki was wholly banished. At the core of the city, the four hills and their walls still formed the talons of Vakutu. This geographic arrangement that vaguely resembled the Vaku’s four-fingered hands bore more than a passing reason for the location of the imperial capital. Each hill was home to some pillar of the Greater Empire’s society or government. The Hill of Eshrad was dominated by the Great Citadel of Sivar, the fire-lit heart of the Vaku religion. The Hill of Talons traditional jagged spires held the headquarters of the imperial bureaucracy. The manses, ornate gardens, and manicured grounds of the Eight Clan’s estates in the capital vied for space on the Hill of Blades. Finally, the ordered structures of the imperial Fleets and Legions high commands boldly bestrode the Hill of Fangs, perhaps the largest of the enclaves at the center of the city.

Behind their ancient walls, these enclaves stood little changed from the time the nar Ki’ra acceded to the position of the imperial hrai¹ three years ago. They stood little changed from the unwarranted accession of the nar Caxki to the status of imperial hrai decades before that. Indeed, the talons at the core of Varu were little changed from when Arrak’s and Jukaga’s ancestors had first united their people under one banner.

But beyond these walls Varu stood transformed. New towers of glass and steel now dominated the horizon. The filth ridden warrens of the lower classes permitted by the negligent Once-Emperor Thrakhath were banished. Ordered, stately dwellings of a rising middle class fed growing markets and parks. The equally vile industrial warrens were now banished to the far west of the city—those that had not been relocated to the planets new industrial quarters in the south or moved off world.

The concept of environmental policies still seemed a bit strange to Arrak, but there was no doubting the merits of it what his eyes now saw. The chemical skim that once held to where Varu met the Great Sea of Xag was gone. That and other hazards were removed at great expense with terraforming and recycling technologies imported from Valinon—mostly at his brother’s personal expense no less.

Finally, along what had been the city’s underdeveloped eastern edge, Arrak saw two features that gave him much pride. The rapidly growing campus of the first university sponsored by the imperial coffers as well as the Eight seemed to rise out of the ground by divine fiat. On the opposite side of the wedge of new construction stabbing out from Varu was a new, circular rail yard. The outer circles were given to freight, and the inner circles were the center of a growing new planetary transit network.

At the center of this arrangement of concentric circles, stood a strange, pyramidal structure that was at the center of spokes that drove through the various rings. A stubby circle cylinder rose up from its crest. Cranes and scaffolding were still evident along its jagged edge. Arrak smiled at this as well and looked up into the sky. As he expected, a strange black line continued to descend from the heavens. In a few months time, Vak’s first space elevator would be completed and the hallmark of Jukaga’s regime—bringing the benefits of the Greater Empire to the public—would come full fold.

Already the modernization of Varu was spreading to the other great cities of Vak. Arrak chuckled slightly as he felt the aero car start to descend. He must be close to the isle. Arrak was well aware that many in the Raumreich, especially in Gregor and Ticonderoga, thought his always reclusive people retained the internal primitivism the nar Caxki forced on their people.

”Let them have their dated ideas and conceptions. We have little need of their approval or their understanding.”

Arrak stuck a claw in a bowl of fruit at his side. He studied one the juice oozing onto his hand. As was the case of the Greater Empire, this fruit was ripe and rich on the inside, a grand orchestration of supreme wealth hidden behind an apparently plain, ordinary exterior. In a single motion, Arrak hurled the fruit into his mouth.

”Yes, let them have the image of us we will them to have.”

Still, Arrak could not help but wonder why Jukaga had summoned him from the Hill of Talons so unexpectedly. His brother almost seemed excitable, an emotion Jukaga would never express to another outside his bedchambers and rarely expressed to his most trusted of siblings. Arrak pondered over the possibilities racing through his mind. The aero car started making a final circle around the Isle of Steel. Arrak selected another fruit and closed his eyes.

********

Arrak moves swiftly down the halls of the villa that has rapidly become a favorite of Jukaga’s since he assumed the throne. His dull red robes flow around him and the great badge of the Emperor’s Erd’Thrak’Hra² sways on his chest. Servants and lowly couriers part before the Emperor’s most trusted brother like so many leaves in the autumn. Arrak pays them little heed, but his eyes do notice Pyrdyr servants—one of the Greater Empire’s thrall races—appearing from down the corridor bearing luggage at regular intervals. They all stop and bow low as the former Magister of Jakaradahk³ and Lord of Eragathrak walks pass. Arrak’s mind doubts little that these servants are part of his gift to his brother for raising him to his high office from the magister of the wealthy nar Ki’ra colonial fief.

A sudden sounds sound comes from an adjoining corridor. Arrak’s ears swivel in that direction. He comes to a halt, waiting for the impending explosion.

Six young Vaku run into the corridor. They would have barreled into Arrak had he not stopped. Arrak studies one of his brood of nephews. While their athleticism and speed are commendable their behavior is not.

”Krakh drish’kai rai h’ra!”⁴

Instantly the playful taunts and screams stop. The young imperial off spring come to attention, one vainly trying to hide a piece of his tunic behind his back. Arrak glowers at them.

”Vak, you dishonor yourself before an elder. Such chaos is worthy of some foreign paki⁹, not our normal blood. If you must run rampant, like so many untamed Vakra’hra, dismiss yourself to the grounds before I hurl you there myself. Do I make myself understood?

”At once, Honored Uncle! We beg your most sincere forgiveness at our most unworthy transgression.”

“You have it. Do not make me regret giving it. Go!”

The children bow their heads and file pass, almost as solemnly as an approaching line of Pyrdyr. Arrak pushes back the urge to smile. That episode had been almost too amusing. He only wished Jugurtha, Jukaga’s eldest son and hraijhak⁵, were so easily disciplined. Still, where could his brother be planning to depart too? There was enough luggage to outfit a Legion.

The corridor widens as Arrak approaches one of Jukaga’s bed chambers. A member of the Krahnakh Ghayeer⁶ sees the Emperor’s half-brother approach and quietly disappears into the room. He reappears moment before Arrak reaches the door.

”His Imperial Majesty awaits you, Eminence.”

Arrak gestures to the door, which is immediately opened. He hears it drawn shut as he enters.

Jukaga nar Ki’ra rests in a high-backed chair sitting before the screen that conceals the bed. The wardrobes along a wall are all opened. Robes, uniforms, cloaks, capes, ornamentation, jewelry are all being packed by three teams of Pyrdyr working quickly with their three finger hands. The Emperor directs their dance with barked commands and sweeping gestures. The door opens again and a new delegation of Pyrdyr carrying more luggage enters. They are followed by an young, thin Vak carrying a tray with two steaming bowls filled with arakh⁷ if Arrak’s nose does not lie.

The bowls are simple wood with the device of the nar Ki’ra burned into their edge as a repeating pattern. It is a simple feature Jukaga favors in his personal apartments. As is the sleeveless, black silk dressing robe barely tied at the chest and mostly held closed by a simple cloth belt the Emperor is wearing. Jukaga turns toward his half-brother.

”Ah, our beloved takhar⁸, you come at last. We thought you would miss us entirely.”

“Honored Brother, as usual, you do me a great honor. I’m rarely merit being called equal in rank to your most august imperial person.”

“Our takhar will have a chair, and further refreshment and nourishment from our kitchens!”

The young Vak vanishes while two Pyrdyr bring the chair forward next to Jukaga’s. Arrak waits for the two servants to bow and retreat before sitting. Jukaga nods and then turns back to the mostly emptied wardrobes.

“Leave us! We will have privacy while we speak with our takhar. The efforts of our packing will continue at our discretion!”

The Pyrdyr making a series of bows as they retreat toward the door. As it is opened, Jukaga shouts toward his guards.

”See that we are not disturbed! The nourishment will be announced by knock before it disturbs our meditations with our takhar!”

“Yes, Esteemed and Imperial Majesty.”

Jukaga’s laugh roars as the door shuts.

”A most fanciful mood you are in today, Jukaga.”

“I have had good news, Arrak, good, good news. Perhaps the greatest news I have had in a year.”

“There would seem to be much news and arakh with you today, if I may be so bold.”

“As usual, your custom of asking permission to be bold after you have been bold would be offensive if you were not my most loved and trusted sibling. But today it may be especially tolerable. Behold, brother!”

Jukaga thrusts a comp-pad at Arrak. Arrak presses a button. Text flows on the screen and a series of tactical star charts swirl into existence. Arrak’s eyes flash from one to another, studying the bombardment of information. Jukaga’s smile grows still larger as Arrak’s eyes widen.

”It would appear that the government your honorable friend represents is not as clever as we initially perceived. Either Darius or his Silver Fleet moves too boldly this time, too boldly indeed when this comes so soon after the statements from Duke Sterling and Archduke Metternicht.”

“This seems incredible, Jukaga. Quite, incredible.”

“I assure you, wisest of my younger siblings, it is not! The Silver Fleet seeks to secure Gryps for this Armitager. What is more, they bring Wickians from either their own nation or Gregor to serve their ends and give their case some supposed merit. Whichever the location these Wickians are from, it makes no difference. Our friend, the Great Lion, will be most displeased at this development. The Great Lioness may even have cause to be aghast at the action of the Prime Guardian.”

Arrak studies the information more. There seems to be little rhyme or reason to the actions of the Collective Protectorates. This is more than foolish, more than incredible. This is stupid.

”So you see the reason for my elation, Arrak? We have a great opportunity to insinuate the Greater Empire back into the highest and inner most circles of Valinon. The Prime Guardian has walked what the humans call a fine line and finally lost his balance. He has strayed too close to Gregor this time. Come! Have some arrakh!”

Arrak took one of the bowls and drank heavily. He wished for something stronger, perhaps some whiskey imported from Yalta.

”I travel to Alpha Centauri tomorrow aboard the Vorgath to meet with the Empress and Duke Sterling. Then perhaps to the proposed League and Directory session there has been so much talk of. We shall emerge from the Guardian’s fiasco with renewed power and vigor. Not to mention a visible amount of moral credit to see us through this crisis. After all, it was not our ships and our men—or our Wickian puppets!—who violated the sovereign borders of the Concordat!”

Jukaga laughed again. He looked at his brother.

”You seem so unhappy, Arrak. As usual, it is unmerited. I am not going to revoke your ambassadorial friend’s credentials for this actual minor transgression of his nation. Indeed, I will need you to convey to him our personal displeasure at this development forthwith. Give him the strictest instruction to inform the Prime Guardian of this displeasure. Meanwhile, the time delay will give me ample time to cross the terminus and proceed to Proxima. The Protectorates will be humbled and our bonds with the Valinor renewed at no great cost. And, I will require your mind to tend to my household and my domain while I am away.”

“I will speak with Darius’ ambassador at once, Jukaga. However, I fear that you underestimate his knowledge of his government’s policy. He will be unaware of this idiocy, as unaware of it as I am shocked by it.”

“As I have said, that troubles me little. But I will concur that this development was shocking to me as well as you. The arakh has not clouded my mind today, as you assumed. There is no profit in this endeavor in Gryps—for Darius at any rate. But for us, for our nation, wouldn’t we be foolish to not take up this case?”

“There is no disputation in that assertion of fact, Jukaga, none at all. I merely wish…would somehow…no, a thousand pardons, I speak of inanities.”

“It sounded as such!”

There was a knock on the door.

”Ah, nourishment! Come, Arrak, assist me in packing for my journey then we will sup together. Then, then you will have business to attend to in Varu. And I, I shall take at least three of my wives tonight!”

Arrak smiled. It was forced when he thought of the actions of the Protectorates. It was moderately true when he looked on his brother’s good mood. Perhaps that could be used later to moderate Jukaga’s action. But that did little to stave off the sinking feeling that Jukaga was wholly right in highlighting how utterly stupid this course of action being undertaken in Gryps was.

Footnotes
¹Hrai is a rough equivalent to a clan. It includes all blood relatives and all sworn to serve the blood family.
²The Erd’Thrak’Hra an office caught somewhere between that of a chancellor and a chamberlain. It is the ranking member of the Greater Empire's government after the Emperor.
³Jakaradahk is the Vaku name for the Pyrdyr home world. Eragathrak is the city that serves as the center of Vaku administration on this world.
⁴Translated this phrase roughly means "stay where you are."
⁵This term means the most direct heir. When applied to Jugurtha, it can generally be taken as synonymous for Crown Prince or Heir Apparent to the Steel Throne.
⁶Literally translated this phrase means "the unseen death." It is the name of the Vaku secret police and intelligence service.
⁷Arakh is a popular mild intoxicant. It may be chewed, smoked, or made into a form of tea. The latter is the most potent and the most favored by the Greater Empire's aristocrats.
⁸Takhar is a term of honor meaning brothers of equal rank.
⁹Paki is a minor derogatory term literally meaning "pawn." It is most often applied to foreigners, thrall races, and the lowest of the Vaku class system.

All red text is assumed to be in Vaku unless otherwise stated

[Liberated New Hope]

LNS Sheikh Thusla, Gryps

The bridge of the Sheikh Thusla is hardly in any mode of preparedness, as this trip to Gryps has been marked as largely diplomatic. When complications arise in communications, the Ensign assigned to Comm duty is a bit thrown off. "Sir, greetings did not broadcast... and the Wickians aren't happy."

Commodore Asif Il-Shek remains calm--this isn't the first time the problem had come up--he planned to write a personal letter to the Navel Board of Maintenance. "Change broadcast station to Niner-Alpha and rebroadcast."

Code: Select all

Gryps Command, this is LNS SHEIK THUSLA at head of GRYPS SECURITY ADVISORY TASK FORCE.  We have arrived to suppliment Wickian security efforts in system.

as an addendum, Wickian demands were complied with.

Code: Select all

Demands have been met, all engines are stopped, no weapons have been armed.  Awaiting reply.

The office of Prime Guardian Darius

As before, Darius has contacted Director Haj to discuss this matter of diplomatic urgency.

Darius stares into the comm-screen sticking up from his desk, slightly perturbed. "Haj, it is not my policy to reveal personal letters of friends for the purpose of politics. So I will have you understand, I have reservations about what I am about to forward you."

Haj simply nodded. He heard this disclaimer every time a letter from another head of state was revealed to him. It was quite tiresome. In only a moment, Friedelinde Alderman's letter concerning the Wickian crises arrived on his screen. "Damnit, she's trying to upstage us."

"It..." Darius dislikes saying it, "appears to be the case. I have called you for obvious reasons: give me the most distasteful options so that I might turn them into something less... distasteful."

"Well we certainly can't sabotage them. They've got our plan and they're running with it. There's nothing distasteful we can do. Valinon has the precedence as a good friend of the Wickians and now they have the intent to come out as the good guy here. While our plan to be Armitager's only ally in a vacuum isn't panning out, we can outdo the Valinor."

Darius is somewhat pleased with Haj's more positive tone. "True again. You will begin arrangements with Metternicht to coordinate the tour?"

"Immediately."

"Be as belligerent with him as you like. Forward our plan for the tour immediately. We won't have a secondary role." Darius would not say it aloud, but Metternicht's interception of his communication to the Empress came as a personal insult.

After the meeting, Darius pens his reply.

Message To: Her Majesty Friedelinde Alderman I, Empress of the United Star Empire & Protector of the Valinor
Message From: The Honorable Darius of the Morning Star, Prime Guardian of the Collective Protectorates of Liberated New Hope
Message Re: The Emergent Wickian Crisis
Message Encrypt: STATE PRIORITY 1

My Dear Friend!

Your matched concern for this issue greatly comforts me. To think that our two great countries might fall split by such a far flung matter troubled my heart greatly.

Reconciliation, as you have realized, truly is the most peaceful option. To further divide the Wickian people would only serve their enemies; and you, Friedelinde, have continually proved to be the Wick’s greatest friend abroad (and, as some might argue, a greater friend than the Wickians have had for some time from within!).

You know it has been my personal quest to instill a spirit of friendship between the Wickian people and those of the Collective—to ensure peace and brotherhood in our troubled sector. To work alongside the Valinor can only serve to further this goal and to ensure stability and comradely in the proceedings ahead. I endeavor to join you on your tour of the Wickian territories, to spread the word of reconciliation, and ensure peace.

Arrangements will be made post haste—my staff will contact yours, etc.

Truly,
Darius

The Bureau of State Reserve Offices on True Hope

Director ends his meeting with Darius with a mischievous smirk. He begins to write his letter to Herr Metternicht:

Dear Asshat,

He pauses for a moment, I'd better not leave that, not even for fun--luck will have it make it through to the final draft..

He restarts:

Herr Metternicht,
Darius endeavors to join Empress Alderman in a joint tour of Thetis and Gryps to promote peace, general welfare, and reconciliation. A program has been attached for the tour below.

While the Empress's schedule is of course to be considered, Darius may depart as soon as this coming Friday, but it will take him a week to arrive in Gregor. This should not be an issue, as arrangements must be made with Wickian leadership in advance.

There he may meet the Empress. Having met in Gregor, Emperor Calimar must be allowed a chance to show his support for the aid effort and reconciliation so long as three such great leaders can meet so easily. I will make the arrangements with Foreign Minister Alfred Brydges myself. This need not take longer than an afternoon.

If it is at all possible we may have to ask the Ortagan Archon Prince to redirect his tour directly to Vernii so that all four powers might be present. It is a bit unorthodox to make such a request of the Prince, but this is certainly an extraordinary event. I trust your department is more familiar with the workings of the Ortagan foreign ministry and might sort out such an issue more efficiently. In any case, this possibility might only set the meeting back as much as a week at most.

From there the Empress and Prime Guardian may proceed to Thetis by way of wormhole terminus, meaning an arrival in Thetis could be as early as the evening of the Friday after next, though Saturday should not be excluded as a realistic alternative. There a meeting with what remains of Concordate government leadership should be arranged--discussion over the course of a maximum of three days should be sufficient. Next the trip to Gryps is a five day voyage from Thetis. There another three day (maximum) discussion should be arranged with the Armitager government.

