《How the Stars Turned Red [Slow Sci-Fi Space Opera]》 Chapter 01 - Prologue A drop of sweat ran down the back of Lieutenant Commander Nathan Chatterjee¡¯s neck, and moistened the black collar of his black and gold uniform inside his C-suit. The brim of his white beret was already wet and stuck to his skin and hair. He shifted in his crash chair, wiping more sweat from his brow as he tried to make sense of the cacophony of reports coming in over the ship''s inner communication system. He bitterly noted that the harsh red hue cast by the emergency lightning was fitting for what was happening on board Hibbie. No one in the Action Information Centre had heard anything from the Captain or the bridge in over twenty minutes, and the comms were awash with reports from the Damage Control teams trying desperately to put out a series of fires that were cascading down all the decks of the bridge superstructure. Gun crews were screaming for more ammunition, while magazine techs were complaining that shell feed winches were jammed, or bulkheads had to be closed because of the danger of backwash fires. ¡°DC Five, we¡¯re cut off from Causeway BC-4, we¡¯re circling back through BC-1¨C¡± ¡°Fusion Room 2, there¡¯s overloading on the secondary cooling units to the fusion bottle, we need to divert power from¨C¡± ¡°Royal Marine Team Thirteen, we have established a triage station on Deck F-8; all wounded from Boat Bay, Batteries 3 through 9, and Steward¡¯s Division, are to be collected there.¡± ¡°AIC, Lieutenant Crowe, liquid coolant for the railguns is running dangerously short; my lads will have to resort to pissing on the guns to keep them from blowing up if this isn¡¯t solved soon.¡± Her Auroran Majesty¡¯s heavy cruiser Highbury Vale was bleeding, the ship herself metaphorically; the crew who were her life¡¯s blood, literally. All the officers and techs in the AIC knew tacitly that the bridge was gone, the Captain and most of the senior officers on board with it, and the First Lieutenant had been vented into space when the Forward Fire Director had been blown apart by a torpedo earlier in the battle. Lieutenant Commander Chatterjee was probably the most senior officer left on board, or at least the one in the best position to assume command, since he was located in the tactical and operational hub of the ship, deep in its core. It was his responsibility to save what was left of the Highbury Vale and what remained of the eighteen-hundred men and women that had been on board at the start of the battle. But I¡¯m only the Tactical Officer, for fuck¡¯s sake, I don¡¯t know if I can¨C The whole room shook violently, and hadn¡¯t they all been strapped into their crash chairs, they would have been thrown to the ground, and a few slammed their heads into computers or monitors. ¡°Sir,¡± a tech sang out, ¡°our primary sensor bank has been hit, we¡¯ve lost thermals, along with long range communications.¡± ¡°Not to mention a lot of people,¡± someone commented behind Chatterjee, and he suppressed the urge to turn around to see who it was and give them an earful. ¡°We¡¯re down to just LIDAR then,¡± Chatterjee said instead, his heart sinking like a stone in his chest, ¡°since grav-pulse went with the bridge. Fan-fucking-tastic, we¡¯re practically blind.¡± The ship shook again, not as violently, and Chatterjee corrected the placement of his monitor, which displayed a dizzying array of numbers, overlays of the ship and its decks. Highbury Vale was dying a slow death; her bridge gone, Boat Bay hit and venting air, sensors down, and the fusion reactors were running way hot. But they were still spitting their defiance, broadside railguns still firing back at the enemy, the gunners running the risk of overheating and cooking off their munitions just to revisit the same pain on those causing theirs. The massive railcannon turrets, basically blind after losing their fire directors, were blasting away with regular intervals, sending shells the size of groundcars out into the cosmos, the by now familiar shaking of their discharge a grim comfort to the Aurorans. Highbury Vale and her crew would not go down without a fight. ¡°Sir, message from Hartcastle and Flag,¡± the communications officer reported, grasping her headset tight, knuckles white, ¡°line of battle is rotating to spread out the damage dealt to the lead ships, we¡¯re to switch screen and defensive net from Royal Sovereign to King Edward IV.¡± Chatterjee¡¯s jaw tightened and he grasped the armrests of his chair tightly. ¡°Do they know that we¡¯re practically blind? We can¡¯t screen for bloody shit in our current condition, we can barely see what we¡¯re shooting at here!¡± ¡°Sorry, Sir, I don¡¯t think they¡¯re aware,¡± the comms officer replied, resignation in her voice. Chatterjee groaned in exasperation. ¡°Fine then, we¡¯ll switch to King Edward IV. Helm, lay us over, yaw oh-six-oh, pitch correction as necessary, and for God¡¯s sake try to give the Greens the top side of Hibbie¡¯s hull, so at least their rounds hit the best protected part of the ship. Ops, update the point defence SAI and tie us into the defensive matrix of Edward IV; I want the electric shielding and disrupters up before we affect course change. EW, launch another volley of jammer drones and set them to noisemaker pattern, shake up the targeting and guidance systems of the Greens¡¯ torpedoes.¡± ¡°Aye, Sir, laying over on yaw oh-six-oh, correcting pitch as required,¡± the helmsman (really only a Sailing Master¡¯s Second Mate, since the real Sailing Master and First Mate had been on the bridge) replied in the affirmative, and adjusted the ship¡¯s heading and acceleration by manipulating a baffling number of levers. The nine-hundred and sixty metre long Town class heavy cruiser, with its flattened top and bottom with elongated flanks, and its once proud and tall bridge superstructure, now decapitated by a gruesomely accurate railgun shell, flared five of its still functioning ion engines. Trailing smoke into the void, she did what her human masters had designed her for, and switched position to protect the even larger battleships in the massive line of battle that numbered in the dozens, her broadside contumaciously firing intermittent bursts of white-blue electromagnetic discharges.
Captain Johanna McClure had bit away most of her fingernails, and was in the back of her mind trying to figure out what she was going to nibble on when she was done with her fingers, the lap of her cream-white officer¡¯s uniform littered with bits of nails and bloodied skin. She had long since blocked out the repetitive sound of the alarm klaxons. ¡°Ma¡¯am, the Adrianople is taking heavy fire, heavy casualties on her gun decks, about forty per cent of her port broadside is out of action.¡± ¡°Ma¡¯am, message from the Montezuma, she¡¯s reporting massive fires in her engineering section, six out of fourteen ion engines are down and Captain Nguyen believes she cannot hold her place in the line of battle for much longer.¡± ¡°Charlemagne is dropping away from the line of battle, citing excessive damage and high casualties; the Yangtze and Carlsruhe are diverting to cover her withdrawal.¡± The bridge of the Independent Systems Alliance battleship Stepan Derfflinger shook, and a few of the bridge officers cursed. Someone let out what sounded like a sobbing cry. ¡°Battery Eighteen is gone,¡± the Operations Officer reported through gritted teeth, ¡°all hands lost, the entire battery vented into space.¡± ¡°Seal off the area and send in a DC team to ascertain if there¡¯s any rollback fires that could threaten the magazines,¡± McClure replied in a flinty tone, taking a momentary pause in her nail-biting. This was bad, really fucking bad. The Alliance fleet was not winning, that much was obvious. The fleet communications channels were a total mess of situation reports, increasingly desperate and unrealistic orders from Flag, and the occasional bursts of curses from officers on the verge of breakdown. They were on home turf, in the Mordecai System, home to one of the largest and most important worlds in the entire Independent Systems Alliance, and they were being chewed apart. The Auroran and Alliance fleets were comparable in size, at least in tonnage, but somehow the Alliance ships were being ripped apart whereas the Aurorans seemed to weather the storm. And ripped was the appropriate adjective, because few¨C ¡°Oh Gods, the Oliver Hazard Perry,¡± someone shouted in a panicked voice, ¡°the Oliver Perry is going down!¡± McClure turned her head quickly to look at the large holographic tactical display at the centre of the bridge and could see the expanding cloud that had once been a modern, sophisticated battleship that had taken years to build, crewed by thousands of men and women. The chief communications officer ripped off his headset with a yelp, and the bridge officers and techs seated near him, including McClure, could hear the screams and shrieks of the crew of the dying ship¡¯s bridge. A comms tech leaned over and switched channels. McClure¡¯s initial thought had been that surprisingly few ships had outright been sunk, but casualties and damages were mounting. The Stepan Derfflinger had a crew of around five-thousand six-hundred, and judging by the amounts of damage reports flooding the internal ship¡¯s net, close to a sixth of them had to be either dead, wounded or incapacitated at this point, the reaper¡¯s scythe claiming its due especially among the port side gun crew. The Aurorans¡¯ gunnery was almost uncannily precise, despite both sides using the same style of broadside railguns, and although rounds were partly computerized and aided by advanced targeting software to increase accuracy across the ridiculous ranges that warfare in space was conducted at, they were scoring a lot more hits than the Alliance¡¯s gunners. Hits and kills, McClure thought bitterly. The two fleets, formed into traditional lines of battle abreast, had over the course of the two hours or so the battle had lasted, turned into a continual spiral of death, with the large battleships slugging it out with each other, pummelling their metres-thick titanium armour with hundreds of broadside guns; all the while the smaller cruisers and destroyers were fencing and trying to break through the opposite screens to conduct torpedo- and close-in gun runs on the lines of battle. So far the Aurorans were winning in that regard as well, swatting away many of the Alliance destroyers. And then there was that damnable¨C
One of the computers in the Highbury Vale¡¯s AIC bleated out a positive tone, and the Electronic Warfare officer thumped his keyboard in triumph. ¡°Sir,¡± he called out, and Chatterjee spun his chair around to face him, ¡°the EW SAI has cracked the battleship opposite¡¯s recce drone frequency again, they¡¯ll be blind in a moment once the SAI transmits the kill order and fries the drones¡¯ cores.¡± And sure enough, the holographic display at the centre of the AIC, toward which most of the computer stations were turned, which had been displaying a close-up of the immediate surroundings around Highbury Vale (they couldn¡¯t see anything not in their direct line of sight since their only ¡°eyes¡± were LIDAR at this point), suddenly blinked and the tiny icons that denoted the swarm of drones that served as forward sensor platforms and used to correct fire by the artillery SAIs, popped out of existence. ¡°Alright, people,¡± Chatterjee half-shouted, something akin to hope kindling in his chest, ¡°this is an opportunity we¡¯re not letting slip out of our hands.¡± He hit one of the buttons on his command chair armrest, and spoke into the mic on his headset, which ran over his white beret, adorned with a golden crowned anchor and seven stars. ¡°AIC, Gun Captain, hold your fire, I repeat, hold your fire. We¡¯ve temporarily blinded the battleship opposite,¡± he stole a sideways glance at his console to make a note of the electronic signature of the ship, ¡°that would be, courtesy for the logs, the Stepan Derfflinger; the cruiser escorts for that particular part of their line is busy covering the retreat of another battleship. I want all batteries and turrets to hold fire, and we¡¯re going to slingshot past into pistol-shot range. On my command, I want every gun to roar as one, a single massive broadside.¡± A predatory grin crept up in his face, and Chatterjee¡¯s eyes were fierce and determined. ¡°If Highbury Vale is going down, we¡¯ll at least drag as many of the bastards as possible with us into the Underworld, kicking and screaming.¡± As he cut the link, the AIC crew gave a shout that was part hungry growl and part defiant cheer. ¡°Comms,¡± Chatterjee said as it died down, ¡°inform King Edward IV that we¡¯ll be departing her screen and ECM bubble and conduct an attack run on the Stepan Derfflinger, and politely ask Captain Gardner to wish us ¡®good hunting¡¯. Afterwards, try to hail Rear Admiral Holland and ask for one of her light cruisers to swoop in and take our spot, lest the Greens try the same on Edward IV.¡± ¡°Helm, take us about, keep our profile limited and present our broadside as you lay on; course, two-niner-niner by oh-eight-four, try to bring us about to cross that battleship¡¯s T.¡± He grabbed the helmet to the grey and navy C-suit that he wore over his black and gold uniform, and put it on, the seals snapping shut and the internal oxygen supply kicking in. ¡°Ops, order all hands that haven¡¯t already done so to secure their cee-suits. This might get choppy. And brace for multiple impacts.¡±
A series of warning lights came to life on the main console of the Electronic Warfare officer on Stepan Derfflinger¡¯s bridge and she cursed loudly. ¡°Ma¡¯am,¡± she said, turning to face McClure in her centrally placed command chair, ¡°the Aurorans have cracked the encryption codes for our reconnaissance drones, and they¡¯ve flipped the kill switch. Apart from LIDAR, we¡¯re blind on our port side, grav-pulse is useless in this soup of debris and munitions.¡± ¡°Brilliant,¡± McClure retorted, leaning forward in her chair. ¡°Guns,¡± she said, turning to her Tactical Officer, ¡°grab another box launcher of recon drones and get them out there into the fight as quickly as you can, your gunners are reduced to firing using their direct-fire gun scopes until they can get SAI assistance from the fire directors, and the fire directors can¡¯t see without the drones.¡± ¡°We¡¯re running short of drones, Ma¡¯am,¡± the lieutenant commander replied, a tinge of worry in her voice, ¡°Munitions is down to three box launchers left, that¡¯s only one-eighty drones in total, and the Aurorans have managed to crack our drones¡¯ DAI encryptions four times now.¡± ¡°Well, it¡¯s either we lose all of our drones while giving our gunners a decent fighting chance, or we¡¯re reduced to basically spraying and praying, Lieutenant Commander Medvedev, and I for one know what I prefer. Now give my fire director officers the ability to actually see something, if you please.¡± If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation. The Tactical Officer looked like she wanted to protest, but instead started conferring with her second in the Stepan Derfflinger¡¯s Combat Information Centre about running a diagnostic on the drones¡¯ electronic shielding, and refreshing the DAI¡¯s encryption generators. McClure made sure the tactical team was underway before turning back towards the holographic plot. The greenish blue 3D hologram of the battlespace was hazy and unfocused, the grav-pulse and thermal sensors struggling with picking out what were actual combatants, what was munitions in flight, flights of decoy drones deployed by both sides to mimic warships. The Stepan Derfflinger benefited from being tied into the fleet¡¯s main sensor network, where light cruisers on detached scout duties fed the rest of the ships with information, but sometimes they had to approach dangerously close to the main action to get solid readings, and both the Purpose and the Umbra had been lost when they had ventured too close to the Auroran screen. Still, McClure could make out that the Derfflinger¡¯s squadron (what remained of it anyway) was engaged with the Auroran battleships King Edward IV, Royal Sovereign, Invictus, and the almost as large and even better armed battlecruiser Revenge. Behind the Derfflinger, Montezuma and Adrianople were hanging on by the skin of their teeth, bulkhead after bulkhead sheared away by vicious railgun fire, and in front, the Alfred Mahan was gallantly holding her own against the much larger and better armed Invictus. Of course, this was only part of the overall battle, some six battle squadrons per side were engaged, in addition to heavy cruiser squadrons, and light cruiser and destroyer flotillas. Carlsruhe and Yantgze had trailed off to cover Charlemagne as she withdrew, shielding the wounded capital ship from the vultures that were the Auroran destroyers that lurked, ready to pounce with torpedo strikes if the Alliance crews were sloppy, leaving only the light cruiser Campo Grande to act as screen for Derfflinger, but she had veered off to cover Adrianople''s exposed flanks. But as McClure studied the plot, bracing against its railing as the ship shook again from a railgun blast that blew apart one of the few remaining sheets of reactive hull armour, she noticed something odd in the holographic haze. An Auroran heavy cruiser had left her charge all alone, and was diverting at a steep near perpendicular degree away from the King Edward IV. She sucked in breath, realising an opportunity was presenting itself. ¡°Nav!¡± she shouted over the frantic chatter of the bridge, ¡°take us about, oh-niner-two by oh-six-five degrees, steady as she goes!¡± The Navigation Officer didn¡¯t react immediately, instead looking at the captain with confusion written in his face. ¡°Ma¡¯am? What¡¯s going on?¡± the Operations Officer asked, functionally the second in command to the Captain since the Executive Officer was currently running the CIC, ¡°Why are we leaving the line of battle? We have not received orders from Flag to deviate from the ordered course of the line.¡± McClure made a dismissive gesture at the lieutenant commander and pointed to the holographic plot. ¡°For the benefit of the logs, call it demonstrating independent action when presented with favourable circumstances in the battlespace. Take a look, Goodman, that¡¯s the Highbury Vale, a Town class heavy cruiser, and the ECM and EW suites on those are specifically designed to protect the capital ships of the line. She¡¯s currently pulling hard away from her charge, Edward IV, and by the looks of things, she¡¯s left her in the lurch with no replacements above destroyer size; only the Redgauntlet and Exemplar and possibly that Canterbury class light cruiser over there are left to cover the Edward IV. If we pull hard to port now and increase our acceleration, we can cut behind the King Edward IV and the Revenge and rake them from both the stern and the bow respectively!¡± Lieutenant Commander Goodman looked back and forth between the plot and the Captain, brow furrowing in thought, until he finally nodded. ¡°Nav,¡± McClure said loudly, ¡°carry out last course corrections and increase acceleration by two-forty gees.¡± ¡°Aye aye, Ma¡¯am, setting course to oh-niner-two by oh-six-five, increase accel by two-four-one gees,¡± the Navigational Officer reported, carrying the hulking Statesman class battleship away from from her duel with the Royal Sovereign and onto a confrontational heading aimed at the middle of the Auroran battle squadron opposite. As the ship changed course, a gun port was opened and a box launcher of recon drones was rolled out, discharging sixty Dumb Artificial Intelligence drones into the ether. However, because of the Derfflinger¡¯s sudden course change, the drones were launched aimlessly towards where her port side had been, now behind her, and despite the drones¡¯ DAIs trying to compensate by spooling up their drives and RCS, they were left in the proverbial dust as their mothership charged ahead. McClure was too enraptured to notice.
¡°What the hell?¡± Lieutenant Frederick Spencer, the Highbury Vale¡¯s AIC Operations Officer, said as he tried to figure out what the Alliance captain of the Stepan Derfflinger saw in the display of the battlespace that he couldn¡¯t. He came up short. ¡°Sir, this is damned odd.¡± Lieutenant Commander Nathan Chatterjee nodded in agreement. ¡°Either they¡¯ve gone stark raving mad, or the Derfflinger¡¯s captain is a goddamn Lord Nelson reborn.¡± ¡°They¡¯re lining up perfectly for us to give them a raking broadside of their exposed port side, and they¡¯ve even launched their newest drone swarm in the wrong sector; their gunners and fire directors are completely blind, and their grav-pulse is next to useless at such a short range.¡± Chatterjee nodded eagerly, sitting up straighter in his chair. The ancient Emperor Napoleon Bonaparte had once said to not disturb your enemy while they were in the process of making a mistake. And Nathan Chatterjee was a fan of the classics. ¡°Helm, roll on our x-axis, I want our starboard broadside to line up with the Derfflinger¡¯s port side, that¡¯s where the Royal Sovereign had concentrated her fire. Commence roll in t-minus¡­ forty-nine seconds.¡± ¡°Aye, Sir, roll on x-axis to present starboard broadside in t-minus forty-six seconds.¡± The math might not be completely correctly, he had done it roughly in his head instead of consulting his computer, but even by his raw estimate, it should work. The Derfflinger was accelerating at something close to two-hundred gees, while the Highbury Vale was firing her counter-thrusters to reduce overall speed. The Highbury didn¡¯t have the same size calibre guns as the large battleships, but they were still more than enough to crack through the dozens of inches of titanium battle armour if they were close enough and aimed precisely enough. ¡°Gun Captain Crowe, this is AIC,¡± he said into his mic, voice like liquid helium, ¡°on the up-roll, open fire.¡±
The first to notice the imminent danger on the Stepan Derfflinger¡¯s bridge, was the junior Electronic Warfare ensign, who was in charge of drone management, and she was having a hard time trying to redirect the newly launched wave of recon drones to get into any sort of semblance of order and get them to where they could provide any sort of help. With a smaller version of the holographic plot on a 3D projector next to her console, she hiked up an eyebrow as the sensor feed read another data packet sent from the detached scouting cruiser Ravenna. ¡°Sir,¡± she asked her senior, the lieutenant in charge of the EW operations, ¡°was the Highbury always on a y-axis course of oh-eight-four?¡± ¡°What?¡± the lieutenant was barely paying attention, using everything his training had taught him to fight through the almost human-like complaints of the Electronic Warfare Smart Artificial Intelligence computers that operated the jamming, disruptor, and decoy drones. ¡°Yeah, no, not sure, ask Lieutenant Commander Goodman or Lieutenant Commander Stranger.¡± ¡°Sir,¡± the ensign asked, turning to look at Operations Officer Goodman, ¡°was the y-axis course of the Highbury Vale previously oh-eight-four?¡± ¡°No, it¡¯s an even one-twenty, Ensign, she¡¯s way below our current level in the battlespace, missing us by some eighty-thousand kilometres, inside torpedo envelope for sure, but outside effective penetrative range for her smaller calibre railguns.¡± ¡°No, Sir,¡± the ensign protested, ¡°the data from Ravenna says she¡¯s on oh-eight-four and decelerating.¡± ¡°That¡¯s impossible; for one, it would show up on the main plot, and two, our grav-pulse and LIDAR would have picked up on it, because that would mean she would be practically alongside¡­¡± The lieutenant commander didn¡¯t finish his sentence, because the main holographic plot chose that exact moment to flash briefly, before showing the angry orange contact bearing the name and electronic signature of Highbury Vale on a perfect parallel course to the Derfflinger, slightly ¡°above¡± her damaged port side. ¡°Oh my God,¡± Lieutenant Commander Francis Goodman uttered breathlessly as the implication hit home. He quickly looked around the bridge. None of them wore their G-suits, that hadn¡¯t even crossed Captain McClure¡¯s mind, that the bridge might be in that sort of danger. Most of the crew would be wearing them, hopefully, but in a few moments, that would matter little. The captain was entranced, gripping the railing of the 3D plot hard, a hungry smile on her face, her mind already picturing how they were going to break the Auroran line of battle and cross the T of two capital ships. Goodman had to take matters into his own hands. He rushed over and grabbed the captain¡¯s abandoned headset. ¡°All hands,¡± he shouted into the mic, ¡°brace for impact!¡±
The Highbury Vale was about half the length of the Stepan Derfflinger, with perhaps a quarter of her tonnage and a third of her broadside, composed of considerably smaller calibre railguns. But what Highbury did have, was a clear line of sight aided by their own properly deployed recon drones, the added firepower of the railcannon turrets that the Independent Systems Alliance had yet to produce an answer for, and ¨Csomehow¨C the element of surprise. As the turn on the x-axis was completed, the two ships passed each other at five-thousand kilometres, which was considered close combat by the standards of space warfare. Highbury had been flushing her emergency counter-thrusters to give her as much time as possible to deliver her broadside, and her gunners did her proud. The broadside railguns were run out of their reinforced gunports, their computer-assisted swivel mounts adjusting for speed, heading, and angle, and the massive railcannon turrets trained down to lock on to the exposed upper part of the Derfflinger¡¯s port hull. All the reactive armour had been shaved off over the course of the battle, leaving the titanium plating beneath exposed. That exposed plating was still twenty-six inches thick, but in a few brief seconds, that would hardly matter. The entire surviving crew of the Highbury Vale felt the ship buck and writhe underneath them as every single gun in the hitherto largely undamaged starboard broadside unleashed their electromagnetically powered fury, as well as the muted roar of the railcannons reverberating through the walls and bulkheads of the ship. In fact, the massive broadside proved too much for the battered heavy cruiser, and several central loadbearing ribs snapped under the sudden pressure. This was most keenly felt in the rear section of the ship, the one containing the engines, engineering, and the reactors. The aforementioned Fusion Reactor 2 that had been experiencing cooling problems suddenly cracked directly off of its welded joints, and immediately short-circuited. This sudden power backwash blew apart the entirety of Fusion Chamber 2, instantly killing all the forty-seven engineering staff in the chamber. The result could have been a fusion explosion, which would have engulfed the entire ship, but luckily the computer failsafe kicked in, and even as the fusion-fuelled fireball was expanding, the chamber was flooded with a mixture that was fifty-fifty water and salt, stopping the fusion reaction instantaneously. However, this was nothing compared to what transpired on the Stepan Derfflinger. The broadside hit home and it hit hard. With next to no reactive armour left to divert the incoming munitions, and without effective vision for the point defence laser clusters to see the rounds, and no screening ships, the Derfflinger suffered. And the men and women on board suffered even more. The already heavily damaged port side was ripped to shreds, as batteries, bulkheads, hallways, compartments, and causeways were reduced to scorching shapes of twisted metal, completely open to space. The human beings who had been inside the compartments directly affected were either reduced to pink mist, or blown out into the void. But the carnage did not stop there, for exploding metal and interior modules produced a tidal wave of deadly shrapnel of all sizes, which with terrifying speed and force burrowed through walls, bulkheads, internal armour, piercing modules, wiring, bunks, lockers, furniture, flesh. The rollback fires from electric wires catching ablaze, power with nowhere to go, licked up and followed the rapidly vanishing trail of oxygen as emergency blast doors closed shut. Most of the fire died out as oxygen vented into space, but much of it followed in under the doors as they slammed down, and conflagrations erupted all over the parts that should in theory had been safe, engulfing the crews who had been on the ¡°lucky¡± side of the blast doors. The intense heat of the fire, combined with the sudden drop in pressure, popped the G-suits of the crew who wore them and turned them into human torches, or horrifically burst the bodies of the ones who did not wear them. It was a charnel house worthy of the inner circles of Hell itself. Captain Johanna McClure, Lieutenant Commander Francis Goodman, and the rest of the bridge crew were thrown around as the broadside struck, the computer consoles of a few officers and techs short-circuited. The 3D holographic plot simply blinked out, the connection to the sensors lost, and the normal deck lighting gave out, quickly replaced by the orange emergency lights. They could hear the creaking in the hull, and the remaining internal comms channels were filled with shouting voices in the throes of panic and desperation, or the sickening gurgles and shrieks of the wounded and dying. McClure¡¯s face was deathly pale, and a crimson streak ran down her forehead from where she had hit her skull against the 3D plot¡¯s railing. ¡°Abandon ship,¡± she whispered, and the crew around her looked at her dumbfounded, their capacity for rational thought momentarily halted. ¡°All hands,¡± Goodman shouted, dragging their attention to him, snapping them back to reality and their trained military reflexes took control, ¡°abandon ship; that is an order. Relay all internal channels, all hands abandon ship.¡±
The Astrogation Officer¡¯s console, among others¡¯, had short-circuited when Fusion Reactor 2 had overheated, and in that poor lieutenant¡¯s case, it had caught fire. Three Royal Marine sentries had jumped into action, two of them dragging the officer out of the crash chair and rolled her on the deck to put out the fire, while the third tossed a fire blanket over the console, killing the embers. ¡°Sir,¡± Lieutenant Spencer said once he was sure the Astrogation Officer was alright (thankfully the C-suit was fire-retardant), ¡°we have multiple reports of breaches and structural failings from all over the ship. DC Eight reports multiple hull breaches on decks E-3, E-4, E-7, and F-1, while DC Five and DC Twelve are saying the bridge superstructure itself is about to detach completely. That broadside might have snapped our spine, Sir.¡± Chatterjee heaved a sigh of relief as he saw the blinking icons denoting damage on the depiction of the Stepan Derfflinger on the holographic plot, and the stream of life pods that were escaping the crippled battleship. ¡°It could have been worse, Frederick,¡± he said, though not without a bitter tone to his voice, ¡°it could have been a lot worse.¡± ¡°Sir, Engineering reports forty-nine dead and thirty-two wounded, Gun Captain reports nine dead and twenty-eight wounded, and at least thirty-five Royal Marines and Damage Control personnel are unaccounted for.¡± ¡°We must mourn the dead later, Frederick; right now we need to concentrate on getting what is left of this ship and her crew out of here. Helm, what¡¯s the status of our engines?¡± ¡°Sir, four engines are still operational, but we¡¯ve burnt through all our counter-thrusters, and with only one fusion bottle left to supplement the main reactor, I wouldn¡¯t want to push Hibbie to more than thirty per cent of normal acceleration.¡± ¡°Fair enough, that will have to do. Change course by one-eight-oh on both axes, we¡¯re out of this fight. Comms, inform Captain Gardner and King Edward IV as well as Rear Admiral de Lacy-Linnet, that Highbury Vale is in no condition to fight and we are striking our colours and will make our retreat out of the battlespace. Frederick, you contact whoever is left in charge in Engineering and start directing Damage Control. I think we¡¯ll have to close the blast doors to the bridge superstructure in case it detaches completely.¡± ¡°I¡¯m on it, Sir.¡± Lieutenant Commander Chatterjee took his helmet off and took a deep breath of the stale and smoky air in the Action Information Centre. ¡°Ensign Dermott,¡± he said to the Junior Communications Officer, ¡°make the following note in the ship¡¯s log: At 15:34 shipboard time, 1 June 2880 CE Galactic relative, Her Majesty¡¯s cruiser Highbury Vale engaged and sank the Independent Systems Alliance battleship Stepan Derfflinger. Add sensor logs, gun- and drone camera feeds to corroborate the log entry.¡± He tapped the internal comms button on his chair again. ¡°My compliments, Lieutenant Crowe,¡± he said into his mic, a relieved smile on his face now that the adrenaline was subsiding, ¡°that was gunnery done by the book, I will be asking for a commendation for you in my after action report if we get out of this alive.¡± ¡°Ah, Sir,¡± a voice he didn¡¯t recognise replied, ¡°Lieutenant Lucas Crowe was wounded during transit from the port broadside to the starboard.¡± ¡°Then who aimed and commanded the barrage then?¡± ¡°That would be me, sir.¡± The voice sounded very youthful and extremely exhausted. ¡°What¡¯s your name and rank then?¡± ¡°Sir, Ensign Edward Heatherland, Sir.¡± Chapter 02 - Days of Erudition: Dreams Heels clacked in a hurried rhythm on the hard vinyl flooring of the old Ernest Rutherford Physics House of McGill University. Professor Therese Thodesen was not a woman easily excited or rattled, but today she was both and more. The old Ernest Rutherford House was a brutalist concrete block that had not seen much external architectural improvement in the past two-hundred years since its construction. While the rest of the McGill campus and downtown Montreal had been modernised and increased in size and scope, the heart of the university¡¯s physics and astrophysics research had remained the same. Thodesen didn¡¯t give it much thought, she was not much of an aesthetician and was generally happy as long as the research labs and the prototype workshops were properly funded and staffed. She rounded a corner and nearly collided with a gaggle of chatting PhD-students, mumbling ¡°sorry¡±, before hurrying off again, leaving them looking puzzled as to why the lead special relativity professor in the entire North American sphere was so distracted. Thodesen passed down a hallway decorated with paintings of old department chairs and important alumni, running a hand through her greying-before-its-time brown hair and propping up her rimmed glasses, stopping by a security guard standing outside a set of doors. She swallowed an urge to scoff at the sight of the armed man in aramisteel-vest and the red beret of the United Commonwealth military police. The war had transformed life in many different ways for the people high up in the military and technological food-chain, not to mention the astrophysics departments of the Commonwealth universities. Despite the sides refraining from carrying out actual fighting on Earth, thousands were dying in the black vacuum of the solar system every month. And no one had outlawed espionage, so security measures had to be made to ensure the protection of potential high-risk targets, such as the Ernest Rutherford Physics House. She nodded to the guard and jabbed a thumb towards the door. ¡°Mind if I go in?¡± she said with a glance at the doors over the top of her glasses. The guard frowned. ¡°I don¡¯t think so, ma¡¯am,¡± he said in a heavy Saskatchewan accent, ¡°Professor Kravchenko is in a meeting with the advisory board to the Naval Technology Group in Parliament, and I¡¯ve been told that no one is to intrude unless it is absolutely necessary.¡± ¡°Well,¡± Thodesen said, straining to her full not-very-imposing height and crossed her arms across her chest, ¡°as a matter of fact, this is absolutely necessary. I need to speak to the head of astrophysics right now, it really cannot wait.¡± The guard looked at her, to the doors, back to her and seemed to sigh internally before pressing in a code on the door pad. The wooden doors were, like the rest of the building, old and in desperate need of varnish, but again like the rest of the building, its exterior was but an old shell and the inside had been replaced with modern technology, and opened with a slight creak as the correct code was punched. Thodesen nodded her thanks and stepped into the office. Professor Carson Kravchenko¡¯s office was the usual mess of work stations, paper printouts, books, data models on computer screens and assorted clutter that characterised the workspace of a dedicated academic. The portly professor, for once wearing a dress shirt instead of a faded rollneck, was sitting behind his main desk, deep in conversation with his video call meeting when Thodesen entered. His eyebrows shot up in surprise before turning his attention back to the call again. ¡°You¡¯ll have to excuse me for a moment, ladies and gentlemen,¡± he said to his computer mike, ¡°a colleague just arrived and,¡± his eyes returned to Thodesen and narrowed, ¡°since I made it clear I was not to be disturbed unduly, I guess this is important.¡± He pressed a button to mute himself, and turned his full attention to Thodesen. ¡°What the fuck, Therese? I told you I was going to be in a meeting for most of the afternoon. Do you have any idea how important this call is?¡± She simply pointed towards his computer. ¡°Muted audio and killed video?¡± ¡°What? Oh, shit!¡± He pressed another button and had it not been for the important news and the heavy air all over the campus, Thodesen would have laughed at Kravchenko¡¯s clumsy predictability. ¡°What do you want? Things are about to go down in Jupiter orbit any moment, both the combined fleets of the Commonwealth and the Eurasian Federation are soon engaging somewhere between Themisto and Leda. The advisory board is all a-panic in case it goes south and they want updates on the new magneto-ion prototypes we have over in¡­¡± ¡°I solved it,¡± Thodesen¡¯s voice was deadpan as she looked him straight in the eyes. ¡°You solved¡­ wait, what do you mean you ¡®solved it¡¯?¡± ¡°I solved Deckard-Shikaru,¡± Thodesen said. Kravchenko¡¯s eyes became suspicious slits. ¡°You mean to say you have solved the Deckard-Shikaru Conundrum? The unsolvable, purely academic theorem that quantum laws of physics are possibly not slaved to space-time? You of all people know it¡¯s derived from Armagan ¡¯98, and not exactly Einstein¡¯s GTR.¡± ¡°And I repeat, I have solved Deckard-Shikaru, without a shadow of a doubt.¡± She fished a flash drive from her lab coat pocket. ¡°I have run the simulations all day, all night for six straight days, may perhaps have overloaded four of the Cousins Laboratory computers irreparably; but every time the simulations have come up with the same answer, more than seven-hundred-thousand times. There is a sub-plane where both relativistic and quantum laws of physics are untethered to actual physical space and time.¡± Kravchenko took the drive and started to put it into his desk computer before thinking better of it and slotted into a laptop on one of his workshop benches. The computer made a string of what could be construed as electronic complaining noises as it ran the memory-intensive simulation programme, before producing a diagnostics screen after a few tortured moments. Kravchenko scrolled through the data, becoming more and more slack jawed as he skimmed. ¡°My God,¡± he said at length and slumped back into his desk chair. He sat still for a moment before removing a book from his shelf and fished out a bottle of single malt whisky. ¡°I keep it for special occasions,¡± he explained to Thodesen as he produced two clean coffee mugs and poured pretty tall drinks into them. ¡°And if you are correct, this is a very special occasion.¡± She took the mug offered to her and sipped, swallowing the burning, peaty alcohol without really tasting it. Thodesen had been fond of whisky in what felt like a previous life, but not anymore. She stole a glance at the meeting screen, watching with some satisfaction the confused bureaucrats and so-called technical experts in the video call wondering why Kravchenko had suddenly dropped out. Kravchenko fished out his phone, found a news channel and flipped it onto his wall mounted projector. Long range sensor images from public-access monitor satellites showed the trajectories of large amounts of warships converging into the Jovian System. In many ways than one, Thodesen thought bitterly as she took another swig, this was a monumental day in human history. The female talking head on CMBC1 explained to new viewers the situation unfolding on the screen. The Commonwealth carrier groups Independence, Ark Royal, Magnificent, and Yamato with their accompanying cruisers, destroyers and frigates were in a boosted slingshot manoeuvre in Themisto¡¯s gravity well, while the combined Outer Belt Fleet of the Eurasian Federation was hurtling in from somewhere around Adrastea. Near Leda or Lysithea, the two fleets would meet for what would be the largest battle of the war. Thodesen knew she should be hoping for a Commonwealth victory, but she had stopped caring about the course of the war years ago. This day was one for the history books, but Marianne had been the historian, not Therese. And Marianne had died when the Eurasians had shot Phobos out of the Martian sky. Her hand went instinctively to the ring hanging around her neck, but she stopped herself. No, her research would make sure there would not be another Phobos. ¡°If I am correct,¡± Thodesen said, voice husky, ¡°this will all have been for nothing.¡± ¡°What do you mean?¡± Kravchenko¡¯s eyes were on the display, but his attention was on her. He was having problems wrapping his head around the world-shattering implications of Thodesen¡¯s research. The originally Norwegian professor waved a hand at the news channel, which was showing stylised images of the large carriers that were the primary striking arm of the combatant fleets. ¡°This war has been going on for the past six years, with no clear victor. Before that, it was the Venus War, where the European Federation and the Eurasia Pact merged into one, and the Commonwealth and East Asia Alliance decided to split Mars between themselves. Humanity is collectively spending hundreds of thousands of lives for the territorial rights to freezing or scorching rocks with atmospheres we can¡¯t breathe, because our cradle has become too small for us.¡± ¡°Therese¡­¡± Kravchenko began, setting down his mug, ¡°it is true, if you solved the Deckard-Shikaru Conundrum, that we could be looking at a different way to process astrophysics, but¡­¡± ¡°No, that¡¯s not what I mean,¡± she interjected animatedly, ¡°this changes everything we know about the Universe and the entirety of humanity¡¯s future. Ever since Didier Queloz in the goddamn twentieth century, we¡¯ve known of exoplanets capable of sustaining human life. There are literally hundreds of them out there, but we¡¯ve never been able to reach them, because we have blindly thought that we were limited to a set of rules we cannot break.¡± She was talking quickly now, pacing back and forth. Enjoying the story? Show your support by reading it on the official site.¡°Einstein basically said ¡®we can only do this, not anything more, and don¡¯t for a second think that these arbitrary set of laws of physics can be overturned¡¯, just like a parent sets rules for a child. But then the child grows up and realises that the rules it has obeyed for all its life is possible to bend or break, and suddenly the world looks a lot different.¡± A pang of loss and the memory of a conversation long ago, just before a hastily planned research trip to Phobos flared up in the back of her mind, but Thodesen suppressed it. ¡°In fact, many laws once thought to be inviolable pillars of good society are overturned when more enlightened souls start to question them later. Blind obedience to religion, slavery, repression of homosexuality; the examples of horrible human rules are endless. There is nothing to say that shouldn¡¯t hold true to physics as well.¡± She sat the mug down, conscious that she would break it if she didn¡¯t calm down. ¡°But now, there is a chance that the rules we had thought bound to this single solar system is nothing but the outmoded ideas of a past that didn¡¯t know any better. Maybe we can finally reach for the stars¡­¡± She picked up and drained the mug, relishing in the burning sensation as it travelled down her throat and oesophagus. ¡°I think,¡± she said after a moment, looking at the computer screen still showing hundreds upon hundreds of lines coloured verified-green, ¡°you need to call up the parliament types again.¡± Her smile was thin, exhausted, but triumphant. ¡°And tell them to brush the dust off the Aurora Project.¡±
Edward Heatherland watched as wispy clouds almost seemed to frolic across the pale blue sky, following them with emerald-green eyes that were clearly light years away in thought. His stylus danced absentmindedly in his right hand, while the other hand propped up his chin. The pages in his old fashioned notebook were covered with a few notes and whole mess of drawings of spaceships, exotic planet surfaces and uniformed mannequin-like figures. The professor was talking in the background, but Edward was not listening. A slightly curly lock of black hair slipped out of its gelled confinement and dangled rebelliously in front of his rounded glasses. Still he looked out the classroom window as two clouds embraced into a dance of nebulous tendrils. Edward was a fan of history, and his imagination of the events of that fateful day in April 2181 had more than a few elements of truth in it. However, had Edward been an actual historian, he would have known that the monumental Battle of Lysithea happened five weeks before Professor Thodesen announced her breakthrough in cracking the Deckard-Shikaru Conundrum. And she most certainly had not burst into the office of Professor Carson Kravchenko in the middle of a video meeting. Like most of history, the truth was much more mundane. The computer labs that had been dedicated to running Thodesen¡¯s calculations had been manned by a PhD-student late one night, the girl souped up on coffee and watching a hockey game. She had watched through the entire second period before she realised the beeping noise from the mainframe computer was not the usual slightly insulting and jarring ¡°simulation: negative¡±, but the upbeat ¡°simulation: positive¡±, a noise the student hadn¡¯t ever heard emanate from the machine before. Even upon arriving at the scene after receiving a slightly hysterical phone call, Thodesen hadn¡¯t burst down the doors of the Ernest Rutherford Physics House, but had simply got back to the grind. After two more weeks with successful simulations and sleepless nights, her and her PhD-students¡¯ work culminated, not in a grand press conference, but in a fifty-eight page article in the academic journal Monthly Notices of the Royal Astronomical Society. In hindsight, these might have been the most epoch-changing fifty-eight pages written in human history, but Thodesen was not na?ve enough to believe that her research would have immediate impact. The Deckard-Shikaru Conundrum was the combined theories of professors Samuel Deckard of the Max Planck Institute for Physics of Munich and Mifune Shikaru of the University of Wellington School of Chemical and Physical Sciences/Te W¨¡nanga Mat¨±. They had both come to a similar conclusion, based again on --the ¨Cat the time both pooh-poohed and applauded¨C dissertation of Nobel laureate Aytek Armagan of 2098. In 2125, Deckard and Shikaru claimed, in short, that there existed a sub-plane of existence to the observable physical one visible to humans, which had been mathematically proved by Deckard in 2113. Shikaru postulated that the laws of quantum physics were not an inherently given set of laws, and could be negotiated or even surpassed if the physical conditions were not slaved to time and space like the corporeal, observable dimension. It was regarded as an unsolvable conundrum by the majority of the academic society, an interesting exercise in quantum physics and mathematics, but not something that could be proved for sure. Not until Therese Thodesen, using a combination of at the time controversial quantum mechanics and relativistic physics, decisively proved the existence of a sub-plane of space, hidden behind a threshold. This plane was both directly observable by human senses, as well as untethered by the relativistic laws of physics. Thodesen theorised that one of the previously considered constant laws of physics, the barrier of faster than light, was not present in the sub-plane; indeed both time and space was relative. It took quite a while before this became known to the public. In fact, the international academic debate raged for seven months before some of the more major science and astronomy buzz sites caught wind of it. By then the Jovian War had been over for four months, with the Eurasian Federation and Pan Pacific League acknowledging United Commonwealth territorial claims in the Kuiper Belt. The war had been costly for all sides, with scores of major warships lost, along with horrific casualties in the ground warfare on the barren landscapes of Ceres, Europa and Mars. The destruction of the Martian moon of Phobos had caused enormous destruction and the loss of tens of thousands of Commonwealth colonists on the surface of Mars. And by 2182 widespread speculation that all this bloodshed had been for naught was catching on as the idea of Thodesen¡¯s ¡°Light Space¡± was picked up by mainstream media and influential voices in popular science circles. The idea of expanding beyond Sol gripped the war-weary populations of the colonies, especially with the idea of settling Earth-likes instead of having to spend their lives underneath domes, breathing recycled air and eating vat-grown food. However, the supranational governments that had spent so much money and prestige, and the Earth-based populations that had lost the lives of their loved ones in the vacuum of space to develop and protect these colonies, were loath to jump on this fanciful idea of a ¡°New, New Frontier¡±. Nonetheless, the same drive that had barrelled the Commonwealth, the Federation and the League to war over the rocks of the system, made them start to look into the practical uses of this new revelation, terrified of what the others could find and make use of. Slowly, clandestinely, the militaries of the three superpowers started to tinker and experiment. The ¡°Aurora Project¡± had in reality been named the ¡°Argonaut Project¡±, after the famous legend of the intrepid adventurers looking for the Golden Fleece, and again Edward had gotten his timeline mixed up. ¡°Argonaut¡± had been approved by upper political Commonwealth leadership in 2183, and using their secret Argyre Planitia naval yards on Mars, a prototype ark ship christened Providence was slowly assembled. It had originally been envisioned as a long-range scout ship, but influential voices in the United Commonwealth Space Development Directive pushed for the first interstellar ship in human history to be a colony ship, capable of taking volunteering pioneers and visionaries out into the stars. Satellite telescopes were employed around the clock to determine the best potential exoplanet candidates for long term human settlement. Thodesen had by 2184 already been forced to volunteer her services in creating a functioning faster-than-light drive based on her ¡°Light Space¡± theory (the name of which she absolutely detested), and the Commonwealth was pouring more and more resources into the ¡°Argonaut Project¡±. This did not go unnoticed by the other superpowers, and soon another space race akin to the one a century earlier when the first space elevators had been constructed, was well under way. In June 2190 the first functional Light Drive prototype was completed, just as the by now massive Providence was finishing construction. Spaceships had until this point been relatively limited in size due to the (again, relatively) short distances between space stations and refuelling bases in the Sol System. The Providence upon completion was a hulking thirteen-hundred metres long, more than twice the size of the largest of the Commonwealth¡¯s fleet carriers that had fought at the Battle of Lysithea. It would still be years before a functioning Light Drive could be fitted in the massive hull, and not until the end of 2196 was Providence cleared for launch. In the end, it proved no difficulty getting volunteer colonists for the Providence, despite the authorities making it abundantly clear that it would be a one-way trip, with no guarantee of finding a world suitable for habitation, and even if one was found, life would be unrelentingly hard with no relief in sight. Millions applied. With great fanfare, the Providence, filled with nine-thousand carefully selected candidates stuffed in cryobeds and a skeleton crew to man the ship, set off from Mars on 23 December 2196. It spent three months under moderate acceleration to reach the Sol System¡¯s t-limit, some ten light-seconds out from Pluto, before engaging its Light Drive. Cascading blue lights enveloped the ship as charged ion particles began to rip and tear at the fabric of space, and soon the light swallowed the massive titanium construct, removing it entirely from the world. It emerged nineteen months later in a system more than eight-hundred light-years to the galactic ¡°south-east¡± along the Orion Arm. A massive red giant stood at the centre of the system, shining its radiation down on twelve planets and two large asteroid belts. As soon as the sensors and scopes of the Providence came online after over a year and a half of inactivity, the crew and the awakening hopeful colonists were soon staring at a verdant and cerulean giant of a planet, glittering oceans adorned by tranquil and languid cloud layers that¡­ ¡°Master Heatherland.¡± The voice made Edward jump in his seat and he dropped his stylus, clattering noisily to the floor of the auditorium. ¡°I hope I am not boring you with my lecture. If there is a subject you would rather I talk about, then feel free to speak your mind.¡± ¡°Ah, no,¡± Edward managed to stammer out, reaching down to pick his stylus back up, while the students seated around him in the large university auditorium snickered at his discomfort. ¡°I¡¯m sorry, Professor Kub¨ª?ek, please continue.¡± The greying don nodded in wry amusement before turning back to the holographic slideshow full of dates and portraits. ¡°As I was saying before rudely rousing young Heatherland there from his nap¡­¡± ¨Ccue more chuckles from his fellow students¨C ¡°Sir Louis Morgan-Kahun was born in 2530 here on Aurora and was initiated into the world of the classics at the Maesbury School of Music at the tender age of seven. He then moved to first Antioch, enrolling in the Heliopolis Academy, and then ultimately to New Malta where he would spend the majority of his most productive years. Thus, he was born just in time to become one of the pioneers of the first wave of Avant Neogalant, his initial forays into the style exhibiting a clear carry-over from late Berenice School composers such as Emery, Ozcan, and in particular Hoashi. This influence is most clear in Morgan-Kahun¡¯s Piano Concerto No.4 in G Major, as well as the initial chorale overture and recurring aria leitmotifs of the first and third acts of Alessandra, regina di Astra, his first major opera seria, which premiered in New Victoria on Aurora in 2574, incidentally making this year the 300th anniversary of its premiere¡­ Master Heatherland, are you asleep again?¡± Chapter 03 - Days of Erudition: Introductions ¡°Remember, if anyone asks, I don¡¯t know you, especially if the ones asking happen to be girls.¡± ¡°Thanks, Arvind, you¡¯re a true pillar of support and fraternal love.¡± The mass of students were filing out of the auditorium after the end of Professor Kub¨ª?ek¡¯s lecture on classical musical history and theory, which was in reality (at least in Edward¡¯s own humble opinion) just an excuse for the professor to drone on incessantly for three hours straight about minutiae no one but himself cared about. A few students giggled as they passed the pair of Edward and his self-proclaimed ¡°oppo¡± Arvind Dahon. ¡°Better bring some coffee next time, Heatherland,¡± a voice shouted from somewhere and Edward forced a smile and a sound that might charitably be called an affirmative grunt, all the while the tips of his ears were burning a bright pink in embarrassment. Arvind waved a hand dismissively when he noticed Edward¡¯s discomfort. ¡°Don¡¯t worry about it, Ed, you¡¯re not the first and certainly not the last to doze off in one of Kub¨ª?ek¡¯s lectures. More importantly, have you decided on the piece for the recital next month?¡± Edward shook his head. ¡°No, not as such just yet. I had planned on doing something safe like Chaminade¡¯s Sonata in C Minor, but I think I¡¯m going to swing for the fences and go with Thorburn¡¯s Fantasia on Dusk. Professor Winton has been dropping subtle hints that my practical grade isn¡¯t exactly going to be the envy of the cohort by the end of the semester, so I¡¯m thinking I¡¯ll go hard and take my chances on a more passionate piece than what I¡¯m naturally comfortable with.