[IC, DW] Distant Worlds: Pirates!

[Adastra]

From the Office of the Regional Government
Distant Worlds: Pirates!

This is the official thread for an in-character Distant Worlds pirate-battling arc.
Only member nations of the region may post here.

Long ago, the Galactic Assembly Security Committee was responsible for peacekeeping duties across a variety of worlds. The emergence of the Dark Ages and the fall of the Galactic Assembly goes to show how effective they really were. Nonetheless, a sizable meeting hall—once devoted to the galaxy's protectors—has now been refurbished and repaired by Space Station Athens' automated maintainers. Following a recent call to action, delegates gather—either in person or via COMNET connection—to discuss the matter of piracy that is currently plaguing the neighboring Halcyon Expanse. Should the pirates be left unchecked, Space Station Athens could be plundered for its Golden Age booty.

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OOC Information
This anti-piracy arc begins as a diplomatic incident and may gradually evolve into outright combat. As this is our first major story arc, player-run systems may not ally with the pirates. This is to prevent PvP. Participants are encouraged to treat this thread as a collective storytelling thread. Unilateral actions or severe derailment of this story arc are highly discouraged and frowned upon. Depending on the actions of all participants, Space Station Athens will either be free of the scourge of piracy, or cast under its wing. This section will be updated as the story develops. When in doubt on what's appropriate to post, or just looking for inspiration, telegram Adastra!

Need to talk OOCly about the ongoings of the Galactic Assembly? Use our Discord's discussion channel.

[Adastra]

Operation Database
A collection of intel relevant to the issue at hand is publically available to all participating nations—either given willingly by Space Station Athens, or easily discovered through cursory investigation.
This section is updated as the Galactic Assembly gathers more intel on the situation.

Halcyon Expanse
The Halcyon Expanse is approximately four light years from the Helios system, home of Space Station Athens. The term describes a cluster of around a hundred stars, mostly abandoned and devoid of settlement since the Dark Age. Long ago, the Halcyon Expanse was at the heart of coreworld trade. Its most populous star system, Persis Minor, served as its capital, and remains one of the only presently inhabited systems in the cluster. The heart of the pirate incursions seems to be based out of this system, according to testimonials from refugees.

Persis Minor
Despite being the hub of the Halcyon Expanse, Persis Minor itself is a relatively inhospitable system. At its core is a failed star, a brown dwarf that emits an ephemeral, smoldering glow beneath its cloudy atmosphere. Without the warmth of a true star, Persis Minor is cold, its orbits filled with debris and clouds of starstuff. The system is rich in hypermatter—the fuel of hyperdrives; its asteroid belts glimmering with a rainbow of otherworldly elements. This abundance explains why such an unassuming system of rogue worlds would be the capital of the Halcyon Expanse.

Persis Minor's only inhabited planet is an icey ecumenopolis known as Babylon, presently home to over 70 billion citizens. The surface of Babylon is covered in a thick sheet of hydrogen ice, with small ravines and caverns serving as the entrance to a subterranean cityscape. Locals often draw parallels between this planet and its biblical ancestor, citing the ice sheet around the planet to be more impregnable than the walls of the original Babylon.

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Faction — Babylonian High Council
Babylon at its core is an oligarchic theocracy. The Babylonian High Council (BHC) is the legitimate, democratic governing body that has administered the planet since the Golden Ages. It is an institution comprised of over 300 provincial governors, each representing an individual administrative region across the ecumenopolis. At the head of the institution are five seats, occupied by five viceroys, elected directly by the people of Babylon, responsible for both judiciary and executive roles in government. The existence of viceroys implies the existence of a regent, but in actuality, the viceroys serve as seconds to the mythological god-king and primary deity of the Babylonian pantheon: Cyrus, believed to be immortal, omnipresent, and immaterial. The viceroys and the provincial governors that embody the BHC have since been deposed, either imprisoned or driven offworld by the pirates that have occupied the system.

Faction — Phalanx Protocol
The automated administration of Space Station Athens, interested in self-preservation, had decided to sell off a vast chunk of its hypermatter reserve to hire mercenaries for the station's defense. Phalanx Protocol is the vague designation used to describe mercenaries employed in this manner, though the mercenaries themselves prefer to go by their individual company names. Coming from every corner of the galaxy, these mercenaries are willing to serve the Galactic Assembly, provided their contract be upheld and their payment be delivered in full.

Faction — Immortals
The Immortals are the pirate faction of Persis Minor. Members of the faction believe themselves to be blood-descendents of the god-king Cyrus, and thus, allegedly, the legitimate rulers of Babylon and the Halcyon Expanse. They are led by Xerxes, a warlord that lives in secrecy. Little is known about Xerxes, aside from the fact that that his closest followers believe him to be the firstborn son of the god-king. The Immortals have since seized control of Babylon and have enslaved its entire populace, imposing a genetic apartheid (virulocracy) on the planet, where social status is given by similarity in genetics to Xerxes (and thus the god-king).

Despite Xerxes' image of holy unity and fealty by blood, the Immortals are far less coordinated among their lower echelons. There are a vast number of independent starship crews and criminal subfactions that vaguely align with the Immortals, all seeking to capitalize on the chaos created by Xerxes' coup. Neighboring systems are plagued by bandits, pirates, and highwaymen baring the Immortals' insignia. The trickle of interstellar trade that passes through the Halcyon Expanse has been brought to a complete halt by the Immortals.

Faction — Leviathans
When considering the forces at play when bringing peace to Persis Minor, it'd be foolish to ignore the elephant in the room—or rather, more precisely, the whales in space. Leviathans are non-sentient, space-faring members of balaenosimilis; colossal, whale-like creatures that feast on hypermatter dust. These Leviathans wear armor made from ice and rock, further protected by a "bubble" of atmosphere-like gas that follows them. These all insulate and protect the colossal creature from the vacuum of space. Though peaceful, these Leviathans are not to be taken lightly. When provoked, Leviathans can contend with even the largest of capital ships, surpassing most human vessels in raw durability. The Galactic Assembly is advised to be mindful of these creatures, should military action be chosen.

---

NEW — Xerxes' Advisors

"Packrat" — Logistician
A bloated monstrosity of underworld genetic modification, thriving on artificially-induced, neurochemical bliss. His augmentations make him a superior mathematician and stratagem, making him an essential asset to Xerxes' logistical network. Most importantly, Packrat controls the fuelling guilds of Persis Minor, granting criminal independents preferential fuel prices for the coming siege on the Athens. Current location: Persis Minor, Orbital Fueling Station "Isfahan"

Esfanya — COMNET Specialist
A charming young firebrand with a knack for bypassing COMNET security measures. She is the head of the snake for a network of cybersecurity infiltrators, all responsible for Xerxes' pervasive COMNET propaganda. She is also responsible for a variety of COMNET crimes, such as digital embezzlement and data theft. Esfanya has proven critical to extending Xerxes' message and influence beyond the Halcyon Expanse. Current location: Interstellar Space, Babylonian Black Site

Khosrow — Financier
A corrupt banking clan leader and merchant lord that betrayed the original oligarchy by crippling their network of investors. Under Xerxes, he is now responsible for a critical task: payroll. Be it issuing bounties, paying mercenary fees, or fencing plundered booty, Khosrow's financial network is critical to maintaining the allegiance of fickle-minded, money-motivated bandits and vagabonds. Current location: Persis Minor, Babylon, Finance District

Thomas Cruz — Celebrity "Relative"
A popular action holocinema actor who decided on a whim to take up a more spiritual lifestyle. Despite having zero ancestral ties to Babylon or the Halcyon Expanse, Thomas insists that he is a descendant of Cyrus, and cousin to Xerxes. He is one of Xerxes' most fanatical supporters, and has since remained a popular figurehead for the faith movement that Xerxes seeks to develop. He was recently apprehended at a fan meet-and-greet on the Athens. He isn't very bright. Current location: Helios, Athens Detention Center

Parisa — Strategist
A military leader responsible for the upper militant echelons of the Immortals. She leads an army of fanatics that are genuinely motivated by Xerxes' religious conquest. Unlike the pirates that scurry about at the lower ranks, Parisa's loyalty to Xerxes is unquestioned. Parisa is also responsible for training the pirate leaders in handling military-grade munitions—she sees the siege on the Athens as her magnum opus. Current location: "The Great Eagle", Xerxes' Flagship

[Adastra]

Adastra Diplomatic Service
Operations Leader, Ambassador Jonathan H. Westman
Attaché to Battlegroup Syracuse, Expeditionary Unit Alpha
Liaison to the Offices of the Department of Interstellar Affairs

---

Ambassador Westman entered the newly renovated assembly hall, the words "Galactic Assembly Security Committee" visible on an emblem etched into the marble floors. The assembly hall was circular, with a seemingly endless array of seats and tables, arranged in such a way that a countless number of diplomats and delegates could look upon the center of the hall. At the center was a holoprojector, where a map of the Halcyon Expanse was made visible. Aside from Ambassador Westman, the hall was empty.

When the ambassador took one step further into the hall, a subtle metallic plink echoed through the empty chamber. A placard with the words "Ambassador Jonathan Westman, Adastra" had popped out of a random table; the lighting of the assembly hall adjusted as if offering divine guidance. Ambassador Westman hesitated, always finding an uncomfortable eeriness from the Athen's style of "hospitality". Unceremoniously, with a clunk and a pneumatic hiss, a tiny Adastra flag shot upward next to the placard, as if insisting that Ambassador Westman take his seat.

Reluctantly the Ambassador clumsily shuffled down the aisles and empty rows to his place in the assembly hall. He cleared his throat, and took a seat, arranging an array of notes and documents over his desk. He was clearly uncomfortable being alone in this chamber. A familiar sound suddenly returned, causing Westman to flinch severely. A dozen placards popped up for the seats adjacent to the ambassador: Admiral Sarah Palmer, Adastra; Vice Admiral Luke Faraday, Adastra; Commander Reicher Holston, Adastra; Commander Jane Tillman, Adastra; Commander Paul Cobbler, Adastra; Commander Edward Sutton, Adastra; Commander Naomi Walsh, Adastra; Commander Izabella Manning, Adastra; Commander Harper Berry, Adastra; Adjutant Analyst Silver Delta, Adastra; Adjutant Analyst Red Liberty, Adastra; Adjutant Analyst Black Anvil, Adastra.

One ambassador, Two naval high command, Three AI data analysts, Seven commanders—representing both gendarme units and Adastra Defense Force personnel. One by one they began trickling into the hall to take their seats. The AI analysts arrived last, wheeled in by their attendants, appearing as black human-height obelisks; a slight, ephemeral glow can be seen beneath their glassy surface.

"You're early, ambassador." Red Liberty said to Ambassador Westman, a somewhat harsh yet cordial female voice.

"Better than being late." replied Westman. "Welcome, everyone—"

"Did the placards spook ya', buttercup?" chimed in Black Anvil as he was wheeled passed Westman, cackling to himself at the ambassador's expense.

Westman didn't respond, hiding his embarrassment by pretending to be writing something down.

Soon all the Adastran members took their places, politely exchanging greetings, before once again sitting in silence, awaiting for the delegates of other nations to arrive. After a bit of delay, the tiny Adastran flags popped up for the remaining dozen Adastran attendees, catching only the ambassador by surprise. Westman looked as though he'd have a heart attack at any moment, silenting cursing the Athens for its lack of a human touch. Black Anvil cackled quietly at the ambassador's suffering.