All parties must be made aware of the following:
1.) The organization of an international aid effort immediately
2.) The initiation of an investigation into the use of Weapons of Mass Destruction as a litmus test for the legitimacy of the Armitager Government
3.) That reconciliation is the best option available and that the international community of the Raumreich cannot except the exclusion of either government--the historical Concordate or the clearly de facto Armitager government
4.) The good will felt by the Collective Protectorates and the Empire in their endeavor to ensure stability for the Wickian people

[The WIck]

CNS- Formidable DN-54,
Flagship, Gryps Squadron
Edge of FTL/I Exclusion Zone,
.5 AU from Slotter Key
Gryps System, Former Wickian Concordat

2nd Rear Admiral Terriel had been in command of the forces responsible for the protection of the Gryps system since his taskforce engaged and defeated elements of the Solar Navy in the system during the Great War. After the peace, Gryps was settled by Wickian colonists who formed a settlement on the world they now called Slotter Key. The planet was oceanic and for the most part tropical in climate, it had no polar ice caps, these having long since melted covering the planet in a vast ocean. It was seen as a much more comfortable place to live then inside an orbital habitat, but its growth was slow and controlled. In the years after the Great War the Gryps system was not viewed to hold any great strategic value to the Concordat so it was not afforded a large navy garrison. The Gryps Squadron consisted of the 13th Battle Division (Reinforced) and the 41st Screening Flotilla. It contained some of the oldest hulls still in active commission, yet most had been undergone refit before the Great War, and Terriel kept their crews well trained and drilled.

Slotter Key itself had grown to contain nearly fifty million souls, as such the CSN decided to supplement the Gryps Squadron with the Lexington carrier group. The Carrier Group contained one of the new fleet carriers of the Peregrine class, the: CNS-Lexington-CVN 28 along with two of the older and smaller escort carriers used since the War of the Lion. Since the conclusion of the Great War the Admirality had changed the priorities of naval ship construction from large dreadnoughts to this new class of carrier that was viewed to be more capable of fulfilling the varied tasks of the navy. Each of the Carriers were just over 4 kilometers in length and carried more parasite craft then previous CLACs. What was more important though was that the Carrier had excellent emission control, and could obscure its location from even the best sensor watches around. Given this capacity Terriel kept his Carriers separated from the Gryps Squadron. It was hoped that any threat would concentrate on the squadron while the strike groups launched from the Carriers would maneuver against the enemy undetected.

Flag Bridge

“Admiral the Squadron reports red con one.” Terriel’s chief of staff reported readiness condition one, which meant that every ship in the squadron was now fully at battle stations, their crews in skin-suits and their systems and weapons prepared for battle.

“Signal all commands, inform then to maintain formation and acceleration, but do not deploy Aegis or Plate. Contact OWP Command, I do want them to begin preparations to deploy jump pods if needed.” Terriel looked to the central holo-tank and was relieved that the ships had finally identified themselves as Liberation vessels. The Liberation was an Ally, though neither country had done much to solidify that relationship. In general the officers of the CSN viewed the Silver Fleet to be a paper tiger, it looked pretty, had a lot of numbers, but could be torn apart with out much effort.

“We are beginning to receive data on those unknown contacts, they are in the 4 million ton range, comparable to a smaller dreadnought Admiral. With their systems deactivated that’s all we can really know about them for the moment.”


“Thank you Commander Estwick,” The Wickian admiral told his chief of staff. He was well aware that in a direct comparison of stats his own squadron had much less tonnage than the Liberation’s Secuirity Task Force. If this was some kind of trick, or if the Liberation’s Task Force turned hostile, they would find themselves caught between the Squadron, the Carrier Groups Parasite craft, and the defenses of the OWP. If that happened the Liberation would discover for themselves the pains that the Solar Navy learned long ago.

“Put me through to them,” The Admiral waited as the signal’s officer indicated his mic was live,

SHEIK THUSLA I am Rear Admiral Mike Terriel, Gryps Squadron (Commanding). You have breached the Hyper Limit of the Gryps system with no prior communication with a taskforce of Capital ships. As far as I am aware this action has not been authorized by the Directory of the League, so on whose authority have you violated the sovereignty of Gryps system? What is the purpose of your mission to Gryps? I can assure you that the security of this system is well in hand, and when it comes to martial concerns the CSN has the capability and the experience to protect this system fully. Why exactly is the security of the Gryps system suddenly such a concern of the Silver Fleet and of the Liberation? I hope you can appreciate our concern over your unannounced visit given the shocking events of the last few weeks in Ticonderoga, as it is, you are lucky not have been immediately brought under fire for this stunt. Response is required, Terriel over.

[Liberated New Hope]

LNS Sheik Thusla

Apparently, technical complications were not the only ones. Commodore Il-Shek reads the reply of the Wickian command center in slight horror. "Well this is... embarrassing."

A message is sent in reply:

Code: Select all

Admiral Terriel, this is Commadore Asif Il-Shek of the MillDef Security Fleet.  I hope you'll recognize my own confusion.  I was ordered to the Gryps system to assist Wickian forces to stave off piracy and ensure security.  There has been an obvious miscommunication.  If you will allow, I would like to withdraw my taskforce outside of hyperlimit until confusion can be resolved.  Il-Shek out.

[New Ortaga]

Hanger Deck, Starboard Flight Pod, FNS Immolan, Unclaimed System, Near Gryps system
06.14.1304 AF
1553 Federated Forces Standard

Barked shouts, the drumming of running feet, and a mechanical cacophony fill the air of Immolan’s starboard flight pod. The klaxons denoting general quarters and battle stations continue a muted blare even since they were slacked after the start of the drill. There is a teeth-jarring sound of metal scraping against metal as an Eagle class space superiority fighter is guided toward its launch tube.

Captain Marcia Case immediately pivots toward the offending flight crew. The fighter had scraped against a tool box tower someone neglected to move out of the way. The unfortunate crew tries not to look up at the catwalk running the flight pod’s length, but they can imagine those flashing green eyes boring into them all the same. The four-man crew redoubled its efforts, moving the fighter with speed to overcome their unintentional faux pas.

Marcia turns away from them, concealing a small smile as she raises the antiquated stopwatch to study the time. The accident was a minimal thing. Immolan’s crew was performing better than ever. Originally, the carrier and its group had orders to return to Dylar well before the start of this month. But NavalOps extended Marcia’s orders when the Concordat’s government ceased to exist. She’d conducted a series of intelligence gathering and surveillance missions in Ticonderoga before increased activity by the Kriegsmarine and the Concordat Navy drove the Immolan and her escorts to find safer havens. But one thing the extended deployment had given Case time for was to whip her ship and its crew into far better shape than they left Dylar in.

This was the third day of drilling and exercises since the Immolan had took up orbit over the nameless gas giant and nameless system originally surveyed by the Hegemony when it maintained a naval base in the Gryps system. Marcia wanted to cut the deployment time on her first response fighter squadrons down by ten minutes. After 72 hours, it was a goal that appeared to be happening before her eyes.

Marcia scanned the deck once again. The Eagle she was watching a few minutes before had vanished, catapulted down the launch tube and into the eternally cold vaccuum beyond the safety of the Immolan’s hull. She looked to the left and to the right. Another fighter vanished down its chute. In short order, the last three fighters remaining joined it.

As soon as the last fighter disappears, Marcia’s thumb arrests the stopwatch’s movement in a well-practiced reflex. She glances at its face, and this time smiles in front of her crew. She reaches toward her collar and activates the link to the flight pod’s speakers.

“Ladies and gentlemen, congratulations, the Immolan deployed her first response squadrons in seven minutes, forty-three seconds, and change. You have my gratitude. Carry on!”

The void of human voices is shattered by a chorus of cheers. Marcia turns to speak with the chief of the deck, offering the much younger man her hand and starting to exchange a few more words of congratulations when she notices her executive officer, Lieutenant Commander Marcus Jannot, approaching. She finishes speaking with the chief before excusing herself. She then walks toward Jannot. Her XO offers a salute, tucking his data pad under one arm.

“At ease, Mr. Jannot, no bad news, I hope?”

“I can’t say, ma’am. A courier from Dylar just landed on the portside pod. She was carrying updated dispatches from NavOps and sealed orders for you,” Jannot hands Case the pad.

“Thank you, XO,” Marcia scanned her thumbprint and started to input her other credentials to acknowledge and open the message. “And what did the dispatches say, Mr. Jannot?”

“Oh, sorry, ma’am., Axis is still concerned of what would happen in the sector should the situation in the Con—err—Wickian space further devolve. Praetor Chambers informed Fleet Admiral Cantrell that Roum is trying to coordinate an international response, but we’ve been warned that it may become necessary for us to police the trade lanes between Dylar and New Tyrolia if the situation does-“

“Grow worse? I am afraid it stands to do so, Mr. Jannot. Given Wickian attitudes, I would not be a bit surprised if what’s left of the government in Ticonderoga ends up with a shooting war with the admirals in Gryps and Thetis. But my apologies for cutting you off please continue.”

The pad chirped and Marcia started to read the orders from Axis. She skimmed through the formalities and encryption babble that prefaced any naval communiqué.

“NavOps is detaching additional forces from Dylar to supplement the group in case it does become necessary for us to keep the trade lanes through Wickian space open. The dispatched mentioned additional instructions regarding the diplomatic and political situation as relevant to our deployment would be included in the orders to be delivered to the group commanding officer.”

Jannot looked at his CO, who had grown suspiciously quite as he finished his summary. Marcia was scrolling back and forth, eyes working back and forth, back and forth.

“Something wrong, ma’am?”

“More unexpected and wrong, much unexpected,” she hands the pad back to Jannot. “You have my permission to review our orders. I’m honestly surprised they did not CC them to you anyway. We are to be joined by the FNS Braavos within twenty-four hours after the receipt of this message. Our courier was particularly efficient here. Lieutenant Bargas met with the Braavos two systems out. Captain Viloria was preparing a final navigation correction before proceeding to our position. He expected to translate within four hours.”

Marcia grasped the catwalk’s railing and bit the inside of her lip. The Suns didn’t have many capital ships to spare—and maintained only 36 battleships in total. Most of those were stationed in the Home Suns. Only a single squadron was maintained in Dylar and considered to be available for operations beyond the Suns’ territory proper. Axis must be expecting trouble, either from the Wickians or their neighbors. She drummed her fingers on the railing and stood up.

“Let us dismiss back to the bridge, Mr. Jannot. I will need to speak with the other commanders and tell them of our unexpected boon. And I will need you to supervise the wing’s maneuvers while I’m distracted.”

“It would be my pleasure, ma’am.”

The two officers walked toward the lift. Marcia pressed the lift call button and a barely audible hum could be heard as a lift approach. She turned to her XO.

“I think it goes without saying, but I want the wing put through its paces, Mr. Jannot. Our crew has done exceptionally well today; I will admit I’m quite proud. But there’s no need for them to get lazy.”

Bridge, FNS Immolan, Unclaimed System, Near Gryps system
06.14.1304 AF
1633 Federated Forces Standard

Marcia listens at the small series of chirps indicating captains of the two war-frigates assigned to her command broke the connection sounded in her headset. Captain Lee Hastings, the naturalized Valinor officer in her command, lingers on the line.

“The diplomatic issue in your orders is a real bitch, Marcia.”

“I know, Lee. Someone on New Ortaga is playing at something not recognizing either Ticonderoga or Thetis. If there is an incident out here we won’t have a leg to stand on. The Wickians aren’t going to wait for us to communicate with Roum if they think we’re trolling in their backyard.”

A silence fills the line, “Then I think we will just have to pray we don’t have our own personal take on the Wickian crisis. We can expect some luck in this department. The Spinward has been out here for over two years, and the Wickians have shown no interest in bothering it so long as Kelso cuts them a favorable deal per unit on hydrogen isotopes.”

Marcia looks at the tactical display. The Immolan is in the orbit in the uppermost layers of the gas giant. Hastings’ ship, the cruiser Aurora, and the two war-frigates FNS Reid and FNS Fahrion are hugged in close against the carrier’s over 1438 meters of bulk. Eagle class fighters, Talon class multi-utility vehicle (MUV), and a few Arkbird class bombers dodge in and out of the clouds on various maneuvers.

But the Immolan’s bulk and the entirety of her group is overshadowed by the hulking behemoth riding the clouds near them. The FMS Spinward stretches on for over 8000 meters. The Spinward is one of the massive Rimward class LR/LD (long-range/long-deployment) mining ships constructed by the Hegemony in the last decades of its existence. The Rimwards and their close cousins of the Cordagne class asteroid miners were designed to range far and wide from Hegemonic space proper to devour the Great March’s vast resources.

Matthias Kelso, the Spinward’s master, acknowledged the collapse of the Hegemony by buying his ship outright from the Suns’ government. His ship had not returned to the Suns since the ownership transferred over to him. In a dinner held in honor of warships’ arrival, Kelso said he’d stayed out in order to keep away from any post-war chaos in the Suns. The mining captain acknowledged the success of the Federated Suns, enough to say he was considering moving the ship closer to Dylar or New Edo. But right now the trade the ship enjoyed with the Wickians, the Vaku, and some Verniians from the fringes of the FEZ was far too profitable to just break off.

Marcia was sure it was the profit margins that made Kelso welcome her ships with such fanfare. The collapse of the Hegemony followed by rough first year for the Federated Suns had left the Great March filled with more than ex-Solar Navy pirates and newly made citizens of the other successor states. There was a healthy community of Ortagans who claimed Federated Suns’ citizenship. The ties that bound them were tenuous at best. They weren’t plotting to bring down the government in Roum, but Marcia wondered if men like Kelso would even notice if the Federated Suns collapsed until a year or more after it happened.

Marcia looked up in time to see Jannot standing across the display with a worried look, “Excuse me, Lee, I think I have some business to attend to.”

“Understood, Immolan Actual, I need to turn my attention back to the drills any way. Aurora Actual out.”

There was a chirp as Marcia pulled up her headset.

“You have a report, Mr. Jannot?”

“Ma’am, Talon 317 is reporting energy signatures in the inner system near the second planet’s orbit. They’ve confirmed at least six distinct signature points.”

“Six…?”

“Yes, ma’am, and they look like signatures from pre-war drives—our pre-war drives.”

“Shit.”

Talon 317, Unclaimed System, Near Gryps system
06.14.1304 AF
1633 Federated Forces Standard

“Gator, I’m getting energy signature shadows in the orbital pattern of the second planet. Take us in closer.”

Lieutenant, Junior Grade, Rob “Gator” Bhatt grunted and looked at his navigation display. He gripped the stick and started to make some course corrections. Behind him Petty Officer, Second Class, Joey “Snap” Moi and Bhatt’s ECO scrutinizes his displays.

“We have definite energy signatures, at least three distinct clusters. No four, make that six”

“Some actual information would be damned nice, Snap.”

“I’m running signature profiles now.”

“Continuing on course toward the inner system, and opening channel with Immolan ComCon.”

Bhatt heard a terrible sound emanate from his partner.

“Take us doggo now, Gator! Cut everything we’ve got?”

“What…?”

“Just fucking do it!”

The look in Moi’s eyes belayed any sort of argument. There was fear there. A fear that made Bhatt’s whole body want to shake from end to end. He pulled throttled down and start to take the MUV into its passive mode.

“Hurry for fuckssake. Those signatures show Solar Navy patterns! Feed the data back to ComCon and then cut the damn channel!”

Bhatt hit the transmit button as the Talon continue to hurtle forward due to its sheer inertia. Eight thousand kilometers ahead of Talon 317 a series of blinding white disruptions in linear space tore into Bhatt’s vision and made the small craft’s cockpit polarize.

“Shit…”

The disruptions were gone replaced by a ghost from the Great March War. Seven Hegemon II class dreadnoughts were escorted by no less than 13 Roum class war-frigates and over 30 Ansel class monitors. Behind the screening warships, Bhatt could make out what looked to be a trio of freighters and several cargo conveyors. The civilian ships—or more than likely former civilian ships—were being trailed by another Hegemon II class dreadnought with three more monitors riding point.

Combat Bridge, HSS Challenger, Unclaimed System, Near Gryps system
06.14.1304 AF
1638 Solar Forces Standard

Commodore Michael Neilson, once of the Hegemony’s Solar Navy, watches as the massive tactical display consuming most of the room in the combat bridge transforms into a map of Surveyed System HS-77. A Hegemon II class dreadnought’s combat bridge was analogous to the flag bridge of a Valinor, Verniian, or Vaku dreadnought, but more overtly dedicated to the management and command functions of a fleet or task force. Neilson puts his hand to his chin as the holographic representations of his ships appear one by one then are outlined in green as they confirm a successful translation into linear space.

“All ships confirm successful translation to linear space, Commodore. Commanding officers and group leaders are waiting further orders.”

“Fleet sensors, report.”

“There is activity in the mid-system centered on the first jovian planet, Commodore. It is consistent with the known activity of the Spinward, though there do appear to be additional vessels in orbit with it.”

“Report on the additional vessels.”

“Commodore, our sensors are having difficulties distinguishing between the other vessels at this range. Scans appear to indicate one vessel at over 1438 meters. The size is consistent with known super-freighters that operate with the Spinward periodically. There are between three to four other craft also in orbit. Their sizes approximately range from 500 to 700 meters, sensor signatures could confirm with multiple known vessel classes. Shall we give the order to Group Captain Hydeoshi to close and perform a more detailed scan or contact the Spinward?”

“No, proceed and course. FleetNav, begin transmission of coordinates to Gryps to all vessels. All ships are to prepare for final translation into Wickian space. Sound general quarters and battle stations.”

“Yes, Commodore.”

“Get me a channel to Captain Veitch.”

“Yes, Commodore.”

Neilson retreated from the massive display to his personal station and sat down, waiting for the small holoprojector to activate and show the MWS Admonitor. A few moments later, the image of a young man appeared. He was wearing the black and blue-trimmed uniforms adopted by Ginias Saharin’s forces still operating in Mesa.