¡± Arvind nodded over and over as they exited the auditorium and walked out into the blood-oak panelled hallways of the Countess Montroy Conservatoire. Red bricks and marble columns decorated the outside of the magnificent example of Neo-Regency architecture, located as it was in the middle of the enormous green expanse of Queen Marie¡¯s campus. Edward took a deep, refreshing breath of air as the pair quit a set of double doors and looked around the campus grounds. Queen Marie Metropolitan University was a bustling monstrosity of an educational institution, with eleven-thousand staff and over ninety-thousand full-time students. Like an oasis, the QMMU lay just off the centre of downtown Cordelia, surrounded by high-rises, office- and hab-towers of titanium, carboncrete, and coloured glass, as well as rows upon rows of brick Neo-Regency and Neo-Georgian buildings. Cordelia was a vast metropolis, home to some fifteen million people and by galactic standards (i.e. non-Earth), it was an old city and it showed. Architecturally it was an eclectic mess; hyper-modern buildings and complexes jarred and stuck out like sore thumbs amongst entire districts of centuries old houses and inner city courts that looked like they had been directly lifted from 18th century England or France. And the massive QMMU with its large parks and terraced faculty houses was not the only major university; on the other side of the Goneril River which split the city into two, was the King¡¯s College of Sciences, a university complex about as big as the QMMU, though largely constructed in the slightly later Neo-Grec style (a white-washed criss-cross of columned esplanades and walled gardens). Edward was not a local to Cordelia, but he had come around to appreciate the Auroran capital city during his stay at the QMMU; it was a bustling place and gave a clear impression of being a major interstellar hub city, but it was far from without its charm. Quaint cobblestoned side streets that led down to tucked-away terraced-house crescents with small-time shops, caf¨¦s, bars, and art galleries were everywhere, and even modern downtown was coloured a rustic crimson or cream as to not contrast with the older parts of the city, while also hosting its fair share of fashionable locales and supermalls. The titanic Cordelia Tether dominated the skyline, reaching as it did straight into and through the clouds above. Constructed on a large island in the middle of the Goneril River, the tether was the main mode of transport from the capital city up to the stations in orbit. Eight centuries ago, such a massive structure would have been a magnificent and even daunting sight, but in 2874 CE, it was as common as any of the bridges stretching across the same river. The bell had just rang twelve in the afternoon, and hundreds of students were walking to their next lectures or to one of the many cafeterias underneath the cover of the columned terraces, while others were taking breaks by strolling through the gardens and parks, basking in the bright sunshine. The Great Mother Euryphaessa was generous with her shining rays and Edward had to open the top button of his white shirt and loosen his scarlet tie. QMMU had a formal dress code, but it went largely unenforced and instead peer pressure ensured that students adhered to it. Edward and Arvind both wore grey linen trousers and blazers over white shirts, the style and cut of which hadn¡¯t changed all that much over the centuries. Edward was the taller of the two, by quite a few inches. The lower gravity of many new worlds compared to humanity¡¯s cradle of Earth had over generations stretched its inhabitants, and despite being pretty exactly average height on his own homeworld of Amaranth, Edward was slightly above male average here on Aurora, easily observed when walking around in the streets of Cordelia. Tall cheekbones were set in a slightly triangular face, and his jawline was mostly hidden underneath a closely cropped dark beard. His green eyes glittered behind rounded glasses that he didn¡¯t really need, but they made him feel more mature. Topping it off was his bronzed skin courtesy of both his Dionysian mother and the agreeable climate of Amaranth. Arvind was shorter, with an unruly mop of dark hair and seemingly unable to grow any kind of moustache at all, completing a totally forgettable physical appearance that he compensated for with a bubbly and energised personality. ¡°¡­ which is why I don¡¯t think I¡¯ll go for Mozart or H?ndel, you know, just something too romantic about them. I¡¯d really like to do some Mastronarde, but I did that two recitals ago and Dame Iris might dock me a few points for unoriginality if I do that ag¡­ Hey, are you even listening to me, shithead?¡± Arvind had been talking the whole while Edward had been wool-gathering and he snapped back to his immediate surroundings. ¡°Aha, yeah, no, Mozart and Mastronarde is a bad idea, Dame Iris might think you don¡¯t know any other composer, got it,¡± he said quickly and Arvind shook his head in faux-exasperation but his mouth formed a lopsided smile. ¡°I am actually amazed at your ability to be somewhere totally different mentally, but still pick up the gist of a conversation. You got to teach me that sometime.¡± Edward shrugged, almost dropping the notebook he held awkwardly under one arm. ¡°It¡¯s a gift really,¡± he said with a feigned air of haughtiness, ¡°either you have it or you don¡¯t. I can¡¯t be held responsible for my superior cerebral disposition compared to yours.¡± ¡°Superior cerebral my ass,¡± Arvind laughed while driving an elbow playfully into his ribs, ¡°the only thing superior about you compared to me are your nimble wrists.¡± His eyes glinted mischievously, ¡°and we all know how you came about those. Hours upon hours of diligent practice in the dark of night, rapidly stroking ¡®tangents¡¯ while watching¡­¡± Edward stopped dead in his tracks, his face dead-pan serious all of a sudden. He quickly grabbed Arvind by the arm and pulled him back behind one of the columns. ¡°What the fu¡­!¡± Arvind started but Edward made a slashing motion across his throat and Arvind¡¯s mouth closed with a click. Edward ran a hand across his dark hair, seemingly making sure his hairdo was up to standards. Arvind was about to protest, but Edward made a subtle pointing gesture towards a cluster of orchid beds and a pair of females seated on a wooden bench. Squinting to make them out, his eyes suddenly widened in recognition and surprise. ¡°Mate, please don¡¯t tell me you got a crush on her? No, actually, it¡¯s a bit cute, but¡­¡± He trailed off deliberately. Dressed in the grey sweater and skirt and crimson necktie of the QMMU, the two girls were happily chatting their break away. The one on the right had skin the colour of the clouds above, while her hair was a deep black, just like the ivory and ebony piano tangents Edward and Arvind spent hours playing every day. She was noticeably much shorter than her friend, with a lithe build and high cheek bones, but the most striking were her amethyst eyes, shining brightly when she laughed, a pale hand demurely covering her mouth. Her friend was tall, not much shorter than Edward, more muscular, long red hair kept in an orderly ponytail. The redhead¡¯s eyes were pale as ice, just as captivating as the piano-coloured girl¡¯s, set in an attractive heart-shaped face. She was talking animatedly, and her accompanying hand gestures betrayed a fluid grace of movement that was almost more felt than seen. This novel is published on a different platform. Support the original author by finding the official source. ¡°¡­ I think you¡¯re punching quite a bit out of your weight class there, mate,¡± Arvind continued after a spell. ¡°You do know who that is, don¡¯t you? You¡¯d have better chances¡­ actually, I¡¯m not sure there¡¯s anything with longer odds than even making her look in your general direction. And I say that as your friend.¡± Edward waved a hand dismissively. ¡°Not her, I know perfectly well who that is, I don¡¯t live on an asteroid after all, it¡¯s the other one I¡¯m referring to.¡± He nodded toward the redhead and Arvind gave his friend a lopsided smile. ¡°Your odds aren¡¯t that much better with her either. That¡¯s Marquess S¨¦lincourt and Countess Darkmoor¡¯s daughter, scion of two of the oldest noble families in existence, and her father is a decorated admiral to boot. She¡¯s also the star and relay anchor of the QMMU¡¯s swimming team, as well as an accomplished fencer. In short, she¡¯s noble, beautiful, athletic, oh and she¡¯s an honours student on an accelerated programme from upper secondary, so she¡¯s a damn prodigy as well. Everything you aren¡¯t, mate, I¡¯m sorry to be the one to tell you.¡± The glare Arvind received for the trouble of his short summary was withering, but Edward didn¡¯t disagree. ¡°I¡¯m cognizant of the facts, Arvind,¡± he said in a resigned tone, ¡°I know it all too well. Adea is on a totally different level than me, in basically every imaginable way. I¡¯m the son of an Amaranthine teacher and a Dionysian Gen-Two public servant,¡± Arvind shifted uncomfortably at the mention of Edward¡¯s mother, ¡°while Adea¡¯s family were old and established dynasties when Amaranth was colonised. And furthermore¡­¡± The ¡°furthermore¡± would remain a mystery for the time being as an upbeat techno tone piped up from Edward¡¯s blazer pocket and he fished out his warbling handcom, a frail-looking smart-glass piece of electronics, and he cursed under his breath. ¡°Speak of the devil, I have electives in ten minutes,¡± he said while abandoning the hiding place behind the column and started to walk briskly across the campus grounds, Arvind struggling to keep up with the sudden flurry of movement. ¡°Why is it ¡®speak of the devil¡¯? What are your electives again?¡± he asked as he caught up. ¡°¡®Political History and Institutions from 2300-2600¡¯, and of course Adea is in the same class.¡± The two of them glanced back to see said noblewoman say farewell to her black-haired friend and start to jog in the same general direction as them. As the other girl rose from the bench and started to make her way to the Reception Hall, Arvind could suddenly see a few men dressed in short-sleeves, who were definitely not students, start to move at the same time while keeping a comfortable distance. Figures, he thought, though I don¡¯t think anyone would be stupid enough to try anything on one of the largest university campuses this side of Elysium. He slapped Edward on the shoulder amicably. ¡°Well, you have fun talking about post-exodus constitutionalism and debate the finer details of institutionalised neo-aristocracy with your beloved.¡± He started to walk off before Edward could form a protest; ¡°I¡¯m headed off to the Humanities cafeteria, come find me there later, alright. I need you to help me choose a final recital piece. And you still owe me lunch for covering your beers at Chilton¡¯s last weekend.¡± His departure was accompanied by a weary headshake. The Duke of Camlann History Building was more modest than the Countess Montroy Conservatoire, both in size and ornamentation. It was dominated by a large first floor library that contained an immense number of tomes and even original Earth documents from pre-exodus. History as a narrative subject did not require the numerous rehearsal rooms and instrument stores that music students were dependent on, and to Edward¡¯s ear, the loud silence that greeted him when walking through the halls of the Duke of Camlann Building was a welcome change. The very air and smell felt old, ancient even, and Edward chuckled to himself as his mind produced images of history professors hunched over antediluvian scrolls with lit candles as the only source of light. His chuckle caught in his throat as Adea appeared in the auditorium doorway and he slowed to a halt. How did she manage to arrive ahead of me? The abruptly cut-off chuckle turned into a gurgle and the subsequent coughing drew the attention of the pair of ice-blue eyes. They narrowed for a moment in a thoughtful squint. ¡°I say, don¡¯t I know you from somewhere?¡± Her delightfully husky voice was accented by the lilting sing-song drawl of the aristocracy. ¡°Wait,¡± she said, a finger absently finding smiling lips as her mind apparently raced, ¡°was it New Forest these past Proms? Or might it have been Athelney last season?¡± ¡°I, uh, no, I don¡¯t think¡­¡± Edward managed to stutter, but Adea was not relenting. ¡°Oh, you know, it might have been the Royal Opera Festival, I am sure I saw you there, but you have to forgive me, I can¡¯t seem to remember your name¡­?¡± She leaned slightly forward inquisitively just as Edward didn¡¯t think it was physically possible to be more uncomfortable. ¡°Edward, ah, Edward Heatherland, if you please, My Lady,¡± he managed to produce while taking a half-step backwards and holding his notebook across his chest in a sort of defensive posture. ¡°Heatherland,¡± Adea seemed to roll the name around her mouth as if to taste it and cross-reference it with the repository of names in her head, ¡°Heatherland of¡­?¡± ¡°Just Heatherland, My Lady,¡± Edward replied with a slightly cramped smile, ¡°I¡¯m not ¡®of¡¯ anything except perhaps ¡®of inconsequence¡¯¡­¡± Oh my God, did you just say that, you stupid idiot, what the fuck is wrong with you?! His mental chastising was interrupted by a low giggle and he looked up from his feet ¨C when had he decided his shoes needed his undivided attention? ¨C to see Adea covering her smiling mouth with her own notebook, looking at him with an amused expression. ¡°I¡¯ll make note of that, Heatherland,¡± she said and Edward could hear the smile in her voice, ¡°but I hardly think anyone can truly be completely inconsequential. However, if you¡¯re not a Season regular, where do I remember you from then?¡± Before he had a chance to reply, something slapped him over the top of his head and he jumped. ¡°I think you half-remember him because he was at the inauguration mixer at the Royal Inns, and mind you, that was after the Humanities convents had been drinking for hours at Guildenstern Street. And you were pretty drunk at that stage.¡± ¡°Sandy!¡± ¡°Sandy?!¡± Alexandra ¡°Sandy¡± Barham had long hair the colour of her nickname, and cobalt eyes danced between the two, wiggling the notebook she had whacked Edward over the head with playfully back and forth. Said student gathered his wits relatively quickly though, fixing Sandy with a curious gaze. ¡°I didn¡¯t know you knew Lady Adea. For that matter, I didn¡¯t know you had this elective, you¡¯re a psychology major after all.¡± Adea nodded in agreement. ¡°My thoughts exactly, I know this is a big class, but I would¡¯ve noticed you. And how do you know Heatherland here?¡± The blonde shrugged. ¡°I have just changed elective to PolHis after coming home the other day with a burning desire to jump into the Goneril following a lecture on ¡®syncretic cultural re-constructivism¡¯ in ¡®Post-Exodus Social Anthropology & -Ideology¡¯. If I ever hear the term ¡®societal heterogeneous fusionism¡¯ again, I might vomit.¡± Edward and Adea shared a quick knowing glance before Adea turned back to Sandy. ¡°Eh, you know, that is actually one of the major themes of this class and entire particular field of history, so you might have chosen somewhat poorly, sorry to tell you,¡± she said, watching as Sandy¡¯s expression became stony. ¡°Huh, you don¡¯t fricking say,¡± she said at length, stopping the wiggling of the notebook and letting her arms hang from her sides. ¡°You still didn¡¯t explain how you know Heatherland,¡± Adea continued, ¡°only that I might know him from the Inns. But that was something like nine months ago, just after autumn semester start, which means you either have the memory of an elephant, highly doubtful, or you know each other pretty well.¡± ¡°Look at Lady Adea of Detectiveton over here,¡± Sandy said with an accompanying snort of amusement, ¡°putting two and two together like nobody¡¯s business.¡± She tapped Edward with the notebook again, on the shoulder this time which the blonde top of her head barely reached. ¡°I know this lanky lad because we¡¯re in the same convent at Vermilion Hall, which means we¡¯ve been to several mixers, dinners, and shindigs together these past almost two years of scholarly pursuit of erudition. He¡¯s moderately funny and amicable, after about three stiff drinks or so into the night.¡± Sandy¡¯s eyes were dancing with mischievousness, smiling lopsided all the while. ¡°And, young Edward, I know Adea because our parents are old friends, Navy people all around you know. If memory serves me right, we first met as three year-olds when Dad was forced to drag me along to your New Devon manor while on a job-related errand because Mom was sick like a dog.¡± Adea snorted. ¡°I remember you being such a city brat that you were scared of the tame bunnies and peacocks in our gardens. ¡°Those were not regular Earth bunnies, they were some Angevin mutant brutes and you know that perfectly well!¡± ¡°Hey!¡± a voice came from behind the trio and they turned as one. A bunch of other students were thronged together in the hallway, looking annoyed. ¡°It is very interesting to listen how you all know each other and all, but there are two minutes ¡®til the lecture starts, and you¡¯re kind of blocking the auditorium door, so might you continue your discussion inside?¡± It was not just Edward¡¯s ears that were burning pink as the three of them quickly found seats near the front of the half-moon shaped lecture hall. Chapter 04 - Days of Erudition: History Doctor Patrick van Fluyten was not a typical university don, and liked to underscore his difference from all the other ¡°stuffies¡± of the history department by dressing more casually, and was now sitting on the auditorium speaker¡¯s desk instead of standing behind it as was custom. He was widely known as an unconventional and witty lecturer, normally teaching old Earth modern history rather than post-exodus, but this semester he was making an exception, the result being a ballooning of the number of students signing up. This was positive news in the eyes of department leadership, since more students meant a larger share of the collective pie of the Humanities¡¯ educational budget, but it was creating unforeseen headaches for the actual staff that had to lead these classes, staff like Dr van Fluyten. ¡°It has come to my attention,¡± he said as the last of the students filed into the large auditorium, filling most of the two hundred seats, ¡°hammered into me from multiple directions actually, that there are a large percentage of foreign exchange students taking this class this semester. To that end, several have, in confidentiality, expressed confusion regarding the earlier part of this course and this, unfortunately, have been on display in many of the term papers submitted so far. It seems we at the department have presupposed a higher degree of prerequisite knowledge about early Auroran history than was the case, which I apologise for, since it has clearly made this class harder than necessary for many of you. Which is why I believe we¡¯ll dedicate the first half of this lecture to have an impromptu roundtable-cum-summary of the first half of this course, as the next few lectures will be more focused on the northern part of the Eos Spur and the activities of the United Earth Alignment, leaving local affairs for a while. I think I¡¯ll leave the floor to one of you to start us off, and I will serve as moderator of the discussion instead. Feel free to discuss and debate openly, but please remain civil and on subject, or else I might have to pull out the heaviest stick in my arsenal; take the mid-lecture break away.¡± As has been the custom of students of all millennia when asked to take the initiative and start speaking in public, nearly two-hundred pair of eyes looked at each other, silently begging someone else to be the one to take centre stage. Nearly two-hundred pair of eyes, as Edward¡¯s was locked on the desk in front of him. I talked to Adea, I am having this class with Adea, I am sitting next to Adea, holy shit, this has to be a dream, it cannot be real. He ventured a shy glance to his right. Adea and Sandy were whispering back and forth, so she had his back partially turned towards him. His eyes were naturally drawn to her skirt and he noted her shapely thighs and legs draped in tall white socks. Then suddenly he was looking at the red upholstery of her chair, and as his eyes moved up in confusion, they met with Sandy¡¯s blue ones, glinting with sudden comprehension and amusement. Oh shit, ohshitohshitohshit, I am never going to hear the end of this, he thought as he frantically focused his gaze back towards the front of the auditorium, first Arvind and now Sandy; I¡¯m going to catch hell for the rest of my time at QMMU after today. First then did he become aware that Adea was standing and talking to van Fluyten. ¡°¡­ good idea that Lady Adea starts off,¡± the doctor was saying, ¡°unless anyone have any objections?¡± Predictably, there were none, and at a gesture to go ahead from van Fluyten, Adea turned halfway around, drew in a deep breath and started speaking to the rest of the class. ¡°The arrival of the colonial ship Providence in the Euryphaessa System and the subsequent settlement of New Victoria on the planet of Aurora in 2199 was the first establishment of an extrasolar human presence. Previous astronomic models suggested Euryphaessa would contain an Earth-like in comparable size, but the habitable planet was nearly three times the size of Earth, with six major continents and a slightly lower gravity and slightly higher hydrosphere, perfect for human colonisation. The nine-thousand odd settlers of Providence were isolated from contact with Earth and the United Commonwealth for over two decades before a long-range scout ship confirmed that they had survived, at which point an Auroran-born generation was starting to mature. In these two decades, and for a long time after, multiple colonial ships were launched by the other supranational coalitions on Earth, resulting in numerous settlements; most of them located in systems along the galactic ¡®south east¡¯ of the Orion Arm, what we generally refer to as the Eos Spur today. This was mostly due to a combination of more favourable and stable Light Way lanes and a larger number of habitable worlds. The colony of Aurora was incidentally the first and one of very few truly concerted extrasolar settlement efforts by the old supranational institutions, as quickly regional, then national, and ultimately private expeditions were mounted as Light Drive technology became more and more commonly available and refined. The Commonwealth and the other coalitions on Earth had no hope of controlling far-flung colonial ventures at this point in time with their limited fleet of hyper-capable ships, and control devolved to local levels very quickly, especially for such far-off colonies as Aurora. After 2235 the first waves of new colonists started to arrive in Euryphaessa, which created a problem for the Auroran population of about twelve thousand; they had started to cultivate the land, genetically adopting Earth breeds of fauna and flora to the Auroran climate and gravity, and had laid claim to areas where rare and valuable minerals could be excavated. A sudden influx of new settlers which would very quickly outnumber the original colonists was deemed an incursion on their economic and territorial rights. Which is why by overwhelming consent the original colonists created a constitution in which they all became ennobled and entitled to the lands they could realistically claim at the time of ratification in January 2236.¡± Sandy suddenly shot up a hand, catching Adea off-guard, not stopping to wait for van Fluyten to give her the go-ahead. ¡°I believe what you¡¯re referring to,¡± she said, ¡°is the first confirmed case of Rashid¡¯s Constant of Primary Settlement, in which the nascent body of colonists would more often than not create an upper class of patriciate to off-set later immigration and increased population.¡± Dr van Fluyten blinked a few times before nodding in confirmation. ¡°That is correct, miss, the Auroran Constitution is the first known case of Rashid¡¯s Constant, and though not all post-exodus societies have gone through the same process, a very large number initially started out as oligarchies and nations with marked differences between haves and have-nots. Luckily, this was rectified in the centuries after the collapse of the United Earth Alignment, which will be the subject of the next three weeks¡¯ lectures, so we will cover that thoroughly soon. Good observation, miss¡­?¡± Sandy, beaming like the kitten that got the cream, leaned back in her seat. ¡°Barham, Sir, Alexandra Barham, psych major.¡± Van Fluyten nodded, seemingly taking notice of the name, before gesturing for Adea to continue. Edward leaned closer to Sandy. ¡°Damn show-off,¡± he whispered. ¡°Bite me,¡± she responded while sticking out her tongue, and Edward grinned back. Adea shot Sandy an irritated look and cleared her throat. ¡°Waves of immigration from primarily old Commonwealth countries on Earth boosted the population numbers of Aurora over the next few decades, and by 2245 the capital city was moved from New Victoria to Cordelia on the Goneril River as it lay closer to the equator and as such was a better spot to construct an orbital elevator, alleviating transport between surface and orbit. Aurora formally declared independence from the United Commonwealth on the latter¡¯s dissolution in 2262, though it had in reality never been under Commonwealth control, and formed its own military, spearheaded by the Royal Navy. With such a large portion of its populace originally derived from the British Isles or Earth countries with British ties, Auroran politics and institutions naturally developed to imitate their British predecessors. With the dissolution of the United Commonwealth Navy, the Auroran Royal Navy took on the mantle as direct spiritual successors of the old British Royal Navy. As with most post-exodus societies that expanded outside the sphere of control of the Alignment, Aurora promoted a¡­¡± Adea shot Sandy a mischievous glance while outwardly seeming to collect her thoughts, and Sandy¡¯s eyes narrowed in annoyance. ¡°A syncretic approach to cultural development, shall we say, in an effort to create a cohesive societal model given the heterogeneous origin of its immigrants. This approach manifested in creating an advanced and etic facsimile of 18th and 19th century Great Britain and France. Admittedly, there have been quite a few dissident voices over the years claiming this has been a misleading approach, stymying any natural cultural evolution in what is essentially Humanity¡¯s first opportunity to really create a cultural tabula rasa, free from old Earth ties and history. I¡¯m sure Barham could tell us what occurred instead in some detail, but in short the opposite happened, and colonies and societies adopted idealised versions of old cultures. Other examples include the Republic of Corinth, trying to imitate ancient Athens, the Kingdom of Valhalla which is coloured in a societal facade of Norse mythology and history, and the Jericho Confederacy which is heavily inspired by ancient Israel.¡± ¡°What of Dionysia?¡± a student seated behind Adea asked, and turning to face him she noted a Valerian flag pin on his blazer lapel. Since basically every student wore the same clothes, someone had at some point had the inspired idea of making pins of different nations¡¯ flags or national crests, giving students the opportunity to display their origins. It made it easier to avoid social faux pas and was often an ice-breaker in conversation, and for practical reasons it had become common practice on university grounds. ¡°The Sacred Kingdom of Dionysia,¡± Adea explained, ¡°is an extreme example of taking an idea of a culture and transplanting it over a modern society. Dionysia has taken the idea of the ancient Hellenistic Greek societies of the Earth Middle East and created a militaristic society wholly centred on the royal family and the royal court, which is itself extremely internecine and known for feuds and political infighting. Despite this, they have created a thriving if very insular empire of their own. This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience. Moving back to Auroran history, as the United Earth Alignment became more and more controlling and its political class increasingly corrupt, millions decided to move from the core of human space and settle along the ¨Cat the time¨C fringe. Aurora was a natural choice, and the population boomed. By 2350, Aurora was home to some two-hundred million, with a nobility of about a hundred and ten-thousand. In 2360 nobility franchise was re-examined since considerable amounts of non-noble landholders had amassed vast estates and riches, and were emulating the nobility in their mannerisms and constructing country manors of their own. This created a much needed infusion of new blood into the almost genetically stagnant old nobility, but created a tiered system of ¡°old¡± and ¡°new¡± aristocratic families, with the former being higher in status, despite not necessarily more affluent.¡± ¡°You¡¯ve completely forgotten to mention the establishment of the monarchy,¡± a serious voice came from somewhere to the rear of the auditorium, and Edward had to crane his neck to see who had spoken. His eyes landed on a pale petite girl with hair so blonde as to be almost white, an almost impossibly cute oval face dominated by grey eyes with a pinkish hue. She was sitting alone, with no one seated to her left and right, and her eyes were bored into Adea, and looking up at her, Edward could see Adea¡¯s eyes hardening and her jaw muscles tensing. ¡°You¡¯re right, of course, Lady de Vere, it slipped my mind completely and I apologise.¡± Edward couldn¡¯t help but note the two noblewomen were almost as physically opposite as possible. The white-haired girl crossed her arms over her chest as Adea continued. ¡°The monarchy was established as a countermeasure against the original nobility a few years after the constitution of 2236. Within only a few years the original colonists, now forming the aristocracy that held control of a large percentage of Aurora¡¯s surface, were outnumbered by newly arrived immigrants. Infuriated at their lack of political representation and a very real fear of exploitation by the aristocracy, they demanded an addendum to the constitution and a safeguard against malfeasance. In exchange, the nobility would retain all their current privileges and land rights. This compromise ended with the creation of a bicameral parliament, which had originally been unicameral, and the establishment of a monarch to serve as the head of state and ultimate political guardian of the rights of the common people. The agreement of this revised constitution as well as the aforementioned expanded nobility franchise more or less ended the tug-of-war between the commons and aristocracy, leading Aurora down a much more peaceful path than many other extrasolar polities. A figure both sides could agree upon was hard to come by, but the eventual result was a minor noble by the name William de Roze who had sided with the commons and had been an instrumental negotiator during the discussions. The de Roze dynasty still reigns to this day, and enjoys widespread popular support. Aristocracy has over time become more meritocratic, new entries are relatively common nowadays, and the balance of power between the Houses of Commons and Lords in Parliament and the monarch as the supreme overseer and guarantor of political good conduct, has created a very stable and fundamentally solid societal base. This allowed Aurora to start colonising planets of their own at a relatively early stage in its development compared to many other nations. While the United Earth Alignment was busy tearing itself apart in brushfire wars and internal upheavals, Auroran settlers founded colonies on Amaranth in the Aditya System in 2378, and on Angevin in the Cronus Major System in 2398. Unfortunately, too ham-fisted and rushed expansion and terraforming had severe effects on the climate on Amaranth, melting the polar caps and increasing the already very high hydrosphere. This further enlargement of the kingdom naturally created more noble families as wealthy entrepreneurs from Aurora sought inclusion into new planetary aristocracies. This expansion made the Kingdom of Aurora a multi-system polity and as such the need for a larger military was amplified. The Royal Navy was given further duties, and heavy investment was put into shipbuilding and orbital infrastructure. Immigration started to peter out as more planets in the surrounding regions were settled, and expeditions went even further afield to the galactic east and south. During the reign of King Henry II from 2410 to 2453, it became common practice to approach neighbouring star nations with the intent of forming as close economic and military ties as possible in an attempt to build up a credible regional power to rival the rapidly expanding Co-Prosperity League and the now defunct Verge Federation. This was the antecedent to the modern Royal Union, and grew rapidly in size.¡± Van Fluyten made a hand gesture to speed things up and Adea nervously brushed some hair behind her ear. ¡°Anyway, skipping ahead a bit, the alliance network expanded rapidly, as did the Auroran economy, which was and still is, heavily based around shipbuilding, merchant shipping, and economic services like investment banking, and information technology. Over the next few hundred years, the planets Westernesse, Cymru, Avalon, and Nova Caledonia were also settled and added to the expanding Auroran kingdom. In 2564, Novorosyia in the Draconis sector, three-hundred-and-seventeen light years to the galactic north of Aurora, asked to join the kingdom as its eight member world, following eighty years of alignment in the Royal Union. The reasoning behind this request was the instability and unpopularity of the ruling oligarchic class, who were forced off-planet after the planetary plebiscite was confirmed. In 2570 the process was finalised, and Novorosyia became the Grand Duchy of Novorosyia, with King Edward III and his descendants the Grand Dukes in perpetuity. During this time, the Verge Federation had collapsed, and the Independent Systems Alliance was rapidly filling the void, based out of the economic superpower of the Republic of Elysium, and an increasing number of minor star nations caught between the Alliance and the Union were forced to pick a side. This became even more critical when the Corinthian Corridor was discovered, the super high-efficiency Light Way lane that straddles the two interstellar coalitions. Corinth and Dionysia fought a bitter war over control of this incredibly valuable and strategic astrographical asset from 2598 to 2607, when Aurora finally managed to mediate a truce. Both star nations chose to ally themselves to Aurora following this, but the other end of the Corridor was lost when Starfall chose to align itself with the Alliance, and the remaining systems along the Corridor chose to remain neutral. The Hydran Co-Prosperity League, evidently believing Aurora and the Union to be militarily weak since they hadn¡¯t responded with force to the Corinth-Dionysia conflict, decided in 2610 to invade the southern part of the Union, securing orbital control of Cyrene and New Saxony in lighting strikes before a response could be formed. More or less the entire Royal Navy was committed to throw the Hydrans back, its proper baptism of fire in a major conflict. Squadrons and smaller task forces had been dispatched to fight off pirate and rouge mercenary groups in the past, as well as minor scuffles with single-system polities, but the Auroran-Hydran War was its first proper fighting war against a multi-system star nation. Led by Admiral Charlotte de Chandlier, the Royal Navy systematically destroyed the Hydran fleets at the battles of Mindarion, Nebuchadnezzar, and Xi Cassiopeia, the war barely lasting twenty months before the Hydrans sued for peace. Terms of the peace treaty was free use of the Nebuchadnezzar-Taiping Lane in perpetuity in order to access the Lucidia and Pannonia sectors at the very southern edge of settled space. Over the next hundred-and-fifty years, the Royal Union reached the extent it does today, while the worlds of the Kingdom were developed further, as was the Auroran economy to the point where it has the largest gross output per capita in human space. Apart from short conflicts and interventions in the collapsing Midwinter Entente, the Solus War, the police actions in the Rhodante Arm, and the peacekeeping operations in Lucidia, Aurora and the Royal Union has enjoyed a remarkable level of peace and calm compared to other regions of the galaxy. But tension with the Independent Systems Alliance have only been increasing over the past centuries, and are reaching an all-time high. It certainly wasn¡¯t helped by Alliance President Uriel Konstantin when he in 2809 enacted the ¡®Truscott Doctrine¡¯ and tried to forcibly gain control over the neutral Corridor systems, and did manage to secure the Lorelei Arm, creating the Lucidia Pocket as it is now completely enclosed by the Alliance and Co-Prosperity League.¡± Adea finally paused, frowned a bit and looked at van Fluyten. ¡°Is there anything major I¡¯ve missed?¡± He smiled a bit. ¡°Well,¡± he said as Adea sat back down again, ¡°there are a few things like the Lucidia Insurrection which is why that system is now a quasi-member of the Kingdom sort of out of necessity, and there is the whole Pegasii proxy war with the Coma Berenices Star Federation, and a good few developments in internal Auroran politics you forgot. But overall, I¡¯m very pleased, and very good inputs from the other students. I would advise anyone who still are a bit in the dark to look at chapters ten through thirteen in Collett and Zegras¡­.¡± ¡°What about the clones?¡± the Valerian student from before asked. One could almost feel the air be sucked out of the room, and more than a few eyes squinted disapprovingly. Edward shrunk a bit in his seat and van Fluyten opened his mouth to say something, but diminutive Lady de Vere beat him to the punch. ¡°I don¡¯t know what common courtesy on Valerian is, but in the kingdom we generally abstain from such racial slurs.¡± For such a small person, she emanated a very menacing aura and her voice was like titanium. ¡°The acceptable term is Generation Two Human, or Gen-Two if you will, and what do you mean ¡®what about them¡¯? It is common knowledge that during the ascendant period of the United Earth Alignment genetic manipulation reached such a sophisticated level that human embryos could be manufactured right down to detailing the molecular level of DNA. This in turn became a profitable business of many large commercial conglomerates, and the artificial fabrication of humans became widespread. This is part of the reason why the human race was able to settle so many worlds in such a relatively short amount of time. It did of course mean that Gen-Two¡¯ers were by and large ¡®better¡¯ than one-hundred per cent natural humans, with increased physical strength, improved mental capabilities, more aesthetically pleasing, and so forth, creating resentment from naturals. Ethical questions surrounding the practice cropped up quickly as the immediate need for people to settle new worlds died down, and the interstellar accords of Tau Ceti of 2503 forbade the practice in most nations, making artificial creation of humans legal only through naturally extracted DNA from would-be parents or donors. Not all nations signed on, but most did, the Kingdom of Aurora one of the very first.¡± Awkward silence stretched on for a little while, only a few subdued whispers could be almost-heard. The Valerianese stared daggers at de Vere but didn¡¯t say anything else. A few others did as well, and not all the whispers were about the foreign exchange student. De Vere¡¯s face was an unreadable mask of stone. After a few moments van Fluyten clapped his hands together. ¡°Alright, I think we¡¯ll take our break a little early, grab a cup of coffee and start back again at one o¡¯clock, putting this discussion in the rear view mirror. Next half I¡¯ll present the overall economic shift caused by the creation of the intergalactic communications web in 2424, and how that ties in with the ascendancy of the Independent Systems Alliance. Afterwards we¡¯ll discuss if this explains the departure from solid currency and¡­ hey, I didn¡¯t say you could go yet, I¡¯m not done speaking!¡± Chapter 05 - Days of Erudition: Conversations The QMMU Reception Hall bells tolled three times and students started to stream out from lecture halls, libraries, and auditoriums that had become stuffy and the stale air could finally be recycled. Adea swung open the main double doors of Duke of Camlann History Building angrily, putting force behind her push that betrayed the frustration she felt. Edward and Sandy followed a few steps behind, judging it in their best interest to keep quiet until the angry redhead had calmed down at least a smidgen. Edward couldn¡¯t help but steal a few looks at his handcom, cognizant that Arvind was still waiting for him, but he selfishly didn¡¯t want to steal away without saying goodbye properly to Adea, and perhaps ask her something inane like, same time next week? The noble girl opened her ponytail and ran a hand through her loose hair, ruffling it while muttering angry words under her breath. ¡°Having a fit are we?¡± a cold voice came from behind the trio, and they turned as one to regard short Lady de Vere. Up close, Edward had to admit she was even prettier than his initial first impression, but her pinkish eyes were blank, and her mouth a stern slit. Adea smiled crookedly, and made a mocking curtsy to the shorter girl. ¡°Nothing of the sort, just expressing my disgruntlement at falling short of your own superlative mastery of the field of history, Lady de Vere.¡± De Vere snorted in derision. ¡°Hardly, Lady S¨¦lincourt, and you know full well that¡¯s crock. Everyone can forget something, and it¡¯s not like you had been asked to prepare a script for today¡¯s lecture.¡± The stern mouth crept up slightly at the corners. ¡°If you had had a prepared script, it might have been approaching tolerably acceptable. Alas, such is the hand you were dealt.¡± Adea¡¯s eyes were like flint. ¡°I agree wholeheartedly, and it is nothing short of l¨¨se-majest¨¦ for forgetting bringing up the establishment of the royal house of De Roze-Linnet when giving a summary of the kingdom¡¯s history. I am ever so grateful for you bringing it to attention, giving me the opportunity to rectify my grave error, improving my lacklustre summary by even the slightest margin.¡± Adea¡¯s words were dripping with sarcasm, and de Vere was visibly getting more and more annoyed, a fisted hand scrunching the hem of her skirt. ¡°Indeed, see to it that you do not slip up so gravely in the future. Such a display was unbecoming of your esteemed pedigree. But what can one expect from the daughter of¡­¡± De Vere drifted off without completing the sentence, and Adea bowed deeply. ¡°My deepest apologies, My Lady, if my presence causes you discomfort. Thus, I will retire, and allow you to get on with your day without having to further debase yourself interacting with the likes of me and mine.¡± Without waiting for an answer, Adea simply turned and stormed off in the direction of the main cluster of campus buildings, Sandy following close behind with her eyes concentrating on the ground. Edward, completely nonplussed, looked back and forth between the bickering noblewomen, and made a short bow ¨Cwhich was actually genuine, he had been brought up to respect the peers of the realm¨C to de Vere, who simply scoffed, before hustling after the two other girls. ¡°Not, um, that it¡¯s remotely any of my business or anything,¡± Edward said after catching up, ¡°but, uh, what was all that about?¡± Sandy dropped back to walk alongside Edward and let out a resigned sigh. ¡°You remember what Adea said in the first half of the lecture about new nobility being created after the founding of Amaranth and Angevin?¡± Edward nodded; he had had his own encounters with Amaranthine nobility, who by and large were much less¡­ ¡°aristocratic¡± than their Auroran homelander counterparts. ¡°Well,¡± Sandy continued, ¡°the de Veres were a minor noble family that emigrated to Angevin in the first wave of colonisation, carving out for themselves vast estates that just happened to be on top of numerous veins of thorium and high quality perovskite. That made the de Veres stupidly rich when they got around to putting mines down, and they were hugely important in helping improve the fledgling colony with financial support, which earned them an elevation from ¡®mere¡¯ earls and countesses to dukes and duchesses by King Alexander in 2493. And as you know, a duchess¡¯ daughter is higher in the aristocratic food-chain than a marquess¡¯s daughter, which is why Adea is forced by social mores to be¡­ reverent. Why they¡¯re at each other¡¯s throats this much, well¡­¡± Sandy let the last sentence hang in the air a bit while looking at Adea, who was staring straight ahead, and though clearly paying attention to what Edward and Sandy was talking about, was evidently not protesting. ¡°Well, Artemisia¡¯s father, the Duke of Trewellynshire, is creating merry hell for Adea¡¯s mother, the Countess Darkmoor, in the House of Lords, as he is one of the chief voices of the Conservative Party. The Tories and the Royalists-Social Liberals coalition are at loggerheads regarding foreign policy and the armed forces funding, especially the increasingly expensive Royal Navy budget. And Lady Darkmoor, given her dual role as serving captain in the Royal Navy and politician, is one of the Royalists¡¯ most prominent figures in the defence budget debates. So yeah, that¡¯s why they don¡¯t get along swimmingly. The sins of our fathers and all that¡­¡± Edward could only nod; he was feeling more and more like a fish out of water, suddenly getting a first-person glimpse of the world of the privileged and the inner machinations of the kingdom¡¯s politics. Like most students, he was doing a fair job of being caught up with the national and interstellar news cycle, but Edward was forced to admit he was woefully ignorant of the trickle-down effect on a personal level of disagreements on the Parliament floor. Then again, up until today he hadn¡¯t actually met anyone with a personal tie to Parliament, much less the illustrious House of Lords. The House of Lords, the upper chamber of the Auroran Parliament which was housed in the Palace of Goldbrook in Cordelia, had 953 seats reserved for hereditary peers of the Auroran kingdom, any vacancy of which could be claimed by any unseated noble. In earlier times, the lords and ladies of the House hadn¡¯t been tied to party affiliations, but after the establishment of the House of Commons and the monarchy, the party-based organisation of the Commons had bled into the Lords. This had created a culture of requiring a cross-house majority for any political party or coalition to effectively claim electoral victory. The revised constitution of 2236 (later receiving further addendums and once more ratified in 2248) also called for the prime minister to come from the Commons, as it was deemed thoroughly undemocratic that a non-elected person could lead a country where the vast, vast majority were commoners, but it was virtually impossible to lead the country without support from both houses. As such, it had become part and parcel of political process to spread effort and expenditure across both houses, since many of the most marketable politicians were actually non-elected peers, such as the Duke of Dawnshire and the Marquess of Howeland. This had also inevitably led to horse-trading for seats in the Lords, with some parties (the Tories being the most notorious, given their deep pockets) trading cash for seats under the table. This was in Auroran law considered corruption of the worst degree, but the spin doctors were always able to create some semi-plausible narrative that absolved the involved parties of blame. It hadn¡¯t always been this bad, but the extreme isolationism of the Conservatives in response to the Royalists¡¯ championing of the naval build-up of the past few decades was forcing parties to change their tactics. What it practically meant was that the Conservatives had a huge number of seats in the Lords, but only a few in the Commons as their political platform was largely anathema to the man and woman in the street. Thus, they were able to be a true pain in the ass in the Lords, stopping or delaying bills at their leisure since any bill required approval from both houses as well as royal assent. And the Duke of Trewellynshire, Artemisia de Vere¡¯s father, was apparently born to be a nagging pedant, but his influence in Parliament was undeniable. ¡°How do you know all of this?¡± Edward asked, with Sandy shrugging her shoulders in response. ¡°We¡¯ve been friends for sixteen, seventeen years at this point, so I¡¯ve picked up this and that. Furthermore, it¡¯s not like this isn¡¯t public information. You only have to watch the streams from discussion in the Lords to pick up on it, especially since Trewellynshire and his Tory ilk seems to be targeting Countess Darkmoor, the Lord Howeland, the Countess Greenvale, and the Earl Charnwood; in other words the most outspoken Royalist peers in regards to the naval build-up and Union relations. That sort of stuff has a tendency to create tension, especially when the nobility as a whole is under such public scrutiny. And it certainly doesn¡¯t help that this is an election year, with the Commons more or less up for grabs.¡± Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation. Edward opened his mouth to ask how Adea and Artemisia (that was her Christian name?) knew each other on a personal basis, but the redhead suddenly turned on her heels and clapped her hands together while smiling. ¡°Alright, enough about that boring stuff, let¡¯s talk about something else, something more fun.¡± She was smiling, but Edward could see that the smile didn¡¯t really reach her eyes. ¡°Like you, Edward.¡± Edward stopped in his tracks. ¡°Uh, I¡¯m sorry, talk about me, My Lady?¡± Adea made a waving gesture with one hand. ¡°Oh, just fuck off with the ¡®My Lady¡¯ stuff, we¡¯re not at St. Andrew¡¯s Palace, no need to stand on parade. Just call me fucking Adea like Sandy over here, like all my friends and family do.¡± Edward couldn¡¯t help but notice how Adea¡¯s highborn accent turned what would be considered crude swears stupidly cute, and he kicked himself mentally immediately. Stop getting ideas, you idiot, keep your cool for once in your life. She suddenly plumped down on one of the benches spread out among the flower beds of the QMMU greenery area, hiking one leg over the other and patting the bench beside her in a ¡°come sit¡± gesture that was hard to misinterpret. Edward swallowed hard. He did as he was told, feeling as awkward as he¡¯d ever felt in his life, increasingly so when Sandy plopped down next to him with a knowing smirk on her face. ¡°So,¡± Adea said, turning to face Edward with their noses only a few inches apart, oh dear God what the hell is happening, ¡°you haven¡¯t said what major you¡¯re taking? Also, you apparently immediately recognised me just when we were going to van Fluyten¡¯s lecture, what¡¯s up with that?¡± Edward cleared his throat in an effort to buy time, and realised he was getting knowing glances from Sandy. ¡°I mean,¡± he started while fidgeting with his fingers in a nervous fashion, ¡°you¡¯re sort of hard to miss¡­¡± You¡¯re stepping into a minefield here; choose wisely the next words that will exit your mouth. ¡°Someone from your distinguished family attending a public university is sort of a spectacle in of itself. I mean¡­¡± Edward was perfectly aware that he was grasping for any sort of handhold now, ¡°someone of your pedigree and means would probably have attended the Raleigh University of Technology or enter the King William¡¯s Naval Academy instead of going to the QMMU, given that it¡¯s state-sponsored, which means people like me can enter and¡­¡± He shut his mouth with a click. Sandy looked like she could barely hold a boisterous laughter back, while Adea was examining him through slightly squinted eyes. After a spell her mouth jumped up into a smile. ¡°So, what does ¡®people like you¡¯, who you seemingly insist are inconsequential, study at this state-sponsored public university? You¡¯re apparently part of the Humanities, since you have PolHis with us two idiots,¡± Adea said with an accompanying flick of Sandy¡¯s ear, reaching behind Edward¡¯s back, making him even more uncomfortable. ¡°But let me guess,¡± she continued after suppressing a few giggles at Sandy¡¯s ineffectual attempts at retaliation, ¡°you kind of seem like a history major, with the glasses and all, but that would be playing to stereotypes. And you¡¯re not Political Science; I would have noticed you¡­¡± Take notes, take notes! ¡°So I¡¯m going with either an Art History or a Social Anthropology major.¡± Adea shuffled uncomfortably close again. ¡°Tell me, how close was I to the mark?¡± This close, Edward could make out the tiny specks of grey in Adea¡¯s otherwise perfectly ice-blue eyes, the freckles so carefully concealed at a distance by expertly applied makeup, the slight crookedness of her nose, a few dirty pores here and there. She¡¯s not some goddess to revered, you moron, she¡¯s just a person like you. Right now she¡¯s seeing the same kind of imperfections in your face. You¡¯re both humans, both youths under the same star, but born to oh-so different circumstances. ¡°You¡¯re close enough, alright,¡± Edward heard himself say. Given the extreme heat he felt rising in his cheeks, he was as sure as sure could be that he turned just as beet-red as Adea¡¯s face the moment after the words left his mouth, and the two spent a few uncomfortable moments looking straight ahead at nothing in particular. Smooth, my man, very smooth. It¡¯s probably less painful to shoot yourself in the foot with a pulse-rifle. ¡°Ah, I mean, that is to say, you were very close, My La¡­ Adea,¡± he managed to stutter after a short while that had seemed to stretch forever (he could veritably feel the mischievous aura emanating from Sandy), ¡°I am a Classical Music major, classical piano to be more exact, soon to be done with my fourth semester. I¡¯ll be choosing a style beginning next semester to specialise in. But before that I have a few recitals and practical exams to get through, as well as two concerts with the QMMU Student Baroque Orchestra that aren¡¯t precisely curriculum, but with the professors in attendance, it might as well be.¡± Edward realised his palms were very sweaty and he was short of breath. ¡°Well, if that¡¯s the case,¡± the lilting alto-soprano on his right veritably sang in his ear, ¡°I would like to hear you play sometime.¡± I think this is just about the time I¡¯m supposed to wake up from the dream, isn¡¯t it? ¡°I, uh, I¡¯ll send you an invite when the concertos are ready, if it please your La¡­ Adea-ship¡­ Please forget I said that.¡± Edward was pretty sure you could cook an egg on his cheeks. Sing-song laughter and guffaws filled his ears from both left and right. ¡°I will send you a reminder,¡± Adea said through her laughter, ¡°don¡¯t worry about that.¡± ¡°Aye,¡± Sandy agreed from the opposite side, ¡°I wouldn¡¯t miss you playing the grand piano for a grand audience, especially given the evidence you¡¯ve given these past hours just talking to the girl of yo-OUCH¡± Sandy rubbed her shoulder fervently where Edward had whacked her hard with his notebook, accompanied with a desperate look that practically begged for her to shut her mouth, and Sandy gave him the slightest of winks. He took a deep breath. ¡°You didn¡¯t say why you¡¯re here at Queen Marie¡¯s, My Lady.¡± Adea¡¯s expression didn¡¯t exactly change visibly, but there was some felt discomfort behind the fa?ade she was trying her very best to maintain. ¡°As you might know,¡± she started, some of the previous humour colouring her tone, ¡°I¡¯ve been accelerated from upper secondary, since that didn¡¯t exactly prove a challenge. As such, I was enrolled into the Political Science majors programme just days after turning seventeen. This is just a stopgap though, as my fate has been more or less decided for me.¡± She looked past Edward towards to Sandy, who in turn tried her best to look in any other direction. ¡°There are a lot of people in our so-called meritocratic society who are born into fates they cannot escape from¡­¡± Adea cleared her throat, which made Edward suddenly sit up a bit straighter. ¡°The nobility of this kingdom has a tradition of service, either in the Foreign Office, in Parliament, as part of the Public Service, or in the military. My family has been Royal Navy since before Aurorans colonised any other world, so it is only natural that I follow in the steps of my forebears.¡± Adea reached over Edward again and nudged Sandy¡¯s shoulder. ¡°Don¡¯t leave me hanging, Miss Barham; bloody out with it.¡± Sandy snorted half in amusement, half in derision. ¡°I¡¯m not,¡± she said, ¡°exactly looking forward to spending the next forty years or whatever in a profession that was practically chosen for me at birth because my surname is Barham, and that¡¯s just because that my particular family include some of the most famous captains and admirals in Royal Navy history. That whole debate of free will or not is applicable in this case, really.