[Svetlomovsk]

Svetlomovsk Bureau of International Relations
Office of External Affairs - Управление внешних связей

Diplomatic Counselor, Ieronim Petrovich Aleksandrov
Operational Security, Joint Regional Relations and Civil Affairs Group, Special Operations Service
Part of the: International Cooperation Restoration Effort

---

Special Report #001 - Attendance

---

Counselor Aleksandrov stepped into the assembly hall, all nicely fitted with a brand new suit he stole from one of his secretaries. Alongside the Diplomatic Counselor were 2 operatives of the Civil Affairs Group, both dressed in standard combat uniform of the Svetlomovskian Armed Forces, and two general officers of the Strategic Defense Service - the Vice Admiral and Counter Admiral of the Carrier Strike Group "Alkonost". Right behind the 5 leading the group were several secretaries and advisors from the embassy and the Armed Forces. Just about anyone could tell that they weren't exactly considering diplomacy as an option.

Initially unaware of the presence Adastran delegates', they headed over to their respective seat, which the automated system kindly lead them to with its magically appearing placards on the desks. Each placard showed their respective position and rank within the government or the armed forces: Diplomatic Counselor Ieronim Petrovich Aleksandrov, Svetlomovsk; Vice Admiral Sidorov Gavrila Mikhailovich, Svetlomovsk; Counter Admiral Johann Hildebrandt, Svetlomovsk; Secretary Koneva Emma Maximovna, Svetlomovsk; Advisor Kruglikov Pavel Ilyich, Svetlomovsk; Advisor Hayden Russell, Svetlomovsk; Starshy praporshchik (or Sergeant Major) Zakharov Zigfrids Valeryevich, Svetlomovsk; Bukov Rasim Yurievich; Glavny starshina (or Chief Petty Officer) Larionov David Nikolayevich, Svetlomovsk, 9 people in total.

The secretaries, advisors and non-commissioned officers from the Armed Forces were sitting in silence, just looking around every now and then, while the vice admiral, counter admiral and the diplomatic counselor seemed to be having fun cracking jokes at each other, uninterested in the party of people sitting on the other side of the assembly hall: the Adastrans. They were either uninterested in them or just didn't notice their presence yet.

Mikhailovich, in the middle of listening to Volikov's rant about the air conditioner in his office in the embassy, cut him off and whispered: "I'm not sure if you noticed, Misha, but there are people - I mean, not our people but the uhm, what are they called again? Adastrans? ...whatever their name is, they're here."

Aleksandrov turned his head towards where the Adastrans were sitting and looked back at Sidorov again, "You could've told me sooner."

Mikhailovich, Aleksandrov and Johann all nodded at the Adastrans as if they weren't chitchatting for the past 15 minutes and sat back down on their seats, Aleksandrov - the diplomatic counselor - fidgeting his fingers quietly as he flipped through the documents on the desk in front of him quietly.

[Adastra]

Adastra Diplomatic Service
Operations Leader, Ambassador Jonathan H. Westman
Attaché to Battlegroup Syracuse, Expeditionary Unit Alpha
Liaison to the Offices of the Department of Interstellar Affairs

---

(Svetlomovsk) The Adastran delegation was staring silently as the Svetlomovskians arrived and took their seats. Commander Harper Berry, leader of an Irian volunteer gendarme group, subconsciously put a handkerchief over their mouth, fearing airborne pathogens—the isolationist and somewhat xenophobic tendencies of the Adastrans persisting in even their unwitting actions. The remaining members of the Adastran delegation was petrified with unseen fear, for they had little experience in interstellar diplomacy, having relied on generations-old manuals and training guides.

From the silence, Ambassador Westman shot to his feet, and began quietly shuffling down the row of seats. He was going to go shake the hands of the Svetlomovskian delegation.

"Ambassador, that's ill-advised—the bioterror briefing was clear about contact with aliens" exclaimed Commander Berry from behind a covered mouth.

"They're not aliens, they're people. We've been on this damn station for months, listening to their music, reading their news, they're not so different." said Westman.

"At least take a gun!" responded Red Liberty as the ambassador squeezed by.

"None of us have guns, Red. You know that." replied the ambassador, struggling to pinch past Red Liberty's massive marble-like chassis.

Ambassador Westman made it to the main aisle and began proceeding in the direction of the Svetlomovskians. Commander Izabella Manning, leader of the 61st Vigil Honor Guard, stood from her chair quickly and chased after the ambassador, believing that Westman should—at the very least—not go alone. After a bit of a fuss navigating the labyrinthine seating arrangement of the assembly hall, Westman arrived standing directly in front of Diplomatic Counselor, Ieronim Petrovich Aleksandrov. He extended a hand in greetings, though his face failed to conceal his apprehension. What if Svetlomovskians had neurotoxins in their skin? What if Svetlomovskians exhale carbon monoxide? What if making eye contact turned you into stone? Shit, he already made eye contact. Unbeknownst to the delegation—all of whom have been hiding in the embassy or aboard their ships—the average Adastran expatriate had been breaking bread with friends from beyond the stars ever since the Athens opened its doors. Fears of inter-human bioterror remained largely unfounded.

"It's a pleasure to finally meet you in person, Counselor Aleksandrov." said Westman with a freshly conjured sense of clarity. Commander Manning stood to the ambassador's right, arms folded behind her back, doing her best to muster her most diplomatic smile. In the distance, the remaining Adastran delegation began muttering to themselves and into the communicators in their lapel—relaying to the Adastran embassy every breath, eye twitch, nostril flare that happened in the room.

[Svetlomovsk]

Svetlomovsk Bureau of International Relations
Office of External Affairs - Управление внешних связей

Diplomatic Counselor, Ieronim Petrovich Aleksandrov
Operational Security, Joint Regional Relations and Civil Affairs Group, Special Operations Service
Part of the: International Cooperation Restoration Effort

---

Special Report #002 - Adastran Encounter

---

(Adastra) Aleksandrov, Mikhailovich and Hildebrandt all watched as the Adastrans talked to themselves, something about bioterror, alien and a gun. Aleksandrov slightly tilted his head, wondering about what they were talking about. Probably something about a tv show, he thought. The secretaries nudged him on the shoulder and gave him some words of caution before he proceeded to converse and have a direct contact with the Adastrans. Aleksandrov simply pushed their hands away.

"I'll just wing it. I know my shit, don't you worry." Aleksandrov told one of the secretaries shoving a 237-page document in his face.

Just as the Adastran ambassador, Westman, arrived to their side of the assembly hall, Aleksandrov stood to his feet and reached his hand out to shake Westman's extended hand. Aleksandrov was ecstatic to say the least, although he had to maintain his composure, considering this was a very official and public event. He firmly — but not overdoing it — shook his hand and gave a short but warm reply, his voice unable to contain his excitement from meeting someone from hundreds of light years away face-to-face. The Vice Admiral of the Strategic Defense Service — particularly of the Carrier Strike Group "Alkonost" — Mikhailovich stood to his feet as well and nodded at Westman, and so did the rest of the delegation.

"It's my honor to finally meet you. I personally have been looking forward to this moment for years. We're glad that you decided to organize such a fantastic opportunity to directly talk to one another." Aleksandrov said in English (with an accent that sounded like a mixture of American English and British English, also with a hint of Russian-esque accent, just how Svetlomovskian English is) with a smile — one a little more genuine than strict formality.

[Iethon]

Iethon Foreign Relations
Foreign Minister Tsa'lam Crlasti
Tsa'lam arrived at Athens after a particularly harrowing warp journey.

He was accompanied by two of Iethon's premier strategists. The displays on Athens led him to his seat in the assembly hall. On the other side of the table were the Adastrans and the... what was it? Oh, the Svetlomovskians.
He shook hands with the Adastran and Svetlomovskian representative. He had been specially trained to deal with these redundant gestures seemingly common within other civilizations, but even so he experienced the impulse to immediately go straight to the point.

"Well, hello. As you probably know, I am Tsa'lam, Foreign Minister of Iethon. Our system is quite obscure and has been isolated for many thousands of years, so I apologize for any social customs violated. We have also been experiencing the problem of space pirates; Recently a civilian vessel was destroyed. I wish you well in dealing with them, and am happy to help in any way I and our Commonwealth can in dealing with this problem".

[Kapfadstandt]

Kappen Ministry of Foreign affairs
Minister of Foreign affairs Karthayla Astrouthi
Secretary of Kappen Defence Karjala Sarjaka
Minister of Kappen Safety
Some random briefing room, Kaynagon

With the threat of pirates becoming more and more powerful and widespread have begun to impose a serious question to kappen officials, are they a threat to us? Kapfadstandt has never had much history with pirates, since a prolonged period of its existence was spent in isolation, and no pirate dared go near what was thought to be a abandoned star system, some rumours had spread word that there was a black hole there, so naturally pirates kept out. The threat of pirates becoming more widespread had also caught the imagination of the Space Station Athens, and hearing of a Assembly they decided to attend, however, Kapfadstandt had no humans on the station, and they did not want to make a 2 year long journey, so they decided to join in via hologram.

After hours of preparation Kapfadstandt was ready to join the meeting, and decided to join. A hologram appeared near a seat, however not on it, meaning that Karthayla was cutoff with only his upper body near his shoulders showing, a few minutes of static and color changing before the color and the hologram just went gray.

“Average Kappen tech, horrid as always.” Karthayla muttered to himself.

Karthayla was particularly disliked among Kappen officers, and the inner circle. He always was short tempered and mean, cussing regularly at his workers. It was a important event, Kapfadstandt’s first diplomatic meeting and issue, they wanted everyone else to have a good first impression. Karthayla dressed in absolute best clothing Kapfadstandt could offer, very expensive suits, badges and royal things normally found on a dress, since he was a member of house Kaynagon, the controlling house. Most other secretaries and ministers dressed impressively aswell, hoping no one suspects there citizens don’t wear clothing.

Karthayla looks down at a paper, and begins to speak.

“Hello other member of Athens, I am Karthayla Astrouthi, Along with me are a bunch of idoits who suck at there jobs, and I shall not introduce them.” Karthayla slowly began to sound more angry. “We are a wonderful nation, full of some of the galaxies most beautiful sights.” Karthayla calmed down as he said this.

“Now, we have decided to come here like all of you, Pirates. Pirates are not a threat here, at-least yet, but we are trying to join to hopefully stop any future attempts. Now as I talk to you i would like to extend a personal greeting to all of you, despite me not being able to shake hands with you fine ladies and gentlemen, I would like to congratulate you and your nations success’s, and wish the best upon all of them.” Karthayla sounded too nice to some, and some suspicion grew.

“Now id like to share our story with pirates-“ Karthayla’s mouth continues to move, but no audio can be heard.
Until a few minutes later.
“That is what id like to share.”
“you idiot Karthayla you shut off the mic!” Karjala replied quickly, in the distance.
“Oh shut it you gross pig, atleast I dont own 10 slaves, because I own 100!” Karthayla objected.
“Everyone can hear our rambling, Karthayla.” Karjala notified.
“Oh god, oh god.” Karthayla said.
By now most people thought that Kapfadstandt was a mess of a nation, and disliked it.
“I am extremely sorry, now can we get on with this meeting?” Karthayla said after looking shocked for a few seconds.

I would make more, but i cant rp other peoples actions, so i have to wait a week until the next factbook.

[The Manticoran Empire]

William Buckner, the Ambassador Extraordinary and Plenipotentiary to the Galactic Assembly for the Republic of Manticore (which, he thought, was a needlessly wordy title, thank you), gazed out of the wall panel, currently configured to offer a visual display of the Athens Space Station. It was quite astonishing just how large the station was, even taking into account that roughly three quarters of it was dark and in disrepair. The station had to be the size of a large asteroid, dozens or even hundreds of kilometers across. And all of it left over from the Golden Age.