“Commodore Neilson, how may I assist you today?”

“You are still able to escort my freighters while we proceed to the Gryps supply caches?”

“I am more than willing, Commodore, to do all that and more. The Hegemon instructed me to personally see to it we assist you in any endeavors you may require. I would like to reiterate my offer to join your command in combat to ensure the success of your mission.”

Neilson bit back a response. That Saharin, the former Solar Navy rear admiral and later Strategos of the Solar Forces, was willing to cooperate with Neilson in order to find the Forge Device was beyond question. But it still galled Neilson that the last ranking member of the Solar Forces left alive had not offered a full resupply to his vessels. Saharin had only agreed to do so if all other options failed, and it was hard for that qualification to be met so long as the Wickians continued to hold on to the massive supply cache still present in Gryps. Above all else, the Wickians left only the barest task force to guard the system with the only inhabitable planet the Concordat opened along with the supply cache. Neilson would get his ships the supplies they need it, and he would do it without any help from the Solar Navy force that now operated under the Mesan flag.

“Your offer is appreciated, Captain, but I need someone to safeguard my Marines and their prizes. Once we are done in Gryps we will proceed to the rendezvous with the Nemesis. Then we can return to the more civilized portion of the Great March.”

“I will look forward to it, Commodore. Admonitor Command out.”

Neilson stared at the empty projector, still wondering why Saharin had assigned him such an infuriating officer to liaison with. He looked up.

“FleetNav, have we completed coordinates transmission?”

“We stand at eight-five percent transmission, Commodore.”

“Complete the transmissions. Then have the fleet form up, and then begin translation count down.”

“Yes, Commodore.”

Bridge, FNS Immolan, Unclaimed System, Near Gryps system
06.14.1304 AF
1648 Federated Forces Standard

Marcia stood at the edge of the tactical display with her back ramrod straight. The feed from Talon 317 continue to stream in showing the ex-Solar Navy pirates ride along the orbit of the second planet for a few minutes before reforming and then reorienting. Finally, the warships and their accompany vessels vanished in another translation.

Klaxons roared throughout the Immolan and the sound of running feet was audible as the bridge’s blast doors were being secured. Marcia looked up as she heard the bridge’s Marine guards warning off people trying to squeeze through.

“Hold the doors!”

“Aye, ma’am, holding the doors!”

Marcia turned and pulled one of the styluses for the tactical display from the pocket one the front of her uniform. She worked it between her fingers. Across the display, Marcus Jannot watched his command officer, trying to read her whims.

“Com, what word from the rest of the group?”

“All ships report combat readiness, Captain. The Immolan and her escorts await your orders.”

“Does CIC have confirmation on the transponder signatures Talon 317 transmitted?”

“Yes, ma’am, transponder signatures—as well as engine signatures—have been confirmed by CIC as being consistent with those known to the HSS Challenger and the other vessels operating under former Commodore Michael Neilson.”

Marcia nodded and the stylus stopped moving between her fingers.

“Navigation, give me the likeliest destination of the Challenger and its companions based on their orientation compared with known Solar Navy translation patterns.”

“We are calculating now, ma’am.”

The stylus resumed its measured movement.

“Based on the orientation and navigation preferences of the enemy vessels, the Challenger and its escorts are bound for Gryps, most likely the mid-system.”

The pen stopped again, and Marcia leaned in toward the display.

“Mr. Jannot, have ComCon recall the entire wing. Helm!”

“Ma’am?”

“Get us out of orbit immediately and lay in the fastest course to Gryps. Com, transmit the same orders to the Aurora, the Reid, and the Fahrion.”

Marcia stood and Jannot followed suit and walked around the display. Marcia looked at Jannot.

“There is no way Wickian forces present in Gryps can stand against that force. There is no way we can repel that force either,” Marcia tone was grave and quiet, below the audibility of most the bridge. “If we don’t warn the Wickians and any of their warships find us here—especially if they are pursuing Neilson—they are apt to blow us and Kelso’s ship out of space because we didn’t warn them.”

“How many vessels do the Wickians have in Gryps?”

Marcia glanced at her XO, “At most a battle group, but most of that are antiquated ships that are more apt to being museum pieces than true combat vessels. We can’t stop them, XO, but we can give the Wickians warning and maybe buy them some time to evacuate their orbitals—possibly even warn their colonists planet side.”

Marcia turns back to the navigation officer, “Nav, I want a coordinates package compiled once our course for Gryps is set. You are to transmit it to Lieutenant Bargas’ courier once you are done.”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

She turned back to Jannot, “Get Bargas out of our hanger and tell him to find the Braavos as soon as those coordinates are loaded. We’re going to need all the firepower we can lay our hands on.

Mid-system, Gryps system, Wickian Concordat
06.14.1304 AF
1712 Solar Forces Standard

Barely a few meters short of 15,000 kilometers sunward of the supply caches left in the Gryps system by the collapsing Solar Navy, linear space is rent asunder by blinding white flashes. A rough diamond formation of seven Hegemon II class dreadnoughts, led by the infamous Challenger, surrounded thirteen cargo conveyors of various Ortagan and Valinor designs. The dreadnoughts’ diamonds is flanked by two lines of war-frigates. Three large V-shaped formations of twelve Ansel class monitors surround the core formation on either side.

The massed warships, one of the bare remnants of the once fearsome Solar Navy, transmit no hails and give no warnings. Their gravimetric engines’ glow intensifies as they build toward full power and storm toward the cluster of supply containers making up the abandoned supply caches claimed by the Concordat.

Compared to the display of military prowess further in, the smaller translation signatures toward the outer limits of the Gryps system would almost go unnoticed. An eighth dreadnought and three monitors shepherd seven freighters—Verniian, Valinor, Ortagan, and even a Liberation vessel—on a lazy course that drifts even farther outward from the system’s primary.

FMS Spinward

[Valinon]

Alpha Centauri

The late afternoon found Friedelinde once again attending to the affairs of state in the Katherine Drawing Room as one the last days of the Diet’s regular session drew to a close. The proposal from State Director Haj arrived well in advanced of Darius’ response. The Guardian’s message was returning to Alpha Centauri via courier, while Haj’s message was forwarded over the ansible by the imperial embassy on True Hope. From what Friedelinde heard, the proposal caused a considerable amount of fallout when it arrived at the Foreign Ministry well before Archduke von Metternicht arrived at his offices.

She smiled slightly. Darius was disrupting von Metternicht’s plans almost as much as she was, and there was little cause for complaint. But she had offered a few adjustments to the proposal. She sent them along with her orders to von Metternicht via von Ribbentrop earlier that morning then requested the Federated Suns’ ambassador make a formal attendance to her.

Ser Benjamin Diamid, Knight-Commander of the Order of the Suns, had left barely fifteen minutes earlier with a message to be transmitted to the Archon-Prince when the door opened and Bernd stepped in.

“Your Majesty, the Kammerherr has returned from the Diet. He wishes to know if Your Majesty was indisposed…”

“Send Sir Erwin in.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

Two heartbeats might have passed before Erwin von Ribbentrop entered the drawing room with one of his grave expressions. Friedelinde slid the summaries of bills being put before the Congress of Lords into their dossier.

“Do we know why Emperor Jukaga suddenly decided to favor the court with one of his visits, Erwin?”

“I am afraid so, Majesty,” Erwin extended a comp-pad. Friedelinde took it with a nod. “The files are relatively self explanatory. Duke Sterling and Archduke von Metternicht already sent a request to OKI’s offices on Sanctuary, but it is largely a formality. The sensor data Lord Ambassador nar Ki’ra forwarded to the Congressional Building is beyond reproach.”

Friedelinde’s fingers worked back and forth. She viewed the data again and again. Von Ribbentrop could see a smoldering fire starting to build in the Empress’ eyes.

“Do we know when Jukaga is due to arrive?”

“The terminus control in Vakutu says the Emperor’s dreadnought is en route from Vak. The dreadnought and its escorts were cleared for transit to Alpha Centauri by tomorrow morning.”

“Why in the name of God did Darius send the Silver Fleet to Gryps?”

“I was unable to find out, Your Majesty.”

Friedelinde’s eyes flashed, “Archduke von Metternicht already sent the reply to Director Haj’s proposal, didn’t he?”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

“Son of a bitch! Erwin, contact the Protectorates’ ambassador. Inform them I am requesting an immediate Nu-space conference with the Prime Guardian with respects to the military force currently in Gryps.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

Yalta system

The HMS Visigoth is one vessel in the Gothic-class heavy cruisers, the newest manned cruiser class the Kriegsmarine has produced since the end of the Great March War. At exactly 1,200 meters, the Visigoth and her sister ships were designed to be the Kriegsmarine’s new far-reach flag carriers, especially in areas like the Great March and the Talbott Cluster. But the Visigoth was reserved by Her Imperial Majesty’s Ministry for Foreign Affairs shortly after it exited the shipyards.

The cruiser’s status as a diplomatic vessel allowed it to make good time to the Alpha Centauri wormhole terminus and receive transit priority to Yalta system, the hub of the empire in the Raumreich proper. Visigoth was clearing the system’s terminus zone and preparing to lay in a course that would see it go to Axis before using the Ortagan warp-gate network to make for Dylar and then Yetti’s Star, carefully avoiding as much of Verniian space as possible.

Friedrich von Gentz was studying the maps of Thetis along with data on Admiral Brooks while the cruiser was underway. He was obscenely thankful the moment of “inexistence” that occurred in the barest of seconds it took the Visigoth to vanish from Alpha Centauri and reappear in Yalta was earlier. The fact any sort of concrete scientific explanation still eluded the Oversector’s collected academia unnerved von Gentz. He would avoid travel by wormhole entirely if it was left to his personal discretion. Unfortunately, a career at the Foreign Service’s highest levels left little room for such discretion.

A dull buzz echoed in von Gentz’s head somewhere at the very back of his brain. The skull-phone attached to his n-plant was receiving a request to link. He walked back toward the modest quarter’s desk and took a seat before activating the n-plant.

In a few seconds, von Gentz found himself in the Nu-space version of Faustus von Metternicht’s office at the Ministry. Von Gentz nodded with appreciation as his avatar manifested in one of the room’s chairs. The foreign minister eyed his favored subordinate from across his own desk.

“We have a problem. The Collective Protectorates are proposing a conference between the Inner Marches’ heads of state in Gregor. The Empress already consented, tentatively, and has met with Ser Benjamin to extend a similar invitation to the Archon-Prince.”

“What about the Vaku’s information on the Silver Fleet deployment to Gryps?” von Gentz started recording the conversation. He wouldn’t allow any details to slip through, especially if the situation was changing this drastically.

Faustus gave a wolfish smile, “I let that information slip to the Kammerherr when he paid one of his periodic visits to the Diet. I have no doubt it was immediately ferried back to Her Majesty when he went back to skulking in the Palace. Unfortunately, the missive for Darius’ State Directory was already being transmitted to Morning Star well before this news could have reached the Palace.”

Von Gentz’s eyes widened, “Her Majesty’s proposal will be in the Ministry’s standard press releases for the wire services—“

“Yes, which will leave Her Majesty in the awkward position of accepting a diplomatic summit based on neutral aims from a nation that just launched a military expedition into Wickian space in support of the Armitager faction and Ticonderoga. Adrian is correct. Jukaga can be an incredibly good friend of the government when he wants to be. The Prime Guardian and the Empress will look like they are carting off to Gregor in order to split up the dying Concordat with Calimar—even the United Lords will be furious. If half of our experts are to be believed and justify their absurd salaries, the Federated Suns will condemn the whole affair out of hand. However, we are far from in a position of invulnerability. In order for Armitager not be the legitimate government, there must be another viable contender for the former Concordat. You must arrive in Thetis post-haste. We are transmitting emergency clearance codes and rerouting the Visigoth to Gregor. The termini from Gregor to Erewohn to Ticonderoga will put you in Thetis before forty-eight hours has passed, maybe even as few as twenty-four.”

“What if the Verniians interfere with the transit?”

“If they do, I will see their shipping frozen out of our portion of the wormhole network and have the Lords dismantle the military access rights the Rolt Government granted them. I may even be of mind to reintroduce more punitive tariff measures on their precious super-freighters. Let the Verniians be stupid. I will make them pay through their bloody nose.”

Von Gentz inclined is head, “Is there anything else I need to be aware of, Your grace.”

“A few minor points, Friedrich, Sterling sent word that the Admiralty received a message from Tereshkova. She is making for the Yetti’s Star terminus with ‘a significant portion’ of her command’s capital assets. I am also taking certain liberties with certain Wickian stupidities.”

“I am not entirely sure I follow….”

“It is a little early yet, Friedrich, but I wish to remind whoever among the Wickians was moronic enough to employ singularity weapons how stupid their decision really was. I will travel to Pholus once the Diet recesses to arrange some additional details. For now, I want you to concern yourself with expediting your journey to Thetis and reminding Brooks how he represents the true succession of the Concordat and how the imperial government recognizes that only the Concordat Navy has truly protected the Wickians and kept their people’s interests close to their heart. Tereshkova will be a great asset for this. Use her stellar reputation with her Concordat cronies to your full advantage, as well as that wonderful reputation for her brutal honesty.”

“I will make sure to do so, Your Grace. Shall I inform the Lord Werner for you?”

“No, but thank you, Friedrich, I will take the pleasure of bringing my son up to speed.”

Von Gentz bows his head in acknowledgement, but Metternicht breaks the connection. The minister finds himself back in the much smaller world of his quarters aboard the Visigoth. Von Gentz allows himself a small smile and reactivates the maps and other reports. Then there is a utilitarian tone on the ship’s comm. No doubt the Visigoth’s kapitan informing him of the course change. Before receiving the call, von Gentz glances at his watch. The cruiser should arrive in Gregor by the smallest hours of tomorrow morning.

Yetti’s Star system

While the Solar Navy remnants are intruding on the Concordat Navy and Silver Fleet’s impromptu stand off in Gryps, the mid-system of Yetti’s Star is rent asunder by the blue-white distortions produced by the Verner superluminal drives employed by the empire when they reenter n-space. The system rapidly garnering the reputation for being the Great March’s seedy underbelly (a true Macao in space) suddenly finds itself playing host to a sizeable portion of Vizeadmiral Ekaterina Tereshkova’s command charged with policing the Great March War’s peace terms by the League of the Raumreich and combating the still rampant piracy of that area of the Oversector.

A division of dreadnoughts is surrounded by a full squadron of new Chimera-class battle cruisers. They are screened by a quartet of cruisers, three Odyssey-class drone destroyers, and three older Romanov-class destroyers. Several flights of Precentor-class interceptor drones, totaling twelve in all, launch from the dreadnoughts at the formation’s core along with a few shadowy, sporadic signatures suggesting the presence of Ferret-class EW/surveillance drones. It comes to no surprise to the system traffic controllers that the Kriegsmarine contingent’s flag is being carried by the battle cruiser HMS Chimera instead of one of the dreadnoughts.

A time-honed, muted silence of a Kriegsmarine warship on operational deployment but not at full battle readiness prevails on the Chimera’s bridge. Tereshkova looks out of the simulated view ports showing the red-orange gas giant that is the center of the system’s claim to civilization, far removed from the grinding wilds of Yetti’s strange massive ice crystal belt. She listens as the comm section reports the readiness of the other ships under her immediate command and several other reports are relayed to Kapitan zur Sternen Alexei Stucov, flag captain and formerly Tereshkova’s executive officer before her promotion to flag rank following the Great March War.

Alexei’s booted footfalls are as quite as ever as he approaches his admiral. Tereshkova’s hands never move from the small of her back. She continues to stare at the Collective Protectorate’s colony in the system.

“Admiral, all ships have reported in at the ready. We await your orders.”

“Continue as planned, Alexei. We proceed to the terminus under full military power. Comm is released to broadcast full League emergency transit codes under my authority.”

Alexei snaps his fingers at the bridge’s communication section, and the muted silence takes one a slightly keener edge. Moments later the Chimera starts to broadcast the codes given to Tereshkova by the Directory for Security and Stability for use in times of an emergency in the Great March. It orders all civilian ships to maintain at least 15,000 exclusion zone around the Kriegsmarine contingent and to clear the wormhole traffic pattern for the use of the imperial warships.

The warships’ acceleration rapidly starts to build toward the over 500 gravities that are the dreadnought’s maximum. The task force follows an arc that will swing around the gas giant before reaching the wormhole terminus held by the Verniian Imperium.

“Now we wait to see if the Verniians will be…problematic. But I do not expect they will be,” Tereshkova finally turns to face Stucov. “There is something else, Alexei.”

“Yes, Admiral, there is. We have messages from several of our warships in the system. They wish to know if you want them to break their current patrol schedule and join with the fleet.”

“What are our current assets in Yetti’s?”

“The cruiser Ostrogoth and the frigates King Raptor and Harridan are resupplying from the anchorage depot in-system. All three are scheduled to begin a new patrol in the Erewohn Sector in two days.”

“We have pulled enough ships off patrol. Transmit my thanks to the captains, but inform them they are to proceed as scheduled.”

“Aye, sir.”

“And give notice to all squadron and division commanders that there will be an ansible conference once we reach Erewohn.”

“Aye, sir.”

Tereshkova turns back to the view of the planet.

********

Message To: The Honorable Doctor Julius Haj, Director of State for the Collective Protectorates of Liberated New Hope
Message From: His Grace Sir Faustus Metternicht, First Minister for Her Imperial Majesty’s Foreign Affairs, Second Minister for Her Majesty’s Imperial Affairs, Archduke of Pholus
Message Re: Coordination and Cooperation Regarding the Emerging Crisis in the Wickian Concordat
Message Encrypt: HIMFS LEVEL: Scarlet, NCRYLVL: ALPHA-SPECPRO-1; PRIORITY: FLASH, RELA: Yalta, RELA: Morning Star, RELA: Baroness Anita Hollar, AMBASSADOR, MORNING STAR; PRIORITY 2: FLAHS, RELA: Yalta, RELA: Axis, RELA: Roum, RELA: Count Gerardes Broeffel, AMBASSADOR, ROUM

Esteemed Director,

Her Imperial Majesty, Empress Friedelinde Alderman I, finds considerable merit with the outline proposed by Prime Guardian Darius of the Morning Star. Her Majesty wishes me to inform His Highness that she is receiving the Federated Suns ambassador, Ser Benjamin Diamid, today in order to extend the Archon-Prince an invitation to this proposed summit on behalf of the United Star Empire and the Collective Protectorates.