¡± Her eyes glinted with something other than humour, Edward noted, something akin to fierceness. ¡°However, if I am going to do this, I¡¯ll do it by my own rules. With a psychology degree, I can apply to the Medical Branch and just spend the next few decades psychoanalysing sycophantic and disillusioned rear area officers, and be done with the whole thing without exposing myself to the frontline even once.¡± Suddenly she shrugged violently, and the moment of tense seriousness was gone. ¡°I have no ambition becoming the next in the long and illustrious line of Barhams who nobly sacrificed themselves in the line of duty.¡± ¡°You¡¯re such an adorable dork,¡± a lilting voice said from somewhere close and Edward jumped. ¡°Oh no,¡± Sandy barely managed to murmur before a shadow cast itself over the trio seated on the bench. ¡°Well, well, if it isn¡¯t Her Ladyship S¨¦lincourt out and about, with company. I do apologise for intruding in your conversation.¡± The speaker was a tall male (for an Auroran, which meant just about Edward¡¯s height), with unkempt curly dark brown hair, a bronzed hue quite a bit darker than Edward¡¯s own, but his well-chiselled chin and obviously impressive physique partly hidden underneath his QMMU uniform put poor Edward to shame. ¡°Valerio, you managed to divine us.¡± Sandy¡¯s tone could hardly be misconstrued, but the newcomer simply laughed. ¡°You found me out, Alexandra, but hear me out, I come with a missive of peace and reconciliation.¡± His hazel eyes danced from Sandy, to Adea, before resting on Edward¡¯s green ones. ¡°Who do we have here?¡± he said, but not as menacingly as Edward was expecting, ¡°a new acquaintance that I haven¡¯t been introduced to?¡± He stooped slightly down and offered his hand. Edward, stupefied at what was going on simply responded and the newcomer shook his hand vigorously. ¡°Right, proper greeting that is, I like it.¡± He winked at Edward, and Edward immediately realised this Valerio was much more comfortable moving in the upper social circles than he himself was. Although that is not saying much. ¡°I was coming over,¡± Valerio continued while standing back upright, ¡°to invite the lot of you to drinks this Friday at the Pale Peacock in Guildernstern Street.¡± His eyes shifted to consider Edward again. ¡°But if you have plans¡­¡± His voice trailed off intentionally, but Sandy jumped up and grabbed his arm. ¡°Oh but of course we don¡¯t, we¡¯d be delighted to join. And of course you¡¯d be delighted if Adea paid for the whole affair.¡± That last comment made Valerio suddenly look slightly uncomfortable, but Adea rose from her perch and patted him on the shoulder. ¡°I don¡¯t mind paying for your drinks, Valerio.¡± Said tall dark youth started to grin. ¡°But only if you allow Edward here to tag along, and let me pay for his drinks as well.¡± The smile quickly turned very artificial. Dear God, what have I gotten myself involved in? Chapter 06 - Days of Erudition: Tea-time No:01 For consideration to the esteemed Lordships of Admiralty: It behoves me to commend the clarity of purpose shown by the Lords of Admiralty regarding the matter of the current discussion, for which I am both personally and professionally grateful. The arguments made by Sir Noel Acciari on the subject matter at hand, are both studious and adroit, enlightening several points of interests regarding the effective deployment of the currently available assets of the Royal Navy, as well as expounding on the potential future operational structure of His Majesty¡¯s Service. However, in the opinion of this humble observer, it seems the main argument of my original remonstrance has been somewhat misconstrued. Permit me then to labour the point of the inceptive article further. The Royal Navy stands at a precipice in regards to available light combatants compared to the heavy units of the line of battle, traditionally regarded as the backbone of any truly capable interstellar fighting force. While the expansion of the battle fleet of a sovereign space nation should be paramount, as it serves as the principal deterrent to aggressive take-over on the primarily material plane, one cannot forego the importance of the ¡°lesser combatants¡± of the escort cruiser and destroyer divisions. It seems more than fair to point out that these so-called support units are what indeed constitute the operational foundation of the larger battle squadrons normally considered to be the core of any respectable military in the 29th century. Regarding this, the discrepancy in constructed and commissioned tonnage has been heavily slanted in favour of the ever-expanding battle fleet for the past three naval budget allocation bills. Pre-empting any comments regarding overall size and weight differences between light and line combatants, due diligence have been carried out, comparing current construction policies with previous ones, and in this observer¡¯s opinion, they are found lacking. His Majesty¡¯s Royal Navy currently enjoys a clear advantage over any other star nation in terms of naval capacity, especially in terms of total number of hulls of major ships of the line, that much is an objective fact. However, this particular advantage is only feasibly exploitable when the heavy combatants are employed in their intended role in the line of battle. Countess Ashwike has and continues to prove an inspired choice for the role as Lady Admiral of the Department of Research, and her decidedly unconventional approach to major warship design has won her well-deserved accolades both at home and abroad. The Vanguard and Inflexible classes under construction will bolster the battle fleet capabilities of the Royal Navy¡¯s major formations by a considerable margin compared to the De Chandlier and Tiger classes they are replacing. However, this the core of my original argument: The commissioning of twenty-two new battleship and battlecruiser hulls in the next six years, to an already frankly idiosyncratic and eclectic mix of ships with frightfully diverging combat capabilities and hull life-time expectancies, is the completely wrong use of the Royal Navy¡¯s resources. Consider that newly commissioned Vanguards will serve in squadrons alongside fifty-plus year old hulls like the Monarch and De Chandlier classes of ships, and then, if you please, imagine the disparity in nearly all facets of operation and performance. Not only does this make the jobs of the squadron and fleet commanders that much more complicated, it is also an immense strain on the Royal Fleet Auxiliary and a marked need for frequent refits and repairs to the older hulls compared to the younger ones. Commodore Judah Ormond commented in November 2859 that by 2880, unless major replacements were ordered, a full fourth of the Royal Navy¡¯s battle fleet would at any time be in drydock for refit, or otherwise incapable of deployment (c.f Royal Journal of Naval Studies, No.6 Oct-Nov, Vol.446, 2859). At the time of writing, 25 April 2874 Standard, twenty-one out of fifty-six battlecruisers are either in mothball or undergoing sorely needed refits; among the battleships, the situation is worse, thirty out of sixty-six, over half of them elderly Monarch ships, are docked. Ormond¡¯s pessimistic augury was actually low of the mark. Taking this into account, the acquisition of new and better hulls is of paramount importance. But again I circle back to the original argument; the discrepancy between lighter combatants and the ¡°heavy guns¡±. As is well known and thoroughly documented, the at times spirited disagreements among the varying schools of thought in the previous Admiralty administration, and the subsequent naval budget allocation bills, resulted in the construction and commissioning of a number of cruiser class vessels with widely varying operational mandates. This, unfortunately, occurred exactly at the same time as the debate regarding the feasibility of heavy and armoured cruisers as an inferior and unwanted juxtaposition with the previous generation of battlecruiser designs. The result, as evidenced by the budget bill of 2858 (HL 245.56-58/HC 370.56-58) was a massive allocation of available construction funds, to the tune of some sixty-eight billion pounds over the next ten years, away from procuring new scout and escort ships. Nearly twenty years on, the Service is feeling this operational hole in our inventory. Take for instance the policing of the trade lanes in the Draconis-Coma Berenices Sector, an area of responsibility shared by the Novoroysian Grand Ducal Navy and Task Force 18, both based out of HMSS Saintes in Novorosyia orbit. The Grand Ducal Navy, as a Royal Navy ancillary force, still use M and V class destroyers, the former being forty-five year old hulls, and the latter notorious for fusion reactor and coolant failures and subsequent costly repairs. TF 18 is barely better, with just twenty-two older destroyers and fourteen Spartan and Imphal scout cruisers, which can generously be called cruisers in name only, when compared to classes of comparable role in foreign navies and our own later designs. The single heavy ship of TF 18 is a frightfully obsolete Tiger class, the HMS Panther, and is more akin to an orbital command post than a man-of-war at this point. Permit me two final examples. On 16 January 2871 (relative) HMS Cockatrice and her crew experienced a critical overload of her two primary Misaki fusion bottles during a standard cruise in Lucidia. According to the report by Commander Constantine Rittmeister, this caused a further failure in the power governors, short-circuiting the fuel feed and electrical system. It was only due to the heroic effort of a Chief Petty Officer J. B. Ansangwar that the main reactors did not overload. Cockatrice is still not cleared for return to active patrol duty, undergoing shakedown cruises following a two-year refit. Lieutenant Commander Amelia E. A. de Lune, Lady Dawnshire, reported merely two months ago the complete loss of all thermals and grav-pulse sensors as the HMS Euphoria was readying to patrol the Nebuchadnezzar-Amaranth route, and the E class destroyer in question is still in dockyard on HMSS Sluys. These are solely two out of an increasing number of reports of malfunctions and shortcomings among our elderly light combatants. Just like the ships of the line they are intended to support, the light cruisers and destroyers of His Majesty¡¯s Navy are too old, too limited by outdated designs, and too thinly spread across a vast number of areas of responsibility. Ensuring the safety of the Auroran Merchant Navy and the civilian and mercantile vessels of our allies in the Royal Union are one of the paramount duties of the Royal Navy, and one that our dedicated men and women are carrying out diligently every day. The problem is that the Service¡¯s line of battle is composed of around one-hundred hulls, while the total number of cruisers, armoured, scout, light and heavy, total just south of two-hundred; destroyers one-twenty-eight. Apart from some newer ships, like the Shire, Daring, and Dido classes, their age is showing. The disparity among supporting ships to the line of battle is staggering, especially considering that a mere thirty-four new destroyers of the C class and fourteen light cruisers of the Emerald class are slated for construction, compared to the aforementioned twenty major ships of the line. This procurement policy is leading the Service ¨Cvery quickly I might add- down a path where it is not only unable to support its battle squadrons effectively with screens and scouting groups, but will simultaneously be woefully poorly equipped to patrol our kingdom¡¯s and the Union¡¯s borders, and protect our citizenry in space. Echoing the original closing statement in my article of December 2873, I urgently advise the creation of a dedicated committee with the express purpose of examining the procurement and commissioning policies of the past two decades in regards to maintaining a future battle fleet capable of carrying out all its intended missions satisfactorily, upon which I in this commentary have placed most emphasis on the average hull life expectancy and platform discrepancies. I am supremely confident that a joint committee set down by Admiralty, with their combined human resources, will ultimately produce a more eloquent and studious analysis than what I have provided. Admiral of the Red Alastair L. A. Carlisle, Marquess of S¨¦lincourt, CKA, DSO, UOM. * The arguments posited by Admiral Lord S¨¦lincourt are as astute and succinctly made as might readily be expected by an officer of his calibre, who has to date demonstrated nothing but continual dedication and gallant ability as a King¡¯s officer. Just like his previous article (c.f Royal United Services Institute Review, No.12 Dec, Vol.185, 2873), this commentary certainly does calls into question the problematic dissimilitude of the composition of the current battle fleet of the Royal Navy. However, despite His Lordship¡¯s eloquence and admirable zeal in pursuit of strengthening a perceived shortcoming of the Service, there appears to be a certain number of pragmatic issues and interstellar contextual considerations to which insufficient weight has been attached. As emphasised, the average age of platforms are reaching a point where it could be considered a problem requiring a solution for the long term, rather than refits in the short- to medium term. Yet the inescapable truth of the matter is the imbalance of shipbuilding and overall industrial capacity between the Kingdom of Aurora and the Independent Systems Alliance. For the Royal Navy to continue to enjoy ¡°a clear advantage over any other star nation in terms of naval capacity, especially in terms of total number of hulls of major ships of the line¡± as His Lordship puts it, the policy of maintaining a priority of line of battle construction is the only way to ensure the aforementioned numerical advantage. It also seems to have slipped Lord S¨¦lincourt¡¯s mind that the newly commissioned Warrior and soon-to-be constructed Vanguard battleships are qualitatively far superior to any other space combat platform; as has been the case for every Royal Navy warship at launch for four centuries. This logic follows then that even hulls that might be construed as ageing in terms of years since commissioning, are technologically and mechanically superior to any ship of equal weight class of comparable age; even younger ones at that. If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation. Regarding the matter of mercantile protection, it is potentially reproachful of me to merely suggest that His Lordship is perhaps conflating this current day and age with his youth serving with Her Grace the Duchess of Grey Hill on the Spindle and Three Sisters campaigns. While Lord S¨¦lincourt¡¯s exploits as part of the pirate-hunting armada of 2814-2821 are beyond admirable, it is falls to me to point out that the frontiers of our kingdom and our allies have not seen concerted buccaneering activity in multiple decades. These seem to be relegated to the edges of populated space, such as the Pegasii and Pannonia regions, in addition to less well-structured polities, like the Hydra Co-Prosperity League and the Jericho Confederacy. As such, the mercantile escort duties of our lighter combatants are indeed more show of force and ¡°flying the flag¡± than anything else. Therefore, the principal role of our escort class ships are to support the battle squadrons, which are currently in the process of modernisation through the ¡°BCF 100+80¡± Programme, and will by 2885 have increased the projected combat capabilities and operational longevity of current platforms by¡­ ¡°Fucking ¡®Nodding¡¯ Noel and his merry band of idiots over at Department of Ships, they surely cannot believe the crap they manage to eke out, but on the off chance they really do, I have a bridge I¡¯d like to sell them.¡± Alastair Lawrence Aur¨¦lien Carlisle, the Marquess of S¨¦lincourt, sipped tea with a disgusted scowl on his face. He put down the cup on the saucer hard, making the porcelain sing, but his guest seemingly paid no mind. For a salon in one of the most expensive Cordelia mansions (confusingly called ¡°apartments¡± by the well-off who owned them), the room where the two was enjoying afternoon tea was surprisingly modest in its furnishings. Like the cultural mores of Auroran society, the architecture and interior design of the upper classes imitated 18th century Great Britain and France, though with a few modern twists that were inescapable given the millennium that had passed since then. Some examples of this revived fashion were quite garish, but as a rule it was largely less ostentatious than the source of the imitation. The pale cedar floor featured a number of tasteful ne¨¹-Persian carpets in red and black, while the rest of the room was largely cream and alabaster with a smattering of gold details; the furniture largely made of blood-oak or Amaranthine mahogany. The pair was seated in deep upholstered chairs in front of a large second floor window, the low table between them hosting several silver trays with a myriad of pots and bowls, everything shining brilliantly as the low sun outside reflected off the meticulously polished metal. Alastair put up a hand to shield his eyes against the glare as he crossed his legs to resume his relaxed posture from before his brief outburst. He was almost two metres tall, quite slim but still gave off an aura of athleticism and fitness. His face was slightly triangular, with a marked jawline, a close beard and slicked back wavy hair. At one point in time both his beard and hair had been uniformly black, but after passing seventy, white strands had started to appear, and by now at one-hundred and five, black had turned into salt-and-pepper. But his ice blue eyes had lost none of the passion and fervour, and they were burning a white-hot fire of fury right now. Like his home, the clothes he wore were modest; a charcoal suit suited for the informal salon/lounge and a black necktie. His guest, on the other hand, wore the black and gold dress uniform of the Royal Auroran Navy. It was composed of a double-breasted tunic with golden buttons, lining and embroidery, a gold-and-black belt over a pair of black trousers and an ankle-length set of skirts split at the centre and back that rode over the legs of the trousers. The uniform was completed by long white gaiters over polished black boots. Officers¡¯ uniforms in the Royal Navy were tailored fit to the wearer, and the uniform hugged the shape of the slight woman wearing it perfectly without being suffocating. Alastair knew this well, he had about twenty variations of the same overall uniform in his wardrobe. The white-black peaked cap with gold embroidery of a senior officer hung from the arched back of the chair the woman was sitting in. She was clearly of Old Earth East Asian origins, with almond shaped eyes, long straight black hair tied in a regulation bun, and sharp but attractive facial features. Not nearly as tall as Alastair, she exuded the same physical energy despite having a seemingly frailer body. She delicately put the paper article she had been reading aloud from down on the table, and took a sip of her tea. ¡°I find it almost humorous that you expected something approaching a sensible answer from Koyanagi¡¯s cronies; this reads just like out of Sir Noel¡¯s pre-Admiralty think-tank summary articles. You have to be aware of the prestige for Koyanagi¡¯s school of thought and his ilk that they actually got parliamentary approval for their last ridiculous Naval Bill, just as it was confirmed they were leaving Admiralty House. As an aside, I must commend your taste in tea; this Nilgiri is exquisite.¡± Lord S¨¦lincourt snorted, half humorously, half in derision. He refilled his own cup with tea, adding a small drop of cream into it. ¡°Please, Lady Suncrest, don¡¯t remind me. I know all too well how the politics of the upper echelons of the Service works. I must express my apologies again for not leaving the seat warm for you, but I was only commander of Home Fleet for about fifteen minutes before Koyanagi found some bullshit reason to beach me.¡± ¡°That was the dictionary definition of a public relations move on Sir Damien¡¯s part. He spruced himself up delightfully for the photo shoots, and I think he actually managed to force a smile as he handed you the baton during the ceremony. The fact that he had to look up to salute you was hilarious though.¡± Countess Emily Chiang of Suncrest and Rubyvale chuckled and refilled her own teacup. ¡°Judging you to be unfit for command of Home Fleet because your wife was, and still is for that matter, fighting the good fight in the Lords to divert naval funding is borderline insanity though, and you know perfectly well the majority of senior officers are in agreement of this. It was, as you say, a bullshit reason, but only because Koyanagi couldn¡¯t stand having the most important station posting in the entire Service occupied by an outspoken critic. I¡¯m just glad we¡¯re literally counting the days until we can finally put a bow on Sir Damien ¡®Dawdling¡¯ Koyanagi¡¯s Admiralty administration. Sir Hugh is going to be a thoroughly enjoyable breeze of fresh air through Admiralty House.¡± Alastair ran a finger down the handle of his teacup, and made a sort of grunting noise. One of Chiang¡¯s eyebrows hiked up in puzzlement and she looked at him inquisitively. ¡°Surely you cannot be against Sir Hugh Donegal taking over for Koyanagi? I know he isn¡¯t exactly your biggest supporter, but at least he isn¡¯t actively trying to torpedo your career because of some perceived slight or sense of being outshone.¡± The tall nobleman shrugged in response. ¡°Of course I approve of Donegal taking charge of Admiralty, a literal wet napkin is better than Koyanagi, but he¡¯s a bit too much of a ¡®people person¡¯ for my taste. He has never had a ship command, and while I acknowledge his strengths at management and interpersonal relations, I still feel he is the wrong choice given the interstellar circumstances.¡± He sipped some tea, giving himself a bit of a break to mull over what to say next. Chiang simply looked at him expectantly. ¡°You didn¡¯t hear this from me, but the Elysians are ready to lay down their new Warlord class battleships. By the estimates our NavInt is able to unearth, they¡¯re on-par with our own Aurora class in tonnage and has a larger broadside, which means that Sir Noel Acciari¡¯s so-called qualitative superiority is holding on by the most strenuous of hairs. Thank God we have Lady Ashwike¡¯s supersized railcannons to give our battle fleet a distinct firepower advantage, because the Elysians are outpacing our own ships of the line when it comes to broadside gunnery, not to mention sheer numbers.¡± Now it was Chiang¡¯s turn to snort. ¡°While that is certainly news to me, and by the by, give my regards to Adrienne next time you see her and tell her she¡¯s slotted for Lady Admiral of Department of Intelligence when Donegal assumes office, but you¡¯re awfully wedded to the old adage of broadside weaponry. I know that you completed your education at King William¡¯s before the turn of the century¡­¡± She smirked and gave Alastair the tiniest of playful winks. ¡°But naval technology has actually improved quite a bit since you were a snotty ¡®left-enant¡¯ you know.¡± She waved a hand in a disarming gesture. ¡°I don¡¯t mean this in an insulting way or anything, but the past generation of warship design has really created a paradigm shift, one of them as you say the railcannons of Ashwike¡¯s design. In addition there¡¯s the improved electric shielding of major combatants. Previously electric shielding really only fooled DAI torpedoes and just-barely computerized railgun rounds, but the new shielding is able to completely fool dense torpedo screens and even large numbers of SAI fire-controlled railgun broadsides. That¡¯s not to say it¡¯s a panacea to avoid getting hit during gunnery duels, but the latest tech updates from TorArm and Dynaco promise a marked increase in electronic defensive measures. That comes in addition to Lady Ashwike¡¯s honeycomb-cum-absorbent armour layering that is becoming the norm among Royal Navy ships. Honeycombed bulkheads aren¡¯t exactly revolutionary, they¡¯ve been around since mankind started to mess around with large all-metal warships in the 20th century, but combined with an insular layer of barely-above freezing aerogel promises to be something that could genuinely save a lot of lives. Especially since shrapnel is the number one source of casualties in battles. You only have to take a single look at Lady New Acre for a reminder of that.¡± Alastair suppressed a shudder. Admiral of the Black Adeline Le Fey, Countess of New Acre, was widely held as the most capable fleet commander in the Royal Navy. Indeed, Alastair had favoured her as the new First Lady Admiral of the Admiralty, but more politically-minded voices had prevailed and Sir Hugh Donegal had been chosen. She was capable, aggressive almost to a fault, the hero of the Solus War, having quelled a system with only a heavy cruiser squadron. But she had paid the price for that; her right arm under the elbow was a black-silver titanium prosthetic, the price of charging into combat without properly securing your flag bridge. The same prosthetic was engraved with the names of the seven officers who died as the flag bridge glass was broken by enemy fire. Chapter 07 - Days of Erudition: Tea-time No:02 ¡°Anyway, as it stands,¡± Alastair continued after a sip of tea to collect his thoughts, ¡°the baton ceremony is going to be Friday forthcoming. I would love to watch Sir Damien Koyanagi in the eye as he is forced to hand over the keys of Admiralty to the one person he despises the most.¡± His ice-blue eyes glinted mischievously. ¡°Well, almost the person he despises the most. I guess I might challenge Sir Hugh for that spot. Sadly, a beached officer on half-pay is still persona non grata, seniority be damned. I¡¯ll have to settle for watching the stream.¡± Chiang scoffed. ¡°You¡¯re not far off the mark on the loathing part, I think. The fact that you actually have seen significant action, both in the Three Sisters and the Midwinter Intervention, not to mention the Spindle Thrusts, while Koyanagi was either a beachside staff officer or chained to his desk writing fiscal reports for the Department of Planning, that really sticks in his small-minded craw. Just look at how desperately he has tried to keep all of us who came up as junior officers under good old Duchess Grey Hill out of any significant postings at Admiralty for the two decades he¡¯s been allowed by the Powers That Be to run the show.¡± ¡°Well, he used that time pretty effectively, I¡¯d argue,¡± Alastair countered. ¡°While I was out there in the fringes, most of the time being bored out of my mind, he was gathering support among the Conservatives and pushing his goddamn ¡®First Strike School¡¯ doctrine on politicians and anxious bureaucrats who¡¯re somehow bred to have an innate fear of big numbers and break out in nervous sweats when they see the cost of a properly designed warship. I swear, sometimes I wonder how we¡¯ve managed to retain our naval supremacy when our society allows such morons to climb to the top of the political and military food chain.¡± Chiang blew air out of her nose. ¡°On the one hand, you¡¯re absolutely right, and on the other you¡¯re being more than a bit unfair. Sir Damien Koyanagi and his Admiralty administration certainly have made a lot of blunders, especially the whole ¡®First Strike¡¯ thing, which any field officer worth their salt could have told them was a bad idea from the start. No warship is ever going to carry enough chase weaponry to completely surpass the broadside, especially not when they latched on the idea of the ¡®torpedo cruiser¡¯, and just crammed as many torpedo launchers into as small a hull as they could manage. Thank the gods that Sir Morgan put the foot down and told Koyanagi and Acciari that the Aggressors are being mothballed indefinitely after their disastrous showing in the ¡¯67 war games. The flip side of the coin is that Koyanagi and his ilk has actually managed to expand and improve the Royal Navy¡¯s infrastructure tremendously. It was Sir Damien¡¯s idea to create HMSS Jutland in New Malta orbit, and the construction of HMSS Nile over Kitezh is coming along nicely, giving us an excellent base of operations in the south-west bordering the Alliance¡¯s Lorelei Pocket. And you have to admit, it was damn insightful and mature of him to recognise Lady Ashwike¡¯s talents and have her replace Charlotte Delaurier as Sixth Lady Admiral and head of Department of Research. I love Valentina, but my God is she a cantankerous one, so for Koyanagi to replace yes-woman Delaurier with Countess Valentina ¡®Fireball¡¯ Kirkland of Ashwike was actually damn impressive by Koyanagi¡¯s usual standards. And he accepted Sir Morgan Mizushima¡¯s appointment as Commander-in-Chief Fleet pretty gracefully all things considered, especially since it was a political decision pushed through by none other than Duchess Grey Hill in the Lords.¡± Alastair absentmindedly scratched his beard. ¡°You¡¯re making a lot of sense, and it is sort of making me uncomfortable. This is still the man who managed to convince the Naval Affairs Committee to commit forty per cent of our future line of battle to battlecruiser designs because they are, quote; ¡®tactically, strategically and fiscally the warships of the future¡¯, with no regards as to supporting them with heavy and light cruisers. He¡¯s way too under the influence of Sir Noel Acciari and the ideas of the late Winston Shersterkin regarding the potential future of the line of battle, and the notion that the battlecruiser as a class is a sort of panacea that will realistically bridge the gap between cruisers and true battleships and at the same time fill the battlespace role of all these at once. The assumption is lunacy, and it might as well be¡­¡± His thoughts were cut short as a squeal of recognition and joy grazed their ears. ¡°Lady Em!¡± a cheerful voice shouted suddenly. Chiang barely had time to get up from her chair to receive the heartfelt embrace of Adea Sophia Carlisle-St. Eiron, just returned from classes at Queen Marie¡¯s Metropolitan University, still wearing her grey uniform. ¡°Oh my,¡± the admiral barely managed to eke out before suffering the powerful vice of the much younger woman¡¯s embrace, ¡°you¡¯ve certainly grown, little Aditsa! It feels like just a few years ago you were riding your first horse and taking your first tentative lessons on astrophysics.¡± Extricating herself, Chiang held Adea by the shoulders and looked her straight in the eye, examining Adea like only a sometime relative or family friend could. ¡°And here you are, wearing a university uniform. My, how the years sometimes seem to just fly by. The precocious little girl is all grown up now, I see¡± The physical discrepancy between the two was certainly astounding; Adea was visibly more muscular and a fair bit taller, while Chiang looked like she had been born in the black-and-gold uniform she wore. About seventy years separated the two, Adea having just turned nineteen a few months ago and Chiang was about to celebrate her ninety-first birthday soon. Still, Chiang didn¡¯t look very much older than her mid-thirties. Medical science had evolved a lot over the centuries following humanity¡¯s exodus from their cradle; slowing the decay of the body¡¯s cellular structure was a routine medical procedure that was even available in pill form these days. Most people could expect to live at least past two-hundred, and pushing past three-hundred was common enough. Of course, there were worlds in the settled galaxy with extreme religious ideologies that decried modern medicine as the product of devilry, but these were thankfully, from a moral point of view, few and far between. Yet despite the age gap, the two were still magically almost on the same wave-length, and Chiang quickly picked up on the energy the much younger woman was emanating. ¡°Hm, I see,¡± Chiang said at length, mouth curving into a lop-sided smile, ¡°you have some news to tell your father.¡± She waved a hand as Adea made a face to protest and leaned in closer, whispering almost conspiratorially. ¡°I won¡¯t pry, and you should trust your auntie to keep her secrets. Just remember if you can¡¯t tell your Mama, or your friends, you always have Lady Em to call if things get complicated.¡± Chiang winked mischievously and Adea swallowed hard, very uncomfortable and very cognizant of the fact that her father was present. ¡°Thank you, Lady Suncrest,¡± Adea said very formally while making a courteous bow, ¡°I will surely take that into consideration.¡± She turned toward her father, who was wearing a half-smirking expression, legs comfortably crossed. ¡°But in the meantime, father, I have something to tell you.¡± ¡°I am bracing myself for the most egregious of news,¡± Lord Alastair said while making an overly exaggerated impression of falling unconscious in his chair, to which his daughter responded with a sarcastic guffaw. ¡°You¡¯re not nearly as humorous as you think you are, dear Papa,¡± she said in an icy tone and crossed her arms over her chest, while Alastair put a hand to his chest in faux-injury. ¡°Oh dear daughter of mine,¡± he said in such dramatic tones to make both Chiang and Adea chuckle, ¡°how could you conspire to wound me such? Have I not provided you with everything one could desire? What more could a youth of a mere nineteen want from her old father?¡± Adea smirked and put her hands behind her back. ¡°Well, I have been invited out onto the town tomorrow by Valerio Greco and a few other friends¡­¡± She noted the sudden squint in her father¡¯s eyes. ¡°Not to worry, I told the lot I¡¯m willing to pay for the drinks, you won¡¯t have the tabloid sites going ¡®estranged son of shadow defence secretary paying for Lord and Lady S¨¦lincourt daughter¡¯s tabs; personal solvency on the horizon?¡¯ I¡¯m not stupid enough to fall for that sort of trap, and you should know better.¡± The last sentence was delivered with a bit of acid. ¡°Well, money shouldn¡¯t be a problem,¡± Lord S¨¦lincourt said, now serious and sitting forward in his chair, ¡°unless ¡®a few other friends¡¯ refers to the whole damn campus.¡± His eyes turned milder. ¡°Actually, with the allowance that me and your mother give you, I think you perhaps could have paid the tabs for your whole cohort¡­¡± Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere. Adea drew in a sharp breath. ¡°Certainly not, Papa,¡± she protested, ¡°and you know I am being quite frugal with my allowance. I have only spent, oh I don¡¯t know, forty per cent of what I got last month.¡± ¡°You are aware,¡± Chiang shot in while smiling lopsidedly after a sip of now lukewarm tea, ¡°that forty per cent of that princely sum you both refer to as an ¡®allowance¡¯ would house, feed, and clothe a regular Auroran family of five for a year?¡± ¡°Oh pish,¡± Alastair countered, ¡°that¡¯s an exaggeration. Certainly, it is most unbecoming of a peer¡¯s daughter to not be able to live accordingly to the means of her family. The S¨¦lincourt estate in New Devon was created more than six centuries ago, the Darkmoor estates in New Ontario five-and-a half; both retained in their respective families for the entirety of the period. The stipend Adea receives should reflect that at least.¡± ¡°Remind me,¡± Chiang said somewhat icily, ¡°Marquess S¨¦lincourt, Earl High Cross, Baron Charleroi, how much land do you actually own and what is the revenue from all the tenants, industry, and agricultural output from those lands, and the pay-off of your considerable Cordelia Exchange investments?¡± Alastair had squirmed a bit when Chiang had started listing off all his titles, very cognizant of how it sounded, and opted for answering her question with only half the truth. This was for several reasons. Alastair Carlisle was an old-fashioned aristocrat, part of the more socially conservative breed and for him and those likeminded, it was simply not done to speak of money; it was vulgar and reflected materialism that was unbecoming. Flaunting wealth obscenely was just as frowned upon, but it was also expected that the peers maintained themselves respectably and at a certain standard. Many of the up-jumped jeune noblesse were obsessed with wealth, earning them the scorn of the commoners, the country esquires and, somewhat paradoxically, the ones with senior pedigrees and both more and older money. This was a necessity in order to preserve the political balance and good conduct of the Kingdom, but had a tendency to create social ice-fronts. In terms of behaviour, the esquires of the country ¨Cconsiderably less affluent than the proper aristocracy¨C had much more in common with the upper crust like S¨¦lincourt. The other reason why said lord was unwilling to divulge his exact income, was for the simple reason that he didn¡¯t want his daughter to exactly know since she was a second child, and not the first in line to inherit the vast S¨¦lincourt estates. ¡°I actually do not know, it sort of blurs together a bit, but it certainly exceeds a few hundred million pounds a year. Mind you, large part of that is taxed and reinvested into the estates themselves. I¡¯ll have you know I am the main contributor to the new general hospital in High Cross. I do not cash out everything, quite far from it, so don¡¯t go wagging your finger at me, My Lady. Besides, it¡¯s not like you yourself are short a bob or two.¡± Sipping tea, Chinag was unperturbed. ¡°That is irrelevant to the conversation; I merely wished to point out the vast difference between your family¡¯s station and the other citizens of this kingdom.¡± ¡°My Lady, you own estates on both Aurora and Angevin, including a massive vineyard and distillery that I know for a fact is the cornerstone industry in the town of Athton-sur-Mere in Findias. You¡¯re in the same boat as the rest of us.¡± Chiang smirked slightly and put down her now empty teacup, while Alastair sighed. ¡°Back to you, my dear,¡± he said, turning to his daughter who had pulled up a chair and joined them, but did not opt for tea, ¡°what other people than Lord Howeland¡¯s youngest are you going out with?¡± ¡°Sandy, for one,¡± she answered, ¡°and certainly a few of Valerio¡¯s friends, and since we¡¯re going to the Pale Peacock, there¡¯s bound to be a few more from my circle there. I believe Georgiana and Narissara were thinking of joining. And then there¡¯s this one boy that I met during classes today that I sort of roped into joining to even out the numbers a bit. Plus he seemed passably agreeable.¡± ¡°Please, remind me,¡± her father interrupted, ¡°who were Narissara¡¯s people again? And this new acquaintance¡¯s for that matter.¡± Adea fidgeted a bit with her skirt. ¡°Narissara is the daughter of the New Lucknows, I don¡¯t believe you¡¯ve met her directly, but we got to know each other during the Season at Athelney three years ago. Georgiana Assiotis-Percy you of course remember, but as for Edward¡­ Well, he¡¯s a commoner, from outside Persephone on Amaranth, and taking a major in classical piano.¡± ¡°Oh-ho,¡± Chiang exclaimed, ¡°he has exquisite taste, and quite brave choice of programme in this current climate. I wish him luck finding steady work after completing his studies; not many orchestras are hiring soloists these days.¡± ¡°I defer to your superior knowledge on that subject, Lady Emily,¡± Alastair said before focusing on Adea again, ¡°but are you sure you want to go out on the town alongside a boy you¡¯ve just met, and a commoner at that?¡± He was rewarded with a withering glare from Adea, and he held up his hands defensively. ¡°I do not mean anything disparaging by that, like it is beneath your station, you know me far too well for that. I jostle elbows with people from all standings and worlds all day in my line of work, your new friend¡¯s lack of pedigree does not bother me one bit. What I meant to say is that the Pale Peacock isn¡¯t exactly your usual pub, and he¡¯ll be surrounded by people you just mentioned, young Lady New Lucknow, Assiotis-Percy, the third son of Lord Howeland, the same Howeland who will in all likelihood become Secretary of Defence come next election¡­¡± ¡°He acquitted himself admirably when faced with Lady de Vere earlier today, so I believe he¡¯ll at least have a fighting chance of pulling through alright.¡± Alastair¡¯s shoulders tensed a bit. ¡°You met Trewellynshire¡¯s child again? How did it go this time around?¡± ¡°About as well one could expect,¡± Adea shrugged, ¡°she made an ass of me in front of the class in ¡®Post-Exodus Political History¡¯ because I in the heat of the moment forgot to mention the creation of the monarchy.¡± ¡°A bit of an oversight,¡± Chiang said, her tone playful, ¡°wouldn¡¯t you say?¡± Adea shrugged again. ¡°I was going to get to it eventually, but little Miss Punctilious had to have her pound of flesh, so to speak. Anyway, we had a brief encounter outside the history building, which Edward was an awkward witness to, but he had the good graces to not pry. Altogether he seems like a likeable fellow, and Sandy certainly likes him, which are credentials enough for me.¡± ¡°Speaking of the monarchy,¡± Alastair said, ¡°have you talked to Her Royal Highness recently? How is she doing?¡± ¡°I was talking to her just before said class today actually. As to her condition, she still looked dreadfully pale to me, but that might just be to lack of exposure to the sun. She insisted she was going to take part in the next interuniversity show jumping against University of New Toronto, and apparently have had extensive training on both Rhododendron and Morgana while recuperating. If she¡¯s as fit as she claims, Valerie might be getting back to something approximating full health, at least by her standards.¡± ¡°Poor girl,¡± Chiang shot in, ¡°she has not had an easy go of things so far in life, despite being born into such circumstances. For the sake of her health and well-being, I¡¯m almost glad she¡¯s fourth in line to the throne, with three healthy and capable elder brothers.¡± ¡°Indeed,¡± Alastair agreed, ¡°the strain of the crown might have broken her in the end. I don¡¯t doubt Valerie¡¯s mind and spirit, but she has always been a frail child.¡± Emily Chiang fished out her handcom from an inner pocket in her black-gold tunic, tapped it to life and sighed. ¡°As lovely as this has been, I am afraid I have to be going. I need to return to orbit for a Home Fleet staff meeting.¡± ¡°Are you still flying the flag from Resolution?¡± Alastair asked, getting up as Chiang was starting to stir, civility ingrained into his muscle memory. The other admiral shook her head while smiling. ¡°No, I changed it to Warspite last week. I don¡¯t know how you could stand the small flag quarters on Resolution, the new Warrior classes are so much larger and capable, not to mention having some proper decent admiral quarters. I even have my own small bar and a lounge for entertainment of guests. You should visit some time.¡± Alastair chuckled. ¡°Sir Hugh has to reinstate me to active duty before I¡¯m allowed back on board one of His Majesty¡¯s fighting ships. And before you know it, Aditsa here will be joining us both, she¡¯s joining King William¡¯s Academy after she gets her degree.¡± Adea straightened up in her chair at that, puffing out her chest ever so slightly and Chiang chuckled. ¡°With how time seems to fly, I¡¯m sure it won¡¯t be long before I see you out there in the void, Aditsa.¡± ¡°Speaking of entertainment,¡± Alastair said as Chiang put on her brimmed cap and straightened her uniform, ¡°you¡¯re more than welcome to join our box at the Royal Cordelia Opera this Sunday, if you aren¡¯t detained in orbit. Adea will be there as well, along a few others.¡± ¡°Who?¡± Adea shot in in a worried tone, ¡°because if it¡¯s the Keyes again, I might jump off the balcony and onto stage headfirst. Zachary Keyes might be the most boring twenty year-old in the entire Kingdom, and he has next to no manners.¡± ¡°Very much unlike present company, I assume,¡± Alastair said while grinning, ¡°but no, it¡¯s the Mortimers, which means you can relax and enjoy the opera.¡± ¡°Thank you,¡± Chiang said, on her way out the lounge door, which had been opened by a hitherto invisible footman in black livery, ¡°I might take you up on that offer, just to meet your new ward. She¡¯s rumoured to be quite the handful.¡± Adea sprang up from her chair. ¡°New ward? She? What is this, Papa?¡± Alastair Carlisle looked like someone had slapped him, and akin to a deer in headlight he turned back to his daughter. ¡°Ah, Aditsa, there¡¯s a little thing that I have forgotten to tell you. You¡¯re going to have a live-in sister of sorts from now on.¡± Emily Chiang affected a hasty retreat out the door and down the hallways as the footman closed the lounge door to block out the sudden angry teenage protestations. They carried on for a good while. Chapter 08 - Days of Erudition: Military Quadrille ¡°Battalion, ord-eeer, ARMS!¡± The shout had barely left the officer¡¯s mouth before seven-hundred-and-forty aramipolymer rifle butts smacked into the cobblestones of the large square, and thirty-eight finely polished steel blades were lowered towards the ground. ¡°Battalion, slooo-pe, ARMS!¡± The same number of long-barrelled pulse rifles was lifted from the ground by white-gloved hands and in three distinct motions were placed on the right shoulders of navy blue uniforms with golden epaulets. ¡°Battalion, pres-eeent, ARMS!¡± 1st Battalion, Grand Duke of Novorosyia¡¯s (King Edward III¡¯s) Own Royal Marine Light Infantry Regiment (5th) smartly brought their guns from slope positions and held them out in front of their chests, while taking a half step back with their right feet, whilst the officers held their long, thin swords vertically in front of their faces. The full honour guard battalion was dressed in high collar navy blue tunics and trousers, with red detailing on the cuffs and trouser lining, white belts, and wore white peaked caps adorned with the golden globe and anchor that had been worn by the original regiment from which they claimed descent since 1704 CE. However, if examined closely enough, one would note that the original ¡°MARE¡± in the crest¡¯s motto had been changed for ¡°ASTRUM¡±, and the wreathed golden globe showed the continents of Aurora, not Earth. As the Royal Marines presented weapons in honour of the assembly on the large parade square in front of Admiralty House, an even more spectacularly dressed Royal Marine band played up, and the jaunty tunes of the ¡°Royal Navy Praesentiermarsch¡± sang out, a quick and uplifting march. The Royal Marines occupied the centre of the walled parade ground, while around them on all angles were Royal Navy personnel in their black and gold ceremonial dress uniforms, formed into ordered lines. As soon as the march started to play, the Royal Navy officers and enlisted came to attention, smartly snapping white-gloved hands to the brim of their berets or peaked caps. If the upper crust calling their capital city mansions ¡°apartments¡± was a gross understatement, deciding on the name Admiralty House for the gigantic Neo-Georgian palace in the middle of downtown Cordelia was even more absurd. Esplanades of marble columns, terraces, balconies and expansive staircases dominated the massive structure, all in a golden grey colour regularly interspersed by the many hundreds of windows with their tall arches. The cobblestoned parade ground in front of the majestic quadruple blood-oak door main entrance could hold thousands, ensconced as it was by decorated walls on the far side, and by wings of the Admiralty building on the remainder. The whole Admiralty complex was situated at the northern end of Admiralty Park, the fourth largest park in Cordelia, and it buttressed the Quarters district, where St. Andrew Palace and the Royal Courts were located, in addition to most of the department houses for the different branches of government. This entire part of Cordelia, located just a few miles east and up-river for the Cordelia Tether Island ¨Cwhich served as a natural foci for the city as a whole¨C was dominated by its many parks and man-made recreational lakes, with private mansions dotted among the landscape. It really was an escape from the rest of the metropolis, no monorail lanes or skycar landing towers existed within this bubble of classical splendour. Admiralty Park was a popular leisure spot for the people of Cordelia, taking strolls along the footpaths, watching the tame swans and Auroran water-waxwings, or simply taking a break from the hustle and bustle by walking among copses of both adapted Earth trees and flowers, as well as local Auroran flora. And dominating the skyline of this magnificent green meadow was the impressive Admiralty House, from where the largest space navy in the known galaxy was administered. The band finished the first march, and launched into ¡°Battotai¡±, a decidedly different piece of music, and the Royal Marines snapped back into the shoulder arms position at the shouted order of their lieutenant-colonel. Stepping out in perfect lockstep from the lines of Royal Navy officers in front of the main entrance, directly facing the honour guard, were a group of strikingly dressed officers, the amount of gold details and embroidery put all the others to shame, and they all carried sheathed swords in gilded scabbards. From the left of the main entrance, another group of Royal Navy officers came marching, equally splendidly adorned. The two groups met in front of the Royal Marines and exchanged sharp salutes, all the while the repetitive tunes of ¡°Battotai¡± continued. The air was veritably humming with Dumb Artificial Intelligence (DAI) drones busy streaming the whole ceremony to a myriad of net channels. ¡°Sir Hugh,¡± the man leading the first group said. ¡°Sir Damien,¡± the man in the middle of the second group responded. No one but the two dozen or so officers nearby could hear the exchange, and they pretended that nothing was out of the ordinary. ¡°I see you brought Lord S¨¦lincourt with you today. Bit of a faux pas allowing a half-pay officer into an official ceremony like this, wouldn¡¯t you say?¡± Sir Damien Koyanagi was of middling height, with a receding hairline that he tried to cover the best he could with headwear, and keen brown eyes. Sir Hugh Fitzroy Donegal was slightly taller, with thinning chestnut hair and a regulation-cut chestnut beard. His frame was more robust than his counterpart, and not nearly as athletic as Lady Emily Chiang who stood a few paces to his left. His eyes were impressively sea green, usually the first thing people made note of when meeting him up close; they always shone with both humour and determination. ¡°Actually, Sir Damien, S¨¦lincourt is here by invitation of Lady Ashwike, and I believe it would be a very poor start indeed to our future working relationship by refusing her request to have a friend attend the baton ceremony.¡± Something flickered in Koyanagi¡¯s eyes and he extended his hand to keep up appearances and keep the quadrille of military parade and ostentation moving. ¡°I take it you¡¯re retaining Ashwike as Sixth Lady then.¡± It wasn¡¯t a question and Donegal didn¡¯t answer. ¡°A good choice if you want my opinion, though I don¡¯t presume you very much do. But you could have chosen a much worse Admiral of Research than her. I take it these are to be your senior Admiralty and station commanders then?¡± Koyanagi made a slight nod towards the group of officers that had accompanied Donegal, and this time the new First Lord Admiral did answer. ¡°Yes, I have chosen Lord Lowe Hill as Second Lord and Admiral of Planning, Dame Vanessa Howards as head of Personnel, Sir Reginald Templeton as Admiral of Ships, Adrienne Bower-Henton as Lady Spook, and will be keeping Lady Ashwike in Research as well as Sir Cornelius McIndoe as Judge Advocate General. And Sir Morgan Mizushima of course.¡± Koyanagi blinked a few times as they finished their shake and saluted each other again. ¡°That is actually a lot more, and you¡¯ll forgive the choice of word, conservative group of people than I expected out of you, Sir Hugh. I was sure you were going to bring some absolute hothead in with you, like that damn loose cannon Harper-Rowland or New Acre, if nothing to keep the Grey Hill crowd pleased.¡± Donegal smiled lopsidedly. ¡°You haven¡¯t seen who I am proposing as fleet and station commanders yet. If you had, I don¡¯t think you¡¯d be saying that. Let¡¯s just say Hartcastle, Suncrest, New Acre, Kuznetsova, and S¨¦lincourt are all going back to active postings.¡± A grimace cut across Koyanagi¡¯s face for a moment before resuming his mask of civility. ¡°I say, that¡¯s more like what I would expect from you and your lot. Lord Grantham of Hartcastle and Lady Chiang I can understand, but Kuznetsova and New Acre? I certainly won¡¯t deny that New Acre has tremendous frontline experience, but even you have to admit she has a tendency to be too, for lack of a better term, trigger-happy. And let¡¯s not even open the can of worms that is Erica Kuznetsova; putting that woman in charge of a fleet is an international incident waiting to happen.¡± ¡°Sir Damien,¡± Donegal said with as a polite smile he was able to muster, ¡°I will not insult your intelligence by pointing out that all these officers are splendid and proven commanders who have long track records of excellent service, but I will politely hint to our political differences and ascribe your opinions to stem from these. I will also be keeping your man Sir Andr¨¦ Choudhry on in Novorosyia at the time being, if that is any consolation.¡± While the two had been talking, the other senior officers of the two groups had been saluting, exchanged handshakes, and were chatting lowly under the sound of the band playing. S¨¦lincourt, while mentioned by name, was standing off among the other Royal Navy officers, who were still saluting, wearing the same black-gold ceremonial uniform as the others, but without his sword to indicate he was not currently on active posting. The music died down and the two groups of senior officers straightened into at ease, the rest of the soldiers on the ground doing the same, and once more a resounding clack reverberated as the Royal Marines¡¯ rifle butts hit the cobblestones. A drone came swooping in and hovered just above Sir Damien Koyanagi and a score of loudspeaker drones came to life with a pop. ¡°I hereby,¡± Koyanagi said clearly, his voice amplified and broadcast over the loudspeaker drones, ¡°transfer command and control of His Majesty King Nicholas I¡¯s Royal Navy to the new First Lord of Admiralty, Sir Hugh F. Donegal. May you serve His Majesty and all his subjects diligently and to the utmost of your abilities for as long as you remain First Lord. May you safeguard our allies and our citizens in space, and preserve the integrity and honour of His Majesty¡¯s Service. May God aid you in this endeavour.¡± The last comment prompted Donegal to sharply salute Koyanagi again, and the first three bars of the ¡°Praesentiermarsch¡± were played again by the Royal Marine band. Koyanagi continued as the music stopped. ¡°As is honoured tradition, the new First Lord Admiral is allowed to choose their own motto, which commonly reflects the personality of the new First Lord, as well as their new Admiralty administration. My chosen motto was Aere perennius, ¡®More lasting than bronze¡¯, and I have during my tenure tried to adhere to that adage by expanding the Royal Navy¡¯s network of bases and supply depots, as well as reworking the structure of the line of battle in order to create a strong foundation for future augmentation. May I ask, Sir Hugh, what your motto will be?¡± Donegal straightened a bit. ¡°Sir, the motto for me and my administration will be Si vic pacem, para bellum, ¡®If you want peace, prepare for war¡¯.¡± A barely perceptible stir emanated from the gathered troops, but no one broke At Ease position. Koyanagi barely blinked; no doubt he had seen it coming. ¡°Sir Hugh, as you are the new commander of His Majesty¡¯s Navy, I ask permission to be dismissed.¡± ¡°Sir Damien,¡± Donegal replied, ¡°thank you for your long service as First Lord Admiral, and may I express my gratitude for the incessant work and incredible devotion you have displayed as His Majesty¡¯s servant. You are dismissed.¡± This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there. As Donegal and Koyanagi saluted each other, the Royal Marine band struck up an ancient tune that had only a few words in the lyrics changed since its premiere in 1760 CE. To the exuberant and fervid notes of ¡°Heart of Oak¡±, the whole parade square saluted again, and the groups of senior officers marched off in lockstep to where the other had started from; Donegal and his to the main entrance, and Koyanagi¡¯s to the left of the square, incidentally right where Lord S¨¦lincourt stood. Koyanagi flashed him an irritated look, but the marquess didn¡¯t bother responding. As ¡°Heart of Oak¡± died down, the band started playing ¡°Life on the Ocean Wave¡±, and to the shouts of their lieutenant-colonel, the soldiers of 1st Bat, Grand Duke of Novorosyia¡¯s Royal Marines trailed arms and started to file out of the parade square in ordered marching columns, led by the band in front. The Royal Navy personnel remained at ease until the last of the honour guard had quit the grounds before many of them started to march away as well, while others filed into the Admiralty buildings. The drone cameras were shutting down, and the streams cutting out, sparing the viewers from watching Lord S¨¦lincourt flipping the bird to Koyanagi as the latter got into a waiting black staff skycar.