Few items of that ancient period of advanced technology remained. Mass lock beacons, COMNET, and Athens were perhaps the most prominent examples but there were others. Most were entirely functionless, destroyed by centuries of exposure to radiation without maintenance. Athens, it seemed, had nearly become another one of them.

And it still might, Buckner thought with an internal grimace. The Halcyon Expanse was just over an hour’s hypertravel away and was home to a particularly violent band of pirates who had fallen under the sway of a religious zealot. He thought back to the download he’d received from COMNET prior to being dispatched, just over four standard months before. Persis Minor, the sole inhabited system of the Halcyon Expanse, was home to 70 billion people, isolated on the icy ecumenopolis of Babylon in orbit of a dead star. Given the near total lack of trade in the region and the systems limited access to resources and capital, it was small wonder that the population turned to piracy. The real wonder was that a population that massive was still alive. Not that the answer to how they were still alive really mattered.

What mattered, he thought, was that the pirates of the Halcyon Expanse had gotten organized. Rallied by Xerxes, a sort of prophet in their religion convinced he was the son of their god, Cyrus, he had seized control of Babylon from the High Council in a coup that left most of the council dead, imprisoned, or sent into exile. Xerxes had thrown down the old order, implementing a genetic caste system, where purity (defined as similarity to him) was prized and rewarded with better treatment. Everyone else was treated as little better than a slave class, serving the pirates, who had taken to calling themselves Immortals, as everything from simple laborers to more…recreational uses.

And, of course, continuing to attack any ship that came close without protection. And the situation was apparently so out of hand that the AI that ran Athens had hired mercenaries by selling off most of its hyperfuel. Exactly how much those mercenaries would accomplish, however, was anyone's guess. It was relatively apparent that the Assembly had yet to come to any consensus on the matter, at least, and Buckner had his marching orders. He and his staff were to evaluate the threat of the pirates and report back. From there, the Cabinet would make the call on what response the Republic would take. And he figured it would be in the form of a Space Force battle group, dropping out in Babylon orbit with a non-discretionary cease and desist demand. Who knows, he thought, maybe they’ll take it slow and only dispatch some destroyer squadrons for convoy escort and piracy suppression.

A crackle brought him out of his thoughts as the ship’s intercom came to life. “Attention passengers, this is your captain speaking. We’re on final approach for Athens Station. Fasten your seat restraints and lockdown any loose items as we will be entering the station’s docking tractors shortly. Thank you.”

Buckner complied with the directive, clasping his briefcase shut before stashing it in the cabinet in front of him. Then, he took his seat again and made sure his harness was nice and secure. He finished the final checks just as the faint shudder of the hull told him the ship was now in the tractor field. From here on, it was all up to Athens.

---

Some fifteen minutes later, William Buckner and his staff were exiting the docking tube on the enormous Arrivals Concourse of Athens Station. It was fascinating how clean and well maintained the station was, made almost frightfully ominous by how devoid of activity it was. He supposed it shouldn’t have surprised him. After all, the Immortals had successfully driven what trade had been going to the station away with their raids. Should have tried to get the War Department to give us some destroyers. Try and rebuild some confidence in the security of at least Athens as a market. It didn’t really matter and he knew that. Just as he knew that such a unilateral action probably wouldn’t make a good impression on anyone else at Athens.

He and his staff started making their way to the transit system. The priority list was pretty simple. Find out where they were going to set up shop, set up the aforementioned shop, and then get introduced and acquainted with their colleagues. Well, in the case of Officer Mathew Stepp of the National Intelligence Service, that third priority was to begin spinning his web of informants, both biological and mechanical, to gather whatever information he could. Hopefully, Buckner thought, without creating an incident in the process.

---

Some 7,000 light years from Athens, an incident of a different type than William Buckner was considering was in the midst of occurring. At its center was the SS Bonaventure, a half-million ton bulk freighter hauling manufactured goods to one of probably a million barely noticed star systems. And the only reason it was in this particular, nondescript, and largely empty star system was to reconfirm its mass-lock fix. And that had been what the pirates were waiting for.

In theory, hypertravel should have made piracy impossible, as it was impossible to track, let alone attack, a ship in hyperspace. But the peculiarities of most navigational systems, with their need for mass-lock beacons, required ships to regularly leave hyper in the vicinity of another mass-lock beacon in order to triangulate its position and ensure it remained on course. This was, quite simply, because the same issues that prevented pirates from tracking a ship in hyper also prevented that ship from effectively navigating in hyper. The hyper-computers of the Republican Space Force warships and the courier boats used by the Foreign Ministry were far more powerful and more precise than those commonly employed by commercial skippers, requiring less recalibration. And that need for recalibration was why piracy was, even in the 51st century, still a paying occupation.

The first Bonaventure had seen of the pirates had been when they lit off their fusion drive. The one hundred and twenty meter long craft had been lying doggo, under complete emissions control, along the system periphery, just waiting for a hapless merchie to fall into its net. Now one had and the merchie in question couldn’t hyper out again until the computers had finished their calculations. Bonaventure’s captain could have tried to run for it, put some distance between his ship and the pirate, but it wouldn’t have mattered. He’d been at rest relative to the system until the pirate was already in motion and Bonaventure was slow on the helm. At best, the heavily laden cargo ship could make only about 0.07c under sublight. The pirate was boring in at 0.3c, a velocity even a Republican Space Force corvette would struggle to match. Then again, the captain thought, Pirates are a lot less concerned about how safe their drives are.

Instead of running, Bonaventure simply tapped into the COMNET, using the system’s mass-lock beacon as a relay, and issued a distress call. They were six weeks hyper-travel, almost 4,000 light years, from Manticore, so they knew it was useless. But it would get the word out that pirates were about and maybe the Space Forces would do something. Maybe. In the meantime, Bonaventure’s crew of 31 civilian merchant spacers would simply wait for the pirate to close and board. And hope they were in a kind mood.

[Cythatis]

Assembly Hall, Space Station Athens, Helios System, Galactic Core

---

No sooner had the latest delegation taken their seats when a low trumpet blast resounded through the circular hall.
Whatever chatter remained in the chamber was quickly silenced by a second, lingering, knell which echoed around the domed ceiling as if accompanied by an ethereal orchestra.
A red-haired youth emerged from the spacious entrance. He was dressed in a high collared military tunic dyed shades of brilliant magenta, accompanied by a deep indigo half cape; although its only ornamentation was a small silver badge pinned to the left of his collar- depicting three crossed arrows pointing down.
Pel hesitated briefly; either blown away by the hall in front of him or crestfallen by the lack of an audience, it was hard to say. Nevertheless, he gathered himself together and announced in a high but clear voice.

“Presenting his Lordship, Lord-Ambassador Sir Arthur Granville: Tenth Baron Dendrion, Fourth Son to Viscount Titus of Phoebos and Representative of His Excellence, Grand-Duke Alistair of Cythatis!”
On cue, Arthur strode into the hall, closely flanked by two Guardsman who were clad in midnight black carapace armour, their faces totally obscured by sheer faced ceramic helms and both holstering ceremonial Energy Lances on their shoulders. Despite their gear, Arthur towered nearly a full foot above them, his intense ochre stare absorbing his surroundings. The Ambassador himself was wearing an analogous tunic to his squire in grey, although that was where the similarities ended.
His collar was adorned with golden plates, embossed with a floral pattern which was left unbuttoned; revealing a luxurious silk undershirt and a large gemstone set at the base of his neck. The garment itself was likewise threaded with gold, constructing latticed patterns that seemed to move in the light. His already broad shoulders were enhanced with a set of blood red epilates trimmed with feathers, flaunting his badges of rank.
It was his belt that stood out the most, however, a simple strap of black leather fastened with a gilded buckle; hanging from which was a personal shield-generator and the unmistakable hilt of a Highmetal sword, held firm in a magnetic clasp.

“Accompanied by her High Eminence, the Primogen Zoe of Hekia, Divine Missionary of Mother Earth’s Holy Chantry!”
The Primogen was dressed in her customary silver-trimmed black robes which fell far past her feet, giving the impression that she was gliding rather than walking on the polished floors. Today she bore the full raiment of her office; a polished steel staff that gleamed wickedly in the artificial light, capped with an immaculately carved depiction of Old Earth and on her head was the symbolic twined crown of the Chantry.
At her side were two men wearing similar robes to the Primogen, though these were a stark white and lacked the ornamental trim. The pair were entirely bald, with not a single hair visible anywhere on their bodies, but their most startling feature were the muslin blindfolds that obscured their eyes. These were the Cathars; the foot soldiers, interrogators, and- when need be- executioners of the Holy Chantry: blind as Justice was said to be.
“Also, by Major Sir Augustin Reinhart: Guards Intelligence Corps.”
The final member of the Cythatian Delegation was a young looking fellow, in the black uniform of the Onyx Guard. His tunic displayed a few badges of merit and rank, but most notably the insignia on his high collar, a rampant winged lion wreathed in silver: the symbol of the GIC.
His features were, in fact, quite comely; although on closer inspection his skin was crisscrossed by an intricate network of silvery scars that covered his face and hands. A clear sign that he had not been born a child of the Sanguinium, with the various enhancements his rank implied, but had been surgically gifted them later in life. While there were firm technological limits on what the Geneticists on Cytha could do with a fully grown person- these were certainly enough to ensure his advancement to the Chevalien class.
The GIC agent had eschewed the escort that accompanied Sir Arthur and was only accompanied by a Plebian junior officer, carrying what appeared to be a tablet-computer. Despite this, he sported a Highmetal hilt of his own, as well as an accompanying shield.

Thus assembled, the Cythatians began to edge towards their designated seats, discovering- for the first time- how difficult it can be to maintain an air of nobile dignity when awkwardly sidestepping tables and foreign plebians.
Eventually, and taking inordinate pains to avoid any form of contact with the Adastrian delegation and their pet Daemons, they arrived at a grouping of tables flying the Golden Eagle of Cythatis. As the relevant name cards clicked into place, Sir Arthur and Zoe gracefully slid into their places, specially modified to accommodate their enhanced frames:
“Lord-Ambassador Sir Arthur Grenville, Cythatis”
“Primogen Zoe, Cythatis”
They were soon followed by the Guards officers and even young Pel had a place set (and furnished with a little games console- which he gleefully started up) next to his tutor:
“Master Pelham Sabran, Cythatis”
Their respective escorts, however, stood uncomfortably, still trying to maintain their flanking formations, and trying to ignore their placards:
“Serjeant Marco, Cythatis”
“Corporal Lud, Cythatis”
“Brother Silus, Cythatis”
“Brother James, Cythatis”
Whether due to sheer obstinance or some misguided sense of helpfulness, the lights intensified around the vacant desks and began to deliberately dart between the bodyguards and their seats. The standoff continued for a few minutes until Arthur wearily nodded his assent, allowing the soldiers to sit, the awkward clunking of ceramics against metal drawing yet more attention. The Primogen likewise assented, her Cathars settling themselves with an unsettling synchronicity.

Rubbing his sculpted nose Arthur allowed himself a quiet sigh, undercut by a happy cheer from his squire (who’d just advanced a level). The sooner this damn thing started, the sooner he could get himself free of this gaggle of barbarians.