However, Her Majesty expressed certain concerns with the proposal as it stands now. Her Majesty believes this summit must only produce unofficial results in terms of international policy. The Oversector must look to the League of the Raumreich and the Directory for Security and Stability to produce binding international policy during this time of crisis. If the leaders of the Inner Marches’ foremost powers are simply to meet and bypass the august organization founded after the Great March War, it begs to question why the League was reformed after the Ortagan Hegemony’s defeat. In Her Majesty’s view, this summit must be concerned with providing a unified front of coordination within the League and in the organization of both personal (meaning by respective heads of state at this summit) and international aid mission to the Wickian Concordat. Her Majesty does wish to emphasize that the United Star Empire would be more than willing to endorse or jointly sponsor any Directory or League measures the Collective Protectorates would like to introduce regarding an international investigation of the violations of the Second Proxima Centauri Accords in Ticonderoga. Her Majesty would also be greatly pleased if the Prime Guardian would join in a summit with the Wickian leadership and Her Majesty as an equal partner.

On another proposed change, Her Majesty affirms it is necessary to include the Greater Empire of Vakutu in this summit if a true consensus is to be reached at Gregor. The exclusion of His Imperial Majesty, the Emperor Jukaga nar Ki’ra, will only serve to increase tensions between the Greater Empire and its neighbors. Her Majesty extends her personal assurances that the Vaku will be a productive member of any summit.

Finally, Her Imperial Majesty will endeavor to join the extensive resources of her realm with the considerable resources of the Collective Protectorates to bring about a positive resolution to this current crisis and generate a new era of peace, prosperity, and stability in Wickian space.

For Her Imperial Majesty,
Faustus von Metternicht,
Archduke of Pholus

[Vakutu]

Vakutu system

Arrak nar Ki’ra sits alone in the gardens surrounding the nar Ki’ra compound on the Hill of Blades. The warmth of the morning sun did little to sooth Arrak’s growing frustration and rage. He drew in a deep breath and let out a low growl. Some part of his subconscious extended his claws and grooves were drawn in the arms of the stone chair he was sitting in.

His half-brother had left Varu early this morning, still filled with the high spirits of yesterday. Now Jukaga was headed for Alpha Centauri to broadcast the stupidities of Darius and his Silver Fleet to the entire Raumreich before the eight days passed. Arrack cursed. He grabbed the scroll from the ornately carved collapsible table beside him and read the contents over again. It would suffice. Anything he wrote now would only be more filled with dismay and contempt, expressions unbecoming the Erd’Thrak’Hra before a terran even one known so well. He grabbed the small heated cup of wax and poured a rough circle on to the scroll. Then he rammed his signet ring into the wax. Arrak sounded the small gong also resting on the table. He counted the barest of heartbeats until the liveried banner man arrived.

”Most Revered Liege Lord, Honored Brother of Our Emperor, and Erd’Thrak’Hra, how might this lowly Vak serve thee today?”

“You will personally see to it that this message reaches the Liberation embassy forthwith. It is to be delivered to no one else but the Lord Ambassador, Karl Zavak. Is this understood?”

“Harkening and obedience, My Liege Lord, it will be done upon my very life.”

“It had better. Before you depart, instruct the kitchen to warm arakh and bring it to me at once.”

“Yes, Liege Lord.”

After the banner man was gone, Arrak growled again and let it build slowly into a much deeper, reverberating roar.

********

Ambassador Zavak,

Your presence is required immediately at my estate. The actions of your military and your government are soon to incur a price I believe your Prime Guardian, his admirals, and his ministers will not enjoy paying.

Arrak nar Ki’ra

[The WIck]

CSN-Warden
Strength Class Battleship
3rd Defense Fleet, Concordat Space Navy
Thetis, Junction System, Former Wickian Concordat
2243 Hrs, Change+12

The armored marine sentry came to attention as Brooks moved through the opened hatch into his cabin. The Marine secured the hatch as his commanding officer moved through it. It had been a long day for the Admiral, he was becoming increasingly frustrated at sitting here in Thetis while so much was happening in Ticonderoga and now apparently Gryps with the arrival of a good portion of the Silver Fleet.

He pulled open his uniform blouse the Velcro making a ripping nose as he did so, and hanger the green jacket up on a coat hanger in his wall locker, then he sat down on his rack and took off his leather books and then his socks as he massaged his feet for a minute. He then stood and walked over to the small sink in his quarters and filled an old maroon naval academy mug with some hot water, and dropped a bag of green tea into it. As he steeped the water he began to smell the tea, this was his favorite part of the day. He was a man of some ritual and perhaps some contradiction, not many would drink a caffeinated drink before racking out but he did.

He brought the cup up to his mouth about to drink from it and savor its flavor, but then his eyes closed and he was someplace else entirely.

It was his N-Plants bringing his conscious mind to a conference call, this could only be done without his permission in only the most exigent of circumstance, whatever had happened it was not good.

He found himself standing in a starscape wearing a black and red navy skin-suit, but without the helmet. He looked around and saw the green primary beyond him, and then Slotter Key and Nexus, so he was in Gryps . Just as quickly as he identified the two inhabited planets, he located the Squadron under Rear Admiral Terriel’s command, and then the larger force 2AU’s away from it that pulsed the orange starburst given to a Liberation Command, he only had a second to consider the composition of that unit before his eyes were drawn to the crimson red haze that surrounded a taskforce near the systems’ Solar Navy caches. He felt a lump rise up into his throat as he recognized the units in that force,

Solar Navy.

“Glad you could join us Kyle.” The Admiral turned to face the voice, it was one he had not heard since the war, he recognized the shorter and thicker man quickly,

“Nice to see you too Gordo, sorry I haven’t had time to congratulate you on your new command.” The other admiral had inherited command of the Naval Forces in Ticonderoga as he had the forces in Thetis, between them they command the bulk of what was the CSN. Brooks was unsure still whether Gordon Meade was still loyal to the Concordat or to Armitager and his new Protectorate.

“Gentlemen,” Terriel’s voice cut into their informal exchange. “I have activated Case Orange in Gryps. As you can see for yourselves a large taskforce spearheaded by a squadron of Hegemon-II dreadnoughts has entered the system. At this time they have made no attempt to identify themselves, but due to their proximity to the old munitions containers their intent seems clear. It is my belief that this is a raid to re-supply their force’s expendables.”

Brooks spoke first,

“Gordon what do you think?”

““Let them, they can have their old foodstuffs and munitions and I concur that they will likely withdrawal from the system.”

It spoke volumes about the man that he did not suggest that the best course of action would be to assault the Solar Navy units and kill them simply because they were there. Well to rise to flag rank in the CSN one had to have survived what many didn’t.

Brooks shook his head,

“We cannot allow this force to resupply. Blow the depot Admiral Terriel. Then move to defend the system against a retaliatory attack, You are the senior commander in system, the Liberation Task Force will accept your authority, utilize their forces in the manner you deem best. Keep in mind that the best defense would be the destruction of those dreadnoughts. So long as they exist they have the potential to wreck havoc on many other colonies. I am ordering quick response forces deployed from Thetis and heavy units will be mobilized as well but they will not arrive for some days. We are asking a lot of your force Admiral, even with the Liberation units attached, it is a close match. Hold the system, protect our colony, and do the enemy harm.”


Admiral Terriel stood to attention and saluted the two senior admirals acknowledging his orders,

“I will try.” was all he said before he disappeared from the screen,

Brooks looked back to Admiral Meade,

“Terriel will force that squadron to retreat from the System when he does they will run. While we cant be sure of their destination, I doubt it will be to any of the successor states, deploy a screen of scouts cover the vectors leading to Mesa. We will pursue that force and attempt to destroy it before it can make good its escape.”

“Aye aye, just like the old days ain’t it?”

“Yup, lets see how many of those bastards we can make die.”

Then Brooks was back in his quarters. His arm was tired from holding the cup up to his face, so he finally drank some of the tea, damn it was cold. He drank it anyway. He needed the caffeine now he wouldn’t be sleeping tonight.

[The WIck]

CNS- Formidable DN-54,
Flagship, Gryps Squadron
Outside Slotter Key’s FTL/I zone
Gryps System, Former Wickian Concordat

He was back, on his flagship. He looked to the clock on his console, less then two minutes had elapsed since the arrival of the unknown task force comprised of Solar Navy Dreadnoughts.

“Back with us Admiral?”

Terriel heard the voice of his Chief of Staff, George Haskill ask him. Nu-Space allowed for real-time communication between the stars but unfortunately its only drawback would appear to be his staring blankly off into space while events unfolded in the real world. Haskil recognized and expected the short period, and gave orders to prepare the squadron for contact while the Admiral was indisposed.

“More of less,” The Admiral told his second. “Squadron Orders Case Orange is now activated all units to prepare to initiate defense plan Alpha-Eight.”

“Squadron Orders: Squadron Orders Case Orange is now activated all units to prepare to initate defense plan Alpha-Eight. Aye, aye sir.” Haskill confirmed the orders before he transmitted them to the Squadron.

The officers and warrants of the bridge crew executed their orders quickly and with the precision of a well trained and drill crew. They did not seem nervous or worried that they were about to go out and meet a superior enemy force in battle. There was one inherent fact about the Navy, they were professionals when it came to executing their duties.

“The Fleet Commanders have been made aware of the situation and they are committing the quick reaction force and are mobilizing heavier assets, but it will be some time before either arrives. Our orders are to hold the system and repel the unknown task force . Lieutenant Sanders, contact Fortress Command and order them to deploy pods and static assets they are to construct a defense in depth the squadron will operate independently and move to make contact with the unknown task force.“

The communications officer repeated the orders and transmitted them to the three orbital weapons platforms protecting the inhabited planets of Gryps. Two were in orbit of Slotter Key and a third in orbit of the moon Nexus II. Each of these were larger then a dreadnought and had extensive fire control links responsible for controlling the static defenses of the system. If the dreadnoughts of the unknown task force pushed into the system against Slotter Key or Nexus they would have to pay a price.

“Admiral, Battle Bridge reports that we have received a data burst from the depot’s sentry drones, they have a clean visual on the dreadnoughts. Each one is a Hegemon-II class Dreadnought with a 99.8% mass and profile match. One has been identified as the HSS Challenger, CNI records indicate its commander is a Commodore Michael Neilson, the other dreadnoughts match the units of the squadron he commanded during the Great March War. The screening War-Frigates and Monitors are a mixture of units from various former Solar Navy command groups.”

“Seems like the strays have found themselves a top dog, I wouldn’t have thought there were this many Hegemonic Dreadnoughts unaccounted for.” Haskill said.

“CNI thought there were, I know Command was getting Ambassador Whitcomb to keep remind the League that the threat was out here and real but the other powers didn’t want to clean up the mess left from the last war, why should they this bivouac
is far from any of their homes. Then the shit hit the fan in Ticonderoga, Nielson must think that the confusion of the last couple weeks will distract attention away from anything he might do. None of that matters now, what does matter is what we do now. Transmit this message in the open…”

“Michael Nielson, you and the personnel under your command are wanted for piracy crimes against the League and crimes against humanity. Your vessels are ordered to heave to and prepare for boarding. You will execute these orders immediately if you do not your vessels shall be fired upon and destroyed. Transmit your reply now or not at all. Gryps Six, Over.”

“Operations, dispatch courier drones to Erewhon, Vakutu, Morning Star, Gregor, and Alpha Centauri attach the exact composition of Nielson’s task force and advise them to prepare defense forces as well as activating channels to coordinate a pursuit. Put me on the mic with the Liberation TF in system,

Sheikh Thusla Actual this is Gryps Six, the ex-Solar Navy has translated into the system in force. My squadron is going establish contact with the enemy taskforce. I hereby rescind my previous orders due to the threat of these newly arrived vessels. It is my hope that as the engagement develops your will utilize the forces under your command to combat the enemy squadron. My command is going to execute a tactical fold to transit my vessels behind the mass shadow of Point Break to screen us from the enemy sensors, if you have assets capable of a similar maneuver it would be appreciated if your could detach them to my command if not, then maneuver your task force independently against the enemy, and remember no captain can do very wrong should he place his ship along side that of the enemy. Gryps Six, Out.

“All commands units report Red Con One and are standing by for fold displacement.” Commander Haskill reported.

“All Commands follow Formidable‘s lead, fold activation in five, four, three, two, Activate.”

With that command the entire Gryps squadron disappeared from sensors.

[Liberated New Hope]

Morning Star, New Hope, Olimpos Fleet Headquarters, The Monolyth

Captain Samul Jamal tapped gently on the door of Admiral Taam Masoud. He’d already been sent in by the Admiral’s secretary but was timid non-the-less. There was much bad news.

“Captain, when WORD* has something for me they usually put it in the mail...” the admiral looks up from whatever he had been reading to see the look of suppressed horror on Jamal’s face, “… but then this had to be sent to me in person, didn’t it?”

“Admiral, Weathership Station outside Gryps spotted this an three hours ago,” the Captain pulls a large glossy print and hands it to the Admiral, a black image with grainy white highlights, a constellation of lights concentrating here and there making a noticeable V formation. We didn’t know what to make of it until the size matched Silver Fleet ships. And about right now you should be getting a call from Admiral Rahal at Big K… he is very upset that he just received orders to stop the taskforce planned to help secure Gryps, now almost three weeks late.”

Just then a red flash comes up on the Admiral’s VoComm, and his secretary buzzes in. “Sir, Admiral Rahal is on line one.”

Jamal continues, “With lag in sensors and travel time, we figure the the taskforce of… 5 Dreadnoughts, 20 Battle Cruisers and… 20 Strike Cruisers has been inside the system’s hyperlimit for at least an hour without prior warning to Wickian command.”

The Admiral’s squinted eyes do not leave the Captain as he reaches over to pick up the VoComm. “Admiral Haral, I’ve been informed of the situation.”

“Good!” and electronic voice can be heard even by Jamal, shouting at the other end. “Then you’ll know that this is not coming down on Big K—we just got the orders half an hour ago and have been trying to sort it out since.”

Admiral Masoud is puzzled. “Well Raj, why the hell haven’t you called them back yet?”

“EMC interference—whatever the hell is going on out there, inter-system communications are either down or disrupted.”

And with this, Masoud is puzzled further. “Well our boys aren’t doing it—the taskforce was just supposed to stop…”

“Pirates! Yes I know—you’ve got-”

Masoud stops Rahal mid-sentense. “Rahal, whatever you do, you get a Messenger Boy* out there immediately and see what the hell is going on.” With that, Masoud hangs up the Comm and returns to Jamal.

“Captain, unless there’s any other business here I must go see Admiral Murphy immediately.”

*Watchtower Observation and Reporting Division
*Naval shorthand for a drone with multiple jump drives and “long legs” to hop between systems at high pace. Stresses on the drone typically make it a one-type use option.

(Just Outside) The Office of the Prime Guardian

Colonel Barry Nisba made his way to the Guardian’s office for the first time since the last Wickian incident had aroused Darius’ ire. This would be yet more bad news.

“Colonel Nisba, it’s been some time.”

“Indeed, Mr. Guardian. And I wish this could be under better circumstances. There is a problem in Gryps.” Nisba leans across the Guardian’s desk, handing him a printed report and a copy of the same glossy image handed to Masoud before. “As you can see, an error in a transmission que led to Admiral Rahal receiving orders to stop the taskforce… weeks late. They just arrived in Gryps, but Wickian Command was not alerted they were coming.”

Darius stares into the report, not looking away as he comments, “Damnit. If we don’t fix this soon it will be a fiasco. Murphy’s already ordered them out, yes?”

“That’s perhaps the worst bit, sir. EMC has been jammed, no inter-system communication is working. There’s a Messenger drone on its way from Big K to investigate. Olimpos is worried we may have a conflict on our hands.”

Darius stands from his seat. “You mean the Wickians are firing on our boys?!”

Nisba offers some comfort, though in a more informative tone. “That remains a possibility, though we’ve concluded it’s more likely pirates have entered the system and hostilities ensued from there. Because of the delay in Watchtower, we don’t know for another few hours how the system looks right now.”

Just then Darius’ personal Comm goes off. He glances down to see it is from Friedelinde—and that she demands an audience about the Silver Fleet in Gryps. His stomach sinks. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me… do we have any other information?”

“We’ll know more when WORD gets an update from Weathership Delta at four o’clock. The Messenger drone will arrive in Gryps an hour later and we should get an exact picture of what’s going on. If there is a fight, though, we should get word from Commador Il-Shek from the taskforce within the hour, if he can get a drone out of hyperlimit to broadcast back to Command.”

“Alright then—any updates get sent directly to my office.”

“Yes sir.”

“Dismissed.”

Nisba turns and makes his way out the office as Darius slowly lowers himself to his chair, considering what to do next. I can’t delay until five o’clock to speak with Friedelinde, she’ll think something is up… I can’t even wait the hour for Il-Shek to report back. Darius resolves to speak plainly with the Empress. Afterall, there was no ill-will here. A clerical error that could have been easily resolved with one call to the taskforce to retreat has been complicated by communications. He activates his N-plant to request a conference with the Empress. His heart was filled with dread. She’ll be so angry, he thought as he was launched to the plain white room of the virtual conference, awaiting her arrival.

[OOC: Valinon: Haj agrees to Metternicht/the Empress’s suggestions cordially, suggesting both a duel invite to the Archon Prince as well as Vakutu. I didn’t feel this warranted too much presense on the post].