¡°Well, that went actually a lot better than expected,¡± Lady Ashwike said as she sloshed the contents of her Valhallan crystal glass around. Admiral of the Red Valentina Kirkland, Countess Ashwike, was very tall, with wavy blonde hair, and a heart-shaped face. She had all the hallmark traits of the old Kirkland dynasty, tall cheekbones, a long neck and eyes like dark blue pools. The Kirklands were one of the oldest of the old and prestigious Auroran noble families, descended from the first generation of colonists. Valentina Kirkland was not the head of the main branch of the family, that¡¯s how large and rich the family was; their main seat was not Ashwike, but the Marquisate of Flowerhall, a grand summer palace built in the early 2410¡¯s, and the vast tracts of land that accompanied it was famed for its pristine beauty. Valentina was instead the countess of the smaller Ashwike Abbey, located near the S¨¦lincourt estates in New Devon. The noblewoman¡¯s every movement oozed confidence and a quiet sort of unstated superiority, making such a simple task as moving a glass seem sophisticated. Lady Ashwike was unusually young for her rank; she had just celebrated her sixty-eighth birthday, while the average age for a full admiral in the Royal Navy was hovering around one-hundred. Unlike most of the people in the richly decorated Admiralty drawing room, Ashwike had never commanded a ship; she had done a few tours during her younger days as quartermaster and intelligence officer, but most of her career she had spent behind a desk at Admiralty House or at Admiralty Palace on New Malta. ¡°I almost believed Koyanagi would have included some barb or veiled insult in his transfer address, but apparently the man has a bit more integrity than I gave him credit for.¡± She nipped her Summer Isle cognac and made a sound of contentment. The person seated in the large upholstered chair Ashwike was leaning her arm on scoffed. ¡°You don¡¯t seem to harbour much respect for your former employer, Lady Ashwike,¡± Adrienne Bower-Henton said, while refilling her glass of Angevin ros¨¦. Vice Admiral of the White Bower-Henton was the diminutive and dark eyed freshly appointed Fifth Lady Admiral, the Head of the Department of Intelligence. As she turned to regard the much taller Ashwike, her brown ponytailed hair dashed around her gilded uniform epaulets. ¡°You certainly owe Koyanagi at least a semblance of gratitude for taking you on for the past six years, despite the very public political disagreements between the two of you. And for the fact that he has let you have almost unchecked liberty when it comes to prototype research. I seem to remember you benefiting quite a bit from that when you managed to get the next generation of COGAF engines into the mass production stage.¡± ¡°Adrienne,¡± Donegal warned, ¡°please don¡¯t push it, you¡¯ve been colleagues for barely an hour and I won¡¯t have you picking fights already. Let¡¯s bury the axe already and concentrate on making the next ten years a productive and successful period in Royal Navy and Auroran history." ¡°Hear, hear!¡± Lord S¨¦lincourt commented, standing by the drawing room window with a glass of cognac, ¡°let¡¯s have a cheer for Sir Hugh and the next ten years. Finally someone with actual brains is running this goddamn navy, and I for one am more than willing to drink to that.¡± Replies of ¡°cheers¡±, ¡°hear, hear¡±, and ¡°salut¡± came from the rest of the gathered officers. ¡°Now,¡± Lady Chiang said after draining her glass of New Forest whisky, ¡°what is first on the agenda for the new Admiralty? Obviously a massive personnel clean-up is in order, that much is clear, but after that I mean.¡± ¡°You tell me,¡± Dame Vanessa Howards scoffed, ¡°Department of Personnel is filled with people who don¡¯t know their arses from their elbows, either because they¡¯re improperly trained or because they knew someone who knew someone in the previous administration and are paying their favours back.¡± More than one person had described Admiral of the White Vanessa Howards as ¡°dour¡±, and it was a very apt description of the tall, gaunt, and stern-looking officer, who invariably kept her greying auburn hair in a tight regulation bun, both on and off duty. She also abstained from alcohol, and had a glass of iced tea on a small table next to her chair. ¡°I swear, the summaries my aides and I have received in preparation for taking over the department is nothing but a confusing mess. There seems to be an abnormally high number of beached officers, many of them senior enough to warrant ship- or station command¡­¡± S¨¦lincourt gave her a little wave from the other side of the room, as did Lady New Acre, who was standing next to him. ¡°¡­ And the projected number of enlisted personnel finishing specialisation training on shore establishments like Cumberland and New Saxony are well low of the mark required to crew the next generation of ships coming off drydock, not to mention additionally replacing retiring troops. And the less said about the number of graduates from King William¡¯s Academy annually, the better.¡± ¡°Well, that¡¯s why we have you here, Dame Vanessa,¡± New Acre said with an accompanying hand gesture with her black-and-silver prosthetic. Admiral of the Black Adeline le Fey, Countess of New Acre, was of average height for an Angevin woman (shorter than the Auroran average), with a quite triangular face and fiery red hair that reminded Carlisle of his daughter¡¯s. Stretching up to her right elbow joint, her prosthetic was almost a piece of art, made from titanium and coated in a matte black with vines and flowers inlaid in silver that stretched like ivy across the length of the forearm. In the palm of her hand were engraved the names of the seven officers who had lost their lives in the same engagement she had lost her limb. Despite her fierce reputation and somewhat sinister look, she was a soul of joviality and good humour, and was a rabid fan of comic operas. ¡°If anyone,¡± New Acre continued after a hearty swig of her cognac, ¡°has the ability to unfuck whatever the hell Koyanagi¡¯s boys and girls were up to here on the House, it¡¯s you Dame Vanessa. And possibly Sir Morgan, now that he doesn¡¯t have Koyanagi protesting in his ear every time he tries to make a decision. Speaking of, where is the good Sir Morgan? Is he sleeping yesterday off somewhere instead of being here at the ceremony?¡± Donegal gave her an admonishing glare over the top of his wine glass. ¡°No, Lady New Acre, he isn¡¯t ¡®sleeping it off¡¯, he has been detained at United Services Headquarters, because Duke New Brunswick wants assurances that we won¡¯t try to expropriate more of the collective defence budget overages.¡± ¡°He does know the Royal Navy is funded separately from the Royal Army, right?¡± Ashwike said somewhat incredulously. ¡°I¡¯m sure he does, Lady Ashwike,¡± Donegal replied, ¡°but you¡¯ll pardon the good duke for doing his due diligence when it comes to budgetary matters, especially since it isn¡¯t exactly a secret that we all belong to the part of the ¡®Fisherian School¡¯ of the Royal Navy, and that I¡¯ve publically many times promised a marked increase in ship production. And since there is a collective overage and supplementary budget allocated to the United Services as a whole, I can understand that New Brunswick might think we¡¯ll be running off with the lot of it.¡± ¡°As if the Lobsters need more funding,¡± Lord Lowe Hill said contemptuously, ¡°what are they going to spend their extra money on, more tanks? Tanks that haven¡¯t been used in anger for more than a century?¡± Admiral of the White Lord Anthony Rostov of Lowe Hill was the newly appointed Second Lord and in charge of the Department of Planning. Rostov was slightly portly, both a combination of unfortunate genetics as well as a largely sedentary lifestyle. He was also extremely conscious of how he presented himself, and his uniform managed somehow to have more golden embroidery than the rest of the assembled officers¡¯, and his brown beard was slightly forked in what he considered a debonair style. Having spent his entire career as either a quartermaster, flag operations officer, or in some way attached to rear area services in Admiralty, Rostov was supremely convinced that the Department of Planning was the beating heart that kept the rest of the Royal Navy, and by extension the Kingdom, alive. The other admirals might concede that he was technically correct, given that Planning operated the vast Royal Navy Auxiliary, the King William¡¯s Naval Academy, the shore establishments, the naval space stations, the supply depots, the naval hospitals, the Judge Advocate General¡¯s legal division, the Naval Provost¡¯s division, and a load of other bureaus, it still didn¡¯t make Lord Rostov¡¯s trademark arrogant demeanour easier to tolerate. Still, he was incredibly good at his job, which was why he had been Donegal¡¯s first choice as Second Lord. ¡°I swear, the fact that we aren¡¯t folding the Army into the Royal Marines is beyond¡­¡± ¡°Please, Lord Rostov,¡± Chiang interrupted, ¡°we¡¯re not having this discussion again, and I¡¯m sure I am not the only one in this room that is of the opinion that the Royal Army have roles and responsibilities that the Royal Navy or Royal Marines cannot complete. And let¡¯s leave it at that for the time being.¡± ¡°As you say, Lady Suncrest,¡± Lowe Hill conceded grumpily, ¡°and if I may, Dame Vanessa,¡± he said while turning to the flinty woman to his right, ¡°we¡¯ll soon sort out those training issues, you have my word on that. I have been sounding out a few friends in Parliament about establishing a second naval academy on either Amaranth or Cymru. And to get it up and running quickly, I was planning on sounding you out about taking some of the more capable of the old fogies Koyanagi had assigned to ship- and station command, in addition to some of those beached officers you just mentioned, and make them the training staff for this new establishment. It will of course take time to establish a completely new naval academy from scratch, but in this way the first few graduating cohorts wouldn¡¯t be qualitatively inferior to the King William graduates.¡± ¡°I didn¡¯t think I¡¯d be saying this,¡± Bower-Henton commented, ¡°but that is actually a pretty good idea, Lowe Hill.¡± ¡°And it might,¡± S¨¦lincourt shot in, ¡°be something that can be accepted across the aisles in Parliament, especially in the Commons. No idea what the Tories might vote in the Lords, but the Unionists and Democrats in the Commons would certainly be interested, and Royalist and majority Social Liberals support is a given. Labour would of course say something like ¡®another military educational institution endangers the continued peace in the galaxy by encouraging youth to enlist in the forces of destruction¡¯, or something to that effect.¡± ¡°My,¡± Lady Ashwike chuckled, ¡°your ventriloquist act is improving, you sounded almost like John Baptiste there for a moment.¡± ¡°Thank you, I thought it was a pretty good impression too, if I do say so myself.¡± Donegal glanced at his old-fashioned wrist watch and grunted. ¡°Well, drink up people, we have to address the public in twenty minutes and then there¡¯s press conference. Or, at least some of us,¡± he said with a sidelong glance at each of S¨¦lincourt, New Acre, and Suncrest, ¡°the ones who are going to be in the public eye that is. You fleet commanders get to slink off somewhere and remain undisturbed on your flagships.¡± ¡°You important people go do that,¡± New Acre said while grinning and refilled her glass and S¨¦lincourt¡¯s, ¡°we¡¯re going to be here for a spell longer and enjoy a few free drinks. Well, they¡¯re technically paid for by the tax payers, but close enough I guess.¡± ¡°Hey, considering how much I pay in taxes, there¡¯s a good chance I am paying for all the alcohol imbibed by the entire Royal Navy!¡± S¨¦lincourt mock-protested and New Acre, Ashwike, and Suncrest laughed. New Acre turned her newly filled glass towards Sir Hugh and the rest of the departing admirals. ¡°Si vic pacem, para bellum, Sir Hugh,¡± she said without a trace of mirth. ¡°Strike up our drums, pursue the scatter''d stray. God, and not we, hath safely fought to day.¡± ¡°Please, New Acre,¡± Bower-Henton said, one eyebrow raised, ¡°do not quote Shakespeare to us, for I know you all, and will awhile uphold the unyok¡¯d humour of your idleness.¡± ¡°Agh,¡± Ashwike protested, ¡°can we go already before these abecedarians ruin the good mood? I think I¡¯d rather face the journalists than listening to these barbarians mangle ancient poetry.¡± ¡°These are going to be ten long years, huh,¡± Donegal sighed while opening the drawing room doors. ¡°Better keep the drinks coming, Sir Hugh,¡± Lady Suncrest commented from her chair with a smile as the rest filed out. Chapter 09 - Days of Erudition: Merriment The first indication that the club was outside Edward¡¯s price range was the fact that the security guards by the swinging doors wore liveries and not the usual vests. The second indication was that the majority of people who were let inside (accompanied by courteous half-bows by the guards) wore very expensive tailor-fit brand dresses and suits, and were arriving by skycars whereas Edward had had to ride the Kent monorail line for six stops to get within walking distance of Guildenstern Street. Like all students, Edward lived off-campus, renting a small apartment (the regular kind) near Albany Square in eastern Cordelia. Cordelia was split into ten zones, roughly corresponding to the cardinal and intercardinal directions as well as Upper and Lower Inner City, split relatively evenly in two by the Goneril River. Each of these zones contained a varying number of wards, again divided into districts. And that was simply metropolitan Cordelia; the number of suburban wards was the same number as the inner city ones. So while Edward lived in the district of Albany Square, in the ward of Roccham, in East Cordelia, the Queen Marie¡¯s Metropolitan University was located in Montagu, Lysander-on-Goneril ward, Lower Inner City, some eight kilometres away in a direct line. Luckily, Cordelia had an impressive collective transportation system; monorail lines were ubiquitous and fast, the lines moving across, between, and in some cases, through the raging high-rises and towers (¡°skyscraper¡± as a term was not able to underscore how massive these raging super-constructs were). Skycar landing towers were also frequent, as were underground parking houses for groundcars. The Goneril had thousands of fast and free drone-ship ferries and taxies running up and down the river. Towering over it all was the absolutely titanic Cordelia Tether, almost too large for the human mind to comprehend as it stretched into the sky, constantly shipping people and goods between orbit and the ground. So despite the size of the city, getting to and fro wasn¡¯t as much of a hassle as might be inferred by the city¡¯s size, but commuting was still a considerable time sink. The extreme juxtaposition of hypermodernity and the old style architecture was both jarring and fascinating for people not used to Auroran architecture, but the same thing occurred on the major cities of all the Kingdom¡¯s worlds, such as Amaranth, Cymru, Westernesse, and Kitezh. The Pale Peacock technically lay on Guildernstern Street, the infamous party street that ran for nearly a kilometre along the western bank of Goneril, the establishments in the centre or out on the artificial garden islands in the river the most expensive and fashionable. And the Peacock had an island all of its own, complete with a private skycar landing tower. It had a bridge leading to it with large beds of flowers and bushes along the sides to serve as railings, and a large tiered system of smaller gardens under the main level which contained the club itself. Edward tried his hardest to not fidget as he waited outside the pristine white exterior of the club for the others to arrive, feeling as out of place as he had never felt before. ¡°Booh.¡± As the word was just whispered into his ear he jumped and spun, eliciting ferocious giggling from Adea and Sandy, the latter of which was the source of the sound. ¡°Oh my, what reactions, Heatherland,¡± Sandy breathed between laughs, ¡°you should take up fencing or some such with that level of agility.¡± Straightening his shirt, Edward snorted in annoyance. ¡°Don¡¯t be stupid, I can¡¯t do anything that might damage my hands and fingers, I¡¯m advised to stay away from even simple activities like table tennis and volleyball.¡± Sandy¡¯s laughter died down at that and she shrugged somewhat sheepishly. ¡°Ah well, it will be the fencing world¡¯s loss when they¡¯re deprived of such a magnificent talent such as yourself.¡± Edward blew air out of his nostrils, this time in wry amusement. ¡°Oh yeah, I am sure.¡± He paused for a bit, trying to figure out how to phrase his next sentence correctly. Screw it, shoot from the hip. ¡°You look gorgeous,¡± he said, colour creeping into his cheeks and ears, ¡°both of you.¡± After meeting Valerio and getting invited along the day before, Edward had walked stunned over to a very annoyed Arvind Dahon who had been waiting a long time in the cafeteria for him, but who had turned more and more incredulous as Edward had relayed what had transpired. Edward had finished his story, and after picking his jaw up from the floor, Arvind had dragged Edward into the nearby Hopkins Supermall, where they had spent several hours looking for a fresh outfit. Edward had been forced to spend an uncomfortable amount of stipend money, but at least he looked the part. Or so he had thought before he had showed up and had been bedazzled by the dresses and outfits on display, each easily costing more than what he received in both stipend and loan money each semester. He was wearing a tight white shirt with red and yellow flower patterns winding their ways up alongside the sides and shoulders of the shirt, ending on the collars. He also wore a pair of roughly lower shin-length black dress trousers and black monk-strap shoes. Arvind had done his best to make his hair look extra wavy, and had even lent him a gold chain bracelet that had belonged to the first Dahon to settle on Aurora, with an accompanying description of physical violence he would visit on Edward should he lose it. Sandy wore a white v-neck, ruffled summer dress that reached her knees, with an accompanying white, laced cloth belt, and a black velvet choker with an emerald pendant. Her choice of shoes was black t-strap heels, and a small tan Valhallan oxen-leather bag with a cream cloth strap. Her strawberry blonde hair was tied into a tall ponytail with a jade studded clasp. Alexandra Barham wasn¡¯t nobility, but her family were from the upper part of the gentry, the country esquires, and were in a way Royal Navy aristocracy given their tight association and long tradition of service. In other words, the Barhams weren¡¯t short of a bob or two. Adea, on the other hand, was simply dazzling. She had opted for a long-sleeve skater dress with asymmetrical shoulders, where the arms and upper band around her shoulders and breast was white, and the rest of the dress a deep pink. Over her legs were sheer white stockings, completed by black flats decorated with golden embroidery. Her velvety red hair was slightly curled and flowed across her one bare shoulder. Almost obscured was a small black pouch bag fixed to her dress at the small of her back by an almost invisible hook. Around her neck she wore a row of silver chains from which hung an assortment of pale grey and pale blue gemstones. The two girls were visibly slightly taken aback, but Adea giggled again and spun around on the spot to show off her outfit, sending her skirt swirling. ¡°You¡¯ve smartened up quite well yourself, Heatherland,¡± she said teasingly, and Edward felt the heat in his face increasing. He was thankful that the sun was already starting to set, hoping the orange light was hiding his embarrassment. ¡°Well, well,¡± a confident voice said, ¡°if it isn¡¯t the Amaranthine from yesterday. You¡¯ve decided to join our little troupe for a few tall ones after all?¡± Valerio Greco Sciacca (Edward had looked him up on the web, and knew he had fallen out with his father, and therefore only used his mother¡¯s surname) was wearing a ruffled white short-sleeve shirt, tucked into black dress pants not dissimilar to Edward¡¯s, but had golden embroidery around the top and hems, and heeled suede shoes that were still called Chelsea boots, a millennia after their inception. His golden yellow cravat and the ruffles covered up his chest, but the short sleeves gave a good window for his impressive biceps to make an appearance. God, I look like a prawn next to this Greek hero. ¡°Of course he came,¡± Sandy shot in, grabbing Edward by the upper arm, oh sweet heavens no, ¡°he¡¯s a well brought up and polite young man, who knows its bad manners to turn down an invitation. Especially when the invitation specified free drinks.¡± ¡°Well, we¡¯re still waiting for Narissara and Georgiana,¡± Adea shot in, ¡°but they¡¯ll know where to find us. Shall we then?¡± She held out her arm and Valerio took it in his, which sent a small spear of envy into Edward¡¯s heart, but he could feel Sandy squeezing his arm. He looked down at the shorter woman, and she blinked up at him with an accompanying smile. With Adea and Valerio leading the way, the four of them made their way to the red carpet entrance. For some reason, Edward expected the liveried guards to stop him, say something about him clearly not belonging, but as they made their way up the stairs to the main entrance, they simply half-bowed courteously as Adea proclaimed, Lady S¨¦lincourt and friends. And then they were inside. The Pale Peacock, as the name suggested, was a totally white imitation Avant-Gothic five-story building with wings on the outside, but the inside was a collection of what Edward could only describe as several ¡°biomes¡± of large rooms of differing architectural styles, some very nightclub-y, some more like a club¡¯s version of a drawing lounge, all stretching up for four floors with walkways and hoverlifts crisscrossing. Drones carrying drink orders filled the air, swooping in between hoverlifts, other drones, and patrons. Edward was unsure if this was the loudest cocktail bar or the quietest nightclub he had ever visited, until he realised the individual rooms and floors were fitted with privacy shields, muffling the music and people talking inside them to the outside world. He felt like he had walked into a literal holodrama, and he had an eerie sensation of that he was going to wake up from his dream soon. Instead, he was dragged by Sandy up a flight of stairs and into a room with a number of upholstered couches and chaise lounges and small tables for drinks and snacks. Before he had time to completely get a grasp of his surroundings, he was veritably pushed into a couch next to Valerio, who smiled perhaps a bit too wide. ¡°What do you say, Heatherland?¡± Valerio asked in a tone that Edward couldn¡¯t quite figure out, ¡°how do you take it, and how much?¡± He blinked a few times. ¡°Pardon, Sir?¡± ¡°Your drinks, man,¡± Valerio responded with a wide grin, ¡°what do you want? I was thinking of starting with a ¡¯33 Venediger, and perhaps a short arrack from New Jharkand. Does ¡¯45 sound good to you, or should we go for a ¡¯68? Bit more joven, I know, but I have it on good authority it was a good vintage.¡± ¡°I¡¯m sorry, I don¡¯t think I understood anything you just said,¡± Edward responded truthfully. Valerio was about to say something more, but instead yelped as Sandy¡¯s sharp shoe dug into his shin from the opposite couch. ¡°Don¡¯t be an arse, Valerio,¡± she chastised, ¡°you know full well Edward isn¡¯t used to this kind of establishment, nor this type of catalogue of drinks. Go easy on him, please.¡± It seemed like Valerio was preparing a comeback, but instead he sighed and relaxed his shoulders just a bit. ¡°Alright, Edward,¡± he said while turning back to the very uncomfortable Amaranthine, ¡°what is your choice of poison?¡± Edward looked from Valerio, to Sandy, to Adea (who was trying hard to hold back laughter) and back to Valerio. ¡°Well, I¡¯m partial to mild whiskeys, reds and ros¨¦s, if that is anything to go by¡­¡± This is going great, you¡¯re truly showing you¡¯re a man of the world. Instead of saying something sarcastic or humiliate him further, Valerio instead clapped Edward on the shoulder. ¡°Heatherland, the Peacock sports almost every brand of alcohol in the known galaxy, just name a drink and they¡¯ll surely have it. Remember, this place¡¯s sole reason for existence is to cater to the need of the children of the nobility of the richest star nation in Human Space. Have some imagination, my friend.¡± That last ¡°my friend¡± rung quite hollow in Edward¡¯s ears, but he wasn¡¯t about to comment on it. A waitress in relatively poor taste facsimile of a maid¡¯s uniform had materialised and Adea was busy listing her order. ¡°If that¡¯s the case,¡± Edward tried again, ¡°could I perhaps ask for a glass of Nemeian Hill Gold?¡± Sandy and Adea suddenly looked at him with something approaching pity, while Valerio was struggling to hold back laughter. ¡°What?¡± ¡°Honey,¡± Sandy said in a tone that was unmistakably commiserative, ¡°they don¡¯t do single glasses of such a common whisky here, only full bottles.¡± ¡°Oh,¡± Edward said dead-pan. ¡°Could I please have a 0.7 then?¡± The waitress curtsied politely in confirmation and wrote it down in her old fashioned notebook. Edward suddenly felt a wave of uncharacteristic boldness swell up. ¡°Actually, could you make it a 0.7 of Persephone Aquamarine? And a bottle of spritzer?¡± Valerio slapped him on the shoulder blade. ¡°Hell yeah, Heatherland,¡± he announced with a smile, ¡°that¡¯s more like it. Let¡¯s get the night started!¡± Edward, beaming, was about to ask the waitress for some snacks when he noticed Adea looking at him with her glacier eyes and their eyes met. If this is a dream, please don¡¯t make me wake up soon.
The light reflected off the Dionysian crystals of the large chandelier hanging from the acacia wood ceiling, and shone a rainbow of colours into Artemisia¡¯s eyes. She winced and turned halfway around in annoyance, the long hems of her tightfitting black-and-cream robe ¨¤ la fran?aise whirling along the panelled floor as she did, and she once again internally cursed the impracticality of the nobility¡¯s choice of fashion. That was not to say it was not pretty, even Artemisia was willing to admit that, but the sheer bother of getting in and out of the several layers, composed of corset, bodice, two sets of skirts, vest, lace ribbons, and of course the tight stockings and garter belt was out of this world. The end result of all the effort of putting on the whole ensemble was an absolutely lustrous ball gown, with fine white silk lace along the hems of the skirt and the plunging neckline, a black a-line skirt, a tight black bodice, complemented by flowery embroidery in alabaster and an inner skirt and a vest in pearl. Her father had mentioned something about the total cost of the getup, as well as the fees of the tailor, but Artemisia hadn¡¯t been paying attention at the time. She had become inured and even quite blas¨¦ when it came to dresses and formal wear; her father kept throwing the latest in aristocratic haute couture at her with such frightful regularity that she had become complacent. Her near-white hair had been expertly combed by one of her many maids to lay cascade-like across the shoulders of her dress, with noticeable bangs over the top of her forehead, held in place by small clasps inlaid with pink crystals. The grand ball room was comfortably lit by chandeliers and natural candlelight hanging from the pillars, casting an orange hue on the dark blood-oak panelled floor and the golden-yellow walls. All around the large room were men and women dressed in pompous finery conversing in small huddles, nursing glasses of alcohol. On a podium, a solo grand piano and a string quartet was playing what sounded to Artemisia like Schumann. The author''s tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon. ¡°I say, Lady de Vere, you certainly do hold an exquisitely decorated apartment.¡± Artemisia turned towards the man who had spoken, and performed a polite half-curtsy, lifting her skirts with one hand as she did. ¡°Many thanks, Your Grace, though it falls quite away short of your own humble abodes here in the capital city.¡± She looked up from the floor and her pink-grey eyes met the indigo ones of Edmund St. Algernon de Lune, the Duke of Dawnshire. He was one of the most notable and influential voice of all the Tory politicians in the Lords, especially regarding foreign policy and defence. Considerably tall, blonde-haired, and immaculately dressed in a purple, cream and gold court uniform of similar cut and style as had been a la mode in the Edwardian period in old Great Britain, he was certainly noticeable. The fact that he wasn¡¯t exactly welcome at court, despite being part of the extended royal family, made the wearing of the official court uniform slightly ironic. The monarchs of the Kingdom of Aurora were historically slightly left-leaning politically, seeing as their entire reason for existence was to be a counterbalance to the nobility, although the seeming contradiction of hereditary power and privilege that was imbued into a single person championing the masses was not lost on those interested in politics. Edmund de Lune was a black sheep, a second cousin to King Nicholas I, and was probably third or fourth in the entire Conservative party in terms of political clout; only outshone by the likes of Baroness Redgrove, Viscount New Kingston, and Artemisia¡¯s father, Duke Trewellynshire. Dawnshire¡¯s eldest daughter and heir, Amelia Euxina (one of Artemisia¡¯s childhood clique) had opted to join the Royal Navy in direct opposition to her father, and had recently been promoted to lieutenant-commander and was awaiting re-assignment. This all ran through Artemisia¡¯s head as she held her hand out to the duke. The duke took her offered hand in his and lightly kissed it. Hadn¡¯t Artemisia been presented at court and with at least a full Season under her belt (she was eighteen), that would have been an extreme faux pas. However, by the standards of nobility, she was now an adult, and when addressing a duke¡¯s daughter during a social event, it was custom to kiss her hand. She strangled the immediate need to wipe the back of her hand against her skirt before continuing. ¡°I must admit though,¡± she continued after the brief interlude, ¡°that I have not seen the inside of Hallowheart Hall since Lady Amelia left for her posting in Valerian.¡± She felt her heart jump a bit when she noticed the tiniest of squints in Dawnshire¡¯s blue eyes. ¡°Ah yes,¡± he continued seemingly undeterred, ¡°you must hop on over one day, the whole ball room, seating lounge, and dinner hall has been refurnished with authentic Earth oak furniture, and Amaranthine mahogany flooring. It is simply exquisite; I do hope you and your father can join us for dinner one of these days. I have a new chef who comes highly recommended by the Marchioness of Greenlake, and he certainly is worth his wages, I can tell you as much.¡± Artemisia grabbed a long-stemmed glass of Cymran spumante ros¨¦ from the tray of a passing footman in red and gold livery, and took a polite sip. Anything to catch a brief respite from this bombastic asshole. ¡°I will certainly bring it to the attention of my father, but we may be detained this coming week. A certain gentleman from the Alliance embassy is expected to dinner here at Verius House, and father is very excited to see him.¡± ¡°Indeed I am.¡± Michael de Vere, the Duke of Trewellynshire, was old, old even by 29th century standards. He was closing in on his two-hundredth and thirty-fifth birthday, and while in his youth he had been an athletic and handsome man, Father Time had not been kind to him, his once copper hair now completely white, very much like his daughter¡¯s, and his body slightly stooped over, something his exquisite and quite expensive navy blue suit with large lapels and long coattails couldn¡¯t hide. But he had lost none of his fire and drive, and his speeches in the Lords were the stuff of legends. Due to the average life expectancy, he was only the ninth duke of Trewellynshire on Angevin, despite the title being awarded the family in 2493, almost four-hundred years prior. However, the fact that Michael de Vere had been a widower for nearly forty years did raise some very awkward questions about Artemisia, questions she had been forced to live with her whole life. She had had siblings, but they had all died long before she had been born; one son had died in a skycar accident, another had hanged himself after years of severe depression. Michael de Vere had gone off on a long ¡°business trip¡± twenty years ago, and upon his return almost two years later, he had brought a fair-haired infant with him. Artemisia knew why they all whispered behind her back, but after nearly two decades of it, the murmurs was only unimportant background noise. ¡°I say, Dawnshire,¡± Michael de Vere continued, ¡°it certainly has been some time since your last appearance in the Lords. We have missed your insight and cutting tongue, and it shames me to say Lord Howeland and Lady Darkmoor have been leading us somewhat in circles.¡± ¡°Not to worry,¡± Dawnshire replied, snapping his fingers for a new glass of Summer Isle cognac, famously the most expensive hand-wrought alcohol in the Kingdom, ¡°I¡¯ll be making my return by the end of the month. God knows you need me, especially now that Koyanagi has been replaced by the belligerent hot-head Donegal and his partners-in-crime.¡± ¡°Quite right, Your Grace,¡± a third voice cut in. It belonged to the fiercely moustachioed and bald Earl of New Odessa, dressed in a light grey suit much like Duke Dawnshire¡¯s in cut. Now, Artemisia didn¡¯t really mind New Odessa, as long as the man didn¡¯t talk about foreign policy. The Conservative Party was more a common association than a coherent political platform, and the hardliners were often almost as opposed to the proposed policies of their own party¡¯s so-called moderates as to the opposition. Nicknamed the ¡°Whigs¡±, the more central-leaning Tories (whom Artemisia had the most sympathy for, since she was only a Tory by association) were fiscally conservative, but had a more centralist view of foreign policy, especially regarding defence and the all-important Royal Navy. But somehow, the Earl of New Odessa had gotten his wires crossed, and had instead become centrist-leaning fiscally and socially, but very isolationist when it came to foreign policy. ¡°Donegal and his ilk,¡± New Odessa continued, his walrus-esque moustache bobbing up and down as he talked animatedly, ¡°are a threat to the continued peace and prosperity of our Kingdom. There surely is nothing more detrimental to our security than blindly following the path of naval armament and escalating this frightful frequency of warship construction that now exists between Aurora and Elysium?¡± ¡°My Lord, aren¡¯t you being a bit insular in your argumentation?¡± It took a while for Artemisia to recognise the icy voice as her own, but by now she was in too deep, and she continued while clutching her wine glass tightly. ¡°Surely a man of your intelligence must see the discrepancy between the orbital industrial capabilities of the Independent Systems Alliance compared to the Kingdom¡¯s? Forgive me for saying, but is it not na?ve to believe that if the Royal Navy cuts back its expansion, the Alliance Space Navy will do the same?¡± As she sipped from her ros¨¦, Artemisia could in the corner of her vision see her father slightly scrunch up his face in annoyance, but she remained unperturbed. New Odessa cleared his throat, but it was the Duke of Dawnshire who picked up the baton. ¡°My Lady,¡± he said in a sweet tone that made the hairs of the back of her neck stand up, ¡°I am sure that you are excelling in the subjects of your chosen major at the QMMU, uh, which was again?¡± Oh, you pretentious ass. ¡°History, Your Grace, Post-Exodus History more specifically, though with a smattering of Classics as well, such as Ancient Rhetoric and Ancient Literature.¡± ¡°Well then, Lady Artemisia,¡± Dawnshire continued as he received the glass of cognac he had asked for by a quickly retreating footman, ¡°you must be quite aware of the Peloponnesian War?¡± Where was he going with this? ¡°Of course, Your Grace,¡± she replied with as much courtesy she could muster. She could veritably feel her father staring daggers into her, but she continued unperturbed. ¡°The Peloponnesian War, as far as we know through mainly the works of Thucydides, is that it was an internecine conflict between the city-states of Athens and Sparta, and their respective allies, that lasted for the better part of thirty years with neither side able to claim a convincing victory, and which ultimately led sixty years later to Greece¡¯s conquest by Macedon¡­¡± Aw shit, I¡¯ve just walked right into it, haven¡¯t I? ¡°Quite right, My Lady,¡± Dawnshire veritably gleamed, ¡°your daughter surely knows her history well, Your Grace.¡± Trewellynshire graced him with a polite nod, but still spared a moment to shoot his only surviving offspring a baleful look. ¡°Yes, it is as you say, Lady Artemisia,¡± Dawnshire continued, and by now more people had started to throng around the conversation, and the musicians had switched to one of Mozart¡¯s divertimentos. ¡°The Peloponnesian War is indeed a suitable analogy of the current interstellar political situation. On the one hand, very roughly I might add, you have the Royal Union playing the part of the League of Delos, with Athens as its centre. That would be the most apt equivalent of the Kingdom of Aurora. Economically and culturally the hegemon of the entirety of the civilised world; our navy is also the largest and most capable. To paraphrase an antiquated phrase coined a thousand years ago, the sun cannot set upon our empire. On the other hand, you have the belligerent yet still completely trustworthy and honourable equivalents of Sparta, and their own Peloponnesian League, who might have somewhat differing political practices than our own, are still a force to be reckoned with¡­¡± ¡°You forget which of the two was the oligarchy and which was the monarchy,¡± Artemisia hissed under her breath, but no one seemed to take notice. ¡°And as Lady Artemisia here can confirm,¡± Dawnshire continued, ¡°both great powers came to an end because they actively sought conflict with each other. Such has been the fate of all nations locked in martial competition. Consider then Great Britain and Imperial Germany nine-hundred years ago, who both sought to establish the greatest sea-faring navy, and partially through that desire ended up in direct conflict, a conflict which snuffed out the lives of millions of young men and women. Have not we as a collective species come along further than that since 1918 CE? I would like to trust my fellow human and that ¡®indeed, yes we have¡¯. And therefore, for solely moral reasons, I implore every good citizen of the Kingdom to abstain from seeking violence with our neighbours, whomever they may be.¡± Polite applause followed that impromptu speech by Dawnshire, and a muted chorus of ¡°hear, hear¡± by some. Artemisia didn¡¯t exactly know what happened, but suddenly a few of the lords and ladies closest to her were subduing shouts of surprise and mumbling among themselves. Then she realised she had snapped the stem and indeed the glass of her ros¨¦, and was bleeding from her palm and fingertips, the sticky wine mixing with the crimson of her blood. ¡°Excuse me, Your Grace,¡± she said while doing the same half-curtsy with her good hand again, ¡°I appear to have had an accident. Please pardon me as I make my retreat to have this repaired.¡± She didn¡¯t wait for a response from Dawnshire, but she could veritably feel the glances she received as she walked briskly towards the nearest exit from the ball room, as tears of anger and frustration ran rampant down her cheek, fucking up her makeup. You cretins call me a monster, but the only monsters are the ones you see in the mirror each day.
Edward was having a hell of a time, making moves he never thought he had to the beats of intense vocal hardstyle ne¨¹-wave trance tunes. He was also very drunk and quite aware of the fact. The few unaffected brain cells left in his head was screaming for him to cool it and just take a seat and drink a huge sip of water, but drunken Edward didn¡¯t listen because he was dancing alongside Adea and Narissara. Narissara Roxburgh was a tall and spindly woman, with long dyed white hair, who somehow managed to get into the Peacock wearing a similar version of Sandy¡¯s dress, only more skimpy and with more pale gemstones decorating the hem of the dress. Well, somehow wasn¡¯t really correct, she was the daughter of a major Marquess, but Edward didn¡¯t complain, the white dress suited her dark olive complexion very well. It also helped that these last few dances they had been very close to each other. Had he been more sober, he might have noticed the glances he was getting from Adea and Sandy, but instead he was paying more attention to the signals he was receiving from his new best friend Valerio Greco. Said tall dark handsome youth was dancing away with Georgiana Percy-Assiotis, who was wearing a dark orange maxi-dress adorned along the shoulders with faux-rubies, but also wore a black-velvet choker with a huge actual diamond as its centre piece. He felt another pang of confirmation as Valerio flashed him another white-toothed grin and a thumbs-up. Yeah, Edward¡¯s inhibitions had given away after the fifth or sixth drink of soda-whisky, and now he was on a real bender, completely unaware how much he had drunk. The trance beat died down and Edward slumped breathless down on the couch and reached for his whisky glass and downed what was left in it. Wait, was that his glass or Valerio¡¯s? Ah, didn¡¯t matter, they were best friends now after all. Narissara slumped down right next to Edward and immediately cozied up with a stein of beer in one hand. ¡°Those were some fucking moves, Edward,¡± she purred and Edward realised he had slipped a hand across her shoulders. ¡°Just don¡¯t get used to it,¡± he heard himself say, somewhat distantly, ¡°this doesn¡¯t happen under normal circumstances. Most of the time I just play the piano and not much else.¡± ¡°Alright,¡± Valerio said somewhat out of breath, ¡°who¡¯re ready for next round?¡± ¡°Valerioh,¡± Sandy piped up, spread out as she was on a chaise longue, ¡°don¡¯t yah thing we¡¯ve had enough? I mean it¡¯ss¡­¡± She managed to fish her handcom out of her bag, but had troubles activating it to check the time, and after fumbling around, Adea took the device from her and thumbed it to life. ¡°02.13, which is pretthy fuckingh late,¡± she said, also slurring, which seemed inordinately funny to Edward. He managed to check his laughter when he realised he only had to return home to a roomie in the form of Arvind Dahon, wait was the bracelet still¡­ oh thank the Gods, and not one of the most notable aristocrats in the whole kingdom. ¡°Alright,¡± Valerio managed to stand up in one fluid motion, something Edward was pretty sure he was unable to at this stage. ¡°I¡¯m sorry to tell you, Lady S¨¦lincouth,¡± he slurred, ¡°but the bill must be paid, and you so oh-gallantly volunteered ¨Cnay¨C demanded to pay for it all.¡± ¡°Why of chourse,¡± Adea slurred back, trying her best to sit back up in the couch, pretending to be more sober than she was. The whole evening had been a good old naval battle, the amounts of bottles of extremely expensive alcohol consumed had at first baffled Edward, but at this stage, he was more amazed that he was barely cognizant than anything else. ¡°Drone!¡± Adea snapped, ¡°fetch me my bill.¡± A small audio pick-up drone the size of a palm was always hovering in every room in the Peacock, but at the sound of Adea asking to pay, a larger drone, with a credit counter machine inlaid, materialised almost quicker than sound. ¡°If My Lady would like to place her finger on the faceplate?¡± the uncanny machine-voice sang out, and Adea did exactly that, with a few fumbles managing to place an index finger on the screen of the drone. ¡°Thank you, Lady S¨¦lincourt,¡± the drone said without any hint of contracting such a complex name, pronouncing it in a perfect French accent: ¡°I hope you and your company have enjoyed your stay, and would you perhaps like a skycar back to your residences?¡± ¡°Yesh, thank you, that wouldh be very musch appreciated,¡± Sandy finished for Adea, and the drone flew off immediately. ¡°So, dancer boy,¡± Narissara veritably hummed into Edward¡¯s ear, ¡°you coming back home with me, or not?¡± Edward experienced in that moment a very real sense of being pulled into two veritable paths of destiny. Despite his drunken haze, he could almost envision a scenario where he went with Narissara, and they had a good thing going for a few years before eventually losing each other. The other path offered pain, extreme pain which he could almost feel on top of his chest, and he almost breathlessly gagged, but he managed to control it; it might be more painful, but¡­ ¡°I¡¯m shorry,¡± he slurred, ¡°I would like to do d¡¯this again, but I¡¯m not usually that type of man. I scincerely hope you don¡¯t take that poorly. You¡¯re a wonderful girl, and¡­¡± Next thing he knew he awoke fully clothed in bed, and with the mother of all headaches. Chapter 10 - Days of Erudition: Postings A vast tear of bright light appeared in the middle of nowhere in the unfathomable huge expanse of the void. The tear crackled and sparkled with energies running rampant, licking tongues of ions with nowhere to go. Widening now, a cascade of colours, far too many for the human eye to register, flashed and danced as the tear became a maw, and a sleek, lithe shape started to materialize in the centre of it. By this point the maw had a radius of several kilometres, and the shape, while sizable, filled only a fraction of that large space. The ion tongues reached out and slapped angrily against this shape, running around and over its armoured carapace, finding no purchase. A wide shape of controlled ion particles, almost like a drill, was pushing ahead of the shape, and the energies of that were creating the rupture in space. As if not wanting to let go, the wild lashes of energy snapped and crackled against the metal frame of the large spaceship, but to no avail. Almost triumphantly, the eight-hundred and nine metre long titanium frame slipped through and the rupture collapsed as soon as it was clear, the particle drill in front of the ship disappearing simultaneously. ¡°Light Drive force field disengaged, readings nominal, particle disperse rate 98.6%, bleeding well within safety parameters.¡± ¡°Astrogation SAI engaging, cross-referencing star charts, telemetry forthcoming.¡± ¡°Engineering reports Misaki fusion bottle gyros are funnelling, capacity rising, should expect full performance within seven minutes.¡± ¡°Sensor suite is operational; LIDAR and thermal show no contacts in the immediate surroundings up to fifty k-clicks out. Still waiting on grav-pulse, but expect no contacts within contiguous operational sphere.¡± ¡°Communications up and running, scooping the feeds for packet dumps.¡± ¡°Astral telemetry confirmed; we have arrived approximately two-twenty k-clicks inside the t-limit of the St. John System.¡± Commander Matthew Lysimachos, master and commander of the seven-hundred and forty-nine souls on His Majesty¡¯s light cruiser Carcharodon, smiled in appreciation. He knew the officers manning the bridge computer stations were singing out their reports while suffering from waves of post-translation nausea to varying degrees, but that didn¡¯t stop them for carrying out their jobs quickly and efficiently, running down the procedural checklist required when a starship emerged from faster-than-light travel in the Light Way. He stood up from his command chair, placed centrally on a raised dais on the bridge, and clapped his hands together. ¡°Excellent work, people, smooth handling through that last part of translation, Helm. Miss MacKenzie, spool up our long range and inform New Malta Astral Control and Royal Navy Western Fleet Command of our arrival. Just use the standard meet-and-greet, and relay to Master van Verhey what approach lane they want us in. Miss Mittelstadt, stand us down from Readiness Two, all crew to resume normal activity, and alert the Chief Steward that he might start preparing the Destination Meal.¡± He was answered by a chorus of ¡°aye aye, sir¡±, and he smiled again. God, it felt good running such a tight ship. At only thirty, Lysimachos was unusually young for a full commander, especially a commander with a cruiser command. He was tall, with long prematurely greying brown hair which he wore slightly out of regs in a small bun, and his impressive physique was the result of a draconian training regimen that he didn¡¯t relax one bit, whether in space or on ground. His uniform, like the uniforms of the rest of the bridge crew, shared distinct similarities to the Royal Navy¡¯s dress uniforms, but they were much less ostentatious. For both males and females, it was composed of a black double breasted tunic over a white shirt, with a colour-coded stripe along the tunic opening; white for enlisted, gold for officers. The trousers were black with the same colour-coded linings and long white gaiters over black boots which had magnetic soles that could be activated if necessary. Headgear was berets for all under the rank of commander, navy blue for enlisted and white for officers. For senior officers, it was a white peaked cap, with varying levels of golden embroidery depending on rank. Officer ranks were discernable by the amount of golden bands on their tunic cuffs and the insignia on their shoulder epaulets and collars. Enlisted noted ranks and seniority by white bands and shoulder insignia. On the right shoulder of everyone was emblazoned in a half-circle, and with golden letters, the name HMS Carcharodon. Functional, fashionable, and most of all, famous, the Royal Navy uniform was almost as much a symbol of power as the massive warships in which the wearers of the uniforms served. Speaking of which, the Carcharodon was in Lysimachos¡¯ opinion a work of art. A Canterbury class light cruiser, it was designed from the keel out for just two missions; see far, and shoot good. Like all Royal Navy ships, it was quite long, with a defined hull shape that could be described as lissom and graceful. Sacrificing internal armour compared to previous generations of Royal Navy light cruiser classes like the Imphal and Spartan classes, who had been classified as true ¡°scout cruisers¡±, the Canterbury¡¯s were slower, less protected. Counteracting that, they packed a wallop for their weight class at eight-sixty-eight thousand tonnes in normal G, sporting a combined broadside of thirty-two twelve inch railguns covered by thick titanium gunports, a torpedo battery of six Type-18(in) tubes, and two dual turrets of long-barrelled sixteen inch railcannons. Modern warships, regardless of star nation of origin, were fundamentally similar; one large rectangular rear section housing the immense fusion reactors and bottles that powered the ship and ion engines respectively, as well as the Light Drive which generated the Lorentz force fields of ions that enabled ships to rip through into the sub-plane that was the Light Way, where speed and time was relativistic. Then followed the main body, containing the broadside armament and the vast majority of decks, compartment, and stations, and was completed by a smaller forward section where torpedo batteries and fire directors and spotters were located. What separated Auroran style warships from the rest of humanity¡¯s was the emphasis on a much flatter top and bottom, concentrating the broadside over fewer decks. The flatter tops also made Auroran ships wider, and to compensate the top and bottom were subsequently much more heavily armoured than their counterparts. They also had tall, heavily armoured bridge superstructures that stretched relatively far up from the main body, with the large main sensor and communications suites placed directly behind the bridge. The grav-pulse sensor arrays were usually spread out like ¡°wings¡± from the side of the bridge, with back-ups in the forward section. The flatter profile had resulted in a design shift away from broadside-only ships, and nearly all Auroran warships also had top and sometimes bottom turrets containing railcannons. The railcannons weren¡¯t necessarily of much larger calibre than the broadside railguns, but their literally hundred metre long magnetic rails meant the projectiles could reach even greater speed upon exiting the barrel, thereby generating exponentially greater force upon impact. If these guns were ever turned on a planet, the resulting impact would be in the range of several thousands of megatons, worse than any weapon of mass destruction ever actually deployed. There was a reason numerous interstellar treaties existed to prohibit railguns ever being used against planets and populations. Lysimachos had seen first-hand the sheer destructive power of these fearsome weapons; as a junior lieutenant he had been with New Acre¡¯s fleet that had simply torn apart the entire Solusian navy in a mere hour, a single pass of the line of battle, where the only Auroran casualties had been on the flagship¡¯s flag bridge, whilst the Solusians had counted their dead in the tens of thousands. What a ¡°trade war¡± that had been¡­ ¡°Response from New Malta Astral Control,¡± Lieutenant Katherine MacKenzie reported, drawing Lysimachos back to the present, ¡°should I patch it through?¡± Lysimachos nodded, and walked leisurely past the large 3D holographic tactical display projector that filled almost two-thirds of the available bridge space, and came over to the communications officer¡¯s station. She pushed a few buttons and one of the secondary viewscreens came to life. ¡°Your arrival has been noted and logged, Carcharodon, welcome to St. John and New Malta.¡± The man dressed in a burgundy and black uniform spoke with a clipped English accent; Italian and not English was the first language on New Malta, but English, alongside Simplified Galactic Mandarin, French, and New Hindi was widespread enough to be recognized as linguae francae. ¡°Please redirect your course to two-eight-niner by zero-six-one, and follow approach lane oh-six-oh and assume contact again upon one-five-oh million kilometres out for exact approach vector to HMSS Jutland.¡± ¡°Miss MacKenzie,¡± Lysimachos said, ¡°send off a standard message of confirmation and thanks to Astral Control, and then send a missive to Admiralty Palace with my compliments to Admiral Dumont and let him know Carcharodon is at his disposal as soon as we¡¯ve bunkered and victualed.¡± ¡°Aye, sir,¡± she replied and started speaking into her mike. ¡°Master van Verhey,¡± he continued, turning to the helmsman, ¡°lay Carrie over on the ascribed course correction, and give her enough acceleration to attain, oh I don¡¯t know, nineteen-thousand kps, if you will. That should have us by the New Malta lay-over in about seven hours I think, with plenty of time for deceleration.¡± ¡°Aye sir, coming about and pushing on the gees,¡± the veteran warrant officer replied. ¡°Miss Mittelstadt,¡± Lysimachos, looking over to the tall lieutenant in charge of Operations, ¡°make a note in the ship¡¯s logs, main points; ¡®arrival in St. John System at 16:55 hours shipboard time, Tuesday 07th May 2874 Galactic relative, completed journey from Aurora in seventeen days shipboard standard.¡¯¡± ¡°Aye, aye sir,¡± Francesca Mittelstadt replied, nodding in confirmation, and started to type out a slightly more fleshed out report in the official ship¡¯s logs. Satisfied with the performance of his bridge crew, Lysimachos returned to his command chair and sat down, crossing his legs. The captain¡¯s chair was just a larger version of the upholstered crash swivel chairs that the bridge crew sat on, with communication screens in both arm rests. Right next to it was another, but slightly lower to indicate the person sitting in it was not on the same level as the captain of the ship. Currently it was unoccupied, as the Carcharodon¡¯s second in command, Lieutenant Commander Leonetta Hazard, was off watch, as were several other of the main bridge crew, such as the tactical and electronic warfare officers. Each station officer had several technicians and junior officers to aid them, so the total bridge crew if all were present would be nineteen, spread out among the computer stations in a half-circle from the central dais and holographic tactical projector. At the rear of the bridge were several crash seats for yeomen who would act as runners if needed. This layout was common among all Auroran warships, it simply scaled up or down depending on the size of the ship, with the largest battleships having several tiers of stations with stairs and walkways separating them. ¡°You think we¡¯ll get some shore leave, sir?¡± MacKenzie asked, looking over her shoulder at the captain. ¡°Oh, I hope so,¡± Assistant Tactical Officer Sub-lieutenant Yuri Podkolzin shot in, ¡°I¡¯ve been dying to see St. Angelo City and the Piazza di Principesa for years now, and the National Museum of Classical Art too of course.¡± Lieutenant Anaya Chen, the Astrogation officer, snorted in amusement. ¡°That is just sad, Yuri, we¡¯ve spent more than two weeks in deep space and the first thing you want to do is hit up a museum and take snapshots of snazzy architecture? No wonder you¡¯re still single.¡± Most of the bridge crew laughed or chuckled at that, making Podkolzin¡¯s cheeks turn a slight shade of pink. In truth, career officers in the Royal Navy usually waited until their ship- or station assignment days were done before settling down, and thus married quite late, often with much younger partners, though age in the 29th century was quite relative. This was why the likes of Lord S¨¦lincourt who was well past one-hundred had a daughter who was not even twenty yet. ¡°I for one,¡± Chen continued, ¡°will be hitting up the bars of Via Rossetta. I hear the price of a pint is less than a pound, which is going to make for a merry night out indeed.¡± ¡°Thank God for New Malta,¡± Warrant Officer Eric van Verhey commented as he relaxed his grip on the controls and gyros, ¡°the Royal Navy¡¯s home away from home. It has everything one could want in a posting; lots of warm weather, cheap drinks, legalised gambling, cheery folks...¡± ¡°True enough,¡± Lysimachos finally said, and the chattering crew fell silent, ¡°we have been a fixture out here so long that we¡¯ve become an integral part of Maltese society. It is pretty unique that another star nation, especially one as advanced and well-established as the Suzerainty of New Malta, allows another nation¡¯s space navy to establish a permanent military presence in their system, including a truly massive naval space station in their orbit. Western Fleet has called New Malta home for over two-hundred years now, and we even have our own sector command in Admiralty Palace in St. Angelo.¡± ¡°Best part is,¡± MacKenzie interjected, ¡°the locals actually love having us here, which is saying something, since there¡¯s what, six-hundred thousand Royal Navy and Fleet Auxiliary personnel on ground and in orbit? Can¡¯t say that about places like Lucidia.¡± ¡°Ugh, don¡¯t mention Lucidia,¡± Chen grunted, ¡°don¡¯t ruin the good mood by mentioning that hell-scape of internal conflict and constant backstabbing. The fact that we¡¯re required to maintain a military presence there is astounding.¡± ¡°You don¡¯t think the Lucidians would be able to govern themselves?¡± Podkolzin asked, and Chen shook her head, but it was Mittelstadt who answered. ¡°That¡¯s a hard no, sub-lieutenant. Just look at the last time we tried giving them back the reins, in 2861, and within six months Lord Hartcastle had to park an entire battle squadron in orbit and threaten with deploying Royal Marine assault brigades to stop the nascent genocides that were slowly gathering steam. No, it¡¯s only the Auroran colonial administration, heavily supported by the ships of the Fleet and troops of the Army, that¡¯s keeping the place from ripping itself to shreds.¡± Lysimachos let his officers discuss matters back and forth, not really wanting to stop them. More than two weeks of FTL travel not only taxes the engines and reactors, it is also physically and mentally taxing on a crew, and the choice to not drop out of the Light Way to rest engines and people meant they were even more spent by the time they arrived. Better let them get excited about shore leave than try to shut them up. And hey, he was looking forward to some R&R as well. If he remembered correctly, there was a nice hotel on the Via Palomini that had a pool on the roof and a twenty-four hour bar¡­ Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.