[Adastra]

Adastra Diplomatic Service
Operations Leader, Ambassador Jonathan H. Westman
Attaché to Battlegroup Syracuse, Expeditionary Unit Alpha
Liaison to the Offices of the Department of Interstellar Affairs

---

(Svetlomovsk, Iethon, Kapfadstandt, The Manticoran Empire, Cythatis)

"It's my honor to finally meet you. I personally have been looking forward to this moment for years. We're glad that you decided to organize such a fantastic opportunity to directly talk to one another." Aleksandrov said in English (with an accent that sounded like a mixture of American English and British English, also with a hint of Russian-esque accent, just how Svetlomovskian English is) with a smile — one a little more genuine than strict formality.

"I am thankful that Adastra is not alone in this sentiment. Thank you for heeding our call to help those in need. Hopefully this will be the beginning of a fruitful friendship." replied Ambassador Westman. Moments after his reply, the Assembly Hall became slightly more busy. The mechanical clinks and chunks of multiple placards suddenly appearing caused Westman to flinch. He'd never get used to it.

He shook hands with the Adastran and Svetlomovskian representative. [...] "Well, hello. As you probably know, I am Tsa'lam, Foreign Minister of Iethon. Our system is quite obscure and has been isolated for many thousands of years, so I apologize for any social customs violated. We have also been experiencing the problem of space pirates; Recently a civilian vessel was destroyed. I wish you well in dealing with them, and am happy to help in any way I and our Commonwealth can in dealing with this problem".

Westman found himself surprised by the sudden arrival, and the even more sudden handshake. Westman and the Adastran delegation had never heard of the Iethonians, let alone this Foreign Minister, Tsa'lam. Westman, for a moment, thought he heard "salami". Nontheless, he responded to the handshake with a gentle nod and smile—a maneuver well-rehearsed through countless hours in front of a mirror. "Well met, Salem." he said politely, mispronouncing their name on accident. "We welcome you to the Athens. It's pleasure to know that we are not alone in our fight for peace for all peoples."

Moments after Westman replied again, the ambassador found holographic representatives had begun appearing, manifesting in their seats like ghostly apparitions.

“Hello other member of Athens, I am Karthayla Astrouthi, Along with me are a bunch of idoits who suck at there jobs, and I shall not introduce them.” Karthayla slowly began to sound more angry. “We are a wonderful nation, full of some of the galaxies most beautiful sights.” Karthayla calmed down as he said this.

“Now, we have decided to come here like all of you, Pirates. Pirates are not a threat here, at-least yet, but we are trying to join to hopefully stop any future attempts. Now as I talk to you i would like to extend a personal greeting to all of you, despite me not being able to shake hands with you fine ladies and gentlemen, I would like to congratulate you and your nations success’s, and wish the best upon all of them.” Karthayla sounded too nice to some, and some suspicion grew.

“Now id like to share our story with pirates-“ [...] “That is what I'd like to share.” [...] “you idiot Karthayla you shut off the mic!” [...] “Oh shut it you gross pig, atleast I dont own 10 slaves, because I own 100!” [...] “Everyone can hear our rambling, Karthayla.” [...] “Oh god, oh god.” [...] “I am extremely sorry, now can we get on with this meeting?”

The Adastran delegation was silent for a moment. Westman found some relief that at least he wasn't the most unpresentable dignitary present. Adastrans have a unique skill in that they are able to read the expressions of their faceless and formless AI companions. Ambassador Westman looked to Black Anvil's marble silhouette—faceless and expressionless, practically a featureless pillar—and could immediately tell through some otherworldly understanding that the AI advisor was mouthing the word "yikes".

---

[The] Bonaventure simply tapped into the COMNET, using the system’s mass-lock beacon as a relay, and issued a distress call. They were six weeks hyper-travel, almost 4,000 light years, from Manticore, so they knew it was useless. But it would get the word out that pirates were about and maybe the Space Forces would do something. Maybe. In the meantime, Bonaventure’s crew of 31 civilian merchant spacers would simply wait for the pirate to close and board. And hope they were in a kind mood.

Sadly for this vessel and its crew, the distress call would be one of thousands across the galaxy. A little blip appeared on the galactic map carved into the ceiling of the chamber, seemingly hand painted as if it belonged in an Earthen cathedral. The light of the Bonaventure's blip was dim compared to the brighter holographic map of the Halcyon Expanse that was manifest as the temporary centerpiece of the hall. The sad reality was that the Athen's automated caretakers were not without their biases, and it seemed that distant injustices were easily ignored for those that loom closer to the station.

Yet, as if with intuition, Red Liberty, through her vast computational power, found herself noticing this blip in the ceiling, taking note of it in her short-term memory banks. Adastran AI were programmed with empathy and sanctity for human life. A part of Red Liberty knew that it was unlikely a response from the Athens would happen in time—after all, within milliseconds, she'd run countless scenarios of which the Adastrans could provide aid, all unfeasible or untimely. Red Liberty then chose to devote a single thread of processing power to mourning. The Bonaventure was not the only ship Red Liberty would mourn in that moment. This was a moment of sadness, of reflection, of deep—

No sooner had the latest delegation taken their seats when a low trumpet blast resounded through the circular hall.
Whatever chatter remained in the chamber was quickly silenced by a second, lingering, knell which echoed around the domed ceiling as if accompanied by an ethereal orchestra.

"Christ on a bike—" spat out Black Anvil at the sudden noise.

“Presenting his Lordship, Lord-Ambassador Sir Arthur Granville: Tenth Baron Dendrion, Fourth Son to Viscount Titus of Phoebos and Representative of His Excellence, Grand-Duke Alistair of Cythatis!” [...] “Accompanied by her High Eminence, the Primogen Zoe of Hekia, Divine Missionary of Mother Earth’s Holy Chantry!” [...] “Also, by Major Sir Augustin Reinhart: Guards Intelligence Corps.”

"Dinner and a show? Must be my birthday— Hey. Red. Who do you think would win, Pirates or Knights?" muttered Black Anvil at such a low frequency that only the other AI could hear.

"Oh, by the light of the forge, spare me." replied Red Liberty, unamused by Black Anvil's constant unprofessionalism.

Of the three Adastran AI, one was constantly silent: Silver Delta—the shortest of the black marble obelisks, standing at only two-feet tall, propped up in his chair by a stack of books. While Red Liberty and Black Anvil were AI specialized in diplomacy and military consultation, Silver Delta was what Adastrans called a "tallyer". Silver Delta did not speak, for his job was to count. Precisely what he was counting, was unclear. The number in his head, however, kept going up, and as that number went up the other AI grew imperceptibly uneasy.

---

After the other delegations had settled into their seats, Ambassador Westman and Commander returned to theirs. The meeting would soon begin.

[United Earth Government1]

([url=https://i.imgur.com/yOsX0bH.png]Image)[/url]

Adastra Diplomatic Service
Operations Leader, Ambassador Jonathan H. Westman
Attaché to Battlegroup Syracuse, Expeditionary Unit Alpha
Liaison to the Offices of the Department of Interstellar Affairs

---

(Svetlomovsk, Iethon, Kapfadstandt, The Manticoran Empire, Cythatis)

"It's my honor to finally meet you. I personally have been looking forward to this moment for years. We're glad that you decided to organize such a fantastic opportunity to directly talk to one another." Aleksandrov said in English (with an accent that sounded like a mixture of American English and British English, also with a hint of Russian-esque accent, just how Svetlomovskian English is) with a smile — one a little more genuine than strict formality.

"I am thankful that Adastra is not alone in this sentiment. Thank you for heeding our call to help those in need. Hopefully this will be the beginning of a fruitful friendship." replied Ambassador Westman. Moments after his reply, the Assembly Hall became slightly more busy. The mechanical clinks and chunks of multiple placards suddenly appearing caused Westman to flinch. He'd never get used to it.

He shook hands with the Adastran and Svetlomovskian representative. [...] "Well, hello. As you probably know, I am Tsa'lam, Foreign Minister of Iethon. Our system is quite obscure and has been isolated for many thousands of years, so I apologize for any social customs violated. We have also been experiencing the problem of space pirates; Recently a civilian vessel was destroyed. I wish you well in dealing with them, and am happy to help in any way I and our Commonwealth can in dealing with this problem".

Westman found himself surprised by the sudden arrival, and the even more sudden handshake. Westman and the Adastran delegation had never heard of the Iethonians, let alone this Foreign Minister, Tsa'lam. Westman, for a moment, thought he heard "salami". Nontheless, he responded to the handshake with a gentle nod and smile—a maneuver well-rehearsed through countless hours in front of a mirror. "Well met, Salem." he said politely, mispronouncing their name on accident. "We welcome you to the Athens. It's pleasure to know that we are not alone in our fight for peace for all peoples."

Moments after Westman replied again, the ambassador found holographic representatives had begun appearing, manifesting in their seats like ghostly apparitions.

“Hello other member of Athens, I am Karthayla Astrouthi, Along with me are a bunch of idoits who suck at there jobs, and I shall not introduce them.” Karthayla slowly began to sound more angry. “We are a wonderful nation, full of some of the galaxies most beautiful sights.” Karthayla calmed down as he said this.

“Now, we have decided to come here like all of you, Pirates. Pirates are not a threat here, at-least yet, but we are trying to join to hopefully stop any future attempts. Now as I talk to you i would like to extend a personal greeting to all of you, despite me not being able to shake hands with you fine ladies and gentlemen, I would like to congratulate you and your nations success’s, and wish the best upon all of them.” Karthayla sounded too nice to some, and some suspicion grew.

“Now id like to share our story with pirates-“ [...] “That is what I'd like to share.” [...] “you idiot Karthayla you shut off the mic!” [...] “Oh shut it you gross pig, atleast I dont own 10 slaves, because I own 100!” [...] “Everyone can hear our rambling, Karthayla.” [...] “Oh god, oh god.” [...] “I am extremely sorry, now can we get on with this meeting?”

The Adastran delegation was silent for a moment. Westman found some relief that at least he wasn't the most unpresentable dignitary present. Adastrans have a unique skill in that they are able to read the expressions of their faceless and formless AI companions. Ambassador Westman looked to Black Anvil's marble silhouette—faceless and expressionless, practically a featureless pillar—and could immediately tell through some otherworldly understanding that the AI advisor was mouthing the word "yikes".

---

[The] Bonaventure simply tapped into the COMNET, using the system’s mass-lock beacon as a relay, and issued a distress call. They were six weeks hyper-travel, almost 4,000 light years, from Manticore, so they knew it was useless. But it would get the word out that pirates were about and maybe the Space Forces would do something. Maybe. In the meantime, Bonaventure’s crew of 31 civilian merchant spacers would simply wait for the pirate to close and board. And hope they were in a kind mood.

Sadly for this vessel and its crew, the distress call would be one of thousands across the galaxy. A little blip appeared on the galactic map carved into the ceiling of the chamber, seemingly hand painted as if it belonged in an Earthen cathedral. The light of the Bonaventure's blip was dim compared to the brighter holographic map of the Halcyon Expanse that was manifest as the temporary centerpiece of the hall. The sad reality was that the Athen's automated caretakers were not without their biases, and it seemed that distant injustices were easily ignored for those that loom closer to the station.

Yet, as if with intuition, Red Liberty, through her vast computational power, found herself noticing this blip in the ceiling, taking note of it in her short-term memory banks. Adastran AI were programmed with empathy and sanctity for human life. A part of Red Liberty knew that it was unlikely a response from the Athens would happen in time—after all, within milliseconds, she'd run countless scenarios of which the Adastrans could provide aid, all unfeasible or untimely. Red Liberty then chose to devote a single thread of processing power to mourning. The Bonaventure was not the only ship Red Liberty would mourn in that moment. This was a moment of sadness, of reflection, of deep—

No sooner had the latest delegation taken their seats when a low trumpet blast resounded through the circular hall.
Whatever chatter remained in the chamber was quickly silenced by a second, lingering, knell which echoed around the domed ceiling as if accompanied by an ethereal orchestra.