Vakutu, Varu, the Estate of Arrak nar Ki’ra

Karl Zavak, despite what one might imagine about an embassy in Vakutu, pursued a relatively trouble-free career. He was appointed Ambassador to the Vaku Empire because of his vast knowledge of the Vaku people, and upon taking up his post his primary obligation was simply to foster positive relations and levy more and more positive trade deals for the Empire.

Today would not be such an easy day.

Sitting in the car for a moment to prepare before embarking for the door, Zavak voices his concern in a hushed tone in Vaku, as he’d come accustomed to speaking, “[/i]I find it troublesome that I must find out about my own Homeland’s follies from Arrak.[/i]”

Kali am’Czek, Zavak’s aid and a redeemed Vaku refugee from Yetti’s Star, reflected his worries. “It is true—only news of disaster comes this way. Shall I remain in the car?.”

“No… though I may have you wait in atrium. We’ll have to see exactly how grave the news is.”

As he steps out of the car, Zavak’s form is notably similar to that of his Vaku colleague. Zavak had undergone the same genotherapy most CPMC marines receive to make himself more comparable to the Vaku he’d be dealing with on a daily basis. He is welcomed into the estate and stands in the atrium, awaiting Arrak’s arrival.

Gryps, onboard the Sheik Thusla

Commador Il-Shek is suddenly bombarded by a host of news. “CONTACT!” shouts one lieutenant. “Solar Navy is in system, location 194.192.495, heading 291.304.291.” Just then, Comm informs him that first, the request to Big K for further instruction made it through, and a partial reply made it back: that the taskforce should return to Big K immediately. No updates to Command could be sent back to command with the Solar unit’s EMC screen.

He looks to his XO, Commander Hodge. “Call To Arms, and Inform Commander Manticore that his Strike Cruisers are to report to Point Break and take command from Gryps Six immediately. Nav, get me alongside those ships. Begin bombardment the minute we’re in range.”

Throughout the ship, “TO ARMS, TO ARMS!” rings the XO’s voice as he announces it into the intercom.

Nav reports back “We’re already spun up to jump deeper in system, after that we’ll drive another six minutes to get within range.”

Comm. informs the Commadore, “Manticore is prepared to jump, will arrive at Point Break in 3… 2… 1… they’ve arrived.”

The Commadore looks around the bussling bridge then glares into the holotank with a keen eye. Only a few years prior he’d served as a Captain in the Coalition war. He had led a ship into Roum. Many of his colleages, many of his friends, many of his men died in that hell hole. “Execute the jump.”

[New Ortaga]

Combat Bridge, HSS Challenger, Gryps system, Wickian Concordat
06.14.1304 AF
1715 Solar Forces Standard

The combat bridge’s noise level was far above what Neilson normally tolerated during an operation. But the commodore’s tactical display was filled with far more counters than Neilson had ever anticipated being in Gryps. FleetCom was dealing with the reports flooding in from Neilson’s division commanders and captains who are more recent recruits to the task force.

Neilson continues to let FleetCom deal with the immediate fallout. He glares at the red counters pulsating in red on the other side of the supply cache. All the counters are marked as unknown. The warships Neilson expected in Gryps, blaring their usual Concordat Navy codes across open frequencies, are still centered on Slotter Key. The commodore doesn’t expect that to last indefinitely, but the more important question is who the hell else decided to pay the faltering Concordat an unexpected visit.

The counters begin to flash blue and a status bar appears, indicating an upload from Challenger’s CIC. An uplink indicator flashes at the tactical display’s edge. Neilson lowers the mike boon on his headset and activates the link.

“You had best found more information than I am looking at right now, Lieutenant.”

“Yes, sir. Sorry, sir. We are uploading all our data to your displays and the rest of the fleet now. Propulsion, energy output, and mass signatures match data we have on warships operated by the Silver Fleet,” Neilson glances at the updated display. Five unknowns at the center of the enemy formation change designation to dreadnoughts. Twenty vessels riding in an escort formation generic enough to be used by any of the Inner Marches’ major or minor powers reappear as battlecruisers. But ten vessels retain their mocking unknown status.

“I am still seeing ten unknown vessels, Lieutenant.”

“We have been unable to identify these ships, Commodore. They don’t match any vessels we have in or databases or the updated information from the Admonitor. Our initial readings on their power signatures put them in a dreadnought equivalent class, but their mass and propulsion signatures fall well short of any known warships operated by the Silver Fleet’s traditional battle line.”

“Some post-war generation battlecruiser or battleship class?”

“That would be my initial assessment, sir, but I must admit it is an educated guess at best. We are conferring with Admonitor’s CIC now, and there appears to be a lot of com traffic between the vessel are identifying as the Silver Fleet’s flagship,” one of the dreadnoughts was outlined in gold, “and the Wickian vessels farther out. It’s not being broadcasted with high level encryption, sir. What we have managed to decrypt suggests the Concordat forces are just as surprised by the Liberation presence as we are.”

Neilson watches as the unidentified Liberation vessels start to build acceleration, clearly breaking away from the rest of the Silver Fleet contingent. The fact their presence is a surprise to the current management of the system does little to alleviate the significant inconvenience they pose to the resupply operation.

“I expect additional updates, Lieutenant. If there is any…intransigence on Veitch’s CIC you are to inform me immediately.”

“Yes, Commodore.”

As was his custom, Neilson kept the combat bridge’s overhead feeds set to the open channels. The message from Gryps Six blares out of the speaker. The message—one Neilson assumes the Wickians thinks he will take seriously—makes the commodore smirk ever so slightly. He glances at Slotter Key. The Concordat warships are beginning to get under way.

“Triangulate the source of that message!”

“Yes, Commodore.”

A gold aura encircles one of the Wickian warships, indicating the Concordat Navy’s flagship in the system. Barely perceptible seconds pass before the Wickian warships vanish from Neilson’s sensors. Neilson looks skyward.

“Position on the Wickians!”

“The Concordat Navy element has disappeared from our sensors, Commodore. Their last navigational heading would be consistent with the alignment needed for a translation closer to the primary.”

Well, at least the Wickians were still painful obvious when it came to tactics. Either they were setting up for a rather clumsy ambush or abandoning the system. The Concordat Navy’s contingent was exactly what Veitch’s intel said it would be and confirmed by the reports from the Spinward several weeks ago. Their numbers—including those obscenely ancient hulks the Concordat still dared to call “battleships”—would have made the choice obvious for Neilson. But he knew better than to think the Wickians would make a tactical withdrawal.

“Fleet Sensors, I want increased surveillance on the system’s first planet and the primary. Instruct the Agile and Revolutionary Vanguard to redirect their observations to the limit of the planetary and primary mass shadows.”

“Yes, Commodore,” there was a muttering exchange as Neilson continues to look at the dance of warships around Gryps’ primary.

“Commodore, we are receiving mutual requests for confirmation of the missile hold given the Silver Fleet’s presence in the system. Shall we issue new instructions?” the FleetCom section head looks at Neilson.

“And waste our stores? Hardly, all divisions are to maintain missile hold until otherwise instructed by Fleet Actual. If the Wickians and the Liberation want to trade missile at range let them. We have more than enough counter-missiles to blow what they can throw at us out of the sky. But there is no need to waste one salvo when they can do the same.”

“Yes, sir. And there is a message from Citizens’ Will Actual. They are reporting numerous sensor anomalies coming from the cache?”

“Does Captain Defilippo define ‘anomalies,’ FleetCom?”

“Citizens’ Will Actual reports numerous small power sources. There CIC is unable to ascertain a match to any known Wickian hardware. Our CIC fails to find a match, but the power output is consistent with reactors of Concordat manufacture.”

Neilson’s eyes narrow. Perhaps there is more to this ambush than meets the eye. Well, the Wickians were never incapable of learning. They merely chose not to apply the lessons they’d been taught. Neilson wished he could say that wasn’t a flaw he saw in numerous officers he’d trained for his own service.

“Contact Group Captain Hydeoshi and have a recon flight detached to inspect the cache in detail. And how much more acceleration can Major Zimmerman give us on the cargo conveyors?”

Neilson waits patiently for a response as two monitors leave one of the squadron formations. They start a hard acceleration only a few gravities removed from redlining their drives.

“Commodore, conveyors are currently at 95 percent of their power capacity. Major Zimmerman replies he can offer 105 percent without straining his vessels beyond safe parameters.”

“Tell Major Zimmerman to make it so. Have the fleet set acceleration to two-thirds power to match acceleration and maintain formation. Let’s see if the Concordat Navy and the Silver Fleet are willing to do anything than dance with us at range.”

“Yes, Commodore.”

Silver Fleet’s unknowns abruptly vanish, much as the Wickians had minutes ago.

“Fleet Sensors, compare Liberation navigation heading with the Concordat warships’ heading.”

“Similar match, sir, consistent with a translation to the inner system.”

“Then time is even more of the essence. Inform all ships to be ready to assume Forsythe Formation on my order.”

“Yes, Commodore.”

Bridge, FNS Immolan, Unclaimed system, Near Gryps system
06.14.1304 AF
1723 Solar Forces Standard

Jannot watches as Marcia continues to jot away on the tactical display with her stylus. The Immolan and her escorts are rapidly clearing the Spinward’s exclusion zone and making no attempt to enter a high orbit.

“Com, report task force status.”

“Aurora and Reid reporting as ready for translation to Gryps, ma’am. Fahrion Actual reports ready to translate in three minutes.”

“Tell Commander Park he will make it two minutes at the most. ComCon, what is your status?”

“The wing is secure, ma’am. Deck chiefs report first response squadrons are being prepped for post-translation launch. Arkbird and Talon response squadrons are being prepped on pod hangers for emergency combat launch, as per your orders.”

“Where’s Bargas’ courier?”

“Courier 227 is prepari—Courier 227 translated out of linear space.”

“Thank you, Com,” Marcia sets her stylus aside and works her hand. She looks at Jannot.

“You look pensive, Mr. Jannot, although I think this is highly understandable in this case.”

Jannot nodded and walked around the display, “Captain, I am not entirely sure the Wickians won’t fire on us once we enter the system or say we are colluding with Neilson’s invasion of Gry—“

“Ma’am, Fahrion Actual reports they are ready for translation,” Marcia looks at the chronometer in the display and nods appreciatively. “Continue, Mr. Jannot.”

“As I was saying, ma’am, what if the Wickians view our intervention as being part of the pirate attack?”

“It is a concern, Mr. Jannot, but not the greatest one we need to confront. Tell me, what was the vogue tactical manual when you completed your training for the service.”

“Lide’s Fleet Action and Strategy, Captain, but I’m not entirely sure how that’s…” Marcia held up a hand.

“Give me a few moments, Mr. Jannot. Lide was a brain dead, pension drawing corpse by the time that manual was written. His name is on the cover, and he managed to write the forward. The second is the more impressive achievement. Lide’s and its lessons are the instruction manual for our officers with just cause, but there is one problem in this situation. Michael Neilson might as well have written the entire tome by hand. He served as the Academy’s leading instructor for two decades before Galt and Saharin finally got desperate enough to give him a command and send him to the front. Let’s leave aside the fact he hounded the Coalition fleets from the rear all the way to Roum, do you know anything about the last military action in Seljuk before the war ended, Mr. Jannot?”

“That information is still classified, Captain.”

“With good reason, Mr. Jannot. The Valinor wanted that incident hushed up. We wanted it hushed up. Michael Neilson ambushed a Valinor super-dreadnought supported by two of our own battleships and a defected Hegemon II. He destroyed them all, Mr. Jannot, and burned the lifeboats out of existence. Then he raided the system’s supply cache and fled the Suns.”

Marcia turned look Jannot squarely in the eye, “Neilson trained most of our officer corps, Mr. Jannot. The ones he didn’t train embraced his tactics because they’re as brilliant as anything Hellings or Saharin ever produced. I am willing to consider that the Wickians could out think Neilson. But all the thought in the universe won’t cover for the fact there aren’t two Wickian hulls in Gryps worth a damn. We can’t tip the scales, Mr. Jannot, but we can make sure the Wickians have help covering an evacuation of their colony.”

Marcia turns back and picks up the stylus, “Take up command of damage control. If we don’t have more than a few holes burned in our hull today we won’t have done our job.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Sound off!” Marcia switches the display to the last updated map of Gryps. The bridge’s sections rattle off their greens one by one. Marcia picks up her stylus.

“Helm, execute translation.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Mid-system, Gryps system, Wickian Concordat
06.14.1304 AF
1712 Solar Forces Standard

The space just short of 1.5 million kilometers from Neilson’s entry point into linear space is torn by eerily similar white flashes. To the naked eye—and even to electronic ones—the Federated Suns’ arrival closely resembles that of the Solar Navy dreadnoughts and their escorts.

The Immolan and her escorts are a far cry from the naval hammer preparing to descend on the supple cache anvil. But Marcia Case’s command is willing to make up in dedication what it lacks in virtually all other areas of comparison with the last war’s ghost. The launch tubes lining the outer edge of the carrier’s hanger pods erupt as the first response fighter squadrons race away from their mother ship. The hangers are filled with a surge of Arkbird bombers and Talon MUVs racing into open space.

The carrier, the cruiser, and the two war-frigates emblazoned with the Federated sun-and-sword device orient themselves toward the approaching collision between the Solar Navy and the Silver Fleet. Their drives build acceleration as they race to join the fight against Michael Neilson’s hardened Hegemonic survivors.

Neilson’s Command

Commodore Neilson’s flagship is the HSS Challenger, a Hegemon II class dreadnought of a production run laid down 10 to 15 years before the Great March War. Three of the other dreadnoughts are Challenger’s immediate sisters: HSS Colossus, HSS Courageous, and HSS Conqueror. The three remaining dreadnoughts are a mixture of production runs, but none was laid down earlier than five years prior to the war. They are the HSS Peremptory, HSS Relentless, and the HSS Resolution.

As Concordat naval intelligence suggests, all seven dreadnoughts were under Neilson’s command during the last weeks of the war. Neilson harassed the Grand Coalition’s rearguard after the fall of Axis. His operation was designed to buy time for the preparations to defend the Hegemony’s core systems like Roum, Gadsen, and St. Ives. Neilson’s operation was a tactical success, and he scored several impressive victories over the Coalition navies. However, the Hegemony’s internal strife and military collapse were too advanced to be prevented or even significantly stalled by a mere seven dreadnoughts.

A few of the war-frigates and monitors are part of Neilson’s original command, but most are drawn from other commands that fled the Hegemony’s collapse. The war-frigates still sail under their original designations. Monitors no longer fly under their original squadron designation. At the time of the Gryps raid, Neilson’s monitors operate as three squadrons: Red, Green, and Blue. Each squadron consists of twelve Ansel class monitors. Group Captain Hydeoshi typically leads the monitor squadrons from Blue Squadron.

The war-frigates under Neilson’s command are divided into two operating divisions. The first division consists of seven vessels as follows: HSS Citizens’ Serenity, HSS Citizens’ Will, HSS Citizens’ Guardian, HSS Fervent, HSS Untamable, HSS Watchful, and HSS Vigilant. The second division consists of six vessels as follows: HSS Decisive, HSS Capable, HSS Exemplary, HSS Agile, HSS Revolutionary Vanguard, and HSS Azov. Captain, Senior Grade, Carmella Defilippo commands Neilson’s first division from the Citizens’ Will. The second division is commanded by the Exemplary’s CO, Commander Claudio Virgadamo. Information reguarding the other war-frigates and their officers is fragmentary. Both Defilippo and Virgadamo were part of Neilson’s original command.

[Vakutu]

Vakutu

The wood doors, stained even darker than their natural grain, are hauled open for Karl by two porters dressed in uniforms unmarked except for an unadorned glyph of the nar Ki’ra. The two porters cast their eyes downward and stoop slightly. There is little doubt these are commoners whose only claim to any status is a position as affiliates to one of the nar Ki’ra banner clans. The glyph is repeatedly worked into the scrolling engravings that cover the entire door.

Inside the atrium is a room of marble and metal. The grey-white marble floor is shot through with black veins. Eight columns made of the same marble and bound with a metal swirl jab skyward until they reach the roof. The metal and slate common to Vaku architecture is left bare as is the custom. Arrak’s atrium is well lit from six skylights, three to each side, divided in asymmetrical panes. The atrium’s opposite end is dominated by a rectangular staircase that descends from a walkway running across the atrium to intercept the main floor between the two rows of columns. Two additional doors are partially hidden by the walkway’s shadow on either side of the stair. The windows on the opposite of the atrium, visible over the interior marble walkway railing, give a glimpse of the extensive gardens that dominate the center of Arrak’s home.

But the architecture is not the immediate distraction for Savak and Kali. At the base of each column stands a nar Ki’ra clansman. Each clansman is dressed in armor that bears a passing resemblance to the lorica segmentata of Earth’s Roman Legions save it is horribly oversized, decorated with angular protrusions on the shoulders, and worn over another layer of mail. None of the clansmen wear a helm—as is proper when guarding a clan lord’s home—but each wears the broad, heavy short sword favored by the Vaku and holds a towering pike tipped with an asymmetrical blade. The six warriors could have stepped out of the pages of a history text on the pre-modern Vaku society. In unison the warriors turn toward Arrak’s guests. A slight bowing of their heads denote recognition of the Protectorate ambassador, but six harsher glares settle on Kali. The Greater Empire and its society have a low opinion of ex-patriots; even Kali’s status at the embassy does little to mitigate this. The mouth of the warrior on the right and closest to the door opens slightly.

”The esteemed Lord Ambassador and his…colleague are welcomed in my home.”

Without a sound, Arrak nar Ki’ra and his two wives seem to have materialized at the top of the stairs. Arrak is dressed in a flowing red robe trimmed in a deep-hued purple and opened slightly at the chest. The belt across his waist is connected to a metal guard on his right shoulder by another piece of leather again intricately worked with the nar Ki’ra glyph. Arrak’s first wife, Altahara, is dressed in a lighter red dress tightly bound with a belt at the waist and reaching slightly below her knees. She wears a pendant with Arrak’s personal crest tied around her neck by a simple leather band. Narala, Arrak’s second wife, wears a dress of deep-hued purple trimmed in red. The two study Savak and Kali with a slight smile of indifference.