¡°Well, this certainly sucks.¡± Lieutenant Commander Leonetta Hazard brushed fiery orange locks over her ear and let out a huff of annoyance, as if her comments weren¡¯t saying enough. Lysimachos couldn¡¯t disagree as the two rounded a corner on their way to the officer¡¯s wardroom. A curt missive from Admiralty Palace, ¡°courtesy¡± of Admiral of the Red Sir Ryan Dumont, told the crew of the Carcharodon that as soon as they were done filling up their hydrogen tanks and re-stocking supplies, they were to join the 9th Light Cruiser Flotilla under Rear Admiral of the Black Freya Holland, and in conjunction with the New Maltese Navy, set up a patrol perimeter along the outskirts of the massive Gozo asteroid belt, almost halfway between New Malta itself and the St. John system¡¯s t-limit. That meant they were literally hundreds and hundreds of millions of kilometres away from any shore leave and sorely needed reprieve. And that had been a week ago. ¡°What are we even supposed to be looking for out here?¡± Hazard continued to gripe. ¡°It¡¯s not like anyone are able to sneak their way into such a tightly defended system like New Malta. The New Maltese Navy has like seventy ships of their own, half of them in this system alone, the rest covering Octavia and Augusta, and our own Western Fleet is here in force, including twenty-four ships of the line, and a further thirty-two cruisers and forty destroyers. Not to mention the spider web of buoys and recon satellites. What are we supposed to look for that¡¯s willing to do something stupid in the face of that much firepower?¡± Lysimachos sighed, and stopped ahead of the sliding hatch to the officer¡¯s wardroom. By ancient tradition, the commanding officer of a warship was not allowed inside the wardroom without the express permission from the President of the Mess, invariably the executive officer, which in this case was Hazard. ¡°Permission to enter the wardroom, Miss President?¡± he asked formally and Hazard nodded, too worked up to vocalize the reply. At one point in time, this rule had been obeyed very strictly, and the captain was only allowed inside on special occasions, but the rules had been relaxed over the centuries, and the captain was now allowed to ask permission whenever. It was still customary for the commanding officer to take their meals in their own quarters though, but they were allowed to socialize with their senior officer¡¯s if they so wished (and were given approval, which wasn¡¯t automatic). The officer¡¯s wardroom was a pretty large room by warship standards, and was decorated in a faux-classical style with a red floor carpet and wooden details and furniture. About a third was a dedicated dinner area, with three long tables that each seated twelve, a third was a lounge area with HD viewscreens, a music system, and couches, recliners, and chaise lounges, while the last third was a bar with a counter, stools, and small tables and chairs for those who wanted to enjoy a drink or smoke. On larger vessels, the wardroom (or wardrooms on the larger battlecruisers and battleships) would be solely for the officers of lieutenant rank and up, and a gunroom for the junior officers, but the Canterbury class didn¡¯t have a large enough complement to justify this, so the single wardroom was used by all officers on board. Nearly all the off-duty officers were crammed in the bar or longue area, some two dozen odd in total, and they uniformly looked as miffed as Lieutenant Commander Hazard did. The second in command went over to the bar, where Lieutenant Lucas Gage, the chief engineer, poured her a glass of gin and tonic without her even asking. Lysimachos wanted to say it was only three in the afternoon, but he noticed the several empty glasses scattered around and thought better of it. ¡°This is some bullshit,¡± Lieutenant Chen said testily, nursing a stein of beer, ¡°we nearly broke a Royal Navy record by getting here in just over seventeen days.¡± As the Astrogation officer, it was obvious she was irritated as it had been her calculations and navigation which had gotten to New Malta so quickly. ¡°We crossed two-hundred and seventy light years in under three weeks,¡± she continued, ¡°nearly bursting our Misaki bottles in the process, nearly losing our goddamn minds due to the stress of having to keep correcting our course and adapting to the Light Way ¡®winds¡¯, without seeing outside of the portholes and bridge screens because the light would literally fry our optical nerves, and the engineers running themselves ragged. And for what? So that Sir Ryan ¡®Fuck You Very Much¡¯ Dumont can tell us to hump it and send us out to these godsforsaken rocks?¡± A lot of the other officers nodded in agreement or chimed in with ¡°hear, hear¡±. ¡°I know we technically have only been out in space less than a month after leaving Trafalgar in Aurora, and a standard deployment is three months before shore leave, but it is standard procedure to let crews who have travelled significant distance in the Light Way to have at least some kind of respite before throwing them back out there.¡± ¡°You know why,¡± Mittelstadt said, smoking a cigarette in one of the corner chairs by the bar, ¡°and that¡¯s because Admiral Dumont is pissed because he is being replaced now that Donegal is the new First Lord. And he¡¯s taking it out on us, the latest ship to arrive from the capital.¡± ¡°Oh, steady on there,¡± Lysimachos warned, having found a couch to sit down in, ¡°remember, no discussion of politics, religion, or intimate relations in the wardroom.¡± ¡°This isn¡¯t politics, Sir,¡± Mittelstadt countered, ¡°this is internal Royal Navy affairs. Dumont is a Koyanagi man, and now that he¡¯s out, Dumont¡¯s days as a fleet commander are numbered.¡± ¡°I won¡¯t be crying no tears,¡± Lieutenant Gage said from behind the bar, now pouring himself a G&T, ¡°the man never did anything to deserve fleet command in the first place, and he certainly don¡¯t know how to run one. He was a career staff officer who managed to hang out with the right people and keep his mouth shut when appropriate. Western Fleet is consistently the worst fleet during inter-fleet exercises; just look how Home Fleet trounced them two years ago around Amaranth.¡± ¡°This is bordering on dangerous territory¡­¡± Lysimachos said, trying to reel his dispirited officers back in. ¡°Sir,¡± Mittelstadt said, ¡°surely you understand this as well. You¡¯re only a few years older than most of us¡­¡± That made Gage laugh, since he was approaching seventy, ¡°But you must be aware that Koyanagi has never been well-liked among the men and women of the Fleet and Auxiliary. Many of the brass liked him, because they benefited from it, but we are the ones who have had to serve on the ships his ilk created for us, and adhere to his policies.¡± ¡°And fine timing too,¡± Hazard said in an acid tone, ¡°just when the Alliance is getting their shit together and that Amazon CNO Bradford start¡¯s whipping the Alliance Space Navy into shape, we get a First Lord that is a political tool for the Conservatives, and ironically enough, their mortal enemies, Labour. Our naval procurement policies have been erratic, our recruitment and training numbers are down, our fleets are bunched up instead of spread out, and His Majesty is even toying with the idea of creating new peers just to counterbalance the Conservatives in the Lords. My God, what a fine mess.¡± She followed that last comment by downing her drink. ¡°Right, that¡¯s it!¡± Lysimachos shot up from his chair and looked around the room. ¡°You are all acting like school children right now, griping and moaning about things way outside of your control. Yes, it is a damned bad spot we¡¯re in, we could have used shore leave, our fleet commander may be acting surly because he knows he¡¯s on his way out, yes, the politics of the Service has been a mess. But that does not change the fact that you¡¯re all King¡¯s Officers. You¡¯ve all had four years at King William¡¯s Academy, you have served as midshipmen and ¨Cwomen for years, earned your golden bands, and you¡¯ve sworn an oath to do your utmost to defend our allies, the kingdom, and uphold the honour of His Majesty¡¯s Royal Navy. And you better start acting like it.¡± The tannoy chose that exact moment to come to life and a tone to denote ¡°attention please¡± played for a moment before the voice of Lieutenant Commander Trevor Merryweather, Carcharodon¡¯s Tactical Officer, could be heard. ¡°Captain to the bridge, I repeat, Captain to the bridge.¡± The message was short, but it was enough to grab the attention of everyone in the room, and Lysimachos headed straight for the door, while Hazard bolted up from her stool and followed in his wake. The wardroom was impractically far from the bridge, and the two walked briskly along the halls and bulkheads. Like all Royal Navy warships, the titanium walls were painted white, while the floor and roof was black. This was to help people orient themselves if the artificial gravity failed and they had to activate their magnetic boots to get around the ship. Here and there they passed what appeared to be windows that looked out into space, but since they were almost as deep into the ship as was possible; the ¡°windows¡± were instead viewscreens that showed feeds from outside cameras. This was for psychological reasons, for despite centuries of space travel, humanity still keenly felt the claustrophobia of travelling for weeks and months inside huge metal cases, and something as simple as being able to look outside helped assuage that. It helped give the impression of not being stuck in a huge artificial construct that defied everything natural to the human brain as it had evolved into back on Earth. For the same reason, plants were extremely common, as seeing living, breathing, growing things helped combat the aberrant sensation of travelling at thousands of kilometres per second in the emptiness of the void. The two officers hopped into a gravlift at one of the deck intersections. The lift system on board warships in the 29th century was fluid, which meant that instead of horizontal or vertical lifts, the lift cars were able to go in every direction since they were fitted with projectional gravity emitters, and the car moved through several decks and up nearly a hundred metres into the bridge superstructure without Lysimachos and Hazard noticing a thing. Saluting the Royal Marine sentries on watch, dressed in black uniforms and plate carriers, green berets and carrying loaded bullpup pulse rifles, the two senior officers entered the bridge. As soon as they entered, Lieutenant Commander Merryweather rose from the executive officer¡¯s seat, from where the officer of the watch kept an eye on all the stations and the 3D plot, and with a salute returned to his station at Tactical. ¡°Very well then, Mr Merryweather,¡± Lysimachos said as he sat down in the familiar command chair, ¡°what did you call me up for?¡± ¡°Sir, it appears we have a little lost lamb.¡± ¡°Pardon?¡± Hazard said quizzically, turning her chair to face the Tactical Officer. ¡°A lost lamb?¡± ¡°Yes, Ma¡¯am, it appears this one has strayed a fair bit away from its herd.¡± Lysimachos rubbed the bridge of his nose. ¡°Lieutenant Commander, please stop speaking in allegories and just tell us what it is you brought us up here for.¡± Suppressing a bit of a chuckle, Merryweather quickly typed in a few commands on his keyboard and the holographic plot changed and zoomed in on one specific electronic signature. He rose from his chair and pointed to it. ¡°That, Sir, is the Starmistress, registered on Beatrice in the Independent Systems Alliance. She¡¯s a nineteen hundred metre long pleasure liner, with a crew of six-hundred and nineteen and four-thousand and seventy passengers, at least recording the manifest submitted in Starfall. Her flight plan, as confirmed by New Malta Astral Control, was to sling around Hercules¡¯ Hood¡­¡± he pointed at the super Jovian some ninety million kilometres out from the Gozo belt, ¡°and come onto approach lane one-niner-oh for her entry into New Malta space proper. However¡­¡± He zoomed out the holographic map using sharp finger movements and submitted a few commands on the attached keyboard, and the registered approach lanes and monitored angles of approach by the combined New Maltese-Royal Navy reconnaissance and buoy/satellite network appeared as bubbles, denoting actual sensor coverage. The Starmistress had somehow managed to miss all of the latter ones since exiting the t-limit, and it was by only pure luck that Carcharodon¡¯s grav-pulse had picked her up. And Carcharodon had been on station for less than a standard week. Lysimachos sat forward in his chair, realization dawning. ¡°Miss MacKenzie,¡± he said to the Communications officer who was also part of the watch, ¡°hail the Starmistress, right now.¡± Realizing the gravity of the situation, Lieutenant Katherine MacKenzie put her headset over the top of her beret and leaned emphatically into the mike. At the same time, Lysimachos made hand gestures to Hazard, telling her to bring the rest of the available (and not overly intoxicated) bridge crew up. ¡°Commercial starliner Starmistress, this is His Majesty¡¯s cruiser Carcharodon, we have noticed your presence on grav-pulse and cannot fail to notice you have deviated quite some way from the provided approach vector given by New Malta Astral Control. Please adjust your heading to previously given vector, and state your reason for deviating off course. Carcharodon out.¡± ¡°Very good, Miss MacKenzie,¡± Hazard said, while downloading that same data Merryweather had put on the main holographic display onto her command chair interface. As it finished downloading, she produced a mighty frown. ¡°Sir,¡± she said, turning towards Lysimachos, ¡°Starmistress hasn¡¯t had a layover in two weeks, and that is a long time for a commercial pleasure liner. Usually these come to port on orbital stations and tethers wherever possible, but Starmistress has been in Union space for twelve days, five days in neutral space, following leaving Starfall, and has not ported since.¡± ¡°Right,¡± Lysimachos said, tenting his fingers in deep thought, ¡°we don¡¯t want to jump the gun on this, so let¡¯s play it cautious.¡± At the edge of his vision he noticed the rest of the regular bridge officers assuming their stations, lest the ones who obviously had had too many units of alcohol, such as the Astrogation and Operations officers; they were replaced by their ensign juniors. He turned back to MacKenzie. ¡°What is the reply?¡± ¡°Sir,¡± she pleaded, ¡°the time limit for transmission and return hasn¡¯t passed yet; she should have received our missive only forty seconds ago based on this distance.¡± He kicked himself, damnit man, calm down. ¡°I¡¯m sorry, Miss MacKenzie, carry on.¡± ¡°Shall I beat the crew to quarters, Sir?¡± Hazard almost whispered in his ear, but Lysimachos shook his head. ¡°No, most likely this has some natural explanation. Not only do we not want to unduly arouse the crew, it¡¯s going to be hell to pay going back to Western Fleet HQ and file all that paper work when we discover it¡¯s just some faulty transponder, and not a malicious attempt of invasion.¡± Sarcasm coloured his voice, and Hazard couldn¡¯t help but smile a bit. ¡°As you say, Sir, lay off punching holes in the civilian ship, got it.¡± Almost as soon as she finished speaking, a voice crackled out from the bridge¡¯s loudspeakers: ¡°Warship Carcharodon, this is the Starmistress¡­¡±, ¡°Well that¡¯s rather rude and unbecoming, omitting the proper prefix and all,¡± Sub-lieutenant Yuri Podkolzin commented. ¡°Carcharodon, we are a commercially owned pleasure liner, and we owe it to our paying guests to allow them to see the sights the galaxy has to offer. As such, we have diverted to admire the ice-crystal belt of Gozo, to give our passengers their money¡¯s worth. I¡¯m sure you can understand that this is the will of our shareholders, and our duty to our guests.¡± Hazard seemed extremely nonplussed, looking back and forth between MacKenzie and recently arrived Sub-lieutenant Kayden Blanchard, the replacement Operations Officer for Lieutenant Francesca Mittelstadt. Matthew Lysimachos was having none of it though. ¡°Miss MacKenzie,¡± he said, rubbing the bridge of his nose again in frustration, ¡°please tell the gentleman that this is non-negotiable, and that every starship needs to adhere to the rules in the sovereign space nation that they are guests in, especially in a system like New Malta with a large naval presence. And failing that, tell him I might become cross.¡± ¡°Starmistress, this is His Majesty¡¯s cruiser Carcharodon, you have been ordered to adjust your course and heading. This is non-negotiable in regards to the military presence in-system, and as such you must comply with Astral Control¡¯s directions.¡± Something fierce glinted in young Katherine MacKenzie¡¯s eyes. ¡°Failing to comply with the instructions provided will be seen as a violation of the Sirius Accords of twenty-four-forty-four, article two, paragraph sixteen, violation of the space of a sovereign star nation without proper clearance. If Starmistress does not defer to provided instructions within the next standard shipboard time sixty minutes, HMS Carcharodon will unfortunately have no option but to forcefully make your ship port.¡± She turned back towards Lysimachos, a sinister smile on her face. ¡°You think that got their attention?¡± Lysimachos and Hazard didn¡¯t know whether to laugh or scream. Probably the latter. ¡°Miss MacKenzie,¡± Hazard said at last, ¡°you have performed your duties according to the book, but what the book doesn¡¯t tell you¡­¡± Lysimachos picked up for Hazard. ¡°What the book doesn¡¯t tell you is that there is a time and place to make such forceful claims. I would like to follow you up on your threat to make the Elysians adhere to their original flight path, but for some reason, if they refuse to oblige us¡­¡± ¡°The Starmistress is turning around!¡± Podkolzin reported, and Lysimachos relaxed a bit. But neither MacKenzie nor the bridge of the Starmistress had turned off the feed, and the voices of the captain, 2-i-C, and navigator on the Starmistress bled through. ¡°Fucking Aurorans, who do they think they are?¡± ¡°We¡¯ve come a hundred light years only to get accosted by these space-lane fascists¡­¡± ¡°The day of reckoning will come, you¡¯ll see.¡± ¡°Miss MacKenzie,¡± Lysimachos said with a voice that was liquid nitrogen, ¡°inform New Maltese naval authorities that we will be bringing to port a nominally civilian vessel, upon which I would like Royal Navy shore patrol and Maltese customs officers to inspect every inch of that vessel, down to the smallest little cot.¡± Chapter 11 - Days of Erudition: Conversations over Lunch A gentle wind ruffled the curtains, and they fluttered in the bright sunlight. The gentle and lilting tunes of a grand piano filled the air just as much as the wind and the sun, adding its own beautiful layer to the atmosphere in the small room. The tunes were produced by someone very much in control of their craft, their hands danced across the tangents, fingers pressing down only barely enough to produce the correct sounds before racing off to grace the next tangents with their touch. It was the sound of someone skilled, someone with years and years of experience, someone with a keen ear for music. It was the sound of someone in love. Edward Heatherland was totally enraptured by the music, giving his entire self over to the spirit of the piece, hands moving with fluidity and seemingly exaggerated motions, his upper body almost dancing, not along with the music per se, but with the feelings and message it intoned. He had closed his eyes long ago, he knew perfectly well where the tangents were, and he had practiced this piece so long that it was ingrained in his muscle memory. There was nothing in this moment except him, the piano, the music, and his feelings. The trilling and dulcet tunes of the allegro flowingly turned over into the ? time step of the minuetto, spirited and joyful, like the playful courtship of swallows in the spring sky, dancing, swooping, and choreographed by instinct rather by rational thought. And after what seemed to Edward only like a few heartbeats, but in actuality almost five minutes, he was over into the more melancholic larghetto. The tempo was down, the touches on the tangents were deeper, and the movements more deliberate, the temperament of the music betrayed his own sense of longing, hopelessness, and na?ve desire to reconnect. But before it could completely take over the essence of the piece as a whole, he launched into the fierce and determined finale, presto, the notes initially more pressing, pounding, making their presence felt, the emotions behind laid bare. It was as if Edward was displaying his whole being before the world, his hands and feet demonstrating the depths of emotion his heart felt, made manifest through music written a millennia ago, but still as emotionally powerful as the day it was written. As the piece was approaching its end, Edward leant slightly forward, eyes still closed, and emphatically hit the tangents, producing the sense of urgency as well as vulnerability as the piece demanded, before he relaxed and returned to his almost caressing touches, but his heart was almost close to bursting. During the last part, he leaned forward over the tangents and with the dedication possessed only by madmen and lovers, he poured his heart out as he pounded the tangents to finish off the sonata. Out of breath and emotionally drained, his arms slumped to his sides. ¡°My God, Master Heatherland, I have never heard Chopin been played with such intensity and passion before.¡± Professor Chantelle Winton rose from the chair at the back of the practice room in Countess Montroy Conservatoire she had been sitting in, and clapped her hands together emphatically as Edward finished the last few notes of Chopin¡¯s Piano Sonata No.1 in C Minor. ¡°I certainly did not know you were capable of displaying such emotion while playing,¡± she continued as Edward shakily brought a bottle of water to his lips. ¡°You have for the past two years shown yourself to be very skilled technically, but I have always wanted you to really connect to the music and produce a version that can be called your own.¡± She walked over and laid a hand on his shoulder. ¡°If you play like this at the final recital, I don¡¯t think an A in Early Classics is out of the question.¡± Despite feeling like had just run a marathon, Edward¡¯s face lit up. An A in the prestigious Early Classics Course Module, which was heavily slanted towards recitals and semi-official performances with one of the several students orchestras of the Queen Marie¡¯s Metropolitan University, was almost a guarantee a letter of recommendation to a full-time orchestra after graduation. This was extremely important for purely soloist majors like Edward¡¯s Classical Piano, since each orchestra usually had only one or two piano soloists in full employment; even the highly distinguished and lauded Royal Cordelia Opera Orchestra had only four, and one of them was a fortepiano specialist. ¡°You really think so, Ma¡¯am? I mean, there¡¯s still the final recital in two weeks, and then the Year End Gala performances¡­¡± A tiny hope had been sparked in him, and his suddenly cheerful tone made Winton suppress a chuckle. ¡°Edward, you¡¯re not a bad student, despite whatever your performance in Kub¨ª?ek¡¯s course is,¡± ¨Cthe comment made Edward look away a bit sheepishly¨C, ¡°you are truly dedicated to music and to your craft, and it shows when you¡¯re playing. But this is the level of intensity and mastery of not simply producing the ¡®correct¡¯ notes, this is taking a piece and make it your own in a special way. And if you can replicate this during your final few performances, you are certainly ready to be considered among the upper echelons of our students.¡± Her face became less maternal and more serious again. ¡°That is, if you can also keep this up for the final four semesters as well, but this would go a long way to help your overall Majors grade. Keep this up, Heatherland, and make your parents not regret sending you to Cordelia to pursue piano.¡± Professor Winton¡¯s words still rang in Edward¡¯s ears as he slumped down on one of the benches in one of the QMMU park areas. Euryphaessa was shining down brightly, and he was tempted to take off his grey blazer, but thought better off it. He fingered the flag pin of Amaranth on his blazer lapel absent-mindedly, a cream coloured fleur-de-lis on an amaranthine field. Those last words by the professor had sent him on a bit of a mental trip. Currently he was considering the idiocy of humanity still being slaved to the Gregorian Calendar of Earth, while every inhabited planet had their own orbital cycle around their native stars, had their own speed of axial rotation, making it completely illogical to still use Earth¡¯s calendar system. So, while the current date was Friday 17th May, 2874 (relative), it was closer to high summer on Aurora, and the middle of winter on his homeworld of Amaranth. But again, seasons were different, and Aurora had what could be considered summer for half of its fourteen monthly cycles, which were slightly longer than Earth¡¯s due to the moon New Lysithea¡¯s size and orbital distance, and then a long fall and long winter, followed by an extremely short spring. Amaranth was basically summer for most of the year, followed by a slightly colder summer, due to its extreme axial tilt and large sun, the red giant Aditya. As he thought about Amaranth, he felt a pang of homesickness. Edward had grown up right outside the capital of Persephone, a sprawling city constructed on a series of atolls, connected by waterways, monorail lines and walkways that stretched across the highrises. It had the same quaint Neo-Georgian meets hypermodernity look as Cordelia, but much more colourful, with buildings painted and designed with the natural shapes and colours of the ocean that filled most of the planet¡¯s surface in mind. He suddenly missed water-skiing with his childhood friends, walking along the seaside quays and their water-side malls and bazaars, and missed taking trips to the untouched natural reserve islands and atolls and hike through the rainforests. He missed his parents¡¯ two-story apartment in the suburb of Cybelia too, he missed his mother¡¯s Dionysian cooking, his father¡¯s anecdotes and passion for football which they both shared, and own collection of history books that sat in his childhood room. Now all of that was seven to nine days away on a passenger liner, and only the Holiday Season was long enough for him to have time to go over there and back again in time for the start of the semester. Then Edward felt another pang of heartache as he thought of Adea. He had only caught glimpses of her after their night out, and she had looked angry every time, and during PolHis classes the past day he had seen her sit alone, even Sandy choosing to keep her distance. He didn¡¯t know what to make of it, if it had somehow been his fault, but he had chosen to avoid her as well. Arvind had been pretty annoyed the day after Edward¡¯s trip to the Peacock, but had soon been enthralled as Edward (nursing his raging hangover with several mugs of tea) had regaled how the playground of the children of the Kingdom¡¯s powerful looked and functioned. Edward had a few days later noted that he had Narissara Roxburgh¡¯s contact info in his handcom, and from that he had managed to weave into existence the idea that Adea¡¯s anger stemmed from the latter parts of that evening. A pinch and a grumble in his stomach brought him back to reality, and he realised he had been spacing out for a good while, and while he didn¡¯t have any more classes for the day, he was still obligated to practice on his own, but he was still feeling the aftershock of playing his absolute mind out during the Chopin sonata, as well as the nervousness he had had beforehand. Better go find some food, just too bad they don¡¯t sell alcohol on campus; I could have used a drink right about now. He could have opted for the Vermilion Hall mess hall, where his student¡¯s convent was, but he chose the closer and larger Humanities cafeteria, which had seating for some eight-hundred, and with a very large kitchen attached. Plus he was pretty sure today was seafood specials day, and being from an ocean-dominated world, Edward was very fond of seafood. The Humanities Common Hall was made in an Avant-Gothic style, with tall peaked towers and spires and grey brick, and had more in common with the Cordelia ward town halls than the rest of the QMMU architecturally, but the relatively dark wooden interior lit up by the many windows was similar enough. Walking along the many cafeteria stations with his tray, he realised he was hungrier than he thought, picking up a bowl of traditional Nordic white fish soup, a small loaf of ciabatta, and some pieces of fried Amaranthine tuna (which were monstrosities several hundred feet long that required entire offshore rigs to fish). Only after paying for it by the way of swiping his student card against the slot of a drone did he realise the huge cafeteria was basically packed. When he was about to give up, and was contemplating the idea of somehow sneaking his meal outside, he saw a familiar cascade of near-white hair. Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original. ¡°Um, very sorry for intruding, My Lady, but seeing there¡¯s next to nowhere to sit, would you awfully mind me joining you?¡± Lady Artemisia de Vere looked up from the book she had been reading while slowly consuming a bowl of bacalhau, and regarded Edward with wondering pink-grey eyes. ¡°Say, where do I know you from?¡± she said as Edward could veritably see the gears grinding in her head. ¡°Are you part of the Scarlet Hall convent crowd?¡± ¡°Ah, no My Lady,¡± Edward said, feeling suddenly very silly for having asked in the first place, ¡°we met briefly last week after Dr van Fluyten¡¯s lecture, where you mainly had a discussion with Lady S¨¦lincourt¡­¡± The pink-grey eyes immediately became suspicious slits. ¡°I do suggest,¡± she said in a tone almost as icy as her hair, ¡°that you might want to find another place to sit then, if you¡¯re one of Adea¡¯s clique.¡± ¡°No, My Lady, I can assure you, I¡¯m not part of anyone¡¯s clique. My name is Edward Heatherland, I just met Lady S¨¦lincourt the same day, and haven¡¯t talked to her since.¡± Well, we all know that¡¯s a lie. ¡°And if I might be so bold, Lady de Vere, there really isn¡¯t anywhere else to sit. I promise I won¡¯t disturb your studies, I¡¯ll just eat my meal and go.¡± Her eyes continued to stare into his emerald ones for what felt like an awkward eternity, but after what was in actuality only a few seconds, she sighed and made a waving motion for him to sit down at the table which had seating for eight, but which was empty save for Artemisia. Gratefully, Edward bowed his head and sat his tray down, put a napkin in his lap, and started to eat with as much etiquette he could muster, being in the presence of a duke¡¯s daughter after all. Said duke¡¯s daughter simply continued to read in a large tome. As the two continued to ¡°enjoy¡± each other¡¯s presence in total silence, Edward¡¯s natural curiosity got the better of him, and trying as subtly as he was capable of, he strained his neck to look at what Artemisia was reading. He quickly realised the pages were in a language he couldn¡¯t read, but he recognised the letters of the Greek alphabet. Apparently, he wasn¡¯t being as subtle as he thought he was, for as he looked up, Artemisia was looking straight at him, with a very annoyed expression on her face. ¡°This is the Biblioth¨¥ke Historik? by Diodoros of Sicily, if you¡¯re so awfully keen at finding out. He was a scholar and historian in the very last century before the Common Era, writing a general history of the Earth Mediterranean and Near East regions.¡± ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± Edward said in earnest, ¡°I didn¡¯t mean to pry, I just saw that it was written with Greek letters, and wondered what it could be.¡± An eyebrow as white as the rest of her hair perked up. ¡°You know Greek then?¡± Edward bobbed his head up and down in confirmation as he tried to stall while he chewed on a bit of ciabatta. ¡°Yes, My Lady,¡± he managed to produce after some food-related equivocation, ¡°my mother is Dionysian, so I grew up learning Ellenik¨¢, but I don¡¯t know the ancient variant, but I do recognise the letters to be the same.¡± Instead of scoffing or producing an annoyed response, Artemisia surprised Edward by producing the ghost of a smile. ¡°Well, you¡¯re better off than me then. I know a language that has been effectively dead since the fall of the Byzantine Empire; hell, my name is even in that language, but I don¡¯t know the version which is actually spoken today by millions of people across Human Space. Goes to show what a Classical education provides of value in today¡¯s society.¡± Edward wasn¡¯t entirely sure what to say, so he only took a sip of water from his glass. That was apparently the wrong reaction. ¡°What are you hoping to get out of this, Heatherland?¡± she said as she slammed her book shut and affixed him with a fierce glance. ¡°Is it to mock me? If so, there have been several before you with more insidious approaches, and I can assure you, I saw through them all. I have barely even met you before, and you make it your mission to harass me, I can¡¯t fucking believe it¡­¡± Edward had stopped eating now and was looking anxiously at the tables next to them, noticing that other students had indeed been eavesdropping and were busy whispering among themselves. ¡°I, honest to God,¡± he said, looking back at the now angry noblewoman, ¡°have no idea what you¡¯re talking about. I just needed a place to sit down, and I happened to recognise your face, and since there were no other tables open, I just asked if I could join your table. No ill-will was intended, I can assure you, My Lady.¡± Artemisia blinked a few times in a similar manner Edward was sure he had just done. ¡°Surely,¡± she went on after a moment, leaning across the table to not have their conversation overheard, ¡°you cannot be that dense?¡± Edward slightly cocked his head, more confused than ever. ¡°Dense, My Lady?¡± ¡°I am a fucking clone, Edward,¡± Artemisia de Vere said, or seethed rather, through gritted teeth, ¡°I¡¯m a vat-grown lab-product, customised right down to my hair colour, level of IQ, muscle mass, and even my inexplicable love for tragic operas. I was ordered and paid for by my father nineteen years ago, quite illegally I might add, considering the laws of the Kingdom, to be his replacement for the heirs he lost because he was such a piss-poor excuse of a paternal figure to avoid them from killing themse¡­¡± She shut up with a click of her teeth, and Edward couldn¡¯t help notice her pale cheeks had turned rosy and her knuckles milk white. ¡°Anyway,¡± she continued after running a hand through her hair to buy some time to recompose herself, ¡°I have lived with people talking behind my back for my entire life, lived with the ridicule that has been slung my way. So you¡¯re just another one in a long line of would-be bullies; but I am sorry to say your jabs won¡¯t find any purchase here.¡± ¡°So what, My Lady?¡± ¡°Excuse me?¡± Had not the topic of conversation been so clearly intimate and a source of frustration for Artemisia, Edward might have laughed at her incredulous facial expression. ¡°My Lady,¡± he continued, intentionally keeping his voice low as to not embarrass Artemisia further, ¡°I am the son of a Dionysian Gen-Two woman, and I have never thought of it as a source of shame in my life. Maybe, if My Lady will permit me, it is worse to be a complete Gen-Two, given the historical stigma that follows it, especially perhaps amongst the nobility, but I would say that should be a source of strength rather than weakness. If others denigrate you for this, what they really are doing is criticising His Grace your father. They are in reality calling him out for not being able to be a good paternal figure as you say, and the ¡®jabs¡¯ are really meant for him, not you. So what if you¡¯re specially designed to be the way that you are? You should consider that a good thing, especially when many of us are random codes of DNA and some, as very cruel as it might seem, are ¡®accidents¡¯. You¡¯re the opposite of an accident, you¡¯re specifically and meticulously crafted to be the person you are, and while the thought of having no say in the matter is understandably infuriating, it is fundamentally no different to anyone else. If you¡¯ll permit me, My Lady, if I was in your shoes, I¡¯d let the insults wash off and over me, and I say this as a not particularly confident person, but they¡¯re in the end not intended for you. And while yes, cloning is an abhorrent business, no one in this situation is to blame but your father for going down that route.¡± Edward suddenly realised he had been caught up in the moment, and his rambling had been perhaps a bit too much and as the realisation hit, he froze up like a deer in headlights. ¡°Those are actually wise words, Heatherland.¡± Wha-? ¡°I think I¡¯ll take them into consideration.¡± Pale pink lips curled up into a genuine smile, and Edward was struck once again with the realisation that Artemisia de Vere was a very cute young girl. Shitshitshitshit. She picked up the tray containing her empty bowl and glass, and seemingly effortlessly hefted the huge tome under her arm, which seemed very out of place for such a petite and seemingly fragile girl, even though now Edward understood she was quite the opposite. She turned to go, to leave Edward in peace with the rest of his meal. But as she was almost out of Edward¡¯s field of vision, she turned back around again. ¡°If you wouldn¡¯t awfully mind, Heatherland,¡± she said in a low tone, ¡°I¡¯d like us to share lunch again someday soon.¡± Edward on instinct half-rose from his chair to do a slight bow in confirmation. ¡°It would be my honour, My Lady.¡± Wait, was she actually blushing? "See you around, Edward." Chapter 12 - Days of Erudition: Punishment ¡°Do you have any idea of the size of the pile of bullshit you¡¯ve managed to heap onto my desk through your sheer idiocy? Here¡¯s a hint, it¡¯s about the size of a railcannon shell, and on top of it all, I have the new fleet commander''s staff breathing down my neck as to why I allowed an Alliance ship, a civilian one at that, to be forcibly ported, in what looks awfully like in total violation of interstellar law.¡± Rear Admiral of the Black Freya Holland was sitting behind the faux-pine desk of her flag quarters, fingers tented underneath her chin while she was staring daggers at Commander Matthew Lysimachos, standing awkwardly at ease. Lysimachos actually liked and respected Holland; she was a no-nonsense officer usually lacking a flair for the dramatic, with long dark hair tied into a complicated braid, and piercing grey eyes. However, in the present situation, it was hard to not be intimidated by the angry senior officer. ¡°Lord Hartcastle,¡± she continued in the same icy tone, ¡°is just about to formally relieve Sir Ryan Dumont as commander of Western Fleet, and the first thing on his docket is going to be the angry complaints from both the Starmistress¡¯ cruise line and the Elysian and Alliance ambassadors on New Malta, claiming the docking of the Starmistress is a gross overstep of the Royal Navy¡¯s jurisdiction in Maltese space.¡± She untented her fingers and crossed her arms across her chest instead. ¡°What in the world were you thinking, man? This is exactly the sort of incident we really don¡¯t want to have with the Alliance, especially at this point in time, with general elections looming for both the Kingdom and the Alliance. This sort of behaviour, this heavy-handed and haughty handling of civilian ships of foreign star nations by the Royal Navy, is exactly the sort of propaganda the Liberal Progressive and Charterist parties in the Independent Systems Alliance are spewing out, and here you go ahead and give them a perfect example on a silver platter.¡± ¡°Ma¡¯am,¡± Lysimachos said, the first words he had said after entering the flag quarters of the HMS Swiftsure and being told to ¡®shut up until I tell you otherwise¡¯, ¡°I can only apologise for the fallout of the whole affair.¡± He was pretty sure he could see a vein bulge in Holland¡¯s neck, but he braved on. ¡°But if you have studied my report, you must be aware that the presence of the Starmistress outside any of the combined Royal Navy/New Maltese Navy sensor bubbles is highly suspicious, as was her lack of calling to port during her cruise; which is very abnormal for an interstellar cruise ship.¡± ¡°I have read your and your 2-i-C¡¯s reports,¡± Holland angrily retorted, ¡°and while yes, that is unusual, the skipper of the Starmistress¡¯ explanation is also wholly plausible. The Gozo ice-crystal asteroid field is in fact a major tourist attraction, something you¡¯d have picked up on if you¡¯d been in New Malta space for more than fifteen minutes.¡± ¡°Ma¡¯am, we¡¯ve been on station for a week¨C¡± Lysimachos opined, but Holland was having none of it. ¡°Shut up until I tell you otherwise, Commander,¡± she snapped, putting emphasis on commander, and Lysimachos¡¯ mouth shut with a click. ¡°As long as you¡¯re part of my flotilla, you¡¯ll follow my orders to the letter. Carcharodon¡¯s mission was to patrol the Gozo belt, primarily looking for smugglers or illegal mining operations, not creating international scandals by harassing commercial shipping.¡± She grabbed an old-fashioned document folder and flipped through the pages a bit, before halting at one in particular, her eyes skimming the content. ¡°I¡¯m putting Carcharodon on indefinite ready reserve duty, she will be replaced by Mandalay for the time being, until your heels have cooled sufficiently that I trust to put you out there again. And don¡¯t even think about getting any shore leave while you¡¯re at it, ready reserve also implies scramble and/or picket duty, so one third of crew on watch at all times, even while docked at Jutland.¡± Lysimachos¡¯ heart sank, but he tried not to show it, and smartly came to attention, hand snapping up to his cap brim in salute. ¡°Ma¡¯am,¡± was all he said, and Holland gave him a ¡®go away¡¯ waving gesture, and he turned on his heel and marched out of the flag officer¡¯s office, the bulkhead door swishing shut behind him.