"Christ on a bike—" spat out Black Anvil at the sudden noise.

“Presenting his Lordship, Lord-Ambassador Sir Arthur Granville: Tenth Baron Dendrion, Fourth Son to Viscount Titus of Phoebos and Representative of His Excellence, Grand-Duke Alistair of Cythatis!” [...] “Accompanied by her High Eminence, the Primogen Zoe of Hekia, Divine Missionary of Mother Earth’s Holy Chantry!” [...] “Also, by Major Sir Augustin Reinhart: Guards Intelligence Corps.”

"Dinner and a show? Must be my birthday— Hey. Red. Who do you think would win, Pirates or Knights?" muttered Black Anvil at such a low frequency that only the other AI could hear.

"Oh, by the light of the forge, spare me." replied Red Liberty, unamused by Black Anvil's constant unprofessionalism.

Of the three Adastran AI, one was constantly silent: Silver Delta—the shortest of the black marble obelisks, standing at only two-feet tall, propped up in his chair by a stack of books. While Red Liberty and Black Anvil were AI specialized in diplomacy and military consultation, Silver Delta was what Adastrans called a "tallyer". Silver Delta did not speak, for his job was to count. Precisely what he was counting, was unclear. The number in his head, however, kept going up, and as that number went up the other AI grew imperceptibly uneasy.

---

After the other delegations had settled into their seats, Ambassador Westman and Commander returned to theirs. The meeting would soon begin.

Ambassador Dr. Amelia Biletnikoff along with her 4 ODST bodyguards entered the Chamber quietly and unnoticed while the pageantry of some lord was grabbing everybody's attention. Amelia was new to this chamber as was the UEG and she is prepared for whatever is thrown her way. She did notice what appeared to be 3 AI next to a representative. While AI wasn't her specialty, she knew enough about them to get by so she laid a device on her desk in the seat next to her. Her personal Smart AI named Artemis appeared as hardlight hologram looking like the greek god herself in Armor. She looked at Amelia with a smile, "How are you doing today, Doctor?"

Amelia looked at the AI with a frown, "Well Athena, a colony on the edge of UEG Space is starting have a pirate problem and we haven't found out where their base of operations is located yet. The UNSC is currently looking for it and hopefully they will be able to find it. We fought the Covenant for nearly 30 years so this shouldn't too hard."

Athena chuckled before replying, "Well Doc, pirates are for the most part not very intelligent people though there is always an exception to that rule. I have noticed these Adastrans are germaphobes though that might be due to their culture. They are an interesting culture to say-" She picked a distress signal that wasn't too far from UEG space and sent the alert out to the nearest UNSC which was 3 Autumn-class heavy cruisers, 3 Halberd-class light destoyers and 4 Anlace-class frigates received the message and within 10 minutes, all 10 ships entered Slipspace with a projected time of arrival 27 hours from now. She turned her attention back to Amelia, "Sorry about that Doc, I had picked up what appeared to be a distress signal so I sent a message to the nearest UNSC fleet units nearest to the signal which is set to arrive in 26 hour and 50 minutes from now." She raised her voice so that the Cythanis delegation can hear her, "That Cythanis delegation seems arrogant to me thinking they are better than the rest of us. They will soon learn that respect is not given but earned and if they think I will be bowing to them due to their station in life then they can go fuck themselves in the ass."

Amelia burst out laughing which after calming down began speaking, "Its quite alright Athena as did the right thing in sending help. As for the Cythanthis delegation, I believe you are quite right about them but I wouldn't be surprised if they come complaining about you."

[The Manticoran Empire]

William Buckner walked into the vast room labeled “Assembly Hall”. He could already see several of the other delegations present, seated at their labeled spots or milling about in conversation. One of the delegations swiftly caught his eye. Their attire reminded him of the old films from the Historical Records Repository, the ones about “King Arthur” and “Robin Hood”. They had oddly colored eyes, he noted, and they appeared far too interested in pomp and circumstance for his liking. These must be the Cythatians he thought grimly. The limited information available in the Foreign Ministry dossier on Cythatis hadn’t been good. They were feudalistic neobarb geneticists, who apparently feared technology and were more concerned with the stature of birth than of skill or competence. Not something that bodes well for effective diplomacy, he thought.

His gaze swept the chamber and came to rest on three obelisks. They were each different colors but all appeared to be important. He wasn’t sure who they were, not yet at least, but they seemed connected to the small gaggle of humans who milled about near them. Those must be the Adastran’s, he thought, remembering the download the Foreign Ministry had collected via COMNET. If so, those three obelisks are probably AIs. And probably the senior members of their delegation, assuming the download was correct.

His gaze then fell on another gaggle of humans, these ones standing around the podium in the center of the room. It was apparent that they had recently finished addressing the chamber, as two of them appeared to be deep in a rather frantic conversation. The Kappens. Well, I imagine something went wrong for them, he thought, bringing his gaze back to the survey of the chamber.

There were only two other delegations he could identify. One was seated near the delegation he’d decided were the Adastrans. Their attire and mannerisms told him they were the Svetlomovskians. The other delegation had to be the Iethonians. He could have been wrong but he doubted it.

He stepped towards a row of benches and then several desk lights came on and placards sprang suddenly from the tables. The placards were labeled, he saw, with shocking accuracy. William Buckner, Ambassador Extraordinary and Plenipotentiary, Republic of Manticore. He managed, barely, to hide his frustration at the title again. He’d tried to get the Foreign Office to leave it at Ambassador but they’d insisted. They wanted to make it clear that he held actual authority to negotiate. As if that wasn’t already IMPLIED by the title of Ambassador, he thought, fighting mingled embarrassment and irritation. He attempted to distract himself by looking at some of the other placards.

Good Lord, he thought, There’s a seat for every member of my staff. He could see Officer Mathew Stepp, National Intelligence Service, Colonel Richard Frisbie, Republican Space Forces, Naval Attache, Amber Theiss, Trade Attache, and Tammy Huffman, Cultural Attache.

This station is full of surprises, he thought as he took his seat, leaving the other chairs conspicuously empty. Perhaps I should have brought the rest of them along.

He swept his gaze around the room once again, attempting to gauge the attitude of the room. His gaze fell once again on the Cythatians and he suppressed an urge to retch at their attire. For his part, he often felt out of place in the three-piece suit that Manticoran custom required for official business. He much preferred his usual polo or button up, finding the more casual attire both more comfortable and more practical for conducting business. But custom was custom and impressions need to be made.

---

Just over ten and a half thousand light-years from Athens, a new light code blinked to life on the display. The dimly lit room the display was housed in belonged to the COMNET Signals Intelligence Office of the Space Forces Intelligence Branch and that particular display monitored civilian transponder codes and message traffic.

With the millions of civilian ships that plied the spacelanes, keeping tabs on all of them was neither practical nor worthwhile. So sophisticated AI systems were employed to parse through the traffic and identify items of interest. Those same AIs would also forward that data to the department that would find it the most relevant. In this case, however, the message traffic was hardly new. Another ship had run afoul of pirates.

In the four months it had taken William Buckner to reach Athens, the CSIO had recorded over sixty-ships attacked within four weeks of hypertravel, about 2,400 light years, of the Manticore System. Probably twice that many had been attacked in the 1,200 or light years beyond that, putting the total shipping losses to piracy within the Space Forces area of interest in the last four months at very nearly two hundred. And at an average tonnage of three-quarters of a million tons, that was a substantial amount of money lost to the people who owned those ships. Each of those ships represented better than RBN90,000,000, without the cost of the cargo. On average, the cargoes were worth about three times what the ship carrying them was. And all two hundred of the losses currently tracked by the CSIO were Manticoran ships. Two hundred ships, some seventy-four billion notes, and over six thousand men and women, where lost, held for ransom or worse by pirates and raiders.

Procedures would need to be followed, of course. The Space Staff would get with the intelligence types, the operations types, the logistics types, the planning types. They would come up with a series of options and present those to the President and the Prime Minister, who would then present them to Congress. Congress would then debate them before putting the requests to a vote. Invariably, Congress would approve some form of action. In the interim, all that could be done was to send out resupply ships to extend the deployments of the destroyer and frigate squadrons already on patrol. It wouldn’t be popular, especially since they generally spent six months on deployment to begin with, but it was a necessity.

By extending the deployments of the squadrons already on station while deploying the next batch in the rotation, they could increase their coverage of the patrolled regions quickly. Unfortunately, it would also increase the number of units down for maintenance and refit. And it would throw the deployment schedules into chaos. But something had to be done.

---

[Iethon]

Iethon Foreign Relations
Foreign Minister Tsa'lam Crlasti

After Tsa'lam gave his introduction, the presumably Adastran delegate Westman responded with "Well met, Salem". Or at least the thought it was Salem. It might as well be a mispronunciation of his own name, and he figured it was probably the latter as many of the others' native languages were not as hard to articulate as his own, and he supposed Salem was a smoothed version of his own name. Westman then snapped him out of his thoughts with a "We welcome you to the Athens. It's pleasure to know that we are not alone in our fight for peace for all peoples." Fair enough. Personally he didn't like formalities, although many other delegates seemed to be obsessed with them.

He got snapped out of his thoughts again by a hologram popping out of nowhere. Even though this happened regularly back on his trips to Sovara, it never really stopped startling him. "Wow, does this meeting make a point out of doing this", he thought. At any rate, the hologram seemed to be flickering and occasionally corrupting itself. After some time, the hologram just went gray. "This must be the Kappens", he thought. They were wearing exquisite clothing and many badges. "Yep, formalities", he thought.

"Average Kappen tech, horrid as always."
Well, he could agree to that. The holograms back in their system were much better.

"Hello other members of Athens, I am Karthayla Astrouthi, Along with me are a bunch of idiots who suck at their jobs, and I shall not introduce them."
"We are a wonderful nation, full of some of the galaxy's most beautiful sights."
Yikes. Who comprehends their colleagues as "idiots"? As for the sights, he would have to go there himself to justify that.

"Now, we have decided to come here like all of you, Pirates. Pirates are not a threat here, at-least yet, but we are trying to join to hopefully stop any future attempts. Now as I talk to you i would like to extend a personal greeting to all of you, despite me not being able to shake hands with you fine ladies and gentlemen, I would like to congratulate you and your nations success’s, and wish the best upon all of them."
He was hiding something, Tsa'lam knew it. Millenia of distrust have honed Iethonians' senses to deception. He sounded too nice, which probably meant he was a mean person, and based on the earlier evidence, his conclusion was-

"Now, I'd like to share our story with pirates-"
Karthayla's mouth kept moving, and no sound came out for the next few minutes. Tsa'lam agreed even more with the sentiment on Kappen tech, but at any rate, based on his analysis of Karthayla's speech, his conclusion about his demeanor was-

"That is what I'd like to share."
"Oh god", Tsa'lam thought. Maybe it was a technical error?

"You idiot Karthayla you shut off the mic!", someone said from a distance.
"Oh shut it you gross pig, atleast I dont own 10 slaves, because I own 100!", Karthalya said.
"Everyone can hear our rambling, Karthayla.", the voice notified.
"Oh god, oh god.", Karthayla said.
"I am extremely sorry, now can we get on with this meeting?" Karthayla said after looking shocked for a few seconds.