Arrak clicks two of his claws together in the Vaku equivalent of a snap. Both doors on the stair open and two servants rush outward. They stand at the foot of the stares, bowing low, and their garb is similar to the porters.

”Dearest Ones, see to it that the Lord Ambassador’s colleague is given refreshment and entertain him while my honored guest and I attend to the business of state due our ranks. We will join you for a repast momentarily,” Arrak looks down at his servants. ”Attend to the ladies of my heart and Kali am’Czek as if I personally directed you. See the kitchens proved beverages to my solar at once as well.”

“Yes, Most Esteemed Lord. We are willing and obedient!” the servants reply in unison.

Arrak’s wives descend the stairs leaving space between them two allow Savak to ascend while they attend to Kali. Arrak waits patiently for the ambassador to reach the walkway. There is a passing bit of rage wandering through his friend’s eyes Savak can tell is not directly focused at him. Althara and Narala start to lead Kali back toward the stair. To the warriors’ credit, they stare straight ahead rather than tracking the trio’s progress.

”Come, Honored Friend, we have much to discuss,” Arrak leads Savak to the door at the left end of the walkway. Kali and Arrak’s wives are headed toward the right.

Arrak’s solar, offering an even better view of the gardens, is only a few doors away from the atrium. It is appropriate for the room where most of a lord’s business will be conducted to be close to the atrium to allow for punctual entrances and exits of both the lord and his guest. Another warrior, still dressed in armor but lacking the pike, opens the door for Arrak and Savak.

Arrak’s solar is a paradigm of order. Stone shelves line the walls filled with scrolls, books in the host of languages used by Terrans in the Raumreich and Sol, memorabilia, and commemorations due a lord of Arrak’s stature. Arrak’s desk is a wide, long table made of deeply stained wood resting on two arches painted black. Behind the desk is a massive cross frame chair heavily carved and with a simple cloth pad. In front of the desk are four plain cross frame chairs painted black and without a pad. To either side of the desk against the walls are chairs of a much smaller size. A single manservant, no doubt Arrak’s personal steward, is in the servant. He moves to exchange a chair, but stops when he sees Savak. He bows as an apology for his momentary intransigence.

”Leave us, Siraalak, and see to it that the Lord Ambassador and I are not disturbed. Announce yourself before bringing in the refreshment I have ordered.”

“Harkening and obedience, My Esteemed Lord,” with another bow the steward is gone.

Arrak moves quickly to a lacquered cabinet against the wall to the right of the desk. His thumb moves to the oddly large brass latch and there is a slight whirring sound before the latch releases. When he turns around he holds a crystal decanter by the neck in one hand and two glasses in the other. He walks to the desk and motions for Savak to be seated as he pours the amber liquid that permeates the air with the smell of whiskey imported from Valinon. The Vaku nobles have developed a healthy appetite and appreciation for Terran liquors of all sorts. Arrak sits a glass with a health pour on Savak’s side of the desk. He keeps an equally healthy drink for himself.

”You will need that in a moment. What I show you hear, Karl, never leaves this room.”

Arrak picks up a large folder from the desk and pulls out a veritable ream of images cut as parallelograms, a publishing method unique to the Vaku. The images are stamped with scrolls of Vaku glyphs running vertically on either side. The glyphs identify the images as being pictures of the Gryps system. Other information denotes they are from a stealthed Flight Command and Control vessel that prowls the borders of Vaku space, and often beyond. The image series identify the Wickian colony, Concordat Navy warships, and the supply caches left in the system by the defunct Ortagan Hegemony.

But the last third of the images show a formation of warships near the Ortagan containers. Glyphs identify warships of the Silver Fleet and reference communications analysis not presented with the pictures.

”There are holograms and a few other reports on the comm chatter I could show you, but I think that says enough. The Emperor gave these to me shortly after he said he was departing for Alpha Centauri to present these findings to the Empress and the Valinor prime minister, along with Archduke von Metternicht. The communications analysis made it clear the Silver Fleet commander identified himself and stated his mission as securing the system for Armitager. My brother left in a veritable sea of unseemly giddiness in the early morning. By now he is crossing the terminus to Alpha Centauri fully prepared to tell all his friends and associates in the imperial government and military of how the Verniians have found a willing pawn to install a new Wickian government for them.”

Arrak takes a hefty drink and swallows almost as an afterthought, ”Now, Karl, is there a particular reason your government has decided to make my life a private preserve of Nargast¹ and provide the Valinor government with a rather credible bit of justification for why it is necessary to continue its institutionalized distrust of Gregor and all governments that associate with it in a single strike?”

¹ The Vaku equivalent of hell. It is a barren, frozen wasteland in with nothing to hunt.

[The WIck]

CSN- Formidable DN-54
Flagship, Gryps Squadron
Low Orbit of Point Blank
Gryps System, Wickian Territory


As the Wickian command integrated the ten strike cruisers into their formation . The ten strike cruisers where in two lines of five stacked one over the other. The two dreadnoughts of Terriel’s squadron were center of the line between the two lines of strike cruisers. His two battle cruisers were astern of his flagship. The eight destroyers and four cruisers of his screen were arched out in a crescent on the port side of the formation deployed to cover the side of the formation that would be facing the Solar Navy. His staff went about communicating with the Liberation cruisers, linking them in with the sensor net and communications. As well as integrating them into the command structure and making them aware of the intervals and spacing they’d have to maintain in formation, and the hundreds of other things that were taken for granted when operating with fellow CSN vessels that the Silver Fleet would not even be aware of.

As he thought about the deployment Admiral Terriel found himself laughing a bit nervously.

“Sir?” His Chief of Staff George Haskil asked?

“I was just thinking about how history tends to repeat itself. The Jackal himself in Gryps.” Terriel had read the reports about the harassment of the Allied Fleet in the Northern campaign. He had not been apart of that action himself. His Task Force liberated Thetis and then counter attacked against the second invasion of Ticonderoga. Nielson , the Jackal’s exploits were well known at least upon the upper ranks.

“Aye sir, it does seem similar to the action at Seljuk. He enters the system with overwhelming numerical superiority figuring he can stand us off or wipe us out and make off with another supply cache. it’s a good thing the Liberation came when they did then Admiral, not for nothing that is a lot of tonnage headed for the depot.

The Wickian Admiral just grunted. Nielson was a renown tactician, known for picking fights he could win, and wiping out that force in the ambush at Seljuk. Unfortunately for the remains of the Solar Navy they were not raiding a recently occupied system guarded by and handful of vessels. Granted he did not have a Fleet or even a Task Force but he had enough and he had years to prepare to defend against just such a raid as this one.

Nielson’s infamous reputation would be put to the test this day.

“Hyper Translation!”

“Where away?” Admiral Terriel asked his Astro-Navigation officer, just as the new threat icons were plotted in the ‘tank.

“Four contacts, one point five million klicks behind Bogey One. Their IFF is squawking Federated Suns Navy.”

“Confirm that!” He ordered quickly.

His chief of staff George Haskil responded first,

“Its confirmed Admiral, it’s the Federated Navy. One carrier the Immolan the cruiser Aurora and the war frigates Fahrion and Reid .” The transponders displayed their names but Haskil was a consummate profession having memorized just about every ship in the Fed Suns Navy. “It is a carrier group under the command of Captain Marcia Case.”

Terriel wondered for a moment who else was going to suddenly and without warning appear in his system. He could only draw one conclusion from the appearance of the Federated Suns carrier group, they must have been in pursuit of Nielson’s command and determined his likely destination. Arriving in system that close to the enemy formation could mean they intended only one course of action, an attack. It was a reckless attack, it would cost most of the people in that carrier group their lives but their blood would be spilt defending a Wickian system and such blood debt meant something to people like him. But damn him if he was going to let warriors brave enough to throw their lives away like that do it for no reason.

“Signals, open a channel to the Immolan , use league encryption.”

The signals officer entered commands on her board and then looked at him, “Live mike Admiral.”

“Commodore Case Welcome to Gryps. My units are moving against the enemy squadron. There exists vast disparity between your group and the Enemy squadron in both firepower and tonnage. If you can break contact do so. If you are already committed see how many of them you can make die. Strength and Honor, Formidable out.”

Well it was a day for unexpected events, a Wickian Admiral treating an Ortagan Captain as he would a comrade in arms.

“Squadron orders, Close with and engage the enemy.”

The formation of allied ships accelerated out from behind the barren hot rock that was point blank. Their engines accelerated to maximum military power, using the gravity of the small planet to assist the task force to get up to speed. As they exited orbit and began to move past the primary the task force would be moving in behind the Ortagan squadron and on the opposite side of the squadron as the Liberation’s main body placing Nielson’s command into a crossfire.

“Signals, Initiate Alpha-One.” Terriel order and the communications officer pushed a single button, that transmitted the signal that would detonate the nuclear mines that were planted throughout the supply caches. One after another the mines detonated in a spectacular display of fusion and hellfire.

Terriel was not saddened one bit that the Solar Navy was denied their supplies. He did realize that some of the mines failed to detonate properly, as a result about twenty percent of the caches survived, in containers scattered about the ruins of the four supply caches that could still be recovered if the enemy was determined and desperate enough to spend the time doing so as the combined allied task forces bore down on his position.

[New Ortaga]

Old Federation Assembly Hall, Braavos, New Ortaga, Roum system, Federated Suns of New Ortaga.
06.14.1304 AF
1622 Roum Local Standard

“The Suns must remain as a beacon for disarmament in the Raumreich. I will reiterate what is at the heart of Senator Silvius’ and my arguments. The Intra-System Security Patrol Initiative and the existing Federated Forces are more than sufficient to police our borders and maintenance the defense of our Suns. We must place a greater faith in the new age of international law and diplomacy coming into its own across the Oversector than in any force of arms. The League of the Raumreich, the Directory for Security and Stability, and the disarmament organizations that oversee the dismantling of the Great March War’s weapons of mass destruction are the future—our future, the Oversector’s future. By even entertaining the Military Reestablishment Act we are undermining what was fought for at the Alpha Centauri Peace Summit and created as law in the Second Proxima…”

Yuri Kellarny would give Senator Antonia Amante one thing. She believed every word she was speaking, and she would fight to stop the attempt to reestablish the Federated Forces as a real military force with every breath in her body. Hell, she was even doing it when there were growing calls for her recall by the Free State of Spindrift—the collection of orbitals around the massive gas giant Tangerine in St. Ives Amante represented.

But Spindrift’s senator was fighting a losing battle. Popular and political support had rallied to the rearmament process when the Archon-Prince spoke in favor of expanding the Federated Forces last month in his address to the Senate. Yuri studied the faces sitting in the Assembly Hall’s inner most tiers. There were fifty senators in all, two for each of the Federated Suns’ free states, republics, unions, and provinces. Silvius—who represented the Union of Marduk in distant Xerxes—and Amante would muster twelve votes to oppose the MR Act if they included themselves in the tally. They couldn’t stop the passage if it came to a vote, but they were filibustering as a last resort. Senator Marcus Wayridge, the MR Act’s author, managed to pass a fifteen minute limit on speakers’ time two days ago. His motion to close debate failed for reasons Yuri still could not fathom. Some times the realm of politics escaped the Federated Suns’ consul.

“Yuri, Yuri…” Yuri looked at Erin Taliulu, the vice consul. Erin was gesturing at his watch. Yuri started and grabbed the gavel. He rapped it twice.

“Senator Amante, the dais offers its apologies, but your time has elapsed. Do you wish to make any motions at this time?”

Amante glanced quickly at the aide sitting with her. She covered the microphone at her delegation’s pod. After a few seconds she turns back, “I would move for two hour recess, as is custom for the evening.”

Yuri resisted the urge to look skyward. There was a good deal more than a break for dinner in this motion, “This motion is in order, Senator. Is there a second?”

A series of green lights sparked to life from the delegations’ pods, not all of them were Amante’s allies either.

“Is there any opposition?”

Wayridge’s and several of the MR Act’s sponsors immediately lit up.

“Seeing opposition, the dais will now hear one proponent and one opponent speaking on this motion. Speaking in favor of this motion…Senator Amante. Speaking against the motion? Senator Wayridge. Senator Amante, the dais recognizes you for a period of thirty seconds…”

Old Federation Assembly Hall, Braavos, New Ortaga, Roum system, Federated Suns of New Ortaga.
06.14.1304 AF
1648 Roum Local Standard

The consul's temporary office was formerly the offices of Federation of New Ortaga’s secretary-general centuries ago. The Merchanter families that dominated the Free State of Landing, the oldest area of Ortaga, paid to have the office restored for Yuri. In a very formal ceremony, Yuri thanked them and settled into the opulent, regal splendor prepared for the Suns’ first consul. In an unofficially ceremony late at night a few months later, most of the antiques, gold, and brass made their way back into storage.

Yuri took a drink of red wine and eyed the robes and stole thrown across his desk. He was thankful to be liberated from the other trappings of his office for a bit. Ibram Thrace, the foreign ministry’s praetor, sat in one of the chairs opposite the desk nursing his own glass of wine. The vice consul was sampling some of the olives and bread Jenna Eco, Yuri’s chief of staff, had sent in.

“Are you sure you wouldn’t like anything?” Erin drizzled some oil on the bread. Yuri leaned back and shook his head. “The lovely Mrs. Thrace is expecting me for dinner, Erin. I would be ashamed if I disappointed her table.”

Ibram smiled, “That is if we can ever get out of this session…”

“Yes, I’m sure Marcus was thrilled by the vote on Amante’s motion. You were right, Erin. Support for a bill is directly proportionate to a senator’s stomach. I owe you a denarius.”

The vice consul waves and moved to sit down. Since Kellarny’s nomination for the consul’s popular election was not opposed by any other, he had gotten to select his vice consul rather than having to settle for the candidate with the second greatest amount of votes. Erin had been Xerxes governor under the Hegemony, but he’d been one of the first to rise against Jordan Galt when that man took position of Hegemon following Channing Ansel’s murder. Even before the tiny colony of Marduk openly rebelled, the vice consul had used his distance from Roum to gain a certain amount of independence.

Jenna opened the door to the office, “His Highness is on his way, Yuri.”

“Thank you, Jenna,” Yuri sat up. He propelled his chair around to look at the Braavos skyline. The Suns’ oldest city sprawled across hundreds of isles and the nearby coast. Rounded towers glistened in the summer sun, still riding in the sky. “Ibram, what do you make of this meeting in Gregor?”

“It’s historic, that’s for sure. There’s never been a gathering of this many heads of state in the Oversector. I’m still surprised the Valinor are willing to attend a meeting in Gregor. Ser Benjamin said it must be Friedelinde’s doing, but I would be concerned if I was in the Empress’ shoes gallivanting of to my traditional rival’s capital without any protest from the most conservative of imperial governments in recent memory.”

Yuri took another drink, “You’re already working on a staff for the Prince if this does get out of orbit?”

“I’m calling in every expert I can, Yuri. If I have to, I will resort to abducting professors, and Cedric is sending his best from his office and Axis to help with security issues.”

The door opened again. Yuri looked up and acknowledged Jenna’s look with a nod.

“I’d get rid of that plate, Erin. His Highness will be here shortly.”

The vice consul bounded across the room to hide his plate in the cart’s underside cabinet. He pulled the white linen back in front of it before reclaiming his seat.

Yuri looked at his almost empty wine glass, “I do not think I will be able to escape tomorrow’s session, or if I did I don’t know how long it would be before Amante is simply torn apart. The two of you may be over the final staff selection for the Prince. I don’t see any problem with this…”

“We could delay the selection until the eveni—“

Yuri shook his head, “I have another meeting to attend, Ibram.”

Something about the look in his old friend’s eyes made Ibram worry. But before he could say anything Jenna opened the door.

“Gentlemen, His Highness the Archon-Prince.”

“Still too, too formal, Ms. Eco, but you have my sincerest thanks,” Tiberius Corrin was dressed in a simple black suit with a plain white shirt. Surprisingly, the Prince wasn’t wearing a tie and his shirt was open at the collar. “And if any of you gentlemen stand, I will—ah, well, I suppose it’s too late.”

Yuri, Erin, and Ibram were already on their feet. Despite being slightly stooped with age, Tiberius was taller than either Erin or Ibram, and at close to two meters he could even claim a little height on Yuri.

“May we offer you anything to drink, sir?” Yuri stays standing as Tiberius makes his way across the room.

“I do think I will sample your wine, Yuri, if Ms. Eco will do me the honor…?”

“My pleasure, Your Highness.”

“…Too, too formal…” Tiberius sighed as he took his seat. “Please, gentlemen, have a seat! I will not take up any more of your time away from the senators than I must. Ibram, Julius and Ser Martyn are vetting the lists you sent over earlier. I did take a few moments to add some suggestions of my own before I came here.”

“I will make certain to contact anyone you suggest, sir.”

“Good, good, and thank you,” Tiberius says as he accepts the glass Jenna returned with. She leaves the room soon after. Tiberius took a moment’s pause to smell the wine before taking a small drink. “Now I am sure there is more to be offered than silence at what has been put before us, gentlemen. I would know what you think of this conference…”

“The location is interesting,” Ibram turned toward the Prince. “Gregor is undoubtedly on the short list of systems the Valinor would rather not see host an international summit of this magnitude. I cannot say that there will not be some grumbling in the Suns. Asking most people on the streets of choosing between an evening with Jordan Galt or Emperor Alexis would probably provoke a longer pause in any of our systems than the Verniian government would find comfortable.”

“Senator Silvius and Senator Milligan were already grumbling that this might be a move to try and cajole us into supporting a Verniian intervention,” the vice consul shrugged.