¡°That¡¯s fucking bunkum,¡± Lieutenant-Commander Leonetta Hazard said through gritted teeth, ¡°a tired and newly arrived crew, having gotten no shore leave for nearly a month, is tossed under the proverbial groundcar just like that.¡± She was leaning on the metal railing along a walkway facing a huge window out towards one of the many docking and maintenance arms of the gigantic orbital naval hub that was His Majesty¡¯s Space Station Jutland. Like most military orbital installations, Jutland was centred on a massive core structure that ran the axis of the entire kilometres long complex which housed all the command and control, personnel, medical, administration, recreation, and other non-operating sections. Then, in circles that ¡°walked¡± up the central spinal structure, were the docking, bunkering, maintenance, victualing, and emergency services stations, the docking arms sticking out almost like spikes, giving the outer circles a cogwheel-like appearance. The Jutland, some thirty-eight kilometres long along the main axis, and with a radius of sixteen kilometres at its widest, had a complement of around one-hundred and ninety-thousand Royal Navy and Royal Fleet Auxiliary personnel, in addition to civilian contractors. These were the support personnel that kept the ships and crews of the Western Fleet (and attached New Maltese units) operational, fed, fuelled, and ready for action. Ships like Carcharodon, but now the light cruiser was effectively put on time-out, as was her crew. ¡°It¡¯s bollocks that we¡¯re being punished for what is obviously Admiral Dumont being grumpy as shit that¡¯s he¡¯s out the door,¡± Hazard continued and Lysimachos, leaning on the railing next to her suppressed an urge to groan. ¡°Sure, we may have jumped the gun a little, and perhaps, if we¡¯re pointing fingers, Lieutenant MacKenzie should perhaps be given a larger share of blame than some of the other officers.¡± Lysimachos turned and looked angrily at Hazard who flung up her arms in a disarming gesture. ¡°Hey, I¡¯m playing devil¡¯s advocate here, I¡¯m not saying we should be putting Katherine even further into the dog house than she already is, it¡¯s just that her, uh¡­ zeal might have landed us collectively in hotter water than was necessary.¡± ¡°Leonie,¡± Lysimachos said, his tired tone betraying how resigned he was with the whole situation, ¡°shifting blame, regardless if it is by miniscule amounts, is not very helpful in this current situation. I think MacKenzie is aware that she messed up, and I think she¡¯s beating herself up over it, especially since all near eight-hundred of us on the Carcharodon are paying for this collectively. And ultimately, it was my call; on-board, the food-chain stops with me and I made the wrong decision and let emotion take over in the heat of the moment. There¡¯s nothing to do but suck up and be professional about it. This isn¡¯t the first time a crew has been punished in the long history of the Royal Navy.¡± As he said that, they two watched as the massive white hull of the Starmistress left one of the docking arms on the same ring they were on. The captain of the Starmistress had received a formal apology from both Rear Admiral Holland, as well as Vice Admiral of the White Nicholas Shinkaruk, who commanded Jutland itself, and the strip search promised by Lysimachos had amounted to a perfunctory once-over by New Maltese customs officers. However, feathers had been ruffled, and the Alliance cruise captain had promised to file an official complaint to the ISA embassy in St. Angelo, and Lysimachos dreaded the outcome once Lord Hartcastle ¨Cwho was allegedly already on his way to New Malta from his previous posting on Amaranth¨C heard of what had transpired. A beaching and half-pay for him and Hazard was probably getting off cheap. ¡°Well, I never,¡± a new voice shot in from somewhere behind the two officers and they turned as one to consider the newcomer; ¡°if it isn¡¯t the man of the moment himself. You¡¯re the talk of the entire fleet currently, and that¡¯s no mean feat.¡± ¡°Andrea?!¡± Lysimachos burst out in surprise. Andrea Picoletti was a pale Westernessan of middling height, with a short red hair, freckles, and a contagious smile. Picoletti and Lysimachos had been part of the same house at King William Naval Academy, back in ¡¯60-¡¯64, and while not exactly the best of friends, they had hung in the same circles. ¡°I didn¡¯t know you were out here,¡± Lysimachos continued in a quizzical tone, ¡°I thought you were still attached to Valerian Station.¡± Picoletti came up to the two and Hazard saluted as she recognised the newcomer¡¯s three golden bands on her cuffs, denoting her as a Commander, and Picoletti gave her a quick salute in return before turning her focus back on Lysimachos. ¡°I was up until two years ago, but now I¡¯m 2-i-C on the Constance, and with Commander de Haan¡¯s promotion to Captain all but confirmed, I¡¯ll be taking over as her captain.¡± ¡°So you¡¯ve been out here for two years then, Ma¡¯am?¡± Hazard asked and Picoletti nodded. ¡°That¡¯s right, doing nothing more exciting than patrolling the outer reaches of the other member worlds of the Suzerainty, like Octavia and Augusta. That¡¯s not to say we haven¡¯t done anything, Constance is currently tied among Western Fleet ships for having caught most smugglers, with nineteen over the course of sixteen months. In addition to¡­¡± Picoletti trailed off, cast a glance over her shoulder at a pair of passing leading ratings who were too busy discussing the information on their tablets to salute the officers, before continuing. ¡°Anyway, standing out here in the middle of a walkway is hardly the place for a chat. Say we hit up one of the Jutland¡¯s bars and pick up the conversation again over a pint?¡± Hazard consulted her wristwatch and shrugged. ¡°Well, since neither the Captain here nor I need to have the watch, I think we have time for a beer or three before we have to return to Carcharodon.¡± ¡°Thank you, Leonie, for pointing out the obvious, and also for inviting yourself,¡± Lysimachos said dryly, to which Hazard shrugged. ¡°I simply thought I had already been invited by proxy.¡± She turned towards Picoletti and saluted again. ¡°Lieutenant Commander Leonetta Hazard, Carcharodon¡¯s 2-i-C, Ma¡¯am. It¡¯s a pleasure to meet you.¡± Picoletti saluted back, more crisply this time around. ¡°The pleasure is all mine, Lieutenant Commander, and by all means, you¡¯re welcome to tag along; I didn¡¯t mean that the invitation extended to Matthew only.¡± The trio walked down the deck and hitched a gravlift which carried them from Ring #17 to the main superstructure of Jutland itself, where the majority of facilities, including the leisure ones, were located. On the way, Picoletti and Lysimachos alternated filling in Hazard about their days together at the Academy, including a few stories about lecturers Hazard ¨Cfour years their junior¨C had also had. By the time they reached one of the leisure and down-time decks, they were all laughing and swapping stories. The Royal Fleet Auxiliary¡¯s shore establishment division officially owned its own pub and restaurant franchises that actually operated as regular establishments on space stations and on the worlds of the kingdom. The franchises were owned by the RFA, but run by civilian contractors and employees, and while it had started as exclusive naval station fixtures, they had over time expanded to open quite a few venues ground-side. The pub franchise was named Quarterdeck, and as far as pub franchises went (of which there were quite many in the Auroran kingdom), they were far from the worst, despite the impression of mass-production the naval memorabilia that hung on the titanium walls of this particular venue on Jutland¡¯s deck 37E produced. If you encounter this narrative on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it. Taking a seat in a booth with faux-wood furniture not totally different from what could be found in a warship¡¯s wardroom, Picoletti waved over a waitress. ¡°Three steins and a pitcher of draught New Toronto Choice, if you¡¯d be so kind,¡± she said while taking off her peaked cap. ¡°Of course, Commander, coming right up,¡± the waitress said and disappeared behind the bar counter. It wasn¡¯t all that surprising that the civilian waitress could identify Royal Navy ranks by looking at insignias; they were on one of the largest military stations in Human Space after all. Due to safety regulations, all non-essential facilities and compartments were not enclosed by bulkhead doors, due to the fact that if large groups congregated, getting everyone out would be slow; they were fitted with invisible privacy shields instead of being physically confined. This way the hustle and bustle of regular activity that defined daily life on a naval station could carry on outside, while off-duty troops could have a good time inside these bubbles. ¡°So, Andrea,¡± Lysimachos said after the waitress had deposited the glasses and pitcher, looking at Picoletti as he poured beer, ¡°what did you imply by ¡®in addition¡¯ earlier?¡± Picoletti took a good long swig of her stein before putting it down and leaning a bit closer over the small faux-wood table. ¡°You aren¡¯t the first to run into civilian Alliance ships in places where they ostensibly ought not to be.¡± She looked around slightly conspiratorially, but the tables around them were empty. Figures, Lysimachos thought, it¡¯s only just past two in the afternoon. ¡°Three weeks ago,¡± Picoletti continued, ¡°HMS Amethyst came across an ore hauler registered on Marduk that was on a perpendicular course with the orbital stations of Octavia, and had somehow managed to avoid getting seen by any New Maltese ships despite being in-system for five days. When Amethyst questioned her, they apologised for their mistake, produced some inane excuse that they had received bad vectors from Octavia Astral Control, and only then corrected their heading.¡± Hazard and Lysimachos looked at each other in confusion and Picoletti nodded eagerly. ¡°Exactly, I can see what you¡¯re thinking. Unless both the skipper and the helmsman of that hauler had been drunk for five days straight, there is no way they didn¡¯t know they were off their approach vector by tens of millions of kilometres. Just like the Carcharodon, the Amethyst had just arrived on station, and with her better ARS-22C grav-pulse sensor arrays, she could see said ore hauler long before she could be observed in return, and was able to fall upon her before they had gotten their excuses in order.¡± ¡°Excuse me, Commander Picoletti,¡± Hazard intervened, nursing her stein in two hands and hiking one eyebrow up sceptically, ¡°isn¡¯t this somewhat of a precipitous conclusion? What proof do you have that said hauler¡¯s, for instance, astrogation SAI, wasn¡¯t simply broken or in need of an update?¡± ¡°Ah, Lieutenant Commander,¡± Picoletti replied while giving Hazard a toothy grin and pointing at her, ¡°you¡¯re good at your job as a First Lieutenant I see; yes, quote apt at being the devil¡¯s advocate. I¡¯ll tell you why Commander Alexander of the Amethyst assumed technical failure was the reason for her erratic course for about, oh I don¡¯t know, fifteen seconds. Because he checked the logs and saw that comparable instances had happened seven times in the past fifteen months in New Malta sovereign space alone.¡± Enraptured now, Lysimachos leaned forward after emptying his stein (and suppressing an embarrassing burp), and tented his fingers. ¡°By comparable instances, I take it you mean Elysian or Independent Systems Alliance registered civilian vessels?¡± Pointing her fingers like a pistol at Lysimachos, Picoletti laughed, but none of the mirth reached her eyes. ¡°Spot on, Matthew,¡± she said, and took another swig of her beer. ¡°And as I said, that¡¯s only within Suzerainty of New Malta space. You didn¡¯t hear this from me, but we¡¯ve gotten reports from the Republic of Corinth, channelled through our Corridor Station, and from our ¡®good friends¡¯ in the Sacred Kingdom of Dionysia of similar incursions there. Combine that with Octavia and Augusta, and you¡¯re looking at suspicious activity by Alliance civilian skippers along two-thirds of the Royal Union¡¯s border towards the Alliance. The only thing missing are illegal trespasses in the Kitezh, Antioch, and Azurea regions in the ¡®south-west¡¯ before one can conclusively deduce there is a pattern to the madness.¡± ¡°Andrea,¡± Lysimachos said, ¡°have you brought this to the attention of the Western Fleet intelligence division? Surely you¡¯re not the only one who has noticed this trend.¡± ¡°Of course this has been brought to Western Fleet¡¯s attention. We had a senior officer¡¯s meeting on Constance about this when we found out, and Commander de Haan forwarded an urgent report to Admiral Dumont¡¯s staff. As did Commander Alexander on behalf of the crew of the Amethyst, and Baroness Trident Hill did the same when HMS Sovereign of the Stars chanced upon a wildly off course Elysian Indiaman while out on gunnery exercises. All to no avail, just the standard ¡®thank you, we¡¯ll look into it¡¯ message from Dumont¡¯s intelligence staff, and then complete radio silence.¡± ¡°That seems really odd,¡± Hazard offered, taking off her white beret to scratch her fiercely orange scalp, and Picoletti nodded in agreement. ¡°Thing is, there is a palpable sense of tension out here. And by out here, I mean the Royal Union star nations that directly border the Independent Systems Alliance. She took another deep swig of beer, emptying her stein and refilling it, before refilling Lysimachos¡¯ and Hazard¡¯s glasses as well. ¡°The Kingdom of Aurora,¡± she started, now suddenly very serious, without any humour colouring her freckled cheeks, ¡°and by extension the Royal Navy, is currently the epitome of status quo, just owing to the fact that we¡¯re going through a change in naval leadership right now, and we have a general election for the House of Commons in the next ten months. That is why our commanders, regardless of their political affiliation, be they Sir Ryan ¡®Fuck You Very Much¡¯ Dumont¡­¡± Hazard couldn¡¯t help but giggle into her beer, and Picoletti shot her a sympathetic glance. ¡°Or Lord Jeremiah ¡®A Stick Up Me Bum¡¯ Grantham of Hartcastle¡­¡± This time it was Lysimachos¡¯ turn to laugh. ¡°Fundamentally, the policy of His Majesty¡¯s Service remains the same; whatever else you may be up to, do not rock the fucking boat. And that is in stark contrast to what our allies in New Malta and Corinth are advocating, because they have had it up to here;¡± she said while putting the top of her flat hand against her chin. ¡°And that only involves provocations regarding nominally civilian vessels. While the frontier systems ache and demand response from the Kingdom, our political overlords only decry the current situation, and orders the Navy to try their very best to de-escalate the situation by carrying on as if nothing is out of the ordinary. Our battle squadrons carry out their exercises, and fly the flag in foreign ports on courtesy visits, our cruisers patrol the shipping lanes, and the destroyers run escort duties for merchant shipping when they¡¯re not taking part in fleet exercises. Meanwhile, the Republic of Corinth Navy is actively scrambling task groups to patrol the borders of the demilitarised neutral zone of the Corridor, while the Maltese are putting long-range scout groups into the void between Octavia and Galloway on the Alliance side. There is real pushback from the New Maltese Council of Princes and the Corinthian Gerousia to Auroran policies, and in response to the Auroran lack thereof, they¡¯re talking about hiking up the customs duties and import tariffs on goods from the ISA.¡± ¡°Oh, that¡¯s trouble,¡± Hazard commented, and Lysimachos nodded in agreement. ¡°Yes it is,¡± Picoletti said, ¡°because if two of the largest star nations in the Royal Union starts what is in effect a trade war with the ISA, things will spiral out of control quickly, especially smuggling which is already a major issue. It will also likely entice several of the neutral systems along the Corridor, like Ilion and Nova Polonia, to become brokers for shadow shipping lines, which in turn means that the Royal Union will crack down on imports from these systems as well, and that will be the death of their economy, which is almost completely trade-based.¡± ¡°And that¡¯ll drive them into the hands of the ever-expanding Independent Systems Alliance,¡± Lysimachos finished for her. ¡°And if these systems join the ISA, they¡­¡± ¡°Gain control over the majority of the Corridor, yes.¡± Picoletti finished. The three were silent for a little while, the only sounds being the low music from the bar¡¯s loudspeakers, the waitress washing out a beer-tap, and the barely audible hum of the privacy shield by the exit. ¡°Wow,¡± Hazard said at length, breaking the spell, ¡°that is actually kind of a logical leap you two did there. I mean, you just assumed that by civilian ships dodging normal patrol routes, that the ISA is planning some sort of major take-over of a dozen or so neutral systems in the Corridor.¡± Lysimachos pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. ¡°Leonie,¡± he said at length, after another taste of beer, ¡°how many worlds form the Kingdom of Aurora?¡± ¡°Seven,¡± was the immediate reply, ¡°Aurora, of course, Amaranth, Angevin, Westernesse, Cymru, Avalon, Nova Caledonia, plus that weird, somewhat of an outlier, the Grand Duchy of Novorosyia. Oh, and Kitezh, if they count nowadays.¡± ¡°Very good, Lieutenant Commander,¡± Lysimachos continued in a voice that made both Picoletti and Hazard giggle, ¡°and what is the population of these seven worlds combined?¡± ¡°Ah,¡± the lieutenant commander in question hesitated a bit, ¡°in the region of four-point-eight billion?¡± ¡°She¡¯s right, you know,¡± Picoletti commented, ¡°Aurora has a population of about two billion spread across a planetary surface almost three times the size of Old Earth, Amaranth and Angevin have about seven-hundred million inhabitants each, and the rest, apart from Novorosyia, have less than three-hundred million citizens in total.¡± ¡°Quite astute, First Lieutenant Hazard-slash-Picoletti,¡± Lysimachos said, sipping some more beer. ¡°And would you hazard,¡± (cue an almost inaudible giggle from Picoletti at the unintended pun) ¡°to guess the population of the ISA?¡± ¡°I don¡¯t really know, somewhere in the tens of billions?¡± ¡°Correct,¡± Picoletti shot in, ¡°by last conservative count, the ISA had a population of about twenty-one billion.¡± ¡°Do you know what that entails, Lieutenant Commander?¡± Lysimachos continued his impromptu interrogation. ¡°That we¡¯re fucked?¡± ¡°To be fair, she¡¯s not wrong,¡± Picoletti commented, draining the last dregs of her stein. ¡°Yes, Lieutenant Commander Hazard, in the long run, we are indeed, as you say, fucked. Our Navy is larger, has more technologically advanced ships, our officers and enlisted are much better trained. But that doesn¡¯t count for shit if we¡¯re facing down a space navy twice the size of our own. If His Majesty¡¯s Service and the Admiralty drags this out for, oh I don¡¯t know, five more years, the Alliance Space Navy might attain parity with our own fleet.¡± ¡°Fat fucking chance the Greens get their thumbs out of their arseholes long enough for that,¡± Picoletti commented, and Lysimachos couldn¡¯t help but grin. ¡°Anyway, consider the numbers at play here, Leonie. The Royal Navy has enjoyed a qualitative advantage for the past four centuries regarding warship design. Sir Damien Koyanagi and his ilk maintain that this is still the case, but we out here on the, I beg your pardon, the frontier, know better.¡± The Maltese waitress just did a walk-past, picking up the dirty steins and replacing them with new ones, and Lysimachos nodded appreciatively. ¡°The Alliance,¡± he continued after the unintended break, ¡°has the economic and industrial capacity to out-produce both the Kingdom of Aurora and the Royal Union. While the Navy is happily boasting that the next generation of battleships, the Vanguard class, are ready to exit the slips, the crafty fucking Elysians are designing the next generation of ships of the line, ones who are specifically designed to counter our own. I hope you appreciate this, Leonie, because this isn¡¯t going to get better; our Service is locked in a race with the Alliance¡¯s Space Navy, and in the end, due to sheer economic and financial pressure...¡± A buzzing sound in his chest pocket diverted his attention, and Lysimachos¡¯ fished out his handcom. ¡°Commander Lysimachos,¡± the black-haired flotilla commander sung out on his small handcom screen, ¡°consider this, you and your crew have seemingly at random been chosen to form part of the escort squadron for HMS Resolute, meaning you¡¯ll be guiding Admiral Lord Hartcastle¡¯s ship into port. I expect you to report to your ship and cast the proverbial anchor within the next fifteen minutes. Escort Lord Hartcastle into Jutland with the dignity he deserves, hubba-hubba.¡± ¡°Oh, now she wants to¡­¡± ¡°Leonie, please, shut up!¡± Lysimachos closed his handcom, downed the dregs of his beer stein, and Hazard joined him as he rose and saluted Picoletti. ¡°It was a pleasure to meet you again, Commander Picoletti,¡± he said, ¡°and I will take what you¡¯ve just said into consideration.¡± Picoletti saluted the two as they exited the Quarterdeck venue, and they walked up to the nearest gravlift. ¡°No rest for the wicked, eh, Sir?¡± Hazard pointed out. ¡°Oh for fuck¡¯s sake,¡± Lysimachos¡¯ groaned while waiting for the lift to carry the senior officers back on-board onto the Charcharodon, ¡°for the love of the Gods, get fucking creative.¡± Chapter 13 - Days of Erudition: Differences The vulcanised rubber hit the steel bar with a resounding ping, and in response, about a hundred people in the packed locale moaned loudly. ¡°Oh come on, does Lindbach even know that the puck is supposed to go into the net and not hit the crossbar?¡± Edward asked incredulously, waving his arms at the HD screen. ¡°Alright, people, that¡¯s another crossbar, take a drink,¡± Arvind said, grabbing his glass of beer. ¡°I don¡¯t like this game anymore,¡± Peter Townshend said plaintively. ¡°Tough shit,¡± Arvind said after quaffing about half a pint of beer, ¡°now drink the fuck up.¡± Complaining under his breath, Peter tanked a sizable portion of his beer, Edward and the fourth member of the group, David Lee, doing the same. The Humble Boatsman was anything but humble; it was a four-story Neo-Regency red-bricked pub which specialised in sports and having as stereotypical old British pub fare as humanly possible. Due to the national origins of the majority of Auroran colonists, the three largest sports played across the kingdom were, in no particular order, ice hockey, football (the European version, not gridiron), and cricket. Surprisingly, despite the nearly seven-hundred years since Aurora was settled, which had initiated the start of the extrasolar colonisation phase of human history, the rules of the sports in question had largely been left alone; cricket had gone back to a two-wicket system instead of three due to the incrementally increasing skill levels of the bowlers, and the offside and trapezoid rules in hockey had been revised and the pucks had been fitted with positional sensors, but other than that they were almost identical. The equipment like pads and helmets had changed, and athletes were in better shape than ever before, making almost a mockery of what the human body was physically capable of, but the sports were immediately identifiable if someone from the 21st century had walked into a 29th century stadium. Supplementing these big three were niche sports that had a tendency to attract different social groups, like equestrian sports, fencing, and sailing for the Auroran gentry and nobility, while the aforementioned three big ones were the sports of choice for the commoners. Edward, who had grown up on a tropical ocean world, hadn¡¯t really been all that exposed to the great sport of hockey until he came to Aurora and Cordelia, but once Arvind (who, while of Punjabi descent, preferred hockey to cricket, much to his parents¡¯ horror) had realised Edward was a hockey virgin, made it his life¡¯s mission to induct Edward into the Holy Church of the Puck. And he had succeeded, having converted Edward into a fervent Cordelia Grecians fan, the smaller and less successful cousin of the Cordelia Royals, winner of multiple King Edward¡¯s Cups, while the Grecians were still, one-hundred and fifty-two years after their inception, still chasing their first. It helped that the Roccham ward, where Edward, Arvind, and the others shared apartments, was a Grecian bastion, so nearly all the patrons on the second floor of the Humble Boatsman watching the HD screens, wore variations of the same purple and white jerseys. On the floor below a feed from the Angevin national cricket cup was being streamed, while the two floors above were dedicated to other sports, like volleyball, swimming, and alpine skiing, streams pulled from a myriad of time-zones and Royal Union worlds. ¡°Oh my God,¡± David Lee commented, ¡°the Grecian powerplay this postseason has been nothing short of atrocious. Why does Zenyschyn insist on playing Lindbach on PP1, while he has Vetrelli and Carpenter sitting in the slot on PP2? It¡¯s like he¡¯s a double agent for the, oh I don¡¯t know, the rest of the goddamn league.¡± ¡°I don¡¯t feel so good,¡± Peter Townshend said, looking decidedly queasy. Edward and Arvind both laughed. David and Peter were their roommates in the shared flat that the four of them rented together. While Arvind and Edward were Classical Piano majors, David was a French major, while Peter was doing a specialised five-year course in architecture. Nevertheless, the four of them had bonded, first over Edward¡¯s cooking and their weekly film nights, and then over their shared love of sports, which was surprising since Peter was a Cymran, and David was from New Victoria on the continent of Arcadia on Aurora, meaning they should really have appreciated different sports, if regional stereotypes applied. Instead, the hyperactive and contagious energy of Arvind Dahon had won them all over to make it a social fixture for their small group to watch the Grecians as often they could. Which is why they were all sitting at a wooden table at their local pub (which happened to be an amazing sports bar), watching the quarter-finals of the King Edward Cup Playoffs, shouting and arguing with referees who were literally thousands of miles distant over beers, and at Arvind¡¯s insistence, they had turned what had been supposed to be a watch-party into a drinking game, which was why Peter Townshend, the group¡¯s obvious light-weight, was not doing so hot. ¡°So, Lover-boy,¡± Arvind said, turning towards Edward as the screen tuned into the second intermission commercials, ¡°how¡¯s your beloved Adea?¡± Edward, caught completely off-guard, coughed violently on the beer he had just sampled, just about avoiding spraying out across the table. Peter and David looked at him quizzically; they hadn¡¯t been informed of the topsy-turvy of Edward¡¯s life these past few weeks, and had been away when he had stumbled home after the infamous night out. Gathering his wits, Edward fixed Arvind with an annoyed glare. ¡°I wouldn¡¯t know,¡± he said, ¡°I haven¡¯t talked to her for two weeks now.¡± ¡°Why the hell not? I know you usually need a kick up the backside to get into touch with people, but mate, you had your foot inside the door there. Don¡¯t let the trail go cold.¡± ¡°Because,¡± Edward replied, his annoyance giving way to despondence and he looked at his beer, ¡°the handful of times I¡¯ve seen her, she¡¯s looked really perturbed and even furious at times. Not even Sandy, ah, that¡¯s Alexandra Barham, one of her best friends, didn¡¯t sit next to her in Political History class this past Thursday. And it might have been my fault.¡± ¡°Don¡¯t you start again with that, I¡¯ve heard enough about this Narissara already. I know the scions of nobility can be fickle and vain, but you¡¯re self-aggrandizing yourself something fierce if you think that Lady S¨¦lincourt has spent two weeks being angry because you danced with a girl a few times, and on top of that rejected going home with her.¡± Arvind half-shouted this last part and Edward made desperate hushing gestures at him so they didn¡¯t draw the attention of the rest of the patrons. He needn¡¯t have worried, the men and women around them were more occupied getting their next order of beers and snacks in before the second intermission was over and the match resumed. On the other hand, David and Peter looked at him with increasing interest. ¡°I sense a story here,¡± David said with a smug smile on his face, ¡°that we haven¡¯t been privy to. Care to share with the rest of the class, mon ami?¡± Edward looked pleadingly at Arvind, but his curly-haired ¡°oppo¡± gave him a look that said if you won¡¯t tell them, I will, and Edward groaned. Leaning closer to ensure they got all the juicy details, Peter¡¯s and David¡¯s ¨Cjust like Arvind¡¯s had¨C, expressions became increasingly incredulous as Edward, once again, retold how he had chanced upon Adea and Sandy, then Greco, and the revelry at the Pale Peacock. ¡°Look at you, mate,¡± Peter said at length, hoisting his beer in an ironic salute, ¡°moving up in the world with blazing speed. Soon you¡¯ll be too important for us humble folk, leaving us mere peasants in the mud where we belong.¡± ¡°I swear, I¡¯ll clock you,¡± Edward said through gritted teeth, ¡°if you don¡¯t stop talking crock.¡± ¡°Why don¡¯t you clear the air, so to speak,¡± David offered, actually trying to offer something approaching sage advice, ¡°and message her? Think of it as testing your theory, which has more holes than the Grecian¡¯s defensive line-up, by the way. If she¡¯s actually angry with you, then you¡¯ll know, and instead of wallowing in constant self-pity, you can rip the band aid, so to speak, and be miserable for a week or two instead, and then focus on your piano playing. If she messages back, and gives few to none indications that she hates you, fucking perfect, invite her out for a cup of tea or a river stroll or something.¡± ¡°Look at Cupid over here,¡± Arvind quipped, receiving a fist in the shoulder in response, and while smilingly rubbing it, he continued. ¡°In all seriousness, you really should do that Edward. You¡¯ll get no closure without at least trying to talk to her, and you¡¯ve been even more downcast than usual lately, and that¡¯s saying something.¡± ¡°I¡¯m not sure, mate,¡± the man with the notoriously melancholic green eyes responded uncertainly, ¡°I feel like would be intruding, and who knows what she¡¯s up to, I might interrupt something important.¡± ¡°I have a solution,¡± Peter offered, ¡°we have six more minutes before the third period, so you have five minutes to chug another beer to gain some Valhallan courage and then fire off a text. Then the game will take your attention away from your handcom, so for at least the next half-hour, more if it goes to overtime, you won¡¯t have to think about her.¡± David and Arvind looked at Peter like he had confessed to devil-worship, before grinning widely and David refilled Edward¡¯s glass from the pitcher on the table. ¡°Drink up, Casanova,¡± Arvind laughed, ¡°you¡¯re not getting out of this one.¡± As David and Peter started to chant chug-chug-chug, the people around then noticed the old bar war cry, and in the most noble pub tradition since time immemorial, they joined in, and soon Edward was trying his best to drink down a pint without spilling or coughing while forty or so people were cheering/forcing him on. As he triumphantly but breathlessly put his stein down, the patrons cheered. Inspired, a tall man considerably more intoxicated than the four friends, placed a fresh pint of beer on the table in front of Edward and beamed down at him, red-cheeked. ¡°Fine fucking drinking, young man,¡± he half-shouted, ¡°this one¡¯s on me.¡± He grabbed his own and with an increasing sense of dread, Edward realised he had to do it all over again, this time in time with the jersey-wearing man. The cheers of chug-chug-chug resumed and with considerable effort Edward managed to finish without spilling too much down his chin, and with a boisterous cheer, the man finished as well. ¡°Let¡¯s go Grecians!¡± he whooped and thumped his chest, eliciting more cheers from the packed pub floor. ¡°Oh, this was a piss-poor idea,¡± Edward complained as the screen cut out the commercials and the hockey stream resumed, the fans both in the arena and in the pub chanting; The season¡¯s all yours, the season¡¯s all yours; while we¡¯re in the Finals, the season¡¯s all yours.
The low buzz distracted Adea Sophia Carlisle-St. Eiron from the aria by the mezzo-soprano playing the part of Marienne, and she fished out the handcom from her small purse while fanning her upper body with the traditional Shan-style fan to hide the fact. As the music and dramaturgy on the large stage below changed into a duetto between Alessandra and Nicola, Adea smiled down at the message she had received, hiding her smile demurely with her fan as was the custom of the well-to-do while at the opera. Going to the opera for the nobility and gentry, was as much for enjoyment as for partaking in the complex show of pageantry and social politics that characterised the Auroran upper classes. Therefore, Adea wore a relatively slim grey silken flutter-sleeve gown, with lace details along the hems of the skirt and the sleeves. The bodice and skirt were decorated with deep garnet floral motifs, and a damask rose silken sash crossed her torso. In addition, she wore black elbow gloves and a white high-collared inner shirt. Of course, there were no pockets in such a getup, so she had a small tan faux-leather purse decorated with bright gemstones from Dioscuria. The entire outfit had cost about fifteen-hundred pounds, which was considered quite cheap by the standards of the nobility. Her red hair was wrapped in an elegant chignon bun. ¡°Received some good news, Lady S¨¦lincourt?¡± a voice almost whispered from her left and Adea¡¯s brow furrowed ever so slightly, and she put her handcom back into her purse, fanning slowly all the time to keep up appearances. ¡°Simply a text from a friend, Lady Spencer, nothing more exciting than that,¡± she replied in the same hushed tone as to not distract from the performance. She really needn¡¯t had bothered, the S¨¦lincourt box at the Royal Cordelia Opera was high up on the left wing, suspended quite a bit over the large stage and the twenty-nine-hundred ground floor seats of the auditorium. The Royal Cordelia Opera was a masterpiece of Ne¨¹-Avant Rococo, with gilded arches and columns decorating the grand foyer, the two massive staircases that led to the truly awe-inspiringly ornate la salle de spectacle, which was so resplendent and ornate as to seemingly belong to a royal palace rather than an entertainment venue. The domed roof the salle was a majestic relief painting that depicted in a faux-Renaissance style the colonisation of Aurora, replacing spaceships with large birds carrying picture-perfect men and women down from the clouds. If you stumble upon this tale on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it. ¡°Must be good friend at that, eliciting such a fond smile at a mere text. Or is it perhaps from a gentleman?¡± ¡°Even if it had been, it would have been none of your business, Lady Spencer,¡± Adea replied with a smile that was at odds with her icy tone. Lady Alice de La Croix-Spencer squinted for a moment in annoyance, but she recovered quickly. Adea was tall ¨Cat one-eighty-eight she was tall even among Aurorans¨C, but Alice was even taller than her again, with sharp facial features, plush lips, deep blue eyes that were almost purple, and wavy auburn hair that draped over her shoulders. Like Adea, she was dressed in an elaborate dress gown, Alice¡¯s with a more flaring skirt silhouette, and a tight corset-bodice that on purpose emphasised her chest. Her dress was a velvety deep green, with muted golden embroidery in geometric patterns along her sleeves and the lining of her skirt and bodice. She also had a cream ribbon in the shape of a rose in her hair, and a Shan-style fan decorated with depictions of exotic flowers. ¡°I believe I¡¯ve told you, Lady S¨¦lincourt, it is ¡®Lady de La Croix¡¯, not ¡®Spencer¡¯. I am after all related to the Duchess of¨C¡± ¡°Oh, come off it,¡± Adea interrupted, ¡°you¡¯re Grey Hill¡¯s sister¡¯s youngest, you¡¯re like eleventh in the line of succession to the Grey Hill name and estates.¡± ¡°Girls, behave,¡± a stern voice came from behind the two, and the bickering youths stiffened in their deep chairs. Iphigenia St. Eiron, the Countess of Darkmoor, Adea¡¯s mother, looked at them in displeasure for a moment before diverting her attention back to the performance of Alessandra, regina di Astra. Adea had not inherited her mother¡¯s height or her strawberry blonde hair, but she had inherited her athletic build. Lady Iphigenia was not one for dressing up in finery, although she agreed with her husband¡¯s opinions that it was imperative for the nobility to dress and act the part. However, she had opted for the ceremonial dress uniform of the Royal Navy instead of a civilian dress this evening, although she had omitted the sword and the medal bars she would have worn on parade or in a suitably posh military setting. The ceremonial mess dress of Auroran officers was believed to be the origin of the quip ¡°the Royal Navy keeps the lace merchants in business¡±, which wasn¡¯t hard to imagine when considering the amount of golden lace and embroidery on Lady Darkmoor¡¯s uniform. She had the rank of Captain, but had been beached by the Koyanagi Admiralty four years back, and by way of revenge she had spent most of her time since in the House of Lords protesting the Admiralty¡¯s requests for further funding for the hare-brained ship-design schemes of Sir Noel Acciari and his ¡°henchmen¡±, and arguing for a return to a more balanced naval budget. Iphigenia was at sixty-two years of age, forty-three years younger than her husband, Alistair, the Marquess of S¨¦lincourt, but that was not very unusual for career naval officers, since they chose usually to settle down once they weren¡¯t pinged around the known galaxy on-board warships by order of the Admiralty. She was a wealthy and prestigious noble in her own right, having inherited the considerable Darkmoor estates in southern New Ontario and a vast manor with accompanying land in Findias, and could count on a personal income of about two-hundred million pounds per year. Despite being born to this sort of privilege, she was still a consummate officer of the Service, and had been constantly been applying for re-instatement to active service, and with Dame Vanessa Howards running the Department of Personnel in the new Donegal administration, it was only a question of time before she got another assignment. Which was why she was annoyed with the timing of her husband choosing to get a bloody ward, despite the good connections that came with it. Alice de La Croix-Spencer was only senior to Adea by two years, but she was already half-way through the four year course at King William¡¯s Naval Academy, having opted out of a university degree before joining, quite unlike what most of the Royal Navy¡¯s officers chose. She was by all accounts an astute student, grades consistently scoring in the top percentile of cadets, and she allegedly maintained herself admirably on campus. However, whenever she came to Cordelia was an entirely different matter¡­ Both Alistair and Iphigenia had met the venerable old Duchess Grey Hill, who was considered by the men and women of the Royal Navy to be almost a living saint, only eclipsed by the memory of Charlotte de Chandlier who had crushed the Hydran Co-Prosperity League two-hundred and sixty years prior. Alistair had as a junior officer also served under the Duchess during the anti-piracy operations along the borders to the Neuhansa Sternbund and the Royal Union about seventy years ago. Dear Old Grey Hill was, despite her peerage, one of the most unassuming and rooted persons Iphigenia had ever met, jovial and easy-going, and despite having been retired for thirty years, was still extremely active and interested in the running of the Royal Navy. Iphigenia had then assumed that her niece, Lady Alice, had been cut from the same cloth. Oh, how wrong she had been. Alice de La Croix-Spencer was Duchess Caitlin de La Croix¡¯s sister¡¯s youngest daughter, and as Adea had somewhat crassly pointed out, was descended from the Spencer branch of the large and complicated family, and not even close to inheriting the Grey Hill estates, let alone the name. Yet she still insisted on being called ¡°Lady Grey Hill¡±, and acted as if she was the Duchess¡¯ heiress, both in the manner she carried herself, and also in her expenditure. Her father had invested heavily in hydrogen extraction in the Nova Caledonia system, and was making a pretty penny off of that, so the money in of itself wasn¡¯t a problem; but it was unseemly that a youth not entitled to inheriting any estates carried herself as if she was the heiress of an entire duchy. That certainly rubbed Iphigenia the wrong way, and she knew it irritated Alistair as well. Adea was making no attempt to hide her contempt for her temporary ¡°sister¡±, and had demanded that Alice get rooms on the opposite wing of their Cordelian apartment. Alice had countered that the best rooms were in the west wing anyway, and Adea was welcome to her ¡°cots¡±. Their feud had only escalated from there, and only God knew what they were saying to each other when Iphigenia or Alistair weren¡¯t present. Yet, there were benefits to having Alice as a ward. For one, it was an opportunity for a young cadet to directly learn from one of the most senior fleet admirals in the entire Royal Navy. Two, it was a sign of formal friendship between the respective Carlisle/St. Eiron families and the La Croix-Spencer¡­ brood was the only appropriate term that sprang to Iphigenia¡¯s mind, which opened up a lot of opportunities, from simple things like invitations to shindigs, to political support in the House of Lords. Was it an example of shameful nepotism? Oh, absolutely, and Iphigenia was fully aware of it. Yet it was a formalised and over the board practice, and rather the devil you knew than the shady dealings one would find in other star nations, or even in the Auroran House of Commons. No matter how you cut it, the game of politics was inherently dirty. The duetto died down and the stage curtains came down, and the audience applauded politely as the tannoy announced a thirty minute intermission before commencing with the second half of the opera seria. Iphigenia, Alice, and Adea all rose from their chairs and made their way out of the door of the personal box, which had seating for twelve, but only the trio were present. Outside waited a waiter in a three-piece suit with a tray of tall-stemmed glasses and a cooled bottle of Westernesse champagne for them; they had ordered beforehand upon arrival, and it was considered uncouth to drink during the first half of a performance. After the waiter had poured for them, they walked out into the grand foyer to mingle with the other members of the audience. Alice immediately recognised the son of the Viscount of Scarlet Point, and darted off (after a polite curtsy to Lady Darkmoor) to strike up a conversation. Adea made a grimace and sipped her champagne. ¡°You really ought to give her a chance,¡± Iphigenia said to her daughter, but Adea scowled again. ¡°Mama, she¡¯s everything I¡¯m not, and I can¡¯t stand her.¡± A blonde eyebrow hiked up and Iphigenia regarded her daughter with a look that was half-chiding, half-humorous. ¡°Ah yes, you¡¯re like apples and oranges alright. One is a tall beauty with impeccable grades and manners, of the peerage and with aspirations of joining the Service, and the other is¡­ oh, my." ¡°Not outwardly different, Mama,¡± Adea complained, ¡°you know what I mean. Alice wears her nobility as a badge, while I try to avoid drawing attention to it, apart from¡­¡± ¡°Apart from when it benefits you, Aditsa,¡± her mother shot in, using the Russian diminutive form of her name. ¡°Oh please, it¡¯s not like I wave my birth certificate in the face of people.¡± ¡°You don¡¯t seem to mind your status when the Season comes around.¡± ¡°I fail to see where taking advantage of the privileges given to me simply by the fact that I was born to the right people makes me a bad person.¡± ¡°Run this conversation back with Alice, and I think you¡¯ll receive a very similar answer from her.¡± ¡°Agh, you¡¯re impossible.¡± Adea slapped her fan shut in irritation, producing a clack sound that stuck out among the polite conversation happening all around them. It attracted the attention of a pair of pink-grey eyes. ¡°There is a reason,¡± Adea continued, ¡°that I wanted to attend a public university. A friend pointed out a few weeks ago that I could have the choice of any expensive institution I wanted, like the Raleigh University of Technology for instance. Instead I chose a public school, with almost no fees, and it made me stick out. Lady Spencer over there made sure she got in first ballot into House Unicorn on King William¡¯s, and even brought a fucking maid with her to bloody naval college. If that is not proving my point that we¡¯re fundamentally different, I don¡¯t know what will.¡± ¡°First of all,¡± Iphigenia said after sipping some champagne, ¡°you have five personal maids of your own, and they all helped you fit into the dress you¡¯re currently wearing. You live in what is generally considered a mansion by most people while attending university, while nearly all your fellow students have either left their homes ¨Cor even homeworlds¨C to attend university, and live in shared apartments. Second, you know perfectly well Queen Marie¡¯s Metropolitan has the best political science courses in the Kingdom, so don¡¯t try to spin it as you choosing a more humble path. And thirdly, who is this friend you mentioned? I didn¡¯t know you had any friends at QMMU apart from Barham and Sciac- I mean Greco?¡± Adea¡¯s cheeks had been getting progressively more rose-coloured, and she was about to retort to her mother something she probably would have regretted later on, but her attention was grabbed by the uncomfortably familiar sight of a short girl with long near-white hair. ¡°Lady Darkmoor, Lady S¨¦lincourt,¡± Artemisia de Vere said as she did a deep curtsy. She was dressed in a much more traditionally cut dress gown than Adea and Alice, and Adea felt a momentary pang of jealousy when she noticed how tight Artemisia¡¯s corset was over the waist. The dress was pristine white, a flaring mermaid skirt lined with small bells of mother of pearl, and a tight corset-bodice torso with connected lace one-finger gloves. Artemisia¡¯s hair was expertly braided and was draped across her right shoulder, reaching her chest. Her doll-like face was as damnably cute as ever, and Adea could tell she didn¡¯t wear much makeup; she rarely did, because she didn¡¯t need it, the adorable little fucker. ¡°Lady Trewellynshire,¡± Iphigenia said and answered the curtsy with a bow of her own (female Royal Navy officers didn¡¯t curtsy for anyone but the monarch), ¡°how do you do? I take it your father is well?¡± ¡°Please, Lady Darkmoor,¡± Artemisia said while waving her closed folding fan in a disarming gesture, ¡°let¡¯s not talk about politics tonight, it has been way too good of a performance to mar with such boring, and may I say, somewhat hostile conversations.¡± ¡°You¡¯re a fan of Sir Louis Morgan-Kahun then?¡± Adea asked, her own fan masking the grimace on her face. Artemisia turned towards Adea (slightly craning her neck, to Adea¡¯s delight) and smiled. ¡°I cannot confess to being a Morgan-Kahun die-hard exactly, but I have a certain fondness for Alessandra, and for some of his later work, like Th¨¦s¨¦e, fils d¡¯¨¦thra. It carries such a certain classical charm that I cannot help but feel enraptured.¡± ¡°My, Lady de Vere,¡± Adea replied, ¡°I didn¡¯t peg you for an opera romantic. I thought you were more partial to Antigone, and by that I mean the original by Sophocles, not the Tomas Traetta libretto.¡± ¡°There is a lot you don¡¯t know about me, Lady S¨¦lincourt,¡± Artemisia countered. Artemisia produced the ghost of a smile. ¡°By the by, I met your man Edward over lunch the other day. Quite an insightful fellow, isn¡¯t he? We¡¯ve agreed to lunch again in the near future.¡± Hadn¡¯t Adea worn so much makeup as she did, everyone would have noticed her cheeks turning the same colour as the sash she was wearing. ¡°I don¡¯t know,¡± she managed to produce, hopefully somewhat convincingly, ¡°that I have a ¡®man¡¯, as you put it, My Lady, but I certainly know of the gentleman you speak.¡± ¡°Yes, he mentioned as much. A fairly interesting type, isn¡¯t he? Dionysian mother and all, that¡¯s quite rare considering Dionysians rarely settle outside their own borders. Helped me a smidgen with a personal problem as well during lunch, so I¡¯m quite excited to see him again. Hope you don¡¯t mind, My Lady?¡± Adea grabbed the stem of the champagne glass hard, and thankfully her gloves didn¡¯t show how white her knuckles were. Iphigenia looked back and forth between the two girls, confusion written all over her face. ¡°Oh certainly not, Lady de Vere, he¡¯s a person of his own, I don¡¯t have any rights to him as such. If you¡¯ll excuse me though, I believe I have an incoming call on my ¡®com.¡± Artemisia de Vere curtsied again, the downward motion hiding the sudden smug grin on her face that was gone the moment the curtsy was over. Adea didn¡¯t notice, because she was busy turning on her heel, downing her champagne glass in one go. She put the empty glass down on a passing waiter¡¯s tray and fished out her handcom with her now-free hand.
Edward, Arvind, Peter, and David exited the Boatsman as angry as any one of the people around them, a stream of angry sports fans cursing and muttering as they exited the pub. ¡°A 4-3 loss in overtime after not one, but two, fucking two powerplay goals?¡± Arvind hollered, ¡°PPGs are like manna from the Heavens for this team, and they waste two of them?¡± ¡°They had the comeback,¡± David complained, almost close to tears, ¡°they goddamn had it, they just had to play it conservatively for four minutes, just trap hockey for four fucking minutes. I hate this team so damn much!¡± ¡°I don¡¯t feel so good guys,¡± Peter complained, ¡°can we walk slower?¡± ¡°Ah, you¡¯ll feel better after some nosh,¡± Arvind replied, ¡°we¡¯ll stop by a food truck on our way back home.¡± Arvind suddenly noticed Edward hadn¡¯t commented on the Grecians heart-breaking playoff loss yet and turned around to find his emerald eyes glued to the glowing screen of his handcom, a smile hiking up the corners of his dark moustache. ¡°What¡¯s she say?¡± he asked, and the usually melancholic green eyes met his own brown ones. ¡°She said she would be delighted to join me for tea on Monday.¡± Chapter 14 - Days of Erudition: Daily Operations ¡°My Lord, I need you to sign these¨C¡± ¡°Walk and talk, Eddie, walk and talk.¡± ¡°Of course, My Lord, but I still need your signature for these personnel transfers. And, not to ruin your Sunday further, the Elysian ambassador has once again requested a meeting, regarding you-know-what.¡± ¡°I am perfectly aware, Eddie, and I think you are in turn perfectly aware of my plan of attack concerning the matter.¡± ¡°Stall for as long as possible?¡± ¡°Quite right.¡± Admiral of the White, Earl Jeremiah Grantham of Hartcastle hasted around a bulkhead corner, his chief of staff Commodore Sir Edwin Doughty following close behind, and the two of them narrowly dodged bowling over a sensor tech carrying a stack of log books. The specialist almost dropped her logs as she snapped her arm up to salute one of the most senior officers in the entire Royal Navy, but Hartcastle simply winked at her and slapped her on the shoulder on the way by. Lord Hartcastle was almost like a walking Royal Navy recruitment poster. Tall, with sharp facial features, a stylish close-cropped dark brown beard, likewise coloured wavy slicked-back hair, shining hazel eyes and a charismatic presence that oozed authority; all of that was combined with about sixty years¡¯ of service and experience, making him considered by many as the premier fleet commander in the Service, bar perhaps S¨¦lincourt or New Acre. Unlike Sir Ryan Dumont, the admiral he had just succeeded as C-i-C Western Fleet, Hartcastle chose to make his flagship his home, whereas his predecessor had effectively spent his entire tenure on Jutland. This was why Hartcastle and his COS was basically speed walking down the hallways of HMS Resolute, instead of the more accommodating passageways of Jutland. His Majesty¡¯s Ship Resolute was a battlecruiser, not a regular light or heavy cruiser. When Carcharodon and the other escort vessels had lain along beside her, it had been like minnows gathering in the wake of a whale. The Resolute, a Repulse class ship, was 1,954 metres long, with a beam of six-hundred and forty, and a complement of five-thousand three-hundred and seventy officers and enlisted, one-hundred and four broadside railguns, and five massive triple-barrel twenty-four inch railcannon turrets; one on each elongated flank of the top hull, two in front of the bridge superstructure and one behind. Resolute alone had the firepower to completely destroy entire squadrons of smaller vessels, and Western Fleet had two entire squadrons of similar ships. The battlecruiser was a uniquely Auroran concept, adopted from the old water navies of the 20th century. The design concept was as simple as it was ingenious; the battlecruiser was to out-shoot anything it couldn¡¯t out-run, and out-run anything it couldn¡¯t out-shoot. Thus they formed a niche albeit important part of the Royal Navy¡¯s line of battle, able to hold their own with the battleships, but also speedy enough to catch enemy cruisers or form advanced screens for their heavier battleship cousins. Battlecruiser crews regarded themselves the elite of the Royal Navy, and to a degree, they were. To be an officer in command of a battlecruiser or a squadron of them required aggressiveness and ¨¦lan that would almost be considered reckless if commanding other types of ships. Hartcastle had been an advocate for the battlecruiser concept from the start, submitting large numbers of articles to the Royal Journal of Naval Studies and serving as commander of battlecruiser screens during inter-fleet wargames, and now with Donegal in office at Admiralty House, he was using all his pull to divert more of the sleek killers to Western Fleet, happily swapping out older and slower battleship squadrons for them. ¡°My Lord, the signature?¡± ¡°Oh, sorry Eddie, of course,¡± Hartcastle said, slightly embarrassed that he was caught wool-gathering. He jotted down his signature on the old-fashioned clipboard Doughty had with him, eyes skimming the content ¨Cmost of it just boring housekeeping that came with the territory of being a fleet commander¨C, before handing the pen back to the commodore. The duo rounded another corner and entered a gravlift, the two first ratings and the Royal Marine private already in the lift stiffening, and found the polished lift walls immensely interesting after saluting the two officers, not daring to look in their general direction. Doughty handed Hartcastle another clipboard ¨Cthis one regarding confirmation of transit orders for Maltese Navy support ships to resupply Royal Navy ships in the Augusta system¨C and he dutifully signed off on this one as well. The gravlift came to a halt, and the two officers stepped out, and the three enlisted in the back of the lift could finally relax their postures. It was only a short walk (and another damn paper to sign off on) down a causeway, through an extra thick set of bulkheads and past a few Royal Marine sentries in black combat gear with loaded carbines, before Hartcastle and Doughty could step through the hatch onto Resolute¡¯s bridge. The bridge¡¯s general design was like any other Royal Navy ship, with a slightly raised dais where the captain and the First Lieutenant had their command chairs, a huge 3D holographic plot, about two-thirds of the walls were given over to the reinforced mimicglass of the exposed bridge, and the consoles and stations of the bridge officers and technicians were layered in two tiers in a half-circle, some forty stations in total. The exposed bridge of basically all modern warships could be construed as a throwback to nautical times of antiquity, elevated as they were on tall bridge superstructures that could at first glance look eerily similar to warships of the early 20th century CE. In reality, it had more to do with the nature of modern naval technology; electronic warfare had advanced to such a degree that even with judicious use of drones and advanced sensors, experience had taught warship designers that exposed bridges and simple high-definition telescopes were simply a necessity, regardless of the possible risks this entailed, although armour technology had advanced to such a degree that this had become less of an issue than what was immediately apparent. Capital ships like the Resolute also had a dedicated flag bridge, located at the very foot of the large bridge superstructure, crewed by the incumbent flag officer¡¯s own staff, which could in an emergency take over for the main bridge, acting as a second bridge or Action Information Centre, but this was generally only staffed during training, operations, or actual combat. Regardless, a flag officer¡¯s role was to lead his or her charge, be it division, squadron, or fleet, and as such really shouldn¡¯t have to worry about minutiae like their flagship¡¯s manoeuvring. As a rule, the captain of a flagship did not especially appreciate the presence of a flag officer on ¡°his¡± or ¡°her¡± bridge; it was seen as impolite meddling or a show of distrust in the captain¡¯s abilities, but that was during manoeuvres or operations. When at port or at rest, like Resolute, no one batted an eyelid as Hartcastle stepped onto the dais and gave Post-captain Lady Caroline Ortiz, Baroness Sainte-Marie, a polite nod which she reciprocated. ¡°Calm waters?¡± Hartcastle asked, receiving the slightest of huffs in reply. ¡°Considering the fact that we¡¯re at rest in geosynchronous orbit, I can¡¯t imagine how it could be any more calm, it feels like the ship is slowly falling asleep. Can I, by chance, interest you in a cup of tea, My Lord?¡± ¡°Why not, if you have a fresh pot brewed.¡± A steward¡¯s mate, in the signature black and silver livery-esque uniform of the Steward¡¯s Division, poured a porcelain cup of what Hartcastle suspected was roasted oolong judging by the aroma, added two cubes of sugar, before handing it to the admiral, who accepted it with a nod. ¡°Exquisite blend,¡± he said after a polite sip ¨Croasted oolong indeed¨C, ¡°I didn¡¯t think you were a connoisseur of Eastern-style teas, Milady, I sort of assumed you were more of a coffee-drinker.¡± ¡°A noblewoman is required to wear many faces,¡± Baroness Sainte-Marie replied, the smallest of smiles on her lips. As she turned to look out the massive bridge window, however, it disappeared. ¡°This has to be the fourth time that bastard¡¯s tried to dock unsuccessfully.¡± Hartcastle took a look as well, and suppressed a cringe as he saw the angle of approach the Maltese replenishment ship had originally adhered to in her attempt to line up with Resolute; it was frantically veering off now, the chastising voice of the chief Flight Operations officer (located in a conning tower over the Boat Bay) ringing out over the bridge¡¯s tannoy. Doughty, with a cup of tea in his hands as well, came up to them. ¡°Drunk behind the stick, you reckon?¡± he commented, humour colouring his tone, and Hartcastle smiled. ¡°Hopefully not, I don¡¯t want half a million tonnes of fuel tanker slamming into my flagship, that would be, as my father quite euphemistically used to say, awfully troublesome.¡± ¡°You think it¡¯s troublesome,¡± Sainte-Marie snorted, ¡°I will most likely be frothing at the mouth, it¡¯s my bleeding ship after all. Where do these Maltese skippers learn their trade, watching bloody web-videos? New Maltese Navy auxiliary ships botching what is supposed to be one of the simplest manoeuvres in the book is becoming frightfully common, this has to be the third ship to come in at an awfully awkward angle of approach in the past two weeks alone. And that¡¯s very impressive, on a dark and scary level, taking into account we¡¯ve only been on station for twenty-two days. Thank God we have the Royal Fleet Auxiliary; those boys and girls actually know what they¡¯re about!¡± Since Hartcastle had decided to make his flagship his headquarters, instead of basing himself on Jutland, Resolute had become the busiest ship in Western Fleet by far. As Sainte-Marie had mentioned, Resolute, along with her squadron mates in the 3rd Battlecruiser Squadron, nicknamed the Scorpions, was locked in an unpowered geosynchronous high orbit spin over New Malta, drifting to the pace of the planet¡¯s rotation. Most of the capital ships of Western Fleet were deployed in this manner, since it would be extremely taxing for Jutland, despite its gargantuan size, to accommodate so many capital ships at the same time, not to mention the many tens of thousands of capital ship crews. Each Auroran battlecruiser and battleship had north of five-thousand people on board, and with twenty-seven of them in Western Fleet, this was considered much more efficient. Supply ships from Jutland and contracted freighters running errands from civilian stations went to and fro the parked capital ships of Western Fleet on a daily basis, delivering necessities such as H2O, victuals, fuel, but also personnel transfers, physical mail, luxury goods, replacement parts, seeds for the hydroponics bays, ammunition for the ship¡¯s small arms, cloth for the ships¡¯ automated tailors to fashion fresh uniforms out of, plastacene for the 3D printers, and a million other bits and pieces required for a highly advanced warship and its crew to operate at peak efficiency in the 29th century. This particular support ship, the SNMS Il Vescovo Geroldo, was a relatively large replenishment tanker, nearly five hundred thousand tonnes in normal G, with most of that dedicated to its balloons of liquid hydrogen and tanking cranes and hoses. Nuclear fusion was, of course, much less dangerous than nuclear fission, and although hydrogen fuel was easily combustible, it was stored and loaded in a liquid state, at -240 Celsius, requiring significant energy to heat up. That said, if some inept helmsman plunged a fuel tanker into a warship, the result would be a fusion explosion measured in dozens of megatons. This was why Lady Sainte-Marie was understandably tense as she watched the Il Vescovo Geroldo angle off to try another vector for her fifth attempt to dock and deliver her cargo. ¡°By the by,¡± Edwin Doughty interrupted, noticing that Sainte-Marie would perhaps welcome a change of topic, ¡°what did you do with our very own ¡®boy who cried wolf¡¯?¡± Hartcastle half-snorted, half-laughed at that, sipping some tea while contemplating his response. Doughty was perfectly aware what had happened with the unfortunates of Carcharodon, he had been in Lord Hartcastle¡¯s office on-board the Admiral¡¯s Quarters on Resolute when he had ordered the cruiser¡¯s redeployment, but it was a way of distracting Sainte-Marie (as well as provide the ever-listening bridge crew with some juicy gossip when next they convened in the wardroom). ¡°Well, I figured,¡± Hartcastle said after replacing his cup back onto the saucer with a muted clink, ¡°that having a Canterbury class cruiser just sitting in the doghouse was a waste of resources, especially considering the Canterburies are among the best scout cruisers the Royal Navy has at its disposal, so I ordered them out to patrol the region around Hercules¡¯ Hood and the associated ring system around that particular Super Jovian.¡± Sainte-Marie looked at him and hiked up an eyebrow in surprise. ¡°Surely you do not trust that fellow Lysimachos with another patrol when he was the one who caused the Alliance diplomatic staff on New Malta to be constantly hounding you for explanations and apologies?¡± ¡°Well,¡± Hartcastle replied, ¡°I was thinking about sending the Carcharodon out there on her own, but I ¨Cor rather Sir Edwin here¡¯s office¨C received a rather hostile mail from Lysimachos¡¯ direct senior, Rear Admiral of the Black Freya Holland, who in no uncertain terms advised against deploying Carcharodon without some sort of backup. So I simply ordered Admiral Holland to deploy her Swiftsure alongside Carcharodon as tactical insurance.¡± Lady Sainte-Marie almost choked on the tea she was sipping, so sudden was her burst of laughter, and her somewhat throaty tittering spread smiles among the rest of the bridge officers. ¡°Oh my,¡± she managed at length, ¡°I can¡¯t imagine Holland was all too pleased with that order. I¡¯ve had the dubious pleasure of dining with the woman, and if that is how she acts when trying to amicable, I can only imagine how she¡¯s when miffed.¡± Unauthorized content usage: if you discover this narrative on Amazon, report the violation. ¡°You tell me,¡± Sir Edwin Doughty commented, his tone intentionally dry and measured, ¡°she lobbed at least half a dozen complaints to my office within the first two hours of receiving her marching orders, and she is still sour that she has had to take her flotilla flagship out into the periphery of the St. John System, as she feels ¡®her services could be much more gainfully employed elsewhere¡¯, to quote her latest complaint verbatim.¡± Both Hartcastle and Sainte-Marie chuckled at that. In truth, Sir Edwin Doughty, the bear of a man that he was, with a fierce and unkempt black beard, massive logs that did their best impressions of pretending to be arms and legs, was one of the best administrators in the entire Royal Auroran Navy. Upon receiving the formal and wax-sealed old fashioned letter from the Admiralty that told him to take up the command of Western Fleet, Hartcastle had known he wanted Doughty as his chief-of-staff; few were as capable of running an organization as large and complex as a modern fleet group, and Sir Edwin made it look easy by comparison. Hartcastle also knew that Sir Edwin was an accomplished dancer and gymnast, which belied his physique, but he had seen the man in action on the formal dance floor of Royal Navy dinners. ¡°At any rate,¡± Hartcastle said at length, ¡°I assume it will be some time before we hear from the Carcharodon again, especially with their flotilla commander riding shotgun on their deployment. In the meantime, I want to start regular gunnery practices for the battle squadrons of Western Fleet, we have some twenty-seven capital ships, the largest collection of RN line of battle outside Home Fleet, and we owe it to our citizens and our allies in the Royal Union to be in the best shape we can ¨Cdear God, is the Geroldo coming in for another poorly aligned approach?¡±