Everyone was silent for a few minutes, and Tsa'lam was no exception. However his mind was very much not silent. Who even had slaves anymore? You can't just own people... Is this what the other nations were hiding beneath their pleasant ambassadors? A system of cruelty and oppression? This would have never happened on Iethon, he was sure of it.

A trumpet blast echoed though the hall. "Yikes, who needs that?", Tsa'lam thought. Several people dressed completely ridiculously began to make their way to the table, while trying to avoid all the tables in the way. "Very un-royal", he thought. He didn't pay much attention to the endless formalities, and could not tell you exactly what happened. Wait a minute... Their mannerism seems very familiar... Could it- no, it couldn't be. The Soleran Empire could not have survived. No, they were just similar, he was sure of it. Looking at their diplomatic information was another story. They exactly matched what Solera behaved like. Oh god, could it actually be the remnant of Solera? He waited for the delegate to start screaming something at them, but nothing came. This made him pretty sure that they weren't the remnants of the Soleran Empire.

A person dressed in a suit entered the hall. Glad to be relieved from his thoughts, he welcomed the figure. He regarded everyone with a contemplating eye, especially the Kappens and Cythatis. Tsa'lam very much liked this person, he had a quite Iethonian demeanor. Give him an Iethonian attire and a class in the language, he could pass very well for one. He took his seat and said nothing. "Also very Iethonian", he thought. Records said that a distress call from the very same nation had reached Athens, probably from pirates. Too late to respond, although Tsa'lam was sure that they would have taken care of it.

Well, enough with the formalities. What do we do about these pirates?, Tsa'lam said.

[Adastra]

Space Station Athens
Anti-piracy and Anti-terrorism Data Banks 700-1200
Department of Security and Defense
Athens Automated Maintenance, Ordnance, and Governance

---

Alert! This post initiates the meeting, but additional attendees are welcome to make an appearance—though they may be seen as late.

Once the lastest of the representatives had taken their seats, the holoprojector image at the center of the assembly hall began to swell, enhancing the resolution and detail of the projected star map. Small, fuzzy-headed microphones mounted to flexible stands sprung in front of every delegate, even the holographic ones, allowing each and every member of this assembly to be heard. Soon, the holoprojector began showing panels of images and text: COMNET broadcasts, news reports, various documents—both public and not-so-public, all showing evidence of piracy and injustice in the Halcyon Expanse. All the information was live, and rapidly updating.

Suddenly, hundreds of narrow, spindly robotic armatures made from a brass-like metal suddenly appeared from an opening in the ceiling, reaching down towards the holoprojector. Each armature—laced with a silver thread as if part of some vast stringed instrument—held what look like a data cassette, each cassette labeled with a number. Though each individual arm was moving with a simple motion, the collective appearance of the arms had an oddly organic fluidity, much like the tendrils of a jellyfish. The vast apparatus seemed to be cycling through the data cassettes, eventually finding #812, driving it into the center of the holoprojector before completely disappearing into the ceiling.

A hiss, a click, a whirring of machinery. A new visitor had appeared at the center of the room, pacing around the holoprojector: a surprisingly high fidelity holographic man wearing a loose cotton blouse, leather pants, and leather boots. At his hip was a saber and a flintlock blaster pistol (who even knew those existed?); on his head was a tricorn hat with a little feather.

"Hello, friends! My name is Samuel Davies, though many knew me as Swashbuckler Sam, Scourge of the Santorinian Cartel. I was born in 3052 CE and had lived a wonderful life of adventure until my most untimely demise in 3098 CE. I am now here as a reconstructed consciousness—not an artificial intelligence, mind you! Rather, my appearance now is merely a recollection of who I was when I had lived. I was the third best pirate hunter of the Outer Rim, and I am now here to consult you on your present problems with piracy." The holographic corsair would turn to look at the holoprojector. "Ah! The Halcyon Expanse. Lovely part of the galaxy, though... by these reports... hm... not so halcyon anymore, it seems... Well! Ask me any question and I'll dig through the entirety of the Athen's databanks for an answer! Together, we'll bring these rapscallions to justice!"

Investigation Phase! Participants may now ask questions to shed more light on the situation in the Halcyon Expanse.

[Cythatis]

Assembly Hall, Space Station Athens, Helios System, Galactic Core

---

“I’ve just one.” Sir Arthur’s dulcet tones resounded from the back of the chamber. The Lord-Ambassador had leant as far back as his chair would allow, its metallic joints groaning with the effort yet he still, somehow, exuded an imposing air. “Why is any of this our problem?”

His words were near instantly met with a series of grumbles and frowns from across the floor and more than a few of the delegates were exchanging confused glances with their aids and even, briefly, with each other. The Cythatian delegation though made no such movements. The Primogen’s glare had yet to leave the three Adastrian obelisks, her silver eyes briming with hostility while Major Reinhart was absorbed in the onslaught of intelligence data streaming onto the hologrammatic map. Young Master Sabran was likewise engrossed, having finally beaten Level 6.
Undeterred, Sir Arthur ploughed on. “What threat do these so-called pirates actually pose? What exactly are they plundering? The vibrant and rich galactic trade lanes? Our integrated galactic economy?” He sniffed derisively. “Risible. Sirrahs, there is nothing to steal.”
The Cythantian Ambassador raised a single elongated finger, forestalling the inevitable backlash.
“Except.” He continued after the small pause. “Athens.”

Sir Arthur allowed the word to stand for moment, the weight of it sitting heavily on the minds of this, new, Assembly.
“Is this the crux of the issue? Do we believe these rumours that Xerxes comes again, that the King of Kings assembles his immortals to march on the City of Wisdom!?” This time, Arthur laughed openly, a naturally pleasant sound now marred by its hollowness. “Come friends, who among you will be Themistocles? Who Aristides?”
He waited for laughter but little, if any, came. Arthur frowned then sighed. It was, perhaps, too much to expect mere Plebians to know those most bless’ed men who stood on Earth that Was.
“If these ‘immortals’ truly wish to take this station, then surely it can defend itself? Planets, systems, the Milky Way itself was beggared to build it; if that were not enough, look out a window, more mercenaries arrive by the day. Lured by this ‘Phalanx Protocol’ most, I’m sure, no stranger to the ways of piracy…”

A resonant thud punctuated the Ambassador’s penultimate remark. The sound of reinforced metal hitting the floor as Arthur shifted his posture, far quicker than should have been possible for a man of his build. He now sat leant forward, eyes firmly fixed on the dead buccaneer down below.
“Pray explain to me, whatever you are, why this concerns the Grand Duke?”

[Adastra]

Space Station Athens
Anti-piracy and Anti-terrorism Data Banks 700-1200
Department of Security and Defense
Athens Automated Maintenance, Ordnance, and Governance

---

“I’ve just one.” [...] “Why is any of this our problem?”
“What threat do these so-called pirates actually pose? What exactly are they plundering? The vibrant and rich galactic trade lanes? Our integrated galactic economy?” [...] “Risible. Sirrahs, there is nothing to steal.” [...] “Except.” [...] “Athens.” [...] “Is this the crux of the issue? Do we believe these rumours that Xerxes comes again, that the King of Kings assembles his immortals to march on the City of Wisdom!?” [...] “Come friends, who among you will be Themistocles? Who Aristides?” [...] “If these ‘immortals’ truly wish to take this station, then surely it can defend itself? Planets, systems, the Milky Way itself was beggared to build it; if that were not enough, look out a window, more mercenaries, arrive by the day. Lured by this ‘Phalanx Protocol’ most, I’m sure, no stranger to the ways of piracy…” [...] “Pray explain to me, whatever you are, why this concerns the Grand Duke?”

Samuel put his hands on his hips and a tongue into his cheek, a clearly irritated expression on his face. It was almost as if something ingrained in his code, in his very nature, made the Cythatian air of purple-spoon righteousness unpalatable to the pirate-hunter.

"I suppose protecting the innocent is beyond the Grand Duke..." said Swashbuckler Sam with a hint of sarcasm, as he already knew the answer. He began swiping panels here and there, organizing the array of information at the center of the room. "Cythatis... Cythatis... ah, here." He began to zoom the holographic map into the vague vicinity of Cythatian space, intercepting COMNET chatter from neighboring star systems. Though most of the broadcasts were ordinary, the holographic swashbuckler was able to dig through the digital muck and reveal a subtle pattern: the emblem of a golden falcon, with three planets, two in either talon, and one above its head. This was Xerxes' emblem. The image appears only in the darkest corridors of the COMNET, the frequencies occupied by criminals and vagrants. "Xerxes' promise of riches is more pervasive than many expect. His message has reached into every cesspool of the galaxy. You may not think it, but a new age of commerce is dawning—and where there is trade, there are thieves." Sam pulled one of the COMNET broadcasts sympathizing with Xerxes into focus—this one originating much closer to the Athens.

A hooded figure, standing in front of Xerxes' banner, can be seen speaking. "—Xerxes has expelled the pretenders, the tainted blood, those who defile the legacy of our God-King Cyrus! He has shattered their profane coffers, their blasphemous tithes, and now seeks to return the splendors of Babylon to the deserving: the strong, the pure, the chosen! Join the Immortals and reclaim your chance at divinity!" Footage of successful raids and plundered trade vessels begin appearing in a montage following the zealot's message. Pirates can be seen reveling in reclaimed military-grade weapons and munitions.

"The Athens has both Golden Age and Dark Age technology locked away in its condemned wings—much of which even I don't know about. Superweapon schematics, star charts, tactical databanks, and more—the kind of plunder that can endanger the galaxy with one COMNET leak. If Xerxes seizes this station, he might discover the means to bolster every pirate organization in the galaxy." Swashbuckler Sam then changed the focus of the holoprojection to showing security footage in one of the docking bays. There, greasy Phalanx Protocol mercenaries can be seen drinking and rough-housing, their starships seeming less-than-optimal for full-on combat: a loose blaster cannon here, a poorly secured missile there, a leaking fuel line seen on every other ship. Automated port authority drones seem to be constantly scrambling to prevent a catastrophic incident. It appeared the Athens' projected its buyer's remorse through Swashbuckler Sam. "Take it from the deadman, when he says it is unwise to underestimate pirates and fanatics."

[The Manticoran Empire]

Space Station Athens
Assembly Conference Room

Buckner frowned at the Cythatian delegate. "Am I to understand," he began in a tone of chipped steel, "that the Cythatian delegation views criminality as acceptable when they don't see any gain? Are Cythatians truly so backwards that they would permit thieves and murderers to run amok throughout the galaxy? Pirates are the enemies of all civilized worlds. If the Grand Duke cannot see that, then perhaps the Grand Duke should remain in the mud like the barbarian he is."

Ambassador Buckner leaned forward in his chair. “The Cythatian delegation asked the question of why we should care. The answer is simplicity itself and requires the barest foresight to achieve. The intersystem trade lanes are limited at present, it is true. But that will not remain true. As we rediscover our neighbors, the trade lanes will grow busy again as goods and people flow across the galaxy once again. The boons of such trade are obvious. The wealth, both in terms of cultural exchange as well as financial gain, are literally immeasurable. But if we allow these pirates to fester, then trade will never return. The Dark Ages will never truly end. And the spark of civilization will slowly die, extinguished in barbarism.”