Tiberius chuckled, “I think I can make sure not to sign away our home world or the Wickian one. Besides, I’ve informed the Prime Guardian and Empress Friedelinde that I do not consider this to be an official forum. I will advocate sending aid to the Wickians and creating a sense of unity among the region’s major heads of state, but I will not participate in an attempt to dictate policy behind closed doors. I’m of the same mind as all of you and our Senators. A final resolution to this cycle of violence must come from the League, not from any nation or group of nations.”

The praetor and the vice consul nodded. Tiberius turned to look at Yuri.

“I understand we are of two different minds of this issue, Yuri, but I still appreciate your advice as well.”

Yuri nodded, “We must be careful about this conference and the whole situation in general, but I think it’s the best damned idea I have heard so far. If the Valinor can entice the Vaku to participate it would diffuse the possibility of Vakutu and Gregor going over war over the Wickians. Fremont getting the other successor states to stand in a consensus—however shaky—may encourage the other powers to do the same if no one--“

The com unit on Yuri’s desk starts chirping madly. Ibram’s d-phone offers a series of beep from one of his pocket, and Erin looks embarrassed as a slightly audible buzz comes from his jacket’s breast pocket.

“I seem a bit out of the loop…” Tiberius looks at the three other men. Jenna suddenly opens the door.

“I am sorry to interrupt, Consul, Your Highness, but it’s Senator Amante.”

“Hell take that woman! What has she done now?” Yuri glares at his ceiling.

“SunsNet just broke the news, the People’s Chamber just met in Spindrift. Amante’s been recalled! The Chamber is taking nominations for new senatorial candidates!”

Thrace Residence, Braavos, New Ortaga, Roum system, Federated Suns of New Ortaga.
06.14.1304 AF
2208 Roum Local Standard

Ibram watched as Yuri played with his two sons, David and Alec. Armed with a toy infrared gun each, the boys were gradually driving the former general along the garden’s edge as they tried to make the final score on the target strapped across Yuri’s chest. There was an explosion of lights and sound as Ibram’s old friend emerged to sprint back across the garden toward some shrubs along one wall. Ibram laughed as his sons zoomed across in pursuit. He lit his cigar as Yuri was being backed toward a corner, far from the patio.

Adriana Thrace drifted out from the house holding a coffee mug sending small wisps of steam into the night air. She paused to rest a hand on her husband’s shoulder.

“Yuri seemed a bit distracted tonight.”

Ibram sighed and started to reach for the wine bottle sitting on the table. His wife deftly picked it up before he could reach it and poured more into his glass.

“You noticed…”

“Yes, dear, I noticed. A man who should be shouting on a hill shouting even louder than Senator Wayridge that Amante is getting the axe looked like he was about to forced to drink hemlock every time you even started to bring up something regarding work. While it is rude to discuss business at dinner, that reaction is a bit much.”

Ibram took a pull on a cigar to buy time.

“And that won’t work either, dear.”

“I know, I know. I don’t know what it is, Adriana. Yuri’s been this way for weeks, ever since Ticonderoga bought the wrong end of another singularity attack.”

A siren sounded, and there was a melodramatic cry of anguish from the corner. Yuri’s tall figure walked out from behind a tree. His face was illuminated by the blinking red target on his chest.

“I surrender! I surrender! Defeated!”

“Good! The future warlords of the Great March are long overdue for their rendezvous with their beds,” Adrian shouted.

“Mooom!”

“Mom!”

“Not a word. You may be warlords, but in this house, sons of mine, I am the Empress of All Centauri.”

The recently victorious moved back toward the patio with the speed of the defeated. Yuri brought up the rear, pulling the target over his head with one hand and twirling the pistol with a pair of fingers. He handed both over to the Alec, Ibram’s eldest, when they reached the patio. The youngest Thraces looked back at Yuri then at their mother.

“I believe we should arrange a rematch for later in the week, boys. With Her Imperial Majesty’s permission of course…”

“Isn’t it dangerous to provoke the dread sovereign, Yuri?”

“Ah…well…yes…” Yuri smirked and looked down at the ground in feigned sheepishness. Adriana smiled and shook her head.

“Both of you, try not to smoke out a lung. Alec, David, come on!”

Ibram poured Yuri a glass of wine as his family went back inside. He held up the glass by the stem.

“I shouldn’t, Ibram. But then, I will only have a state provided chauffeur for so many years.”

“You could have it for decades if you wanted, Yuri.”

“Some times I think you are actually trying to send me to the grave, Ibram,” Yuri sit down heavily across the table. He collected a cigar from the box and reached for the cutter.

“That was quite an unexpected victory today. I don’t think I’ve ever seen an adjournment called for so quickly by any senatorial delegation,” Ibram eyed Yuri as the older man reached for the lighter.

A few puffs of smoke passed into the air before the consul answered, “The timing was unexpected, but not the outcome. Spindrift is finally realizing how much it stands to make if naval contracts start flying out from Axis, especially with Verdine heading up Tangerine Public’s security and information division. Amante was trying to fight in the Senate and back home. She’s only one woman, and I don’t think Hribar was sold on Amante’s cause as much as she thought.”

Hribar was the other senator from Spindrift. Ibram had heard through the Erin that Amante’s colleague had been quietly sending signals to Wayridge that he was ready to defect when the MR Act came to a vote.

“Still…it will only be a matter of time before the MR comes to a vote now.”

“There will be a recall election by next week. Hribar will have a new colleague in his pod by the end of next week. We will have a vote by then or the week after, and we both know what the outcome will be now. Silvius can’t hold the opposition together without Amante.”

Yuri’s words lacked any sort of enthusiasm. His mind was elsewhere, somewhere past the darkness of the garden he was looking into. Ibram put his cigar out, moved his wine glass out of the way, and put his hands on the table.

“Where are you at, Yuri? I haven’t seen you this distracted since we found out Ansel’s daughter killed him.”

There was no response, unless the wavering puffs of smoke could be counted. Ibram waited, and Yuri reached for his wine glass. He drank half of it in a single gulp. Then the consul returned to his cigar. He closed his eyes.

“I appreciate your help with the Prince’s staff for the conference. I meant it when I said the conference may be the start of a meaningful solution to this whole fiasco in Wickian space, but there is more to be made of this, Ibram, much more. We are coming to a watershed for the whole damn Oversector, and there is a chance it can be made stable, a lot more stable than it has been since the war ended. It just may require some more dubious choices be made in the short run, but it will come out for the best in a few years. Hell, maybe even a year.”

“What are you talking about, Yuri?”

“Just trust me on this, Ibram. Trust me.”

Yuri turned to face Ibram. Ibram looked at the consul’s face. It was the blank expression he’d seen several times before when they were in the Solar Army. It was an expression made very familiar during the days—weeks—fighting against Galt’s mir-vis and Saharin’s Marines as the Coalition fleets chased the Solar Navy across the Great March—an expression that was a permanent feature when the Solar Army fought the almost infinitely better armed Hegemonic loyalists in the streets of Silesia, Qarth, and the fields of Evergreen. The colonel in the Federated Suns foreign minister knew he had lost this fight. Ibram nodded.

Yuri nodded and tilted his head back. He fixed his gaze on Solitaire, Ortaga’s only natural satellite. The dull silver glint of the old Armageddon Line slashed across the moon and disappeared in the waxing moon’s still dark half.

“So, tell me, can we actually find an expert on the Wick that can help the Prince at the conference?”

[The WIck]

Perdition Detention Center, Cell 3421
Scorpion Shipyards, Naval Headquarters
Ticonderoga System, Protective Association of the Wick

Dimly lit from the dull hue from banks of fluorescent overhead lights, the interrogation room was a desolate and unforgiving place. Its fittings were limited to a couple chairs, and a steel table , all bolted to a stained ferrocrete floor that was pierced by a small drain.

The sole occupant of the from sat facing the hatch, her hands were cuffed to the metal table. The Wickian woman, Jane, was a pitiful sight, her head was hanging to her chest, her forehead slashed cruelly the blood though dried into black scabs. Here eyes were nearly swollen shut her face swollen from the numerous strikes her face has suffered. Her skin was grey and shiny with perspiration, the cell was hot and very humid and uncomfortable. She sat staring at the table her mouth muttering incoherent phrases about not knowing anything, to stop this, words of a tortured women begging for this treatment to stop.

Jane jumped in surprise as the hatch was quickly swung open. She pulled at the restraints that held her to the table, her head snapping backward, her hands twisting in a desperate but futile attempt to get distance between herself and the new arrival. She finally gave up her struggle and watched the man without uttering a word. The man simply sat in the chair across the table from her and arranged his data pad on the table.

Nothing happened for the longest time. To Jane it seemed like it lasted an hour, but it was something closer to five minutes.

Without warning , the man stood and reached across the table. Working quickly and with practiced movements and experienced hands he pulled her sleeve back, ignoring her frantic efforts to stop him. He pulled a small syringe from his coat pocket, Jane flinched as the needle pierced her skin as the man injected the drug into her blood stream. He took needle out as Jane begain to moan, his hand took her chin and he stroked her cheek almost fatherly,

“Shh, shh, shh, That’s my good girl calmly now it won’t take long.”

Jane could barly hear his words, her world was spinning painful sensations fired in every nerve.

“You bastard Sharpe.” Her voice had shrank to a painful croak, “Bastard, bastard…” Her voice faded off. She didn’t move for a while. She sat up with a start her pupils were closing to pinpoints and her hands steadying as the drug seeped into her system. She whimpered, the soft moans of agony, eyes casting left and right in a frantic search for a way out of her suffering and finding none.

“All right, Jane I think you are reading to talk.”

Said the man known as Sharpe. His official rank was Caotain, though depending on his mission he could be seen in a privates uniform, or a Leftenant’s skin-suit. He was a spook with the Office of Naval Intelligence. He was one of only a dozen or so left alive after what was now called the “Change”. ONI thought it had its hands on the Word of Blake’s balls, in reality it was the other way around. In the last week many of his comrades had been assassinated or killed in targeted attacks, in a similar manner that the Navy’s leadership was. The director had been gunned down outside his flat, dead just as Protector Villers, who was killed by a suicide bomber in his own command center. Both killed by men they had known for years, sleepers or brainwashed victims it didn’t matter. So, Sharpe felt no sympathy for the suffering woman chained to the chair in front of him. He would break every bone in her body, sever every limb from her torso to make her talk if he had too to get her to talk, and after the last week he knew that she was aware of that fact.

“You can make the pain end, just tell me the truth, the first time and every time. That drug is a bitch, I know it is.”

“I’ve told you everything I know!” Jane said quickly her voice rapid imploring him to believe her.

He slapped her across the face, she screamed in pain, her chest heaved as she sucked in air through he clenched teeth, as the pain of the strike was amplified greatly due to the effects of the drug.

“Lie. You know it’s a lie so why say it? Do you think I’ll believe now out of the goodness of my heart?” Her asked her rhetorically. “You still refuse to give me access to your Neuronics.”

Neuronics were implanted sensors and computer devices in a persons body. Among its other purposes and abilities Neuronics recorded everything that person experienced. Every conversation , every sensation, emotion, feeling. It was considered to be the ultimate diary to a persons soul. To have access to the devices would allow someone to know everything Jane knew and experienced. It was something a person privileged enough to possess Neuronics protected more dearly than their own virginity.

“ I can’t” she cried tears flowing out of her swollen eyes. “I’ve told you over and over my Neuronics are blocked I cant give you access and you don’t have the authorization to override the block.”

Sharpe moved quickly jumping up onto the table he knelt in front of her and punched her across he bruised face, he held her limp body up with his left hand and struck her again with his right, and again. Jane hollowed in pain, when he was down, her mouth and nose were a bloody mess. Sharpe sat back down and watched the women bleed for some time. Until she looked back up to his face and he could see her pain filled eyes.

“You know what Jane?”

“No,“ She croaked “What?“

“ I think I am inclined to believe you on the Neuronics thing. So let’s move on. We know the other four members of your cell, tell me do you know others?”

“Yes, I do, Ill tell you everything I know.”


+ + +

Four hours later the man standing behind the one way mirror allowed himself be convinced. If it was in her brain…a shame they didn’t get access to her Neuronics… Sharpe would have dug it out. He was one of the best, perhaps a bit ruthless and getting a bit to fond of the physical side of things: the woman was a mess. Everything Jane said confirmed that the Word of Blake had prior knowledge of the Coup, and that they moved when they did in order to decapitate the Navy leadership in order to replace it with a guider puppet. Whom they would control and everyone would be forced to legally follow.

But they failed, in the end. They were forced to move against the Navy to earlier and were rushed by the timetable of the Coup. The Navy was able to crack down on their forces when they struck. Casualties were high among Naval High Command, and the Congress, but the line of succession held. Norman Armitager was the legal president. He had a judicious record, and was considered to be a moderate among his peers have often spoken against the hardliners. When he was made President, he struck back against the Wobbies with a vindictive passion that was hardly matched, there were many former Word of Blake prisoners floating dead and cold in space to prove that. He clearly was not the man the Word had wanted to become the leader. He dismissed the thought from his head, the man was a hero if anything.

And little by little they would root out the Word’s infection like a cancer from their nation’s body.

[Liberated New Hope]

Vakutu, Varu, the Estate of Arrak nar Ki’ra

Karl looks on, confused as he was afraid. Dr. Zavak was many things—an anthropologist, archaeologist, a paleontologist, and the only known Krolologist. Most of his job consisted of making everyone in the Vaku capital and Hamunaptra happy with trade offers and cultural exchange. An expert on defense and the Silver Fleet’s policies he was not. He would have to consult with his staff.

“This… is troubling.” Karl was attempting not to look completely out of his element. Slowly the dots began to connect: The Silver Fleet in Gryps was obviously bad… because unilateral military action is bad! Yes, of course. He looks at the dates on the scrolls and manages to cobble together a response. “Now Arrak… these pictures are from earlier this morning. We have no idea what these ships are doing there. I myself haven’t been alerted, but I’m not exactly a key part of decision-making on policy on the opposite end of the Reich.”

Gryps, onboard the Sheik Thusla

After they had translated back into normal space, and over the next few long minutes, one of the odd phenomina of space combat took hold over the bridge: calm. Despite the initial frantic scramble, the shear time demanded by the vast expanse of space to travel from the safe re-entry point to a point within range of the enemy was long enough for the crew to get a grip of the situation. And even once an exchange had started, there were no booming guns—no one could even feel incoming fire because of the inertial dampeners. By the time the Sheik Thusla had opened fire on Solar forces, one could say the same air of boredom had taken over the ship that had come before the pirates had ever arrived. Everywhere, of course, but on the bridge of the various ships of the fleet.

The pirate Commodore was right—the initial volleys were trite—but Commodore Il-Shek was no fool. The Sheik Thusla and its cohorts suffered no shortage of missiles, and assessing the PD capabilities of the opposition was at the very least a valid pursuit until they reached energy range—another four excruciating minutes. Upon reaching that magic distance, Graser fire could commence and the Hellfire Class missile platform DN could start attempting to overwhelm defenses once a few PD pickets had been worn down.

In the meantime, Il-Shek had ordered drones out of the system to alert Command of the situation.

Darius’ office, inside a Nuspace conference with the Empress

[OOC: I’m just going to assume the “Now, Darius. I love you, but sometimes I wonder what the fuck is wrong with you” intro by Friedelinde]

“I assure you, there was no ill intent in this, no conspiracy. It is, as embarrassing as this may be, a small clerical error that has quietly ballooned into.. well… this. A plan had come to my desk some… six months ago which included sending direct military aid to gryps to assist the Concordate in clearing the system of pirates, surveying, etc. The plan was killed, the taskforce to be assigned to the operation was to remain in port. Well, five months later a task force from the fleet in Milligan received a cancelled order to proceed to Gryps. The problem is that we can’t order them back. Shortly after they arrived in system inter-system communications went down. We’ll know what’s going on in-system within the hour. They think pirates have arrived in-system. What I believe is most important is that we consider our options in downplaying this possible fiasco and keep it from blocking any of our plans in providing relief to the Wickian people.”

[New Ortaga]

Combat Bridge, HSS Challenger, Gryps system, Wickian Concordat
06.14.1304 AF
1729 Solar Forces Standard

“Fuck!”

There was a dull metallic crack as Neilson’s data pad flew across tactical display and contacted with the farthest wall. The display and the feeds were filled with images of the supply cache burning before Neilson’s eyes. Roaring fireballs were born and died in the barest of seconds, and they took Neilson’s hopes for resupply his force with them. The two monitors Group Captain Hydeoshi had detached for recon broke their linear course and looped back toward the fleet in a radical U-shaped course. Their two signals were lost as a storm of electronic hash consumed the supply cache’s location.

Neilson’s staff was silent, even the muttered chaos fell away. The cache’s place on the display was snarled as the fleet’s sensors tried to peer into the radiation and debris. After a few minutes, the electronic fog of war started to clear and several containers could still be seen among the drifting wreckage of cheap hull plating and wrecked supply crates. The two monitors could also be seen, rushing back toward the fleet.

“Give me a status report on the cache! Now!”

“We are crunching sensor readings again to verify our results, Commodore. At this time it appears fifteen to twenty percent of the cache survived the explosion.”

“Wickian garbage. They wonder why the Hegemony tried to exteriminate them? They’re terrorist little better than the Observers or the fucking Vaku!”

“Contact! Contact! Contact! Multiple retranslation points registered 1.5 million kilometers from fleet reentry position! Course calculation suggests intercept course with origin at HS-77.”

Neilson froze as a petty officer tried to return the data pad, “Identification?”

“Registered four confirmed broadcasts as Federated Suns vessels. One carrier, one cruiser, and two war-frigates.”

Neilson watched as the new contacts resolved his display as the Immolan, the Aurora, the Fahrion, and the Reid. He started to bring his emotions back under control, but it was clear this operation’s intelligence had been compromised from the beginning. Veitch made no mention of the Ortagan navy—if it could be generously called such—operating any where near Wickian space. When the Challenger moved into this sector two weeks ago, Kelso had said the Spinward hadn’t seen so much as a Federated Navy courier in over two years.