¡°Okay, so, I¡¯ve been thinking. I¡¯m pretty sure I want to name this particular ice asteroid ¡®Mikey¡¯, which is orbiting somewhat close to this other particular ice asteroid that I¡¯ve already named ¡®Derek¡¯. Now, I know previously said I wanted to name it ¡®Mal¡¯, but I feel like it¡¯s giving off more of a ¡®Mikey¡¯ energy, now that I¡¯ve had time to think about it.¡± Communications Officer Lieutenant Katherine MacKenzie was pretty down in the dumps, but she was at least trying her best to lighten up the mood of the bridge crew of the Carcharodon. ¡°I¡¯ve also been thinking,¡± Lieutenant Commander Trevor Merryweather, the Tactical Officer, said, ¡°I¡¯m thinking I will go down two decks to the nearest small arms locker, sign off for a pistol, and blow my fucking brains out.¡± ¡°Yeesh, Mers,¡± Lieutenant Commander Leonetta Hazard, the soon-to-be-relieved officer of the watch, responded with a grimace, ¡°that¡¯s pretty damn grim.¡± ¡°I can¡¯t help it,¡± Merryweather replied, ¡°I¡¯ve had it up to here with this assignment.¡± He threw his hands up theatrically, and took off his white officer¡¯s beret and scratched his head, before replacing his headgear. ¡°Look, we¡¯ve been out here for three weeks because our master and commander quite possibly illegally detained a civilian ship just for going off course, and now both the C-i-C Fleet and our flotilla commander are riding our asses because of it¡­¡± ¡°You seemed to be in agreement when we came upon said civilian ship,¡± Lieutenant Anaya Chen commented, having just walked onto the bridge. ¡°Do I need to remind you of your little allegory about lost lambs again?¡± ¡°Ugh, I rather you didn¡¯t.¡± ¡°Regardless,¡± Hazard cut in, ¡°we¡¯re not in this alone. Admiral Holland and the Swiftsure is also ¡®enjoying¡¯ this extended yomp around this particular Super Jovian, and she¡¯s sure to be practically seething considering she weren¡¯t required to do this, as it is in a flag officer¡¯s repertoire to refrain from such mundane tasks. However, according to Fleet scuttlebutt, Lord Hartcastle insisted on Holland deploying her flagship, and so here we are.¡± Hazard got up from the 2-i-C command chair, and saluted Lieutenant Chen after the latter had skimmed through the log on the nearest available console and considered the holographic plot. ¡°I am ready to be relieved,¡± Hazard said and Chen saluted back. ¡°I relieve you, ma¡¯am,¡± she replied formally. Hazard nodded. ¡°I stand relieved, and Lieutenant Chen has the bridge. And now I am off to my bunk, so none of you chuckleheads rustle up any trouble while I get my beauty sleep.¡± Sub-lieutenant Yuri Podkolzin also relieved Merryweather, and MacKenzie was relieved by her junior, Sub-lieutenant Anna Hikari, the same went for the few bridge technicians. It was shipboard time 07:00, and the night watch was officially at an end. In many ways, life on board starships was among the most artificial and least natural activities humanity had ever adopted. Every settled world had its own day-night cycle, its own gravity, and its own other peculiarities that differed from Old Earth. In the case of Aurora, it had a day cycle of almost twenty-seven hours, which was thankfully close enough to Earth¡¯s that it had not proven difficult to adjust, but some worlds had either far longer or far shorter cycles. Of course, good old laws of physics dictated that this didn¡¯t get too out of hand, since a planet simply wouldn¡¯t be habitable if it rotated too slowly or too fast on its own axis; gravity would either be too high or too low for conditions for human settlement to evolve. But the issue of gravity was a major problem for some. Aurora had a marked lower gravity than Earth¡¯s even 1G, which had stretched out its inhabitants over the generations, but also made them frailer, and Amaranth had it even worse. Westernesse was on the opposite end of the scale, with a gravity of 1.28G, making Westernessans much stockier and more physically sturdy than their compatriots in the rest of the kingdom. This all tied back to the artificiality of spaceships, because shipboard time was kept to an even twenty-four hour cycle, and all warships kept its artificial gravity to 1G. That meant that Auroran naval personnel had to go through pretty hefty training regimens to simply not collapse from the sheer exhaustion of staying upright for sixteen hours. They also had to adjust to a different circadian rhythm, which was why it took several years before one became completely comfortable with life on a warship, and extended shore leave made people lose their ¡°space legs¡± really quickly, and had to reacclimatize once back on board. The new bridge watch crew took over the seats by their stations, ran through the logs and settled in for seven hours of looking at nothing but ice particles and the gigantic gas giant that filled the bridge window. ¡°Anyway,¡± Chen said after a short spell after Hazard the others had left (following a brief humorous comment to Merryweather to not take the causeway by the nearby small arms locker), ¡°where is our great and glorious leader of men?¡± ¡°Down in the gym and exercising with Lieutenant Al-Jalal¡¯s Royal Marines, I would think,¡± Hikari said as she put her legs up on the vacant seat on the station next to hers. ¡°My God,¡± Sub-lieutenant Kayden Blanchard, the junior ops officer, burst out from his seating next to the holographic plot, ¡°does he have a fricking death wish, training with the bootnecks?¡± ¡°He does that all the time, Blankie,¡± Chen commented from the command dais, ¡°and I don¡¯t think even the bootnecks are stupid enough to blame him for the assignment we¡¯ve been stuck with. We were just at the wrong place at the wrong time. It¡¯s not like Carrie is the first Western Fleet ship to come over Alliance ships snooping around where they weren¡¯t supposed to be. And when reporting it, getting a reprimand instead of a polite slap on the back.¡± Hikari blew air out of her nostrils as she tapped a few commands on her console, reminding the communications Smart Artificial Intelligence to be on the lookout for data packet dumps from elsewhere in the St. John System. ¡°But we might very well be the first to be overtly punished for it,¡± she commented, ¡°because that¡¯s just this ship¡¯s luck.¡± ¡°Surely,¡± Blanchard said, eyes and brows forming dubious slits, ¡°you don¡¯t believe in such superstition as ¡®ship¡¯s luck¡¯? We were simply in a poor place at a poor time in the Royal Navy¡¯s schedule to be nearly catching the blame for something that would potentially merely have rocked the relationship between the two largest star-nations in human history. And that is exaggerating thing tremendously, worst case scenario style.¡± ¡°And how is that not down to luck?¡± Hikari countered. ¡°Are you some sort of divinely invested individual that believes one god or several gods has it all planned out perfectly on a spreadsheet? Okay, let¡¯s see here,¡± Hikari licked her thumb and made a facsimile of leafing through several sheets of paper, ¡°ah yes, according to Buddha, seems today that the poor idiots of Carcharodon will almost create an interstellar incident, because they were a bit wrung out after not getting proper shore leave, and adhering a bit too much to standard Royal Navy procedure. There is more here, you want me to continue? I have a report from Jesus, a couple from Olympos, and there¡¯s, oh, one from Varuna if you can believe it!¡± ¡°Please, Anna,¡± Chen groaned, ¡°you¡¯ve belaboured the point way too much already, give it a damn rest.¡± Sub-lieutenant Hikari simply shrugged and resumed her relaxed posture, barely bothering to look at her console and instruments. She was acting very nonchalant, but Chen and the rest of the bridge crew knew that even when pretending not to care and being intentionally annoying (which she thankfully wasn¡¯t most of the time), she was wholly on top of her duties, actually being a consummate officer of the Royal Navy. Petty Officer Daniel Sawyer, a bridge sensor technician with sixteen years in the Service at this point, more than every one of his superior officers currently hackling on the bridge deck (despite his obvious technical seniority, he acknowledged that there was a lot that they had learned over the course of their four years at King William¡¯s Academy that was way over his head), was chuckling politely along with the officers¡¯ banter when the weird feedback from the gravpulse sensors caught his attention. Unlike the more simplistic LIDAR sensor arrays, which recorded the physical details of objects caught by a laser projector, and determined the time it took those signals to return and how the shape was formed (laser was only simply photons emitted at near-constant intervals from warships when their sensors were engaged, so speed of light was literally the only speed it could travel at, serving as a very useful benchmark), gravpulse sensors were able to pick up much more complicated readings, and this object caused said gravpulse arrays to react, which struck Sawyer as mighty odd. Firstly, gravpulse was short for gravitational pulse energy, which was the bounceback energy of disturbances of spacetime being moved; so far so good, it simply meant that physical space was being manipulated by something moving through it at relativistic speeds or higher, or that its output went into those energy bands. However, how modern military-grade gravpulse technology worked, was to bounce said pulses against any and all objects both inside the physical dimension, and the Light Way, meaning gravpulse sensors were at any time also hooked up with the conductors which materialised the Lorentz force fields that also vigoursly drilled ships into the relativistic dimension of the Light Way. It had to be mentioned, just piercing non-observable bursts of energy into the dimension of non-relativistic physical energies, even constantly, was something else entirely for the Light Drives and Lorentz field generators when compared to thrusting a full ship through, hopefully with all its cargo, hull integrity, and its human crew even somewhat intact; trivial by comparison. Physics was a fickle bitch, it chose its favourites and subjugated everyone else to a very harsh set of rules. That the gravitational pulses were also able to travel at the relativistic speed of light many times over upon entering the Light Way, meant they could exponentially speed up to the point of literally 99.99% of infinite speed, but that was a theorem that could never be effectively be proven, nor recorded by human-made instruments. Because, like with all sensors, they required something to register a bounceback from to return which whence the signal originally came, and when a gravitational pulse hit something, it could report back to its mother sensor with extreme accuracy, much more efficiently than any type of sensory system, despite the accuracy of LIDAR or the predictability of thermal or radar. It also served almost like a lighthouse for whoever employed it. Yes, it was effective, and it bounced extremely high-efficiency waves against its intended sensor targets at speeds that was literally incomprehensible for the human mind, but in order to do that, it also had to ¡®expose itself¡¯, in the terminology of the 29th century space navies, earning it the nickname of ¡°smoke stacks¡±, because a ship could not maintain cloak and simultaneously pulse out gravitational waves without it being detected by other ships with even basic sensor capabilities. All of which was why Petty Officer Daniel Sawyer was suddenly very interested in the sensor reports flooding into his station. Sensor reports which made him sit up more straight in his chair and make ¡®ho-hum¡¯ noises, which didn¡¯t go unnoticed by the rest of the bridge crew. ¡°Ma¡¯am,¡± he said after running what his console told him three times over with the Action Information Centre Ops SAI, ¡°I might have something on scope that you would be interested in.¡± Lieutenant Anaya Chen looked over with a very confused expression on her face. ¡°Mr Sawyer,¡± she said, ¡°what could even come close in importance to disturb this current discussion?¡± Petty Officer Sawyer was not born yesterday, he could recognise sarcasm, and to that point he transferred what the sensors had told him up unto the main holographic plot. ¡°That,¡± he said, unbidden, pointing towards the blue-purple 3D holographic plot, ¡°is how the LIDAR profile chooses to portray the Hercules¡¯ Hood, and her ring belt.¡± Sawyer¡¯s hands ran across his keyboard like a maniac, and the 3D plot changed, turning into the confusing mess that was Hercules¡¯ Hood¡¯s ice-crystal ring belt. ¡°Please notice to look,¡± Sawyer continued, ¡°when I run back the pings the gravpulse arrays Carrie received only half-minutes back.¡± The whole bridge deck looked at the same holographic feedback they had been looking at for almost three weeks, irritation slightly rising, until Podkolzin noticed something odd. ¡°What,¡± he said in a tone that betrayed his sudden excitement, ¡°is that burst of code? It looks like corrupted signals put out on a legit grav-channel.¡± Sawyer nodded sagely towards the very youthful officer, who accepted it wholeheartedly while trying to avoid grinning. ¡°Did anyone else pick this one up?¡± Chen asked, now suddenly very serious. Sawyer shook his head: ¡°No, Ma¡¯am, I think we¡¯re the first one to come across this particular fucker.¡± ¡°I would,¡± Sub-lieutenant Hikari commented, ¡°for the benefit of the log, ask what the hell we¡¯re looking at.¡± ¡°That,¡± Chen said, ¡°is something too small to be picked up by LIDAR, has too low of an emission to register on thermal, and I suspect¡­¡± her eyes drifting towards PO Sawyer, ¡°probably way too well hidden for our active gravpulse unless our crew knew what to look for.¡± ¡°Pardon me for asking the, at least for me, obvious, but what is it, and what are we doing?¡± Sub-lieutenant Blanchard, effectively as Number Two Ops, was the 2-i-C whenever none of the capital officers were on deck, but he was still a twenty-two year old relatively fresh out of King William¡¯s Academy. No one could actually in good conscience blame him for being insecure, especially considering what Carcharodon had been through the past Galactic standard month. ¡°That small¡­¡± Hikari said more to herself than anyone else, but Chen picked up upon it. ¡°That is really damn small, especially if it is supposed to be a system-wide reconnaissance drone, the only ones who actually has range and aren¡¯t simple fire-and-forget ones...¡± Chen commented absentmindedly, crossing her legs in the 2-i-C chair. ¡°But it can somehow sample gravpulse signals passively, which means it also intrinsically has LIDAR systems, and a fusion power circuit; otherwise it would literally be a waste of space¡­¡± ¡°Ma¡¯am,¡± Sub-lieutenant Hikari said, now actually sat up in her chair, ¡°contact is not responding to meet-and-greet signals, nor standard IFF.¡± ¡°No, I didn¡¯t expect it would,¡± Chen responded despondently. ¡°Well, boys and girls,¡± she said after short while, ¡°I hope you¡¯re up for another few weeks wasting time in the void.¡± Lieutenant Anaya Chen, twenty-five years old, dressed in the black, gold and white of the junior officer¡¯s uniform of the Royal Navy, picked up the mike of the 2-i-C station, and placed it over her head. ¡°All hands, Carcharodon, we¡¯ve come across a very suspicious contact that does not respond to hails, IFF, nor meet-and-greets. As such, my only option is to call all hands action stations, this is not a drill. Royal Marines, beat to quarters, if you please.¡± Chapter 15 - Days of Erudition: Skulduggery Heels clacked in a hurried rhythm on the hard vinyl flooring of the Independent Systems Alliance Combined Joint Armed Forces Command Headquarters. The first pair of heels, leading the way, belonged to Chief of Naval Operations, Fleet Admiral Edwina Bradford, military head of the Alliance Space Navy. She was walking determinedly down the hallways of massive complex known colloquially as ¡°the Stage¡±, the name everyone but the state bureaucrats used. It was an uninviting complex of grey carboncrete formed in the rough shape of a relatively low theatre stage (the main building) and layers of interconnected taller towers, ¡°bleachers¡± (the adjoining buildings and annexes), surrounded by some actually beautiful parks and green lungs. The Stage completely lacked the architectural beauty and extravagance of the Royal Navy¡¯s Admiralty House on Aurora, or the impressive and tastefully understated opulence of Admiralty Palace on New Malta. Instead, The Stage was big, ugly, to the point, and most important of all, economic. Edwina Bradford was a woman of roughly average height for her homeworld of Thrace, with light brown hair that sported more than a few premature lines of grey, tied very carefully into a regulation bun, and the beginning of crow¡¯s feet appearing at the corner of her dark eyes. Her facial features were very angular, and her nose slightly crooked. No one could convincingly claim she was any sort of beauty, but she didn¡¯t have to be. The 29th century was the time of cheap and very non-invasive cosmetic surgery and even molecular reconstruction, but Bradford was elevated above that; she didn¡¯t give two shits about what people thought of her appearance. When she had her back turned, and they assumed she wasn¡¯t listening, the men and women in the Stage called her ¡°Boadicea¡± after the Iceni warrior queen of far antiquity. Of course Bradford knew about the moniker, and she was privately proud of it, wearing it as a sort of personal badge, taking delight in the Amazonian comparison. But right now, pride in her nickname was far from her mind. Pushing open another set of doors on one of the many upper level floors of the Stage¡¯s central building, she instinctively straightened her cream white officer¡¯s tunic. The Alliance Space Navy¡¯s uniforms were decidedly less ornate than the Royal Auroran Navy ones. The officer¡¯s service uniform consisted of a traditional-cut cream white tunic with golden buttons, dark gold bands with thin red borders on the cuffs to denote rank, a white inner shirt with black necktie, and black shoulder pads bordered by gold lace. The trousers were black with white or gold lining, and polished black boots. Hats were uniformly peaked caps for officers, black for junior ones and white for senior. Enlisted ranks had a much simpler getup, which was a white or black outer-shirt (depending on the season) over white shirt and black tie, white or black trousers, black boots, completed by a black side cap with white lining and a silver tassel hanging from the front tip. This was the service uniform at least; just like the Royal Navy, the mess dress and parade uniforms were more elaborate, but they also had more of an air of mass-production than the Royal Navy¡¯s, and only senior officers were allowed tailored outfits. This was what most of the surprised onlookers were wearing, as they watched the highest ranking officer of the entire Alliance Space Navy briskly walk through the Foreign Analysis floor of the ASN Office of Naval Intelligence. Surprised, and shocked, because the other clacking boot heels that followed in Edwina¡¯s wake belonged to six Alliance Marines, dressed in olive drab fatigues, tan aramisteel plate carriers and arm- and leg armour, tan integrated tactical combat helmets, and loaded carbines in their hands. They walked in lockstep right through the floor, personnel, both uniformed and civilian, giving them a wide berth, and after almost bursting through another set of doors, they stepped into an outer office. The confused staff officers looked at the newcomers and at each other, not knowing what to say or do. A secretary in civilian clothes stepped up to Edwina. ¡°I¡¯m sorry, Ma¡¯am, but can I enquire what this is about?¡± she asked, casting uncomfortable glances at the marines in full combat gear. ¡°You may not,¡± was the curt reply from Bradford, and she shoved the secretary aside. She opened the door to a large inner office, the marines fanning out on each side of her, hands on their weapons, but not trained at anything or anyone. The office was the standard Stage fare; mass-produced cheap Elysian cedar furniture, a number of data readers and plots, and shelves containing old-fashioned dossiers, logs, and hardcover books. A briefing table filled the middle of the room, with the end dominated by a large work desk; behind which sat the person Edwina was looking for. Admiral Philippe ibn Houdhri el-Ahmadi looked up from one of the desk¡¯s computer screens, a thin smile and an enigmatic expression on his face. ¡°Ah, Ma¡¯am Bradford, what a delightful surprise, how can I be of assistance?¡± Ibn Houdhri was just a little bit taller than Edwina, slightly built, his bronze face clean-shaven and long black hair kept in a ponytail under his peaked cap. His eyes were milky grey, and one almost got the feeling that he had the ability to see right through a person to the very soul within. He spoke slowly and clearly in a flanging voice, courtesy of a throat implant; he had been born mute but that was hardly a challenge for modern medicine. Thing is, ibn Houdhri had the option of switching his implant for one that sounded completely natural, but he chose to keep this one, which had a tendency to produce an unnerving and uncanny sense of otherness in others when hearing him speak. The psychopath probably got off on that, Edwina mused. ¡°Sergeant,¡± she said in an icy tone, not even bothering with addressing ibn Houdhri¡¯s comments, ¡°carry out your orders.¡± ¡°Yes, Ma¡¯am,¡± one of the marines said and stepped forward, one arm reaching out. ¡°Sir,¡± he said to ibn Houdhri, ¡°I must ask you to surrender your sidearm and come with us, if you please.¡± ¡°Why, of course, Sergeant,¡± the admiral replied, getting slowly up from the desk with both hands clearly visible, ¡°I don¡¯t have the faintest idea of what is going on, but you¡¯re just doing your job, as we all ultimately are to the best of our abilities.¡± That last comment was accompanied with a quick glance in Edwina¡¯s direction, and she ground her teeth together. The other admiral slowly took his pistol out from his belt holster, and handed it grip first to the marine sergeant, who upon receiving it secured it by popping out the magazine and ensuring it didn¡¯t have a round chambered. He nodded, and two other marines stepped up and flanked ibn Houdhri. ¡°May I ask,¡± he said calmly, his expression completely unchanged, ¡°what this is all about? Am I being detained on some charge, or is this all a practical joke?¡± ¡°Admiral Philippe ibn Houdhri el-Ahmadi,¡± Edwina said, hands clasped behind her back, ¡°you are under arrest for,¡± being an absolute moron, a spineless lickspittle, a gigantic fuckup, a shit-caked cockroach, a complete waste of oxygen that deserves nothing more than a bullet between the eyes, ¡°conspiring to commit treason against the Alliance military, the Alliance Charter, and its people, as well as gross mismanagement and overreach of your mandate as Commander, Office of Naval Intelligence. Sergeant M¨¢ty¨¢s, take him away.¡± ¡°Yes, Ma¡¯am,¡± the marine sergeant replied, and communicating with hand gestures, the marines formed a cordon around Edwina and ibn Houdhri, and escorted them back out unto the office area, the ONI staff there looking on completely nonplussed. Walking behind the arrested admiral, Edwina smirked to herself. If this does not spread the word about who¡¯s really wearing the pants around here, I don¡¯t know what will.
¡°I¡¯m sorry, I don¡¯t think I heard you right, did you just say I have to release that slimy son of a bitch and drop all charges?¡± ¡°Look, I want to nail his balls to the proverbial cross as much as you do, but in this case you¡¯re going to have to give the order to let him out of custody, and politely ask the Provost Marshal¡¯s Office to slide those charges down to the very bottom of their priority list.¡± Edwina Bradford got up from her office couch, headed over to a cabinet and fished out a bottle of Valparaiso brandy, poured a significant amount into her coffee cup, put the bottle down on the table hard, before sitting down in the couch and taking a long sip of the now spiked beverage. Permanent Undersecretary John Davies and Permanent Undersecretary Hitoshi Tachibana looked at each other, wordlessly sharing their sympathy with the Chief of Naval Operations. Permanent Undersecretary Intira Chirathivat leaned across the low table and grabbed the bottle, and poured some into her own coffee. ¡°Assuming you don¡¯t mind, of course?¡± the petite flaxen-haired bureaucrat said, to which Edwina simply waved at her in a dismissive gesture. Chirathivat smiled and took a sip. It had been Davies who had drawn the short straw and turned into the bearer of bad news, and Edwina could tell that he was being truthful about wanting to punish ibn Houdhri. It still didn¡¯t take the sting out of what should have been a moment of triumph for her turning into a circus act. ¡°Please,¡± she said at length, letting silence linger in her top-floor office for a few moments, ¡°explain to me why I should let that traitorous bastard off the hooks now that I¡¯ve finally gotten him dangling, good and proper?¡± ¡°Because,¡± Tachibana said, ¡°as soon as this reaches the Capitoline Hill, you will receive a mail asking you to release him, and this mail¡¯s language will not be as polite and sympathetic as we¡¯ve tried to be today. And if you don¡¯t comply, there will be a brief period of nothing happening, and then you¡¯ll find yourself axed come next naval finance review session in the House of Planets, with your personal r¨¦sum¨¦ suddenly covered by black spots, courtesy of the Kelley administration.¡± Hitoshi Tachibana, the Permanent Undersecretary of the Navy, was on the surface an agreeable sort, with short black hair and a bespectacled pair of intense brown eyes. He was slight, and didn¡¯t really fill out his government-issue charcoal suit, but that just made people underestimate his sharp intellect and dedication which had kept him in his office for close to forty years. ¡°I beg your pardon,¡± Edwina said, taking another sip of her cognac-coffee, ¡°have I just woken up from a months-long coma and no one bothered to tell me? Last time I checked the calendar, it was June, which by my calculations is still a fair bit of time out from the general elections on 13 October. When I looked at a news stream last, Ferdinand Kametz was still President of the Independent Systems Alliance, and Terrence Rodrigo Kelly was still only the leader of the Liberal Progressives Party.¡± ¡°Edwina,¡± John Davies, Permanent Undersecretary of the Exterior, portly and greying but sharp as a rapier, leaned forward in the lounge chair and clasped his hands together, ¡°you¡¯re a very smart woman, and you know which way the political winds are blowing. The Kametz administration and the Independence Party have been in rough chops for three years now, they even lost twenty-eight seats in the last House of Planets election, and the Liberal Progressives added thirty-five. Kelley and the LibPros are walking into Constitution Palace on 14 October, that¡¯s a surety.¡± ¡°And when that happens,¡± Chirathivat filled in, ¡°Kelley and his cronies are going to make it their top priority to have as many of their friends and supporters in high positions in the Navy. And ibn Houdhri happens to be one of the Navy¡¯s fiercest advocates of the Liberal Progressives¡¯ promised ¡®no holds barred¡¯ foreign policy where the Union and Aurora is concerned. That fact is no secret, and he and his fellow hardliners are, perhaps unsurprisingly considering they are military, legion within both the Alliance Navy and Army.¡± Undersecretary of Defense, Dr Intira Chirathivat was everything Tachibana was not. Olive skinned and fair haired, fashion-conscious and with a flair of the dramatic, she had originally been an academic and political analyst for a major policy institute in New Zanzibar on Elysium. She had ambitiously rubbed shoulders with the real shakers in the Alliance political system and managed two years ago to land the post as Permanent Undersecretary of Defense. She and Tachibana¡¯s portfolios sort of overlapped, but like their actually elected ¡°superiors¡± in the Council of State, Tachibana was in charge of the civilian administration of the Alliance Space Navy, with all its associated major divisions, such as Logistics Command, Doctrine and Training Command, Naval Special Warfare Command, etc. Chirathivat had to deal with the rest of the many-headed hydra that was the ISA armed forces, including the system defence forces, the Alliance Army, the Militia, the Orbital Defence Command, and also had the unenviable task of being in charge of negotiating with civilian contractors and firms. She absolutely loved it. Edwina sipped some more of her drink and used the short break to take a mental hike. The Independent Systems Alliance had been formed in 2569 on top of the corpse of the mismanaged Verge Federation, which had emerged in the 2300¡¯s as a confederated alternative state to the increasingly dictatorial United Earth Alignment. The Verge Federation had, in Edwina¡¯s opinion, been a good idea in principle, but had floundered quickly by being too loosely organised, with some polities clearly outmuscling others economically. Without any sort of central government or political authority, it hadn¡¯t taken long before the Verge Federation had simply imploded, splitting into about two dozen single- and multi-system polities. In the 2560¡¯s, the four systems of Epsilon Eridani, Mordecai, Procyon, and Gibraltar had slowly banded together to create the Elysium Tetrarchy, named after Elysium in Epsilon Eridani. These were the most populated and most industrialised planets and system economies in the former Verge region, and formed the nucleus of the emerging Independent Systems Alliance. This initiative had been spearheaded by the visionary politician Jeffrey Burnside, and after his premature death due to a congenital disease, his daughter Sophia had continued his work. It had been slow going, but the disjointed and rudderless planets of the former Verge Federation were for the most part convinced peacefully to join the fold. What set the ISA apart from the former Federation was the much more federated system of a central democratically elected political authority, split between the legislative branches of House of Planets and the Charter Chamber, with the Council of State as the executive branch. The House of Planets was elected every four years with a dozen representatives from each ISA member world, regardless of population and gross system production, and elections to the Charter Chamber was done every eight years, with five members from each world. The House of Planets was the first floor, where proposed bills were presented and debated before sent to the Chamber House for approval or, if rejected, sent back to the House for amendment. This system had served the early ISA well enough, but in present times, June 2874 CE, the ISA had expanded to include fifty-nine inhabited worlds, and had experienced an extreme boom in membership the past sixty years, especially following former President Uriel Konstantin and his aggressive foreign policy. This had bloated the House and the Chamber in terms of representatives, and had in effect turned into a political morass. In order to effectively cut through this Gordian knot of stalled legislature and endless debates and amendments to bills, the public service class on Elysium, Marduk, Starfall, and Triton (the capital worlds of the Elysium Tetrarchy) had turned to their own to circumvent the plodding elected bodies. This was why the Permanent Undersecretaries were in Edwina¡¯s modestly furnished office and dictating what her next course of action should be, instead of the actual elected politicians serving as secretaries in the Council of State. It was simply more expedient this way, and it applied to all levels of government in the ISA; the bureaucrats were in effect the ones who ran the entire titanic structure of the Alliance, and made all the hard decisions while receiving none of the credit. Nor the blame, for that matter. Democratic? Hell no, but it kept things running instead of having politicians confer with literally billions of constituents every time a bill that wasn¡¯t purely routine came up in the House and Chamber. Did it rub Edwina completely the wrong way? Fuck yeah, it did; she had joined the Alliance Space Navy sixty-three years ago with the blue-eyed and idealistic vision of doing her part in serving the Alliance and its populace, only to learn upon reaching flag rank at Commodore, that the House and the Chamber was basically window dressing, a fig-leaf for the real movers and shakers behind the proverbial curtain. She had been bitter after learning that, but now, twenty-eight years on, she had become pragmatic (or nihilistic) enough to appreciate the expediency. ¡°You all seem to forget,¡± she continued after her slightly uncomfortably long pause, ¡°that the fuckwit that is ibn Houdhri is actually charged for treason and having grossly mismanaged the command he has been given.¡± She put her cup down on its saucer emphatically, and the porcelain sang. Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.¡°For the love of ever-loving fuck, the man subverted funds from the overall Office of Naval Intelligence budget to deploy state of the art long-range reconnaissance buoys in not one, not two, but three foreign systems. He had ONI agents commandeer civilian shipping on multiple occasions these past fifteen months and lead these ostensibly ¡®civilian¡¯ Alliance-flagged merchant ships into Union space, and used them as fronts to drop off drones and buoys. If the Maltese, Corinthians, or, God forbid, Aurorans chance upon these, we¡¯re screwed six ways to Sunday. The Blues aren¡¯t morons, they¡¯re able to logically discern who would benefit most from deploying stealth drones in their systems; or, failing that, at the very least take said drones and buoys apart and trace the parts back to us. Goddammit, ibn Houdhri is carrying out what is essentially a one-man political brinkmanship campaign, and he¡¯s going to drag this entire star nation down with him in the vortex of violence and death!¡± Edwina was perfectly aware she was almost shouting at this point, but that didn¡¯t stop her from delivering her point with a certain amount of pathos. Davies and Tachibana looked at each other again, while Chirathivat sipped her own spiked drink while looking at the wall behind Edwina. It was Tachibana who broke the tension. ¡°Regardless what ibn Houdhri has or hasn¡¯t done, I hardly think his actions are that influential; after all none of his assigned agents were ever caught by the Union.¡± Edwina fixed him with a withering glare. ¡°Not influential? The man has broken about a dozen interstellar laws that predates the United Earth Alignment, and have even diverted funds from other ONI divisions are, I might add, are of more direct importance to our nation, like, oh I don¡¯t know, counterespionage. Not to mention that I will look like the galaxy¡¯s largest idiot if let him off scot-free now after having him arrested in front of the entire ONI staff.¡± ¡°You have yourself to thank for that particular conundrum,¡± Chirathivat interjected, ¡°you did yourself an extreme disservice by ordering a Marine fire team to suit up in actual fucking combat armour, and parade them down one of the most important floors of the Stage. Damn it Edwina, you¡¯re in the Joint Services HQ, you could have grabbed any team of roving shore patrol officers, private security guards, hell, even Army military police, but you had to go the extra mile to get Marines to arrest him. You¡¯re just lucky that ONI personnel are bound by oath and law to secrecy, so there is a possibility that the Provost Marshal¡¯s Office might manage to wrangle some sort of gag order on this as well, but don¡¯t put money on it.¡± Okay, in hindsight, that had been a tactical blunder, Edwina was forced to admit, but like hell I was going to let this opportunity pass by without humiliating that rat as much as possible. ¡°So, disregarding all of that, what now?¡± she said out loud, accompanied with a weary sigh and another coffee-brandy sip. ¡°First,¡± Davies said, leaning back in his lounge chair, ¡°as we¡¯ve already said, you¡¯re going to have him released. Second, you need to remove him from the position as Chief of Office of Naval Intelligence.¡± The CNO¡¯s eyes sparkled a bit at that and her heart did a little flip of excitement. ¡°Wait, so I still get to punish that self-important toad?¡± ¡°Ah, in a manner of speaking,¡± Tachibana responded, damn it, are they telepathically connected or something? ¡°Just please consider the optics of the situation.¡± Davies put his elbows on his knees and folded his hands in a serious gesture. ¡°Let us for a moment entertain your idea of a worst-case scenario, that one of the Union militaries discovers one of the buoys that ibn Houdhri¡¯s ONI agents have planted. For the sake of this hypothetical, let¡¯s go with Corinth. The Corinthian military intelligence types take said buoy apart, discovers that the unmarked parts can, in fact, be traced back to the Independent Systems Alliance, because of the particulars of the titanium extracted from worlds or asteroids that exist in orbit of stars with this or that particular radiation frequency. We know how to do that, and there¡¯s no reason to believe other star nations don¡¯t either, so that argument in favour of obscuration is out of the window. Next up is counting on one hand which interstellar polity has the most to gain from deploying monitoring equipment in obscure spots within Royal Union systems. Any analyst with more than three brain cells will quickly come to the conclusion of the ISA.¡± ¡°So, here¡¯s the kicker,¡± Chirathivat took up the baton, ¡°if you boot ibn Houdhri to janitorial duty right now after a two-year stint as head of ONI, you¡¯re going to paint us as the killer with a smoking gun still in our hand to the rest of the galactic community. So, he needs to be promoted laterally, as it were.¡± Edwina¡¯s face formed a grotesque mimicry of disbelief. ¡°Excuse me, what the flying fuck?¡± ¡°Please, Ms Bradford,¡± Tachibana said, ¡°set aside your personal feelings or even your moral obligations in this case. Believe me when I say that war with the Royal Union and Aurora is the last thing the people who actually know what is going on in the ISA want, and this is one more step to legally sidestep that issue. John here has been sending missives to his people on New Malta, Corinth, Antioch, and Samos for days now to act with the utmost indignity should this kind of allegations emerge. We¡¯re sort of banking on luck at this point, that the Blues don¡¯t happen upon the drones and buoys for some time, but it¡¯s basically a question of time.¡± Grabbing the porcelain cup and draining the last of her drink in one go, Edwina fixed the three with a glare that would have made any junior officer relieve their bowels. ¡°You three chucklefucks are actually suggesting, nay, ordering me to not only approach the Provost Marshal¡¯s Office and tell them to release that slithering reptile that impersonates an Alliance Space Navy officer, but then proceed to give him a position that befits his rank? Am I correct so far?¡± Tachibana sighed heavily, while Davies loosened the top button of his shirt, and Chirathivat rediscovered that previously interesting spot on the wall behind Edwina. ¡°Fan-fucking-tastic,¡± Edwina said, reaching for the bottle of brandy still on the table, and re-filled her cup, this time sans coffee. ¡°You will of course have full jurisdiction to what position the recalcitrant admiral should assume next,¡± Chirathivat said, downing the rest of her own drink. ¡°Well, I assume I should be grateful for that,¡± Edwina said with more than a bit of sarcasm colouring her tone, ¡°although considering he is a full admiral, there are only a few positions in the ASN he can, as you say, laterally, be assigned to without causing a stir.¡± ¡°It does, however, sound like you have a destination in mind,¡± Tachibana said, something like apprehension in his voice. ¡°Where he can do the least damage,¡± was Edwina¡¯s reply, ¡°and which would incidentally place one of my trusted subordinates into a position where a person could do the most damage. I¡¯m speaking of course of ON-¡± ¡°I think we all go that proverbial memo at this point,¡± Chirathivat said with a dismissive gesture, before reaching for the same bottle and filling some of her own cup. ¡°Well then,¡± Edwina said after a sip of pure spirit, and a following grimace that she hoped she suppressed sufficiently for the others not to notice. ¡°You¡¯ll know I¡¯m talking about Capitolis Fleet. Admiral Chantelle Montmorency, the current commander of the largest fleet in the ASN, has for the entirety of her career been a supporter of my cause, has been an exemplary officer, led her commands to extremely good results in inter-fleet wargames, and, most importantly apparently given what has gone down, possesses a conscience and a pretty damn good moral compass. Losing her as the commander of the capital systems fleet commander will suck, but having ibn Houdhri bound to the capital systems fleet would mean he could only deploy his ships to the four systems of the Elysium Tetrarchy, and not, say, fucking Angevin or Valerian. It limits his movement, physically, tactically, and strategically, to Epsilon Eridani, Mordecai, Gibraltar, and Procyon. That¡¯s actually a win in my book.¡± ¡°That does seem like the most expedient and logical conclusion to this particular problem,¡± Tachibana said, scratching his clean-shaven chin. ¡°Naturally,¡± Davies said, ¡°Montmorency might experience this as a demotion, but I trust in your diplomatic skills, Ms Bradford, to smooth that one over.¡± ¡°Please,¡± Edwina replied, taking another sip of the strong alcohol, damn, it was only three in the afternoon, ¡°I have known Chantelle for many years, and while yes, she might feel despondent at first, I know she¡¯ll rise to the occasion. Plus, having a consummate officer like her in command of ONI, if only for a short while, will do wonders for that shady bunch of folks. Plus, she will be stepping into a new position, as you political vultures pointed out, that will absolve her of all blame, considering that we did this before the Union or Aurorans actually discovered the drones and buoys that ibn Houdhri illegally had deployed.¡±
The boatswain¡¯s mate put the silver pipes to his lips and played the ancient high-pitched tunes that denoted the arrival of a senior officer onto the ship. Fifty-six Royal Marines, in black fatigues and black plate carriers, wearing their trademark green berets presented arms, the full complement of the HMS Carcharodon¡¯s marines that weren¡¯t on duty, and the rest of the welcome party wearing their black-white or black-gold battle dress uniforms. Sub-lieutenant Kayden Blanchard stepped out of the ranks to salute the party exiting the sub-nosed shuttle in the middle of Carcharodon¡¯s boat bay, performing the equally ancient ritual of admitting guests on board a warship. Lord Hartcastle, flanked by Sir Edwin Doughty and the Captain of the Fleet, Post-captain Lady Susanne Hawkins of Oakborough, walked down the gangway of the shuttle, and saluted the about a century younger lieutenant. ¡°Permission to come aboard, Sir?¡± the admiral asked, with an easy smile of his face, well-used to this ritual and trying to ease the young officer¡¯s evident nervousness. ¡°Permission granted, Sir,¡± Blanchard replied, snapping to attention, ¡°welcome to the Carcharodon, it is an honour to welcome you on board, Sir.¡± ¡°Pleasure is all mine, Lieutenant,¡± Hartcastle replied with a polite nod, and turned his attention to Commander Lysimachos and Lieutenant Commander Hazard who stood a few paces back. For some ancient reason that had been lost over the millennia, it was always one of the most junior officers on board a warship that welcome distinguished guests; not only in the Royal Navy, but most space navies. The actual Captain of a ship always waited until after this formality was completed, and had to wait even more if a flag officer had appointed said ship as their flagship. Despite the urgent and serious nature of the reason Hartcastle was on board, this ceremony was always obeyed to the letter. ¡°My Lord Hartcastle,¡± Lysimachos said while saluting, ¡°it is my honour to offer you the full hospitality of Carcharodon, and introduce you to my First Lieutenant, Lieutenant Commander Leonetta Hazard.¡± Hartcastle nodded his thanks, and to the shouted order of the commander of the Royal Marines on board, Lieutenant Hakim Al-Jalal, the side party snapped out of attention, turned on their heels and started to exit the boat bay, their duty done. ¡°Allow me in turn,¡± the admiral replied, ¡°to introduce you to my Chief of Staff, Commodore Sir Edwin Doughty, and my Captain of the Fleet, Post-captain Baroness Oakborough.¡± Susanne Hawkins was obviously Amaranthine in origin, since she was almost as tall as Hartcastle and her skin was a crisp bronze. The post of Captain of the Fleet was a temporary posting, and worked closely in tandem with a fleet¡¯s chief of staff; where the COS would be in charge of synchronizing a fleet commander with other flag officers of a fleet¡¯s staffs, the Captain of the Fleet would do the same with the captains and bridge crews handling a fleet¡¯s ship. ¡°I take it,¡± Doughty said after everyone had exchanged salutes, ¡°that Rear Admiral Holland is on board?¡± ¡°She¡¯s been on board for the better part of seven hours now, Sir,¡± Hazard said, and started to lead the party out of the boat bay and towards a set of gravlifts. ¡°I bet she had a rather sheepish look when she stepped on board, I reckon,¡± Doughty said with an accompanying chuckle, but Lysimachos shook his head. ¡°Actually, she looked like wanted to throttle me, and I¡¯m pretty sure only the presence of the side party prevented her,¡± he said and rubbed his neck for emphasis, which only made Doughty chuckle even more. The gravlift took them straight up to the captain¡¯s cabin, located at the very foot of the bridge superstructure. ¡°I trust,¡± Oakborough said once the five were confined to the small lift car, ¡°that you¡¯ve handled the situation with the discretion it behoves; after all, OPSEC needs to be airtight on this one until we get marching orders from Admiralty.¡± ¡°My Lady,¡± Lysimachos said a bit uncomfortably, ¡°due to the nature of how we came about the contact, more or less half of the officers on board, the Boat Bay personnel, and by now, at least most of the Royal Marines and senior Engineering personnel. The rest of the crew knows that something happened, which was resolved rather quickly with most of them standing down from action station after less than an hour.¡± ¡°Our officer of the watch felt she had no choice but to beat to quarters, Ma¡¯am,¡± Hazard supplemented, ¡°which meant that all off-duty personnel were sent to action stations, and the hastily added comment ¡®this is not a drill¡¯ did little to douse the flames.¡± ¡°Even so,¡± Lysimachos cut in, ¡°this is a ship of seven-hundred and fifty souls, keeping something like this secret would be almost impossible.¡± ¡°I guess your exile is still in effect for a few more days then,¡± Hartcastle said, ¡°but if your hunch is correct, I think you¡¯ll get a pat on the back from Admiralty in good turn. And if not officially, then at least you¡¯ll get one from me.¡± The lift car came to a halt and the occupants walked the short distance to the captain¡¯s cabin hatch, being saluted by the two Royal Marines on sentry duty. The captain¡¯s cabin on a relatively small scout cruiser like Carcharodon was not nearly the same size as the huge flag officer¡¯s quarters on major ships of the line like Resolute, but they still had a common area that doubled as dining and briefing room, an entertainment corner, a small office, heads, bedroom, and an attached pantry. Already seated by the long table in the common room was Rear Admiral of the Black Freya Holland, a frankly impressive amount of printed sensor readings, preliminary engineering reports, and tablets scattered about. She rose quickly as the others entered and saluted, but Hartcastle waved her down again. Hazard activated the cabin¡¯s privacy shield as she closed the hatch behind her, and the others took their seats around the table. ¡°I take it the buoy is underway to Resolute as we speak, correct?¡± Oakborough said as she sat down and grabbed one of the tablets and started skimming the charts displayed on it. ¡°It was loaded by the same Boat Bay crew who brought it on board almost nine hours ago in a pinnace in the Supply and Maintenance Bay, and took off before your own shuttle launched, Ma¡¯am.¡± Lysimachos said, and poured what was his seventh or eighth cup of coffee of the day from a pot on the table. After quickly discerning what they were dealing with, the bridge officers of Carcharodon had stood the superfluous crew down, picked just enough Boat Bay people, Engineering personnel, Royal Marines, and pilots they required to bring the object on board, before hiding it in one of the storage bays in Engineering. Lysimachos had immediately contacted Swiftsure and Holland, who had made best possible time from the other side of Hercules¡¯ Hood, whereupon Holland and a small group of officers and Engineering personnel had gone over, before both cruisers had under full military power headed back to New Malta orbit, tight-beaming Resolute with a communiqu¨¦. Now, six hours and change later, both Carcharodon and Swiftsure were hovering at rest in the relative shadow of the large flagship. ¡°This,¡± Holland said with a wave of her arm at the scattered material, ¡°is what the combined Engineering types of both ships have managed to compile over the course of the past eight hours. As you can see, there isn¡¯t a whole lot we can say with any sort of certainty without actually disassembling the buoy, but we left that for the flagship¡¯s engineers and Fleet Intelligence, so they can form their own opinions. But what is clear, corroborated by Lieutenant Commander Eltze, Lieutenants Mittelstadt, Gage, and Milner, is that the object in question is without a doubt a long range, long endurance observation buoy. It is fitted with a passive grav-pulse detection array, a high power telescope, thermal sensors, and a self-contained miniature fusion bottle, all of this covered by several layers of coolant-filled photon-absorbing armour plating. Deployed where it was in the middle of a gas giant¡¯s ice ring, it was for all practical purposes invisible unless someone happened to trip over it, like Lysimachos¡¯ boys and girls did.¡± ¡°And we¡¯re sure it¡¯s not simply one of the newer types of New Maltese buoys that they for some reason forgot to tell us about or put in the log?¡± Doughty offered, though of course he didn¡¯t believe it particularly likely. Holland shook her head. ¡°For one, this buoy is much larger than anything in the New Maltese arsenal, and it is specifically tailored for low detection emissions while absorbing as much data input as possible. The thing screams stealth, to the point where it doesn¡¯t even have a communications array for dumping its data; it instead has an extremely short range beam laser, meaning the recipient of the buoy¡¯s findings must pass within only a few thousand kilometres, and turn their own beam receivers towards that particular location.¡± ¡°All of this information has been uploaded to these tablets,¡± Hazard said, ¡°and as a separate but security-locked log entry. None of this has been transmitted electronically from this ship.¡± ¡°Good, Lieutenant Commander,¡± Hartcastle said, stroking his beard thoughtfully, ¡°make sure it stays that way. Your crew is unfortunately going to have to spend a few more days in lockdown until we have heard what the Admiralty thinks about this. I¡¯ll flag one of the fleet¡¯s destroyers to take the physical evidence back to the capital, about a two week trip for a ship of that size. Return answer will probably be by signal, but still, that¡¯s almost three weeks. I¡¯m sorry to do this to you, Lysimachos, especially since you¡¯ve actually managed to stumble upon something of extreme importance, both militarily and politically. But if this is what we think it is, believe me when I say that you¡¯ll all be rewarded.¡± ¡°By ¡®think it is¡¯, you¡¯re referring to an ISA spy drone, right?¡± Hazard asked, drawing an angry glare from Holland. ¡°Too early to say, Lieutenant Commander,¡± Hartcastle said with an apologetic shrug, ¡°but let¡¯s just say I have a very important meeting to schedule in Admiralty Palace in St. Angelo, both with our own senior officers, but also those of the New Maltese navy and the members of the Council of Princes.¡± ¡°You just might,¡± Doughty said, putting a security lock on one of the tablets, ¡°have stumbled upon evidence of a star nation preparing for all-out war.