He leveled his gaze at the Cythatian ambassador before continuing, “Perhaps it isn’t a lack of foresight that stays the hand of the Grand Duke. Perhaps it is simpler than that. Perhaps it is base cowardice. A refusal to stand for justice and progress. A refusal to stand in the face of barbarism and rebuke it with the light of civilization. Given what I have seen from the Cythatian delegation, cowardice is the most apt description.”

He swept his gaze across the assembly chambers. “If the Cythatians wish to cower in fear of the pirates, they may do so. The Republic will not. We know how to deal with pirates and we will deal with these in like manner. We would ask for the assistance and cooperation of our neighbors in the Assembly but we will take the fight to these pirates, with or without it. Piracy is a scourge upon all civilized worlds and we call upon those who are not cowards, who will not bow to barbarism and criminality, to take up the mantle and drive this scourge from the stars.”

Buckner turned away from the Cythatian and brought his focus to the holographic image. "If you don't mind, sir, I would appreciate it if you could provide a more detailed brief on the local situation. We understand that there is a local warlord that has started to draw denizens to his banner. What we don't understand, at least not fully, is the scale and scope of the problem."

---

Aboard a derelict space station, the remnants of a pirate fleet finalized their defensive positions. Cargo containers, pieces of machinery, furniture, and other bits and bobs were stacked and fashioned into barricades. Bulkhead doors were welded shut to limit access points and routes of advance. Crew served heavy weapons, including thirty millimeter autocannons, were positioned to fire airburst rounds down hallways. Some of the pirates, barely out of their teens, tried to calm their nerves through deep breathing as they clutched their rifles. Others, mainly the older ones, simply waited, watching the approaches with weapons ready.

Eighteen Republican Space Force Athena dropships swept up into the nine hangar bays spread around the main ring of the station. The four humans aboard each dropship maneuvered their craft deftly into position, setting down with the troop ramps facing towards the station and lowering to hit the deck at the same time as the wheels did. From inside came the stuff of nightmares.

From each dropship came two dozen Mark Seven Combat Droids, sensors already searching for targets. Each droid carried a M773 plasma rifle, capable of burning a hole the size of a grapefruit into an unarmored human target and killing even armored humans with relative ease. The two meter-tall death machines advanced in perfect unison, spreading out in precisely ordered wedges as they began their sweep.

The clank of the droids feet on the deck plating was the first indication the pirates had of their presence. It was unsettling, the steady, overly mechanical clank, clank, clank as they drew closer. The first of them rounded a corner and stopped short as it spotted a barricade. The pause was a short one but long enough for the pirates to react. An autocannon barked while assault rifles rattled. The droid backed up, returning fire with its plasma rifle. One of the pirates fell in a cloud of pink mist as the bolt struck her in the face, leaving a headless corpse oozing blood across the deck.

The other droids in the eight-bot squad had the information at the same instant as the pointman and it was swiftly shared with every one of the other four-hundred and thirty two combat droids clearing the space station. The onboard AIs swiftly analyzed the data and decided on a response. One of the droids poked its weapon around the corner, datalinking between its scope and its onboard brain. It selected the autocannon and fired three quick shots, silencing the cannon for good. The other droids came around the corner in a long line and began walking forward, firing as they went.

Brilliant red-orange bolts of high energy plasma zipped through the artificial atmosphere, leaving behind the stench of ozone as they passed. Where they struck bulkheads or barricades, they shattered alloy in brilliant detonations of liberated energy and flash vaporized metal. Where they met flesh, a gruesome display of gore followed. Flesh, blood, and bone vaporized in an instant, the resultant expansion of vapor shredding nearby tissue and shattering bone. Even if the initial hit was non-fatal, such as to an arm or leg, the subsequent trauma of the flash-vaporization almost always was. Fragments of bone tore into other organs, turning internal anatomy into a slurry of tissue fragments, blood, and viscera. Abdominal impacts resulted in the victims being torn apart, bleeding out as they struggled to retrieve their other half.

It took the droids mere seconds to suppress the first barricades. As they advanced, they remained unaware of the stench of burned flesh and bowels loosened by the onset of death. Some of the pirates were still alive, attempting to crawl to safety as they left behind them a trail of blood from detached limbs. These survivors were swiftly dispatched by the sudden downward motion of metal foot onto their skull, a sickly wet crunch of bone and brain tissue. And then the droids were moving on.

Aboard Reckless, General Ledbetter turned away from the monitors. The visual record of the boarding action would be transmitted to Space Force headquarters in Manticore upon the wing’s return and she felt certain that the intelligence types would call it a resounding success. After all, it was. The pirates were being swiftly and efficiently eliminated and the droids had taken no casualties. But they also took no prisoners. Well, she thought, it’s not like the bastards would live very long if they were taking prisoners.

It took barely two hours for the droids to clear the entire station. Aboard, they found the crews of the twelve merchant ships, or what was left of them. The records from the merchant ships computers indicated that each had left port with between 30 and 40 crew. Fewer than two hundred merchant spacers were still alive aboard the pirate station. Fewer than twenty of them were female. None of them were lacking in physical and mental injuries. The droids found the bodies of nearly three hundred merchant spacers, tossed haphazardly into a large hanger. Evidence of substantial abuse prior to their deaths was found. While the droids themselves were unaffected, the humans sent aboard to recover and treat the survivors were not so lucky.

In a sense, the pirates were very fortunate not to have survived the boarding action, for murder was in the hearts and minds of all who saw their work.

[Cythatis]

Assembly Hall, Space Station Athens, Helios System, Galactic Core

---

Sir Arthur appraised the man on the other side of the hall, much as a seasoned equerry would a beast which had whined when given the bit. Short, with features as bland and lumpen as any plebian. He had probably been quite athletic at some point though was beginning to run to fat if the bulge at his waistcoat was any indication.
Arthur had always found it difficult to judge the age of plebians. How quickly they succumbed to the depredations of Two-Faced Time, that most cruel of Mother’s children. She who runs through the Cosmos wearing the laughing face of a rosy-cheeked maiden, her flowing tresses always just out of reach. At her back, though, the withered face of the crone, embittered and wasted her eyes filled with regret and venom.
This Buckner was no different. His skin sagged and wrinkled, each line and blot a stark gauge of decay and decline. Each as obvious to Arthur’s superior vision as a festering boil and just as repugnant. The other man’s hair thinned, exposing raw scalp, and was streaked with unsightly greys. It was said the commoners exulted these flaws as marks of wisdom and experience, though Arthur knew himself to be centuries older than the Manticorian. How pathetic, he thought.
Even as the man spouted his lies and petty threats, Arthur found himself unable to muster much more than pity for the peasant. Pity and a healthy touch of distain, of course.

“Manticorian?” Arthur asked aloud, not bothering to address Bucker directly. “The old legends speak of the mantichora as a formidable creature, fearsome even. It’s now plain to me, however, that this cannot be true on your world.” He sneered viciously. “The extraordinary Ambassador reminds me more of a small dog, yapping endlessly, believing itself a wolf. As if it’s bark alone would make up for its inherent deficiencies. Such creatures can often be silenced with a swift kick, I’ve found.”
Now Arthur met the lone Manticorian’s gaze, leaning forward even further, his playful ochre eyes now brimming with contempt.
“One I am happy to deliver to Master Buckner, should he slander mine world and Liege Lord once again.”
The knight now shifted his weight to his left resting his finely cut chin on his hand, his right dangling purposefully above his Highmetal sword. Slender fingers caressing the gold-chromium hilt with the care of a practiced duellist.

The atmosphere in the chamber grew suddenly tense. To his credit, Buckner didn’t flinch from the intensity in the Lord-Ambassador’s face, meeting it stoically. The rest of the room, however, held a collective breath. Would the first meeting of the Security Committee in millennia erupt into violence? Mere hours after it was called?
It was only when the tension reached near breaking point that Sir Arthur abruptly sat back, resuming his recline, waving a dismissive hand at the Manticorians.
“The Grand Duchy of Cythatis wholeheartedly supports the Manticorian right to take unilateral action against the pirate threat to their border.” He closed his eyes, a Cheshire grin spreading across his lips.
“Afterall.” He continued. “You don’t have a dog and bark yourself.”

The Lord-Ambassador having said his piece it was Major Reinhart who spoke next, announcing himself with a polite cough, ignoring the furious look from the Manticorian delegation.
“The Onyx Fleet is not unaware of this increase of brigandry in our sector Messer…Swashbuckler?” The Intelligence Officer addressed Sam directly, standing to get a better look at the garish hologram.
“To date, we’ve seen a thirty percent increase in hostile activity in our sphere of influence since these transmissions were detected. These dissidents are based far from the Expanse, however, and lack the technology to venture into the Core. We therefore assess them considerably less able to benefit from the arms caches being distributed by this so called…” Reinhart checked the pad helpfully offered by his aide. “Shahanshah and have adjusted the threat level accordingly.”
Seeing he now had the dead man’s attention and slightly unnerved by that fact, the Major offered an uncertain half smile.
“I can assure this body, and our partners in the Outer Rim, the Fleet has taken the necessary precautions to ensure the Duke’s Peace in the Cythatian Sector. What concerns me now is this mention of.” The Major cocked his head, consulting his surgically enhanced memory. “’The kind of plunder that can endanger the galaxy with one COMNET leak’, I believe were the exact words, merely left in the abandoned wings of this very station?”
Reinhart looked towards Sir Arthur, who remained relaxed on his chair, apparently unconcerned with the proceedings. Implicit approval given, the Major continued.
“If these horrors are in fact in danger of being unleashed, would it not be more prudent to move them or, should it be necessary, destroy them utterly?” He had ostensibly posed the question to Sam though his tone made it abundantly clear that it should be considered by all.

[The Manticoran Empire]

Buckner smiled at the Cythatian ambassadors response. He was sure the Ambassador had meant every insult he'd thrown but, for the life of him, Buckner couldn't feel insulted. The comical nature of the Cythatian's attire, the posh, holier-than-thou attitude, and the fact that they brought a child to an assembly meeting, told him all he needed to know about that particular dog. However, bogging the discussion down in the trading of insults would accomplish nothing. The fact that the Cythatians had confirmed his charges by denying the danger of piracy would serve him well enough. The statements of the rest of the Cythatian delegation, however, were concerning.

"You suggest moving or destroying the items locked in the derelict portions of this station. Tell me, if such actions were possible, why hasn't the station's own staff of AI and other technological caretakers done so already? Does that not indicate that such a course of action is unwise, if not impossible? Furthermore, we don't even know WHAT those items are. There are a great many things aboard any spacecraft that react poorly to being moved. It is greater prudence to leave those items where they are and eliminate the pirate threat."

He lifted a datapad and said, "My fellow delegates, in my hand I hold the most recent reports of the Republic's intelligence services on piratical activity. In the last four months, nearly two hundred Manticoran merchants were taken by pirates. Evidence indicates that nearly five times that number of non-Manticoran freighters were also taken. And that is only in the area of space within 4,000 light years of Manticore. COMNET has recorded distress signals from tens of thousands of merchant ships in the last few months, all victims of piracy."

He laid the pad down and swept his arm in a gesture towards the Cythatian delegation. "The Cythatian delegation would have you all believe that the threat of piracy is small, that it can pose no danger to us if we but bury our heads in the sand and let it be. Such a course of action is the highest folly. The only way to deal with piracy is to destroy it. To drive them away from the trade lanes to return the galaxy to a state of peace, where honest, hardworking merchant spacers can work without threat of murder or imprisonment by butchers. This galaxy will never recover from the Dark Age if we simply stand by and let pirates continue to thrive. A stand must be made now."