Neilson grasped the tactical display’s edge and lowered his mic boon again, “CIC, Fleet Actual. Estimate on the average length on a FedSuns carrier…”

“Fleet Actual, Federated Navy Roum class carriers currently in operation average 1438 meters in length.”

Neilson ground his teeth together. That had been no super-freighter riding with the Spinward.

“CIC, transmit update on FedSuns contingent to FleetCom. Priority update.”

“Yes, Commodore.”

Neilson inhaled deeply, folded his arms across his chest, and stared into the display that was making it painfully obvious how encircled his force was. His eyes darted to the surviving containers, then to the Silver Fleet contingent, then to the Concordat Navy’s estimated position, and finally the the Federated Suns warships.

“Commodore, FleetCom is picking up chatter from the Wickian flagship to the Immolan. Its standard League encrypt. We are decoding now.”

“Triangulating message origin, Commodore. Estimated position of Wickian warships is confir—Hard sensor confirmation on Concordat Navy position. Redesignated as Alpha-Two. Alpha-Two is leaving inner planet inner planet’s shadow at hard acceleration. FleetNav course plot shows intercept course with our position.”

Neilson’s hands grasped at the display again, “FleetCom, initiate Forsythe Formation, and then give me a secure fleetwide channel. FleetNav, confirm uploaded rendezvous coordinates with Major Zimmerman before departure.”

“Yes, Commodore.”

“Channel is ready, Commodore.”

Neilson nodded to Com, “All ships, this is Fleet Actual. Our enemies are present in the system in far greater numbers that anticipated. However, resupplying our ships is vital to our continued ability to operate as a combat-worthy force. The odds are not in are favor, but the Solar Navy defeats the odds. We have defeated the Verniian navy time and time again. We have faced the best warships the United Star Empire produces and turned them to scrap metal. We will not be defeated by some third rate naval power from a system we blasted back into Stone Age decades ago. We will not be defeated by a nation who fluctuates between being a puppet of Gregor and a puppet of Alpha Centauri. And we will certainly not be defeated by the collection of rebels, insurgents, and traitors who stole our Home Suns from us. We will get our supplies, and we will leave this system strewn with the dead of any who would stop us. Fleet Actual, out.”

Neilson turned to see his bridge crew’s eyes on him. He held as many of the men and women in room’s gaze as long as he could while he swept the room. Then he turned back to the display.

“Forsythe is being executed, Commodore.”

With an impartial efficiency, Neilson’s diamond formation collapses in on itself and begins to spread out. The warships gravimetrics glow as they move at combat speeds that allow almost no room for error. In a few minutes, the seven dreadnoughts have formed a long line familiar to any naval commander in the Oversector as an intent to give battle. The dreadnoughts’ war-frigate escorts reform as two lines on either side of the larger capital ships. One line of seven war-frigates rides low below the dreadnoughts on the side facing the scattered cache and the Silver Fleet. The other line of six frigates ridges higher facing the starboard, but with their other broadsides still clear of the dreadnoughts tall profile. The three part monitor formation pulled farther out from the rest of the fleet, but continued to otherwise hold its formation.

Behind the newly formed line, the conveyors are bereft of a buble of escorts, but their drives’ energy levels spikes. The motley collection of support vessels vanishes out of the Gryps system.

Neilson’s command starts to accelerate toward the largest surviving cluster of containers. Forsythe is simple, and planned for a contingency that was not supposed to happen. The Hegemon II dreadnoughts will use their grav-beams to capture as many containers as possible and pull them in close enough to let them be translated when the dreadnoughts jump from the system. Meanwhile, the fleet will battle its way out of the system to reach a later rendezvous with their support ships.

Neilson watches as the icons for the grav-beams start to appear on his dreadnoughts. He stands away from the display and clasps his hands behind his back. The last conveyor jumps away.

“Missile contacts! Alpha-One has initiated an attack!”

Neilson smiles as the missiles fly away from the Silver Fleet warships. It’s a paltry number given the number of warships at the Liberation commander’s disposal. A probe so obvious it is painful to study. Counter-missiles and ECM spikes race away from the war-frigates being led by Defilippo’s Citizens’ Will.

“FleetCom, a line with the group captain.”

“Yes, Commodore.”

“Pack Actual, this is, Fleet Actual.”

“Fleet Actual, Pack Actual reads you in the clear.”

“Fleet Actual releases Pack to engage Alpha-One. Happy hunting, Pack Actual.”

“Understood, Fleet Actual.”

Hydeoshi’s monitors break their formation and start to converge. The ten monitors on the far side of the fleet’s formation dive through the dreadnoughts and frigates while the monitor group leading the formation and the one already facing the Silver Fleet warships move to intercept. In a effortless move, Hydeoshi’s monitors form three lines, presenting the smallest targeting profile possible as they race toward the Sheik Thusla and its task force. Energy spikes scream at Liberation sensors as the monitors charge their energy batteries armament.

Neilson’s battle line starts to accelerate as well, curving away from the monitors’ course to interpose their broadsides between the Silver Fleet line and the surviving containers once they enter primary engagement range.

Bridge, FNS Immolan, Gryps system, Wickian Concordat
06.14.1304 AF
1730 Federated Forces Standard

Marcia Case gives half an ear to the rattle of reports pouring in from the Immolan’s fighters and escorts as the carrier group acknowledges a successful translation and reports combat status. She is more distracted by the images in the display updates to confirm CIC’s estimate that the warships Neilson is closing on belonged to the Silver Fleet, and the series of explosions that turned the old Solar Navy cache into garbage.

“What is the Silver Fleet doing in Gryps?”

Marcia turns to look at Jannot, “Your guess is as good as mine, Mr. Jannot, but I will say I’m happy to see them. It gives us a fighting chance against Neilson. Com, what word from the Concordat Navy?”

“We’re getting a message on League encrypts now, ma’am,” the comsmen crunches the message back through the decrypt provided by the Directory for Security and Stability. “Admiral Terriel sends his regards, Captain. He is moving to engage the pirates and requests we break off intercept to preserve the carrier group if possible.”

“Terse and too the point. Did he offer an explanation as to why the Silver Fleet is here?”

“No, ma’am.”

Marcia watches as Neilson’s force reorders itself to present a line of battle to the Silver Fleet task force. The space between the Hegemonic capital ships and the Silver Fleet is snarled by the detonation of missiles. The carrier’s visual feeds capture Silver Fleet missiles being shot down by counter missiles from Neilson’s war-frigates or point defense lasers from the lumbering dreadnoughts. Through the wreath of fire and metal, several missiles do stray through. Marcia sees some missiles breakthrough. Three strike a war-frigate causing part of its shield grid to be illuminated. One manages to punch through the frigate’s defenses and cause its hull plating to buckle and break along its extended prow. Two dreadnoughts take hits, but neither the visuals nor the sensor readings show it doing enough damage to notice.

“Neilson’s defense volume is off. Some of those war-frigates are firing at reduced rates,” Jannot studies the main display.

“Their volume is off, but not by enough for the moment. If the course is any indication, Neilson obviously thinks he has enough in the ammo stores to engage.”

The monitors start to break away and move to intercept the Liberation warships. Marcia toggles the display to project their course, which confirms they are intercepting the Silver Fleet. She studies the reports on the Liberation vessels abilities.

“Com, I need a line to Admiral Terriel.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Admiral Terriel, this is Case. I will attempt to break contact and bypass Commodore Neilson’s fleet to rendezvous with the Silver Fleet. The Silver Fleet’s lack of small craft suggests they are vulnerable to Neilson’s monitor group. I will be releasing my fighter squadrons and the cruiser Aurora to assist. Good luck, Admiral,” Marcia motioned to cut the connection. “I need a line to the flight pods.”

“Done, ma’am.”

“Attention on deck! This is Captain Case. All crews and pilots are to execute an all scramble. I repeat, execute an all scramble. If it flies I want it in space! Actual, out.”

“ComCon, detach all our wing squadrons besides the CAP and our perimeter defense squadron to Captain Hasting’s command,” Marcia’s stylus flows across the edge of the tactical display as she makes notation. “Com, get me Captain Hastings.”

“Immolan Actual, this is Aurora actual.”

Case selects the text she had made and transmits it to the cruiser’s captain on the carrier group’s network, “Lee, ComCon is transferring the bulk of our wing to you. I’m sending you your course now. We are going to try and work our way around Neilson and support the Silver Fleet. Your ship and the fighters will be responsible for taking it to those monitors.”

“…You are relying on Neilson to be incredibly generous to us…”

“I am relying on him to dismiss us because of our combat disparity. Do you feel that you can prove to him how much of a mistake that is?”

“It would be my pleasure, Immolan Actual. Aurora Actual out.”

Marcia selects her other set of calculations, “Helm, I am sending you a new course. Coordinate with the Fahrion and the Reid.”

There is the slightest pause as the helmsman looks over his instructions. Marcia arches her eyebrow when he looks at her.

“Yes, ma’am.”

Marcia turns to her XO, “Mr. Jannot, I think you had best get to damage control.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Marcia turns quietly back to the display as the Immolan continues to disgorge additional fighters, bombers, and MUVs. Marcia's all scramble order deploys all of Immolan's 144 Eagle space superiority interceptors, 48 Arkbird bombers, and 44 Talon MUVs. The bulk of the carrier’s wing clusters around the Aurora as it starts to move away from the carrier and her remaining escorts. Within several minutes, Marcia’s plan becomes clear. Her split force will swing around the Hegemonic pirates in two parts. The Aurora will lead the fighter squadrons around the tail of Neilson’s formation to harry the monitors from their rear flank. Meanwhile, the Immolan, the Fahrion and the Reid along with their thin screen of 36 fighters and 10 MUVs will ride above Hegemonic battle line to join the Silver Fleet.

Acceleration starts to build in both Federated naval elements. The Aurora and the fighters redline their drives, trying to make up for loss time. The Immolan’s bulk starts to roll as the carrier imposes her spinal armament to face downward when she passes over the enemy line. Her war-frigates draw closer to provide the best point-defense coverage they can offer.

[Valinon]

Alpha Centauri

Despite her normally close relationship with the Prime Guardian, Friedelinde was glad she made an audio-only link with Morning Star for the sake of expediency. One of her hands has strayed to the bridge of her nose as she massages the corners of her eyes. She waits for Darius to finish his explanation without interruption.

“Prior to a month ago, there would be no qualms with the Protectorates assisting the Concordat with policing its borders and bringing the Hegemonic remnants to heel. You and I both know Duke Sterling and his government have given Vizeadmiral Tereshkova too few resources to adequately end that perennial problem.

Friedelinde took a quiet breath before continuing, “However, we have both been the recipients of some incredibly bad fortune. I am going to assume Director Haj has made you aware of my acceptance of the proposed Gregor conference—with the additional stipulation that Emperor Jukaga be included. As this is a matter of state, it was included in the usual statements and reports provided to the press. I expect it to be part of the usual government coverage within the next twenty-four hours in the least. It will presumably amount to much more since this is the first visit to Gregor by a member of my house since Gustav II. This would not cause any problems except some how the Vaku discovered the Silver Fleet’s presence in Gryps. Emperor Jukaga is making his way to New Köln as we speak to present this information to Duke Sterling and meet with him about what I am sure will be portrayed as a gross violation of the Concordat’s sovereignty. There is no doubt in my mind Archduke von Metternicht hurried the reply and release along to make this as embarrassing as possible for you and I.”

“I cannot dictate the policy of the Collective Protectorates, but I would strongly encourage you and the Silver Fleet to divulge as many details as is prudent about the situation in Gryps. If this can be done quickly and with an appropriate acknowledgement of how…unfortunate this…bureaucratic oversight is, we may be able to preempt the Archduke at his own game and preserve the integrity of the conference.”

Friedelinde also started making a few notes, gesturing to the Kammerherr to read as she wrote.

“I will also see to it that Kriegsmarine intelligence and the Ministry for External State Security look to confirm this suspected pirate attack in Gryps immediately, Darius. If it can be verified, these actions will be very fortuitous and will further frustrate attempts to give us bad press.”

**********

The same deepening evening that was proving so difficult for the Empress of the Valinor was not entirely easy for Adrian Sterling. As was frequently customary, the Lords’ session was shorter as the impending recess grew closer, but the prime minister was painfully aware that questions of his leadership were starting to grow as the coalition government entered its third year. Adrian was not oblivious to the still scattered whispers that gnawed at the edges of his authority. He resolved to confront and defeat them as he always had met resistance to his political career: by working as hard as a clerk who made reality out of ambitions of rising to the top.

Three of the intricately worked window panes in the office were opened entirely, regardless of the Congressional Building’s excellent climate control. A light dinner—a roast beef sandwich and a salad—grew cold and limp, respectively on a service near the desk. The half-drained china cup of coffee seemed poised to join them when Adrian’s glazed eyes at last returned to a normal brightness. The prime minister smiled as he looped his finger through the cup’s ring and grabbed a comp-pad with his other hand.

A document flashed into existence on the transluscent, wafer-thin slate. It bore the imperial watermark and the heading of a bill proposed to one of the Diet’s committees, specifically the Imperial Standing Committee for Foreign Affairs and Development. The date on the document was two years old, but Adrian had reexamined his carefully filed reports to confirm it had merely been tabled and never formally voted on even by the committee.

He took a long drink and held the lukewarm taste of coffee on his tongue. The irony of this was almost as rich as the drink. This bill had been proposed by Lord of New Sargasso, Sir Aurel Dreger, one of the more liberal members of the remaining United Lords. Adrian caught his smile when he flicked his eyes and used his n-plants tell-tales to call for C. S. Littell, his private secretary. It was only a few moments before the older man arrived. Adrian held up the comp-pad.

“I need formal duplicates prepared, sealed, and couriered to Sir Faustus and Dame Alexis. Lady Rey-Ballet is to see to it this is passed by her committee as important question to be voted on by the full membership of the Lords.”

Littell took the ‘pad with a slight bow, “Shall I send for more coffee for Your Grace?”

“No, I am in the mood to treat myself. Have the staff send me a bottle of the Linkburn,” Adrian smiled, a good Vaterland single malt sounded good indeed.

Littell nodded and moved to lead. Adrian took a moment to pull his watch out and consult it.

“And, Crawford, call Elsy for me. Tell her I shall be home for the aperitif this evening.”

“I’m sure Her Grace will be delighted.”

Adrian nodded and stood. As he turned to the windows he heard the door shut. His mouth tingled at the thought of the Linkburn, and he pushed one of the windows opened further. He drank in the sun and the last spring blossoms as he looked to the Steinmauer Palace.

First Reynard Adonis death that had driven his wife into mourning and left Gorgas with an opportunity to act as First Star Lord for what seemed like at least the next few months. Now this unexpected opportunity, Adrian thought if this went as expected the United Lords may collapse well before this year’s elections in Alpha Centauri and Yalta. He chuckled.

“No, Faustus, you’re not the only one who can pull the fast trick in a hand.”

**********

United Valinon News Network’s News-in-Brief Data Feed
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>News-in-Brief Data Faxes
>International Section
>Raumreich Headlines

Empress Announces Trip to Vernii
~Aldin Mitchells, Reporting

New Köln—The Palace announced Empress Friedelinde is coordinating with other international leaders to hold a high-level conference in the Imperium capital system of Gregor.

Kammerherr Lord Erwin von Ribbentrop’s statement said the Empress will participate in talks with other Inner March heads of state regarding the Wickian crisis. The participants include Prime Guardian Darius of the Morning Star, Archon-Prince Tiberius Corrin, Emperor Alexis Calimar, and Emperor Jukaga nar Ki’ra. The Kammerherr stressed that this conference will focus on humanitarian aspects of the crisis. He remained adamant that Empress Friedelinde and the other heads of state will look to the League of the Raumreich and the Directory for Security and Stability to provide a definitive resolution to the crisis. However, the conference will meet with the understanding that the Wickian state must be preserved as an undivided entity.

If the conference occurs as planned, this would be the greatest diplomatic meeting among the Inner March powers since the end of the Great March War. It will also mark the first visit the House of Alderman has made to Gregor since Gustav II’s reign.

Von Ribbentrop specifically mentioned a discussion of food and medical relief to the Wickian systems, as well as…more?

Von Gentz Dispatched to Thetis
~Sharon King, Reporting

New Köln—Archduke Faustus von Metternicht’s office announced that Minister Friedrich von Gentz is en route to Thetis as part of the Empire’s transfer of diplomatic recognition.

Von Gentz, Minister for Foreign Affairs without Portfolio, is traveling to Thetis where he will meet with Admiral Brooks to discuss the future of the Wickian Concordat. Admiral Brooks was recognized as the head of the Concordat following the death of President Ginske by the Empire, Berchest, and Tyrador two days ago. Vakutu is expected to make a similar decision by the end of the week.

While the transfer of recognition circumvents the Armitager administration in Ticonderoga, von Gentz maintains his new assignment does seek to demean the credibility of the Ticonderogan civil administration.

“We see Admiral Brooks and Herr Armitager as being products of the Concordat strong and diverse governing tradition,” von Gentz said before leaving from Pholus. “However, the use of singularity weapons in the Ticonderogan terrorist attack cannot be ignored. Her Majesty and Her Majesty’s Government are committed to seeing an international investigation—under League auspices—examine this attack in detail before moving forward. That means we must recognize Admiral Brooks as the last ranking member of the Concordat government until this issue is settled.”

Von Gentz did not offer opinions on the recent decision by the…more?

Hardenberg Urges Emergence League, Directory Sessions

Skye Complex-- The Empire's plenipotentiary to the League of the Raumreich is meeting with other ambassadors to discuss holding a series of emergency meetings regarding the Wickian crisis...more?

Gorgas Still Acting-First Star Lord, Adonis Extends Absence
HMSS Sanctuary-- The Admiralty Press and Media Office announced that Grossadmiral the Earl Stephan Gorgas will continue as acting-First Star Lord for at least another month as Grossadmiral the Lady Katherine Adonis...more?

Lords May Still Address Budget Before Recess