"I have already petitioned the Congress of the Republic of Manticore for the deployment of Manticoran warships to the Expanse as a means to both deter pirate activity in this area and to begin offensive piracy suppression operations against the brigands in the Expanse. I wish to petition all of the members of this body to commit warships of their own nations to this effort, that we may forever rid ourselves of this threat."

[Adastra]

Space Station Athens
Anti-piracy and Anti-terrorism Data Banks 700-1200
Department of Security and Defense
Athens Automated Maintenance, Ordnance, and Governance

---

“If these horrors are in fact in danger of being unleashed, would it not be more prudent to move them or, should it be necessary, destroy them utterly?”

"You suggest scuttling centuries of research & development? It's possible, but not the type of action the Athens will entertain unless it absolutely needs to." At this point, Swashbuckler Sam was twirling his holographic flintlock-blaster, trying to kill time as the delegates go back and forth. "As for moving the data and tech, we can give it a go. Most of the war-tech is in the condemned wings, but as the Manticoran suggests, who knows what condition they're in." A harmonic beep chirps out from the ceiling, as if the Athens was responding. "Athens Repair Network says 'bad'."

Meanwhile, the holographic display at the center of the room returned to showing a map of the Halcyon Expanse, as well as a generic inventory of the military ships present near the Athens. Ships in green were committed to the defense of the station (such as with the Phalanx Protocol), whereas ships in white were neutral. To even the untrained tactician, it seemed the present defense was unsatisfactory. Manticore's commitment to send a battlegroup to the Expanse earned little response from Swashbuckler Sam, as he'd been instructed to offer no bias towards escalation.

[The Manticoran Empire]

Buckner turned to face the hologram. "So, we lack an accurate accounting of what technology is in the condemned sections, what state of repair that technology is in, or what reaction it might have to our trying to fiddle with it." He clicked the archaic pen in his had before continuing. "Given those facts, our practical options are limited. Negotiation is manifestly not an option. If we offer negotiation, we not only legitimize banditry but we send the message that our position is so untenable that we will pay anyone simply to avoid a fight. And when that happens, every single gang of bandits in the galaxy will swarm us. Given that, we have only one other option." His eyes swept the chamber before returning to the hologram. "Attack."

[Adastra]

Adastra Diplomatic Service
Operations Leader, Ambassador Jonathan H. Westman
Attaché to Battlegroup Syracuse, Expeditionary Unit Alpha
Liaison to the Offices of the Department of Interstellar Affairs

---

“Pray explain to me, whatever you are, why this concerns the Grand Duke?”

"Attack."

The Adastran delegation watched quietly as the two extremes went head to head. Adastra has had a history of thriving in an environment where powers are put against each other; an environment where an inconspicuous farming system can disappear into the noise. It is how Adastra had survived this long through ages of war and desolation. The rest of the Adastran delegation believed Ambassador Westman's call to action was a classic diplomatic maneuver: be the first to acknowledge a problem, then have other powers do all the work. Breaking all precedent, however, Ambassador Westman interjected, involving himself directly.

"We have seen two extremes responses. The Cythatian delegation is right to be frugal and reluctant to jump to the aid of a station that has—so far—done little to none in return. The Manticoran delegation is also right to meet this pirate threat with indignation and zeal, for it also shouldn't be taken lightly. It is clear both parties are motivated by a common goal: what they believe is best for their people. The Adastran delegation is motivated by similar. We believe an outright offensive is a touch reckless and imprudent, but to do nothing is simply negligent. We seek a moderate approach. Sam, can you tell us what you recommend?"

Black Anvil muttered in subsonic binary to Red Liberty. "And here I was hoping to see the warmongers and spoon-suckers 'duke' it out."

"How many processors did you put towards that pun?" responded Red Liberty, unimpressed.

Silver Delta was still muttering to itself at a frequency beyond perception, counting and counting and counting and counting and counting and counting—

"Silver, if you're gonna be a downer, at least be quiet about it." spurted Black Anvil, his normally aloof and irreverent demeanor partly punctured by a touch of quasi-algorithmic anxiousness.

[Adastra]

Space Station Athens
Anti-piracy and Anti-terrorism Data Banks 700-1200
Department of Security and Defense
Athens Automated Maintenance, Ordnance, and Governance

---

[...] "Sam, can you tell us what you recommend?"

"My recommendation? Beats me." The swashbuckler said with a bit of a limp-arm shrug. "The Athens prohibits me from making direct advice on the best course of action, as the ol' burden of choice falls upon the hands of you fleshy folk." He turned to look to the holographic centerpiece, pondering a moment. "I can, however, provide some extra angles on the situation for you all to consider." The panels of the holographic centerpiece began to rearrange, as a new visual came up. "The Athens knew about the situation developing in the Halcyon Expanse for about a month before the Adastran delegation called this meeting. The refugees started coming in en masse over the past week. In that month, the Athens sent tons of little probes to the Halcyon Expanse to sift through the COMNET traffic, in hopes to get a better view of Xerxes' little plot." An intel report filled the holographic centerpiece. To the observant and historically savvy, a relic of the Golden Age appeared: a three-dimensional, cuboidal, holographic 'ultra-QR-code' at the bottom of the report, as if encouraging the representatives to seize a copy by scanning it with their "phones". Ultra-QR-code technology has been defunct for over a millennia.

The intel report shows much of what the representatives already would've known from their own cursory investigations, but one new piece of intel—obtained within the hour—would catch any strategist's eye: a list of Xerxes' advisors and their roles in the pending pirate incursion.

"Packrat" — Logistician
A bloated monstrosity of underworld genetic modification, thriving on artificially-induced, neurochemical bliss. His augmentations make him a superior mathematician and stratagem, making him an essential asset to Xerxes' logistical network. Most importantly, Packrat controls the fuelling guilds of Persis Minor, granting criminal independents preferential fuel prices for the coming siege on the Athens. Current location: Persis Minor, Orbital Fueling Station "Isfahan"

Esfanya — COMNET Specialist
A charming young firebrand with a knack for bypassing COMNET security measures. She is the head of the snake for a network of cybersecurity infiltrators, all responsible for Xerxes' pervasive COMNET propaganda. She is also responsible for a variety of COMNET crimes, such as digital embezzlement and data theft. Esfanya has proven critical to extending Xerxes' message and influence beyond the Halcyon Expanse. Current location: Interstellar Space, Babylonian Black Site

Khosrow — Financier
A corrupt banking clan leader and merchant lord that betrayed the original oligarchy by crippling their network of investors. Under Xerxes, he is now responsible for a critical task: payroll. Be it issuing bounties, paying mercenary fees, or fencing plundered booty, Khosrow's financial network is critical to maintaining the allegiance of fickle-minded, money-motivated bandits and vagabonds. Current location: Persis Minor, Babylon, Finance District

Thomas Cruz — Celebrity "Relative"
A popular action holocinema actor who decided on a whim to take up a more spiritual lifestyle. Despite having zero ancestral ties to Babylon or the Halcyon Expanse, Thomas insists that he is a descendant of Cyrus, and cousin to Xerxes. He is one of Xerxes' most fanatical supporters, and has since remained a popular figurehead for the faith movement that Xerxes seeks to develop. He was recently apprehended at a fan meet-and-greet on the Athens. He isn't very bright. Current location: Helios, Athens Detention Center

Parisa — Strategist
A military leader responsible for the upper militant echelons of the Immortals. She leads an army of fanatics that are genuinely motivated by Xerxes' religious conquest. Unlike the pirates that scurry about at the lower ranks, Parisa's loyalty to Xerxes is unquestioned. Parisa is also responsible for training the pirate leaders in handling military-grade munitions—she sees the siege on the Athens as her magnum opus. Current location: "The Great Eagle", Xerxes' Flagship

Other advisors are listed, but their intel seemed incomplete and unreliable.

[The Manticoran Empire]

We seek a moderate approach.

"And how, pray tell, are we to be moderate with butchers? These are not errant schoolboys or wayward traveller's. These are PIRATES. Murderers and pillagers and worse. The only appropriate response to such is a heavy hand, lest they see us as weak and worthy only of plunder."

Buckner took a moment to tap a command into his console. It beamed a request to the office of Colonel Frisbee, a request answered a few moments later by the appearance of a holographic image of the Colonel.

"Colonel," Buckner said, "Would you be so kind as to give the Assembly a rundown of the Republic's contingency for pirates?"
"Certainly, sir," the Colonel replied. The ghostly hologram turned to face the chamber before speaking again.

"Gathered delegates, at the end of the day, pirates are criminals looking for an easy banknote. They target merchant ships because they tend to be of high monetary value with a low risk of damage or physical injury involved in their capture. With that in mind, the easiest and most cost effective way to reduce losses to piracy is to enact a convoy system, where merchants traversing a volume with heavy pirate activity will group together at a location already defended by friendly or at least neutral military forces, before continuing on to their destinations, preferably under armed escort."

"By travelling in a group, the merchants increase the risk the pirates must take on, as the greater number of ships leaves the relatively small and light forces available to most raiders stretched too thinly to take all the prizes while increasing the odds that a distress message is received in time to make a difference. If that group is also travelling with even a single proper warship, the risks are increased exponetially with the addition of possible battle damage and casualties. Even if the raider were victorious, the risk of significant personnel casualties and damage to critical systems would change the calculus of the raid, resulting in the majority of such raiders forgoing even a very wealthy convoy in favor or leaner, less well protected pastures."

"However, convoys serve only as a deterrent in the volume in which convoys are being employed. By its very nature, it heightens the risk of piracy in other, less defended areas. As such, the only permanent solution is to destroy the pirates."

"Like any group of ship-borne individuals, repair, resupply, rest, and regular overhaul are requirements, which require friendly ports for the raiders to call on. These can be corrupt planetary governments, willing to turn a blind eye to the efforts of the raiders in exchange for a handsome bribe or a regular tribute of slave labor. In other cases, a business or employee of a transstellar, sufficiently lacking in morals, could arrange to bankroll a pirate group, buying their prizes and providing them with ships, arms, supplies, even a space station or two to call home between raids. Or, such as is the case in the Halcyon Expanse, the raiders could set themselves up as the system government, using their control of the majority of heavy weapons and their access to significant capital through their raiding activities to consolidate their rule. Whatever the method, all pirates have the same weakness: their home system."

"A simple seek and destroy campaign will employ scoutships to scour systems for the presence of raiders, patrol groups stopping over in systems to conduct port visits and to sweep the system for the emissions signatures of known raiders. In this sort of campaign, it is often better to allow raiders to flee from the initial engagements, allowing them to be used to identify which systems they use as hiding places. Then, much as might be done with hunting burrowing animals, you burn away their hiding places."

"When a system government is found harboring pirates, economic and political sanctions, combined with the regular visits of friendly warships will serve to scare off pirates, slowly draining those pirates of the funds and equipment they require. When a business is found supporting them, legal action such as asset forfeiture and security patrols around known or suspected company-owned or operated systems can serve the same function. But when the pirates are found in control of a system, the total and indiscriminate destruction of all the infrastructure in that system is necessary. Anything that could possibly be used by the pirates to sustain their raids must be destroyed. Space stations, shipyards, smelters, refineries, mines, anything."

"With anti-piracy operations, the ability to occupy and hold ground is unnecessary. Our goal is to make piracy, especially against our own merchants, too costly for any band of raiders to consider it a viable business opportunity. As our deployments and attacks drive away buyers and cut into their ability to meet their upkeep costs, they will either move on to regions we cannot police or they will disband, collapsing into self-destructive violence or simply dispersing to find better fortunes in other criminal enterprises."