¡± Chapter 16 - Days of Erudition: Disagreements The first thing Alistair Carlisle noticed was amiss in the large Admiralty House briefing room was the absence of the customary cart of refreshments. The gilded steward¡¯s cart with its decanters of various beverages and alcohols had been replaced by carafes of ice water and pots of coffee. That told the Marquess of S¨¦lincourt two things: One, Lady Ashwike would be surly since she was used to having a post-lunch pick-me-up and she was a noblewoman who didn¡¯t like when her routines were disturbed. Two, it meant that the subject matter at hand was serious enough that no distractions were allowed. He glanced at the huge blood-oak table with its inlaid computer stations and holographic projectors, and found an upholstered seat near the far end of the table. Like everything else in Admiralty House, the briefing room was richly decorated with wooden panelling, golden details, and adorned with oil paintings along the walls. However, it was still the headquarters of a massive interstellar military force, and the Neo-Georgian and ¨CRegency furniture often contained computer systems that could be tastefully hidden inside, drones were flying everywhere in the halls and outside the complex, and Smart Artificial Intelligence systems helped the humans run the place. S¨¦lincourt nodded to the already arrived senior officers, Dame Vanessa Howards, the Third Lady Admiral of Personnel, Lord Lowe Hill, the Second Lord Admiral of Planning, and Lady Suncrest, Commander of Home Fleet, who had been summoned from her flagship in orbit to attend this meeting. So, S¨¦lincourt thought, since I was also ordered to show up as well as Lady Em, this means that the topic is not simply limited to the Admiralty Board, but also both current and future senior fleet commanders. Very interesting. As if the Fates wanted to underscore his hypothesis, Admiral of the White Sir Morgan Mizushima and Vice Admiral of the White Sir Cornelius McIndoe chose that exact moment to enter the same double-doors Alistair had just come through. Mizushima was a physically imposing man with an impressive dark moustache and ponytail, but he was perhaps the most formidable administrator the Royal Navy had ever seen, which was why he had been Commander-in-Chief Fleet for nine years now. Sir Morgan was second only to the First Lord Admiral, Sir Hugh Donegal, in the hierarchy of the Royal Navy; his job was effectively to act as the First Lord¡¯s chief of staff, and to coordinate the efforts of all Departments and synchronize with the operations and needs of the actual fleets, task forces, and task groups. In many ways, it was the most important single office in the entire Royal Navy, and Sir Morgan and his well-honed staff made it look almost trivial. Sir Cornelius McIndoe was one of the older members of the Admiralty Board, with a completely bald head, but piercing blue eyes. He had a civilian colleague, the Judge Advocate of the Fleet, and together they supervised and organised the court martial and legal system of the Royal Navy. The fact that old ¡°Barrister Neil¡± was attending the meeting as well struck Alistair as even more odd than Sir Morgan¡¯s and his own presence. Lord S¨¦lincourt had been reinstated following his long beaching by Koyanagi, but there were only so many commands fit for his high rank, so for the time being his portfolio was ¡°Flag Officer attached to Admiralty House for Particular Duties¡±, which basically meant he was a glorified staff officer with a very large pay check. As he poured coffee into a porcelain cup engraved with the coat of arms of the Kingdom of Aurora, the rest of the senior officers of the Royal Navy still on-planet started to file in; Lady Ashwike (Sixth Lady Admiral of Research), Lady New Acre, Vice Admiral of the Black Clarence Harper-Rowland, Admiral of the Red Sir Reginald Templeton (Fourth Lord Admiral of Ships), Adrienne Bower-Henton (Fifth Lady Admiral of Intelligence), Vice Admiral of the Black Erica Kuznetsova, and Admiral of the Red Lady Stephanie Aza?s, Baroness Goldspyre. After they all had found a seat, many of them casting unsure glances at each other, Sir Hugh Donegal finally arrived, closing the doors behind him. He walked up to the head of the table and instead of sitting down, he put his hands on the back of the chair and spoke in a serious tone no one could mistake. ¡°Outside these doors, there are no Royal Marine sentries, I have made sure that none of the nearby rooms are occupied, and I had to order about thirty civilian and junior level personnel to have an extended lunch because I didn¡¯t want them to go back to their offices in case our meeting was still in progress. On top of that, I have activated the room¡¯s privacy shield. If that does not drive home the point enough, then let me tell you all, that nothing that is said in here leaves this room, until you receive explicit purpose from my own or Adrienne¡¯s office. Do I make myself clear?¡± ¡°Oh, so just normal procedure for every other meeting among the Service¡¯s senior staff then.¡± S¨¦lincourt couldn¡¯t help himself make a quip, and managed to produce some smiles, none of them belonging to Sir Hugh, Adrienne, or Dame Vanessa. Well, Dame Vanessa never smiled, so that was not really a shock. ¡°Alistair¡­¡± Sir Hugh said with an accompanying slightly reproving stare, and the lack of honorific conveyed urgency more than anything else he had said so far; it was a serious faux pas ¨Cespecially for a commoner¨C to omit the title of the marquess of such pedigree as S¨¦lincourt, and it made Alistair sit up straight in his chair, not out of indignation but apprehension. Donegal sighed and sat down in the chair he had been giving an unintentional back massage. ¡°Adrienne, I¡¯ll let you take over from here on. Lady Ashwike, you may jump in when you deem it necessary, and I would like everyone else to reserve your questions or comments until the two of them are finished.¡± Heads nodded and peaked caps were politely removed, their attention fixed on Adrienne Bower-Henton, who stood up and tapped a few commands on her tablet. The table¡¯s central holographic projector sprang to life, and showed a nearly insect-like mechanical device with bulging ¡°eyes¡± and a myriad of ¡°limbs¡± that protruded from a slightly off-centre body. ¡°This,¡± Bower-Henton said, the usually chipper and sarcastic Lady Admiral of Spooks now very serious, ¡°is a long range stealth observation buoy. It was found in the ice belt of the Super Jovian Hercules¡¯ Hood in the St. John System, and its discovery was purely by fluke by one of our patrolling light cruisers attached to Western Fleet. The buoy arrived physically in-system yesterday morning after the destroyer HMS Foxhound had crossed the distance from St. John to Euryphaessa in a mere eleven days. Upon arrival, Foxhound tight-beamed HMSS Trafalgar that she had top secret hardware on board, the call encrypted with security code verification ¡®Scarlet¡¯. As such, the object was immediately taken to one of our orbital black sites and upon receiving this missive from Intelligence on Trafalgar, I immediately grabbed as many of my most qualified personnel I could get my hands on, along with some of Lady Ashwike¡¯s, and basically locked them inside the black site for twenty hours. Why is this particular buoy so important? Because it has fewer emissions than a webnet comm drone, but the combined sensor suite of a spy ship from a century back, with stealth hardware comparable to a top of the line SIGINT corvette. It is capable of hiding its presence from basically any prying eyes that are not actively looking for it in more or less the exact location it chooses to hide in. And it is not of Royal Union make.¡± That last comment produced a few muted gasps and concerned looks between the admirals, but Bower-Henton simply continued. ¡°Lady Ashwike¡¯s engineers took the thing apart carefully, and my senior analysts went over every single bolt and wire in microscopic detail. According to radiation-extraction suggestions, the titanium, rhenium, and gold used to construct this buoy were mined in G and K class systems with varying gamma radiation profiles that does not fit any spectrum found in the Royal Union, the United Colonies of Sol, the Berenice Star Federation, the Neuhansa Sternbund¡­ I could go on, but I do not wish to be melodramatic. It had to come from the Independent Systems Alliance.¡± Instead of gasps, there was nothing but silence this time around. Knowing silence. ¡°Now, as most of you know from the intelligence briefs my Department sends out periodically, there has been a marked uptick in¡­ ah, irregular activity in the Union systems bordering the ISA these past good few months. It is the belief of my senior staff, and my personal belief as well, that the reported encounters with civilian ISA-flagged ship behaving abnormally, has in fact been discovered cases of ISA intelligence operatives working undercover to create a deliberate spy network of stealth buoys in Union systems. The other popular theory is that these encounters represent a diversionary tactic to redirect our attention to these unusually acting ships, while other ships moving in monitored shipping routes have simultaneously dropped these buoys off clandestinely. Regardless, these non-manned crafts factor heavily in Department of Intelligence¡¯s analyses. And yes, I am using the plural form here, there is no reason to believe we managed to chance upon the only deployed stealth buoy. It logically follows that there are more of these in systems that have reported suspicious ISA ship behaviour; that includes St. John, Samos, Azurea, and Phoebus, but the list is probably longer.¡± ¡°Design-wise,¡± Lady Aswhike, Valentina Kirkland, shot in, unable to contain herself any longer, drawing a bit of a knowing smile from Alistair, ¡°it is almost unimaginable. Its detection capabilities are on-par with our own recon drones, but its stealth systems and longevity is further than anything unmanned craft we have currently. Yes, it is bulkier, and yes it requires inordinately expensive miniaturized systems, but the total sensor and stealth package is a frightening reminder that we may not actually be the leading naval technological power in every aspect any longer. If the Greens are able to manufacture something like this, and in addition sneak them in right under our noses, I shudder at the thought of what else they may accomplish if they¡¯re given the time, resources, and practical know-how.¡± ¡°While I appreciate Lord Hartcastle¡¯s wish to keep this a secret as long as possible,¡± Bower-Henton continued, ¡°he may have bitched us by sending it to us in person. It took Foxhound just short of eleven days to get here, and a further day for the analysis to be done. However, in that timespan we have received several signal communiqu¨¦s from Western Fleet HQ, Admiralty Palace in St. Angelo, and from the New Maltese Council of Princes. Electronic signals travel much faster through the Light Way than physical objects, as you all know. Firstly, the cat has managed to claw its way out of the bag regarding the fact that we found this buoy, the source of the leak most likely within the Council of Princes upper staff, which led to an uproar among the New Maltese public and military, so our popularity domestically has taken a dip since we tried to keep this to ourselves. That¡¯s politics for you. Secondly, following the leak, the Elysian and ISA ambassadors on New Malta deny this was their nations¡¯ doing, making numerous public appearances that have been quite effectively worded, diverting some of the flak away from them and more towards the United Colonies of Sol. Low-hanging fruit, but such is the game, I guess. Thirdly, this produced a frenzy of searching for buoys in all the major Union polities bordering the ISA, and it has so far resulted in nothing, leading some far-right nationalist groups in the ISA to claim that this was an Auroran plant and plot all along. And that idea is gaining traction like wildfire among the Elysian man and woman in the street, playing straight into the hands of the Liberal Progressive hardliners and their anti-Aurora rhetoric. And I don¡¯t need to tell you the LibPros are all but ensured a very convincing general election victory in their House of Planets in a few months. This misinformation campaign may have extremely problematic long term effects for us. However, so far, apart from the immediate frustration among the New Maltese, this conspiracy idea has not gained a foothold in any of the other Union states, and indeed, we received a very positive letter of support from Her Majesty Queen Tryphaina this morning from the Dionysian embassy, so at least we know the Kingdom of Dionysia is with us.¡± Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere. ¡°So, what are we going to do about this?¡± Sir Hugh Donegal asked, looking at his seated admirals in turn. ¡°Well, the natural response is to actually go out to the border systems and look for more of these mechanical spies,¡± Lady New Acre said, pursing her lip in thought, ¡°but somehow I feel Sir Reginald is going to tell me in no uncertain terms that this is beyond impractical.¡± Sir Reginald Templeton took off his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his aquiline nose, the deep furrows on his dark forehead becoming almost small ridges. With almost a decade on McIndoe, Templeton was the oldest member of the Admiralty Board, and was soon to celebrate his two-hundredth and twentieth birthday. But while his body was old, his mind was veritably brimming over with ideas and schemes. Where Sir Damien Koyanagi, Sir Noel Acciari, and many of the previous Admiralty administration had adhered to the ¡°Forward-¡± or ¡°First Strike School¡± of naval design, Sir Reginald had created that particular naval design ideology¡¯s antithesis, championing the so-called ¡°Concentration School¡±, of which Lady Ashwike was the leading star. In short, the ¡°Concentration School¡± believed the future of naval warfare lay in designing warships with as much of its firepower concentrated in as few turrets as possible, but radically scaling up the effective electromagnetic rails of the batteries. This was not ground-breaking technology; ultra-long magrails had been how spaceships had been launched from the surface into orbit in the latter days of non-unified Earth. Miniaturizing this into railgun batteries that fit on warships had, however, been something of an achievement, and at this point nearly all warships of light cruiser size and up in the Royal Navy had at least one of these railcannon turrets. This design choice was the reason why Auroran ships were flatter and wider than other nations¡¯ man-of-wars, who all favoured the traditional design philosophy of ¡°chuck as many railguns as humanly possible into the broadsides of our hulls¡±. ¡°I won¡¯t say,¡± Sir Reginald said in a hoarse tone, ¡°that it is Impossible with a capital ¡®i¡¯ to deploy enough ships to find all of these buoys, but it is impossible. First off, we don¡¯t nearly have enough information on how to find them if, as you say Adrienne, one of our cruisers sort of ran into one through pure dumb luck. That implies that they¡¯re incredibly creatively hidden, and even combing through a single Jovian¡¯s belt is an incredibly time-consuming task, not to mention extremely taxing on crews and ships. Space is unfathomably big after all, and even sifting through a single system with the equivalent of a fleet¡¯s screen would take weeks, if not months. Second, the Royal Navy simply don¡¯t have that number of destroyers and cruisers to divert to such duties. As incessantly pointed out by Lord S¨¦lincourt here and others with him, we¡¯re critically short of escort class ships; those we do have are desperately needed for patrolling and merchant convoy duties, not to mention their all-important screening duties for capital ships. Despite the valiant efforts of the shipbuilders at Royal Harrow, Monckton, and St. Aurorienne, there is no relief on the immediate horizon for this issue.¡± Admiral Erica Kuznetsova, a stocky Novorosyian outbacker with short brown hair, and slightly uncannily long and slender arms, was spinning a porcelain saucer on the table top without looking and smiled lopsidedly. ¡°I think, Templeton, if you were desperate enough, you¡¯d pull cruisers away from patrol duties and replace them with battlecruisers.¡± Lady Suncrest physically bristled at that, putting down her coffee cup that she had been in the process of bringing up to her mouth. ¡°Surely, Erica, you¡¯re not serious. That would be escalating an already tense and potentially dangerous situation even further. Taking away cruisers from border and sovereign system patrols and replacing them with capital ships is only going to be perceived as a threat by anyone who are on the lookout for aggressiveness from our side.¡± Baroness Goldspyre toyed with the embroidery of her peaked cap. ¡°I certainly don¡¯t agree with Erica¡¯s suggestion, but in terms of technical capabilities, a battlecruiser is even more suited to patrol duties. Their sensor suites are larger and better, and their speeds are about on-par with heavy cruisers, but regardless of the political optics of their deployment, it would be like cracking a nut with a bunker-buster.¡± ¡°Not to mention ruinously expensive in terms of logistics, supply, and command-and-control,¡± Sir Morgan Mizushima pointed out, running a hand through his moustache. Kuznetsova let the saucer come to a rest and put up both hands in a mock gesture of surrender. ¡°It was a joke more than anything. Besides, if I¡¯m reading between the lines correctly here, these buoys represent a security risk, but not one that warrants extreme action on our part.¡± ¡°Quite right,¡± Bower-Henton said, having resumed her seat a while back. ¡°They¡¯re annoying, has the ability to track our and our allies¡¯ fleet movements, as well as discern our different task forces¡¯ order of battle in terms of estimated tonnage. However, according to our initial reports, their range isn¡¯t that great and now that we know of their existence, we can be on the lookout for civilian shipping acting unorthodox and be more vigilant in investigating their activities.¡± ¡°Plus,¡± S¨¦lincourt pointed out, ¡°if the intelligence types in the ISA simply comb through enough Auroran newspapers and magazines, they will have plenty material to form a pretty good picture of our different fleet dispositions anyway. For instance, the Cordelia Sentinel featured the departure of the battleships Conqueror and Royal Mareschal for Kitezh and Southern Fleet in an article just three days ago. Such is the price we pay for having free and uncensored civilian media.¡± That last comment was accompanied with a disarming smile, not an actual jab at one of the pillars of Auroran democracy. ¡°So, we¡¯re all in agreement that this isn¡¯t a top priority?¡± Lady Suncrest asked, and Bower-Henton and Donegal both nodded. ¡°Oh, they¡¯re certainly a concern,¡± Sir Hugh said, ¡°but I believe they represent only another such in a long list of the Royal Navy¡¯s priorities.¡± ¡°Please, consider the following,¡± Lord Lowe Hill spoke for the first time, which was uncharacteristic for the usually bombastic admiral. ¡°The Alliance general elections are taking place in medio October, so just four months away. Our own House of Commons¡¯ elections are scheduled in early September, and just like the Liberal Progressives are all but guaranteed a comfortable majority in the House of Planets, the Royalists and Social Liberals are poised to reinforce their existing majority in the Commons, and polls show the Unionists getting at least fifteen more MPs than last election. That means that the Democrats and Labour will be reduced to forming an unholy alliance with the Conservatives in the Commons, at least where foreign policy and defence spending is concerned, which in turn means that the Royalists-Social Liberals will have no problem making good on their promise of increasing naval spending, with both the Commons and the Lords in their pocket. This is a roundabout way of saying that if the ISA was preparing for all-out war with the Kingdom and the Union, they would have pulled the trigger already; the Royal Navy will only get larger and stronger in the coming years, on top of the ships we already have in the slips. How we¡¯re supposed to crew all these new ships our political masters are about to approve the funds for, is a whole different matter¡­¡± Eyes focused on Dame Vanessa Howards, who shrugged. ¡°What do you want me to say? After two months in Admiralty House, my Department has been able to punt the worst of the Koyanagi shirkers and political appointees out, either to postings where they can do minimal damage, or encouraged them into an early retirement. Granted, a few of them chose to go into politics, all but two of them on the ¡®wrong¡¯ side of the aisle, but we knew this was an acceptable trade-off for putting dedicated and diligent officers into important slots. As for our recruitment problems, plans for the tentatively named De Chandlier Academy on Amaranth to supplement and take some of the load off King William Academy is proceeding nicely, but it will require pulling sorely needed experienced officers and NCOs from the Fleet. And the shore establishments New Saxony and Cumberland are still not at full capacity; they have the potential to graduate four-thousand more enlisted sailors each year.¡± ¡°I was under the impression that volunteers were at an all-time high?¡± S¨¦lincourt asked, and Dame Vanessa nodded in confirmation. ¡°You¡¯re right, King William¡¯s Class of ¡¯73 was one-thousand and fifty-nine strong, but even that many fresh ensigns are barely enough to cover the empty slots due to promotions, secondment to allied navies, and of course the commissioning of new ships. The Royal Navy has never had this many platforms to crew, be they ships, stations, supply vessels, shore stations, or supply bases. We¡¯re forced to issue warrants of commission to an unprecedented number of senior NCOs, which is akin to pissing your pants to stay warm; it is going to bite us in the medium term future.¡± ¡°That said,¡± Sir Morgan countered, ¡°the University Officer¡¯s Training Corps is reporting an incredible uptick in membership, with thousands upon thousands joining up all across the kingdom. It is both an excellent source of skilled officer cadets, and a social equaliser; get a university degree, learn a cut-down version of the naval academy¡¯s curriculum, enrol in King William¡¯s for a shortened period, enlist for ten years, and have your student loan paid for by the Royal Navy.¡± ¡°No wonder the Tories hate the concept,¡± Kuznetsova said with a laugh, ¡°it both incentivises joining the Service, and is a direct Department of Education-approved funnel into the Navy that is hard to cut off in Parliament while eluding appearing stingy.¡± ¡°I feel,¡± Sir Hugh said, ¡°that we¡¯re getting slightly off topic here. In summary, these new buoys are a definitive security risk, but one that the Departments of Intelligence and Planning will take into assessment. If Adrienne¡¯s hypothesis is correct and these have indeed been deployed by the ISA, then we have to go back to the drawing board regarding our own and our allies¡¯ OPSEC.¡± ¡°Not to mention,¡± Harper-Rowland commented, the first time he had spoken, ¡°there will be hell to pay once Parliament and media catches wind of this, and doubly so if it comes to light that the Royal Navy was aware of the fact.¡± ¡°I think this is something,¡± Lady New Acre said, ¡°we might have to float by the shadow defence secretary and possibly His Majesty.¡± ¡°Let¡¯s not be hasty,¡± Sir Cornelius warned, ¡°I would advise talking to Lord Hartcastle and Western Fleet intelligence before we approach St. Andrew¡¯s Palace and risk blowing this up even further.¡± ¡°So,¡± Lord S¨¦lincourt said with a frown, ¡°the official policy of the Royal Navy is to carry on as if everything is business as usual? Pardon me, but that seems like a rather poor solution to what is in reality a major interstellar political incident.¡± ¡°Lord S¨¦lincourt¡­¡± Lowe Hill began, but Sir Morgan Mizushima cut him off. ¡°Alistair, the timing of this whole thing is not to our advantage. The most expedient solution is to wait out the election period for both the Kingdom and the ISA, see where the chips land, and then, while conversing with our civilian leaders, stake out the most prudent course.¡± ¡°I must say, I agree with Lord S¨¦lincourt,¡± Lady New Acre said, crossing her arms over her chest, the electronic muscles of her black-silver prosthetic purring. ¡°I trust everyone in this room are aware that Aurora only has a fraction of the total population and industrial base of the Independent Systems Alliance. Yes, we have our trusty allies in the Royal Union, but unlike the ISA, the Union is not a monolithic economic and political construct; it is a cultural and economic patchwork of states that sometimes don¡¯t even get along very well. Yes, the Royal Navy is larger and more technologically advanced than any other space navy at the moment, but given time, there is no reason why the Alliance Space Navy cannot inherit that mantle.¡± ¡°Lady New Acre,¡± Lady Ashwike said, her tone flinty, ¡°I cannot help but detect some distrust in my staff¡¯s ability to retain our naval technological advantage.¡± ¡°No offence was intended, Countess Ashwike,¡± New Acre replied, ¡°but even if we keep putting the very bleeding edge of naval technology into, say, a dozen battleship hulls, the Elysians are able to put yesteryear¡¯s tech into three dozen, and most likely have them launched before we are able.¡± ¡°You forget, My Lady,¡± Adrienne said, ¡°that we still do enjoy a marked advantage in terms of hulls, personnel quality, and a sizable gap in naval technology over the Elysians.¡± ¡°Now,¡± Lady Chiang said, ¡°that won¡¯t count for much if we sit on our hands and allow the Elysians to seize the momentum when it comes to warship design and construction, regardless of the fact that the new Vanguard class battleships are closing in on completion; the next generation of Elysian warships is sure to surpass our own if we allow ourselves to rest on our laurels.¡± ¡°Surely, Lady Suncrest, you cannot in good conscience advocate a more aggressive stance towards the ISA?¡± Dame Vanessa commented. ¡°Certainly that would put our own fighting forces at a disadvantage in this current political and strategic environment¡­¡± ¡°Now, hold on,¡± Harper-Rowland started, but Goldspyre cut him off. ¡°You, ¡®hold on¡¯, this whole ordeal deserves the Admiralty¡¯s undivided attention, overtly or not, though Adrienne would most likely prefer ¡®or not¡¯, but that should not divert attention away from the fact that this is a serious breach of interstellar law¡­¡± ¡°We cannot simply sit on our hands and accept this,¡± Erica Kuznetsova half-cried, trying to get heard over the rising voices of the rest of the admirals, and Sir Hugh Donegal sighed deeply and ran a hand through his thinning dark hair, allowing himself to sit back and let the arguments and deliberations of the Royal Navy¡¯s senior officers wash over him. Chapter 17 - Days of Erudition: Summer Approaching He tossed the empty bottle of poison away, the deadly liquid he had just imbibed that would have killed any other man within seconds was only making his stomach hurt. In fury, the large man, dressed in regal finery, tore down a rich damask curtain, and toppled an expensive bust of his own likeness, shouting with rage, before falling to his knees. He had had it. Lordship of one of the greatest and richest empires in the whole world, commanded navies and armies numbering in the hundreds of thousands of men and women, the wealth to buy the friendship of any enemy. Except those within, those he had considered family and loyal companions. Now, the only one left to him was his trusty bodyguard, a tall man of foreign culture that barely grasped the language. Yet this foreigner was the last person he could count on. His wife had left in the dark of night with most of his treasure, and most of their children to boot. His eldest son had betrayed him to their eternal enemy, the same enemy he had fought incessantly for close to thirty years, and he had paid the price for it, his head no longer connected to his body. Now, his younger son had raised his flag in rebellion as well, and the soldiers of the old enemy were literally at the palace¡¯s gates. Smoke slowly crawled its way underneath the doors to the room, both the king and the bodyguard looking at it before their concerned and understanding eyes met. With a weary sigh, the king once again lamented his fate, took off his richly adorned vest and with a sad smile, asked his old friend for one last favour. Teary-eyed, the bodyguard unsheathed his sword, with a heavy accent bade his king farewell and thanking him for all the years of companionship. The cold iron of the blade sank into soft flesh. Two-thousand people stood up from their seats and applauded enthusiastically as the music stopped, some with accompanying shouts of encouragement. Edward leaned down over the tangents and flashed an exhausted grin at Arvind, who responded with a weary smile of his own. The cast of the Queen Marie Metropolitan University Student Opera Society lined up on the stage and bowed to the audience¡¯s show of appreciation, and the conductor signalled for the members of the QMMU Student Baroque Orchestra to stand up and take a bow as well. Mind numbed from playing a full three hour opera (admittedly with a half-hour intermission), Edward simply went through the motions, too exhausted to think about how his own performance had been and what grades the professors among the audience had given his form and playing. Instead he was contemplating finding whichever idiot had insisted on performing the modern libretto variant of Mitridate, re di Ponto, and toss them into the Goneril River. At least he had been playing the grand piano; Arvind had been given the unenviable task of playing the fortepiano, and it just so happened that the only set available to the orchestra on short notice capable of hitting six octaves required by the composition was an uncomfortably cranky piece of musical machinery. Every musician knew perfectly well that their instruments weren¡¯t alive, but they still attributed them human-like emotions and personalities, and that fortepiano was definitely irascible. The applause ended and the lights came on as the stage curtains came down, and the audience started to file out of the hall. It wasn¡¯t nearly as grand as the Royal Cordelia Opera, but someone somewhere had managed to pull some major strings and managed to land them an opportunity to play at the Regent¡¯s Theatre Hall, a pretty nice venue located in the Lower Inner City that had been constructed about three-hundred years back to serve as a major theatre scene to compete with King Henry Hall and the old Royal Globe. Not as grandly furnished as the other venues of comparable size, it was said to have better acoustics and had a lot of extra stage devices (such as the smoke machines and image screens used in the final throne room aria) since it was primarily a play stage. Edward groaned as he realised the night for him was not yet over; they had to pack up their instruments and in his case move the piano back to the storeroom backstage, and then help the opera troupe get their costumes and effects stored as well. Such was the fate of student orchestras and troupes, they had but a handful of the number of support staff their professional counterparts had. As the last of the audience left the hall, the stage hands and volunteers came out and started to pack the stuff down, starting with the percussion section, chatting excitedly with the orchestra members. ¡°Tight shit tonight, mate,¡± Arvind said as Edward closed the lid on the piano and unsecured the wheels, ¡°those last few arias and especially the semi-finale chorale were a true pain. I swear to all the Gods that if that idiot who was in charge of loaning instruments makes me drop a grade because of the shitty fortepiano, I will¡­ Well, I don¡¯t know what¡¯ll I do, but someone will be sorry.¡± ¡°I¡¯m sure it won¡¯t come to that,¡± Edward half-heartedly tried to placate his friend, ¡°even the most vindictive of the professors, like Hofmann for instance, know that we¡¯re not specifically taught the fortepiano as piano majors, and it¡¯s only because of membership in the Student Baroque Orchestra that we¡¯ve even touched the damn things.¡± ¡°I suppose you¡¯re right,¡± Arvind conceded, a stage hand helping him move the ungainly offending instrument onto a cart, ¡°but it¡¯s not like I have as much to lose in terms of giving a poor performance compared to someone like you, Mr Honours Grade.¡± Hadn¡¯t Edward been so drained, he would have risen to the challenge ¨Cor chomped down on the obvious bait, depending on one¡¯s point of view¨C, but his primary concern was simply to get his duties done and get home as quickly as possible. It had been a spectacular Year End performance, the celebratory ¡°thank you¡± from the classical music students to any students or staff who wanted to watch held at the very last day of the second semester of each academic year. Over time, this tradition had morphed into a formal event that was also graded by each performer¡¯s professor, a last chance to boost one¡¯s grades before they were put to paper. It was considered quite an honour among music, opera, and ballet students to be allowed to partake, and the shows attracted scouts from orchestras and troupes from even off-world. But right now, Edward wasn¡¯t thinking about that. Not even the customary post-performance pub-crawl by the members of the orchestra was in any way tempting, all he could think of was having a hot cup of tea and the only crawl he was interested in was into his bed. ¡°You headed back to Amaranth now that its summer holidays then?¡± Arvind was apparently still not done talking, and Edward had to stifle a sigh. ¡°No, probably not, the trip to Amaranth is both long and expensive, plus my parents don¡¯t have a piano, and since we¡¯re going into our third year, I need to keep up with my practicing if I¡¯m going to stand a chance come final examination next summer.¡± ¡°You¡¯re just inventing excuses to stay in Cordelia where your precious noblewoman girlfriend is,¡± Arvind cooed, ¡°I can see right through you, lover boy.¡± That last comment broke the proverbial camel¡¯s back. Edward was not a young man with a propensity for anger, and it usually took a lot for him to get worked up, but being exhausted, hungry, not a little bit stressed, and more to the point, extremely fed up with his friend¡¯s ribbing about this particular subject, he finally lashed out. ¡°First off,¡± Edward said in a flinty tone, stopping preparing the grand piano for transport, ¡°she¡¯s not my damn ¡®girlfriend¡¯, that¡¯s insulting to both her and me. We¡¯ve met a total of three times, and nothing apart from talking has happened between us. I would, at best mind you, consider us friends, but more like acquaintances at this point. I know Sandy ten times better than Lady S¨¦lincourt, and you don¡¯t go around making jokes about me meeting up with her, do you? Second, if you were even remotely aware of the social calendar of the nobility, you¡¯d know June, July, and August is the peak of the Season for the upper classes, and Lady S¨¦lincourt won¡¯t have the time to deal with the hoi polloi like myself during that time, because she¡¯ll be rubbing shoulders with her equals, as well as literal royalty. I fucking doubt she¡¯ll have the time to think about a gangly Amaranthine piano student when she¡¯s hanging out with the handsome and rich son of the Earl of Whateverthefuck during the Duchess of New Forest¡¯s Ball, or while taking in the spectacle at the Royal Findias Derby, so I¡¯d appreciate it if you tone down the insinuations, check your fucking facts, and mind your own bloody business.¡± Arvind¡¯s face had lost some of its usual colour during Edward¡¯s rant and his teasing smile had quickly congealed into a stiff mask, and as Edward finished half-shouting, he simply put his head down, mumbled something, and started pushing the cart with the fortepiano on backstage. Fuck, I¡¯m going to have to apologise to him later on, don¡¯t I? Edward thought bitterly. Well, it¡¯s not like this is our first disagreement, but it might have been the first time I¡¯ve actually lost my temper in front of him. He ran a hand through his dark hair in anger, and took his glasses off to rub the corners of his eyes. When he put them back on again, he saw a pair of pale legs playfully dangling over the wall of the orchestra pit, black high-heels almost slipping off the dainty feet at the end of said legs. He looked up, and his emerald eyes met a set of nearly pink ones in return. ¡°Tough night, Master Heatherland? Do you want to talk about it?¡± Oh no.
Sir Edward was on the best of days a very busy man, but recently he had become like a dervish of feverish activity, his secretaries and aides having trouble keeping up with him, and the lack of sleep was making him snappy and easy to ire. Sir Edward considered himself a lucky man; he was happily married, had three healthy and studious children, and was affluent enough to keep a nice Cordelia house and simultaneously not have any particular economic worries. However, these past few days he found he cursed his lot the moment he woke up, had to make himself presentable, put on a suit and take a skycar down to either the sprawling Foreign Office complex in the Quarters, or to Cabinet in Providence House in the Upper Inner City. Being the Foreign Secretary of the Kingdom of Aurora was a job Sir Edward Ranganekary wouldn¡¯t wish upon his worst enemy at this point in time. He tipped his office chair back and allowed himself a moment of self-pity as the last batch of Foreign Office senior staffers had just exited his office after being given their marching orders. He ran his hands across his face and contemplated letting out the loud shout of frustration that had been bubbling inside for the past few hours, but decided against it. Sir Edward was tall, dark haired- and skinned courtesy of his second generation Telangana parents, although these past few years had produced more than a few silver lines in his dark manicured beard and carefully combed hair. Unlike most of his colleagues in the Cabinet, Sir Edward was not an elected representative serving as Member of Parliament; he was that rare beast of being a dedicated expert elevated into the illustrious company of government. While going against the grain when it came to Parliamentary tradition, it was not unconstitutional, and when Sir Alfred Carmichael had been asked by King Nicholas to form a government five years back, following a very convincing electoral victory for the Social Liberals and Royalists, Sir Edward had been approached as the first candidate for the position as Foreign Secretary. At one-hundred and seventy-two years old, Sir Edward had spent almost his entire career at the Foreign Office. Following graduating QMMU with an Honours Master¡¯s Degree in political science, he had gone on to get a PhD in interstellar politics at the University of New Exeter, before being picked up by the FO, where he had spent the majority of the next century. After a two-decade tenure as senior lecturer at the University of New Victoria Institute of Comparative & Interstellar Politics, he was picked up again by the FO, and served for a brief time as the Undersecretary for Foreign Affairs before Sir Alfred came a-calling. And now, five years later, he was seriously starting to regret the choices that had led him to saying yes when the proposal from the prime minister-elect came through. A ping emanating from his desktop computer notified him that his personal secretary had just deemed another missive as important enough to notify the Foreign Secretary directly and he groaned. At this point, he was getting letters every waking hour from every imaginable ambassador, consul, government official, Foreign Office analyst, journalist, member of the Foreign Affairs Committee in Parliament, military brass, and only the Gods knew who else. He gave his computer a venomous glare that the piece of electronics blissfully ignored, before leaning back into his chair again, not bothering to open the e-letter. A strawberry blonde haired head suddenly appeared in his office¡¯s doorway and cocked an eyebrow quizzically. ¡°You look like you need a friend,¡± Dame Fiona Spyros, Chancellor of the Exchequer, said and flashed the tired Foreign Secretary a bright smile. Dame Fiona was principally known to the public for her biting and sarcastic tone on the floor of the House of Commons, along with her uncompromising attitude towards fiscal management and in particular social- and defence spending. She was a true Social Liberal idealist, who fundamentally believed in only three things: The true objective of the State was to ensure equal rights, opportunity, and fundamental fiscal security for every member of society, the Royal Navy was the bulwark upon which the State ultimately relied on to safeguard those equal rights, opportunities and securities from hostile powers, and that a monarchy serving the will of the commoners and not the nobility or itself was the only morally acceptable argument to still keep it around. Luckily, the de Roze dynasty had yet to disappoint in their six-and-a-half century long history in that regard, which was why the Social Liberals had not followed their Labour brothers and sisters in declaring themselves ardently republican four centuries and change back. ¡°You don¡¯t know the half of it, Dame Fiona,¡± Sir Edward said with a certain sense of exasperation colouring his tone. ¡°I keep reaching down underneath my chair to check if there¡¯s an ejection lever I can pull. To my dismay, I can¡¯t seem to find any.¡± Dame Fiona chuckled mildly and stepped into the Foreign Secretary¡¯s Providence House office. Well, the inner part of it anyway, it had an outer office manned by his personal secretary, his chief of staff, and his personal advisor, but Spyros had simply walked through that without anyone daring to protest. The inner office hadn¡¯t been furnished on Sir Edward¡¯s orders, way too much rich, dark blood-oak and gilded Neo-Regency furniture and detailing for his taste, but at least he had been allowed to choose the paintings that decorated the walls, which was a collection of impressionistic colourscapes that challenged the viewer¡¯s perception depending on their current mood and mental headspace. Like most cabinet minister¡¯s offices, it had a sizable corner for relaxation, featuring chaise longue chairs, a small coffee table, and a window view towards the Goneril that was practically mesmerising during the afternoon, and the large windows behind Sir Edward¡¯s desk looked out over the posh part of the Upper Inner City, despite being only four floors up. Hazel-eyed and dirty blonde-haired Dame Fiona Spyros was not directly a physically impressive female specimen, but she carried herself with energy and confidence that made her appear physically larger, and she had a certain aura around her that made everyone pay just a bit more attention whenever she opened her mouth. At fifty-three, she was Sir Edward¡¯s junior by over a century, but that didn¡¯t matter much when considering the meteoric career Dame Fiona had had, and the experience she had accumulated along the way. She was an academic as well, with a PhD in Economics from Earth¡¯s Sorbonne University, but had immediately stepped into politics upon returning home to Aurora following her disputation, and made a name for herself as a firebrand within the at the time stagnant Social Liberal party. She had been instrumental in recreating a fundamental political platform the Social Liberals could run from, and had been rewarded with what was widely regarded as the second-most important ministry post after the election victory five years back, much to the chagrin of the Conservatives and Democrats, who absolutely detested her insistence on social security spending. Now, the so-called ¡°Red Dragon¡± (a terrifyingly dumb nickname penned by Conservative newspapers) sat down in one of the chaise lounge chairs, crossed her legs and beckoned for Sir Edward to join her, which the Foreign Secretary did with an accompanying sigh. ¡°So,¡± she said after Sir Edward had safely deposited himself in one of the comfortable chairs and loosened the buttons of his suit jacket, ¡°how are you holding on?¡± ¡°Holding on?¡± he repeated with what might have been the first smile he had produced in a week. ¡°Well, let¡¯s see, the past week I¡¯ve been positively swamped by letters of diplomatic protest or support or completely ambiguous ones, wholly dependent on whom crafted them in the first place, having to talk to a select choice of ambassadors of the ISA on three occasions, inviting Dr Thomas Grubauer, the Elysian plenipotentiary, to my personal office twice, and still getting nowhere in terms of resolving this particular bloody crisis.¡± Sir Edward rubbed the bridge of his nose and let out a groan he didn¡¯t know he was holding in. ¡°I guess we should thank our lucky stars, and direct our appreciation to the Heavens considering the support we¡¯ve received from our allies in the Royal Union, despite the fact that the Alliance has been running the conspiracy theory of the Royal Navy planting these buoys as hard as they have been, and that it hasn¡¯t found soil to grow in amongst the vast majority of the Royal Union.¡± Reading on Amazon or a pirate site? This novel is from Royal Road. Support the author by reading it there. ¡°The fact that you have to specify ¡®vast majority¡¯, doesn¡¯t sit very well with me,¡± Dame Fiona said, and crossed her arms across her chest. She wore a very tasteful deep green three-piece suit, not unlike in cut and design like Sir Edward¡¯s own black one, apart from being more flexible in the obvious places due to differing anatomy. Even in the 29th century, the overall design of suits and formal-wear hadn¡¯t really changed much from its inception in the 19th century. What isn¡¯t broken and all that, Sir Edward mused briefly. ¡°Well, what can I say, Dame Fiona,¡± he said with an accompanying shrug, ¡°there are some influential voices within parts of the Royal Union who would like to see the Kingdom brought down a few notches, and they¡¯re not picky where their political ammunition comes from, even if it originates from the far-right in the bloody Alliance. I¡¯m not naming names though, and they¡¯re thankfully fringe elements in the overall politics of the Union. Suffice it to say, the major players are very much with us, me and His Majesty has received missives of support from the Queen of Dionysia, the Council of Princes of New Malta, after a bit of deliberating and internal discussion, the Graces of the United Duchies of Valerian, the Despot of Antioch, the Gerousia of Corinth, the Twin Majesties of Mithras, the Chancellor of New Babylon, and, lastly, the President of Azurea. That accounts for all the heads of state of the Royal Union. In addition, His Imperial Majesty of Myndowen, the Caliph of New Asqal¨¡n, and the Gro?-?ltermann of the Neuhansa Sternbund have also publically declared their support for our version of events, as in, our Navy found this example of clear breach of interstellar law in the backyard of our own trusted ally, and that the self-same Navy putting it there makes absolutely no sense.¡± Dame Fiona blew air out of her nostrils. ¡°So, every civilised star nation to the galactic ¡®east¡¯ of Elysium apart from the Valhallans and the Hydrans are with us?¡± ¡°Don¡¯t forget the Dual Republics of Arcturus and Tartarus, but basically yes, if by ¡®with us¡¯, you mean that they find our version of events more believable than the Greens¡¯.¡± ¡°That the Coma Berenice Federation and the Grand Republic of Fus¨­ are staying mum, that¡¯s not surprising at all, they¡¯re practically in the pay of the ISA already.¡± ¡°Come now,¡± Sir Edward said in a mildly chastising tone, ¡°that¡¯s just a rumour, and not yet substantiated by any actual facts on the ground, and certainly not in any official diplomatic correspondence.¡± Dame Fiona snorted in derision. ¡°Oh come off it, Sir Edward, you¡¯re much more in touch with the interstellar political actualities than I am, and even I am perfectly aware that the Berenicans and Fusoans are busy gobbling down the swill they¡¯re being served at the Elysian trough, and have been for the better part of a decade now.¡± Sir Edward cleared his throat, uncomfortable at the direction the conversation was taking. While not elected, Ranganekary was a member of the Royalist Party, and Dame Fiona was a member of the leadership core of the Social Liberals; sixty years ago this casual chat would have been unthinkable, and the idea of the two parties creating a coalition in Parliament had been beyond preposterous. There were six political parties currently represented in the Auroran Parliament; Labour, the Social Liberals, the Royalists, Democratic Coalition, the Conservative Party (often referred to as ¡°Tories¡±), and the Homeland Party (sometimes called "Unionists" due to their fiery support of the Royal Union and maintaining that alliance), with varying distribution between the two Houses. The Royalists were, as the name implied, firm supporters of the Crown as the third branch of government and protector of the rights of the commoners, and while more fiscally conservative than the Social Liberals, they were a far cry from the Tories in that regard, and also believed fervently in a strong Royal Navy to protect commerce and maintain interstellar standing and prestige. The Royal Navy was generally known as a pro-Royalist institution, which wasn¡¯t all that surprising given their direct connection with the monarchy, and that every serving member swore a solemn oath to serve the Crown and its citizens. The Royalists also, more surprisingly, had wide support among the ¡°upper¡± aristocracy and esquires, those in social competition with the jeune noblesse, as well as the commoners. While the Social Liberals and Royalists disagreed on a lot of points ¨Ccolonial expansion, social policies, and the political rights of the Crown and the aristocracy the most profound¨C, but they were in total agreement that the Royal Union was the lynchpin in the Kingdom¡¯s foreign policy, and the core of this commonwealth was the ability of the Royal Navy to serve as a credible defensive force that extended to all its members¡¯ sphere of influence. They also agreed that the largest threat to interstellar peace and prosperity was the Independent Systems Alliance, and the official policy of the Kingdom would be to actively impede the expansion of the ISA through diplomacy. As the interstellar situation and relations between the Union and the Alliance had worsened over the past decades, the two parties had come to an understanding that they were stronger together, and had started to cooperate in order to combat the Conservatives¡¯ and Labour¡¯s isolationism and proposed slashed defence budgets. And according to the polls, at least the ones Sir Edward had last seen, the two parties were more or less guaranteed to add dozens of MPs in the Commons come next general election, which would again translate to more seats in the Lords as well. ¡°No matter,¡± Sir Edward said after his short mental pause, ¡°the approval of the Fusoans and Berenicans isn¡¯t terribly important to our foreign relations right now. I believe the Admiralty has reached the same conclusion as the Foreign Office regarding the importance of the discovery of these buoys.¡± ¡°Which is?¡± Spyros asked and cocked her head quizzically, to which Ranganekary shrugged. ¡°That they represent a nasty surprise in terms of the strategic reach of the Alliance Space Navy and the ISA intelligence services, but that their discovery means that their usefulness is at an end, considering that system pickets will be that much more on the lookout now for ISA-flagged ships acting abnormally. The political fallout domestically has generally, as evidenced by the avalanche of support of e-letters of support from allied heads of state, gone resolutely in our favour. There has been no dip in the polls regarding public support for neither the Cabinet nor the Navy, and while a very interesting talking point in the newspapers and news- and panel discussion streams, the buoys haven¡¯t altered our foreign policy or naval strategy in any meaningful way.¡± ¡°I still think we could have handled it much better than we did, however. It was damn sloppy handling by Lord Hartcastle to go straight to the Council of Princes, days before the physical evidence was available to Admiralty.¡± ¡°Yes, that was a blunder,¡± Sir Edward nodded in agreement, ¡°and I think had it been anyone but Lord Hartcastle ¨Cor one of the other damn correct and polite aristocratic fleet admirals, like Goldspyre or S¨¦lincourt¨C, I think this would have played out differently. Poor Lord Jeremiah carried out his duties perfectly as a King¡¯s Officer, and clandestinely secured and sent the buoy back to Aurora, but then he answered the obligations required of him as a peer and dutifully and courteously informed the Maltese political and military leaders of what he had tripped over. Yes, it is the done thing, but t¡¯was completely at odds with operational security procedures, and it leaked immediately, putting the Royal Navy in a poor light. But, again, the damage has been negligible.¡± ¡°I must admit,¡± Dame Fiona said, pursing her lips in thought, ¡°that I wonder what the ISA answer to this will be. Speaking as the Exchequer for a moment, the absolute worst thing I think, in the short term, would be to impose some sort of sanction on trade between the Union and the Alliance; it hits us where it hurts the hardest, in our wallet, and it is diplomatically not an overtly hostile act in response to allegations of interstellar breach of sovereign space and espionage. I guess they could tell a few of our diplomats to pack their bags and go home, but while that would no doubt make the Liberal Progressives and their hardliners feel all good and fuzzy inside, we would simply do the same thing to them in protest. A shipping sanction makes the most sense, and while they cannot keep it up for long without appearing disproportionately petty and callow to the rest of the galactic community, it would still be a small win for them to see the numbers on our stock exchanges dip.¡± ¡°Eh,¡± Sir Edward said, crossing his legs, ¡°I¡¯m not so sure that they go down that route just yet, but for the simple fact that would hurt them more than it would hurt us, given our internal market is larger than theirs, since the Royal Union represents a self-contained export/import economy with actual currency exchange, while the ISA is a unitary currency area, and we¡¯re in a better position geographically to conduct trade with large economies like the Sternbund, the Myndowan Empire, and Valhalla.¡± ¡°They still have the United Colonies of Sol as one of their closest neighbours you know,¡± Spyros countered, ¡°and are making a pretty penny of export to the Old Core, including the Coma Berenice Federation and the independent regions to the ¡®north¡¯ and ¡®west¡¯. But I see your point, and I guess the only thing we can do is wait and see.¡± The two looked out the windows at the sun setting over the Cordelian cityscape, orange, scarlet, and garnet cascades reflecting off the waters of the Goneril, which was again repeated in the millions of windows and shiny surfaces of the highrises, towers, and terraces of downtown Cordelia. ¡°So, any plans for the holiday?¡± Fiona asked after a few moments of comfortable silence. ¡°Parliament is officially out for the summer as of this afternoon, and there¡¯s a short window of peace and quiet before the election campaigns start.¡± ¡°Me and Benjamin was planning on taking the kids to the Hypatia Islands on Amaranth for a few weeks, to see the coral forests and just soak up some sun and saltwater at the amber beaches there. Justin, our eldest, has just completed his first year as a full partner at his solicitor¡¯s firm, and we thought that was worth celebrating.¡± He winced as his infernal computer emitted another bloody ping, and he smiled lopsidedly. ¡°And as regards the election campaign, I can thankfully put my legs up and enjoy a slightly longer time off, considering I am not actually an MP, unlike your unfortunate self.¡± Spyros chuckled. ¡°Unfortunate indeed, although I believe you could have cut a nice figure as a Commons regular; we hardly see enough of you since you¡¯re only available to the floor when called during the Cabinet Question Time. As for me, I think I¡¯ll actually find the time to attend some of the events of the Season this year. My niece is a debutante this year and is practically bouncing off the walls in excitement at the thought of being presented to the Queen, so I¡¯ll use the opportunity as her chaperone to take in the spectacle of the well-to-do.¡± ¡°Oh that sounds absolutely horrible,¡± Edward said with an accompanying laugh, ¡°I wouldn¡¯t want to go through that hell even if I was paid for it.¡± ¡°Speaking of pay,¡± Fiona said with a grin, ¡°we¡¯re not getting any overtime pay as Cabinet ministers, and it¡¯s well past time we closed up shop.¡± Edward glanced at his old-fashioned wristwatch and grimaced. ¡°Oh Heavens, look at the time, Benjamin is going to complain that I¡¯m late for dinner again.¡±
The black skycar cut through the warm Cordelian summer evening, the setting sun glinting off the exquisitely polished surfaces of the lithe vehicle. While called a ¡°skycar¡±, there was little with this particular vehicle that resembled its wheeled cousin, and it looked more like a flying wing with a large central passenger and driving compartment, all of which was angled to be as aerodynamic as possible. This particular skycar however, was as heavily armoured as one of the Royal Army¡¯s infantry fighting vehicles, and had a sensor package that would put any reconnaissance drone to shame. The interior of the passenger compartment ¨Cseparated from the cockpit by both a wall and a privacy shield¨C, was tastefully opulent, with faux-leather seats, a small bar, fluffy pillows, and a multimedia system. ¡°So which one in the orchestra is your beau, the chiselled one by the concertmaster, or the tall one on piano?¡± the girl asked playfully while twirling a string of her jet-black hair around a finger, her amethyst eyes glinting mischievously. ¡°Oh my God, Valerie, stop it, I don¡¯t know whom you have been talking to, but I can assure you I don¡¯t have a ¡®beau¡¯, ¡®cavalier¡¯, ¡®sweetheart¡¯ or any other noun that is synonymous with ¡®boyfriend¡¯.¡± Adea formed an ¡®O¡¯ with the thumb and index finger of her right hand, held it up to the other girl¡¯s forehead, and flicked hard. Princess Royal Valerie Alexandra Louise de Roze made a yelp most unbecoming for the fourth in line to the throne of the Kingdom of Aurora and Her Dominions, and rubbed the quickly reddening spot in her normally porcelain white skin. The pilot¡¯s cabin of the skycar contained, in addition to the pilot, two bodyguards from the Royalty Protection Unit, a special task group of the Household Division of the Royal Army, who were trained in all manners of martial arts, were top marksmen with both rifles and sidearms, and were prepared to sacrifice their life at any given moment to protect any member of the royal family. The cabin had several camera feeds into the passenger compartment, so Adea¡¯s physical assault on the sacrosanct body of the Princess Royal did not go unnoticed. The bodyguards and pilot simply grinned and chuckled. ¡°Unnecessary, Lady S¨¦lincourt,¡± Valerie pouted, ¡°I was only asking an innocent question, there¡¯s no need to react with violence.¡± ¡°Oh, I think you¡¯ll live,¡± Adea replied with a lopsided smile, before turning to look out the darkened window at the city below. ¡°I¡¯m just getting tired by that question is all. It¡¯s bad enough that Sandy keeps pestering me about it, but even Artemisia de Vere made the same assumption about me and him about a month back, and even demure Nimue Hastings has been shyly asking if it¡¯s true that we¡¯re an item.¡± ¡°And by him, you mean¡­?¡± Valerie fished, her grievous injury forgotten already, and Adea looked back at her with a stern look. ¡°Oh come on,¡± the princess moaned, ¡°you can¡¯t just tease me like that without following up with the name of the gentleman in question.¡± ¡°Fine,¡± Adea conceded, her tone betraying her annoyance, though not directed at Valerie per se, more at the tediousness, and ridiculousness and baseless banality of the topic. ¡°His name is Edward Heatherland, and yes, he was the tall one behind the grand piano tonight, and no, we¡¯re not ¡®an item¡¯ or anything like that. We¡¯ve met a grand total of three times outside of school, once in the company of Sandy, Greco and a few others at the Pale Peacock, and twice for tea in Crozier Park. But we haven¡¯t spoken for three weeks now, because he has been busy with examinations and preparing for the Year End Performance.¡± ¡°Speaking of the performance,¡± Valerie said, realising her friend was really not interested in expounding on the subject, ¡°I didn¡¯t know that Mitridate, re di Ponto had a tragic ending. Actually, that whole last act was very different from how I remember it.¡± ¡°That¡¯s because,¡± Adea replied, more than ready to talk about anything else, ¡°that was an adapted libretto from the original Mozart one. 85% of the music is the same, but more than a third of the recitativos and arias were changed to fit more closely in with the real historical events surrounding Mithradates VI of Pontos, back in Earth¡¯s Antiquity.¡± ¡°That¡¯s why I couldn¡¯t recognise it,¡± Valerie nodded in understanding, ¡°it was completely unlike the streamed performance at the Royal Opera Festival last Season.¡± An excited smile crept into the princess¡¯ face at her mention of the Season. ¡°Oh, what events are you attending this year? I plan on be at the Royal Findias Derby, and I have a spot open for you in the royal box if you want it. And then there¡¯s the Home Fleet Review, you have to come with me up for that one, and then of course the Big Three Balls, New Forest¡¯s, Duke of Camlann¡¯s, and the Queen¡¯s, I¡¯m just dying to see what you¡¯ll wear to those.¡± Adea smiled sweetly at the princess, bubbling over with childish enthusiasm for the coming revelry. Truth was, Valerie had been born with an immunodeficiency that had made her physically frail and prone to protracted illness, and even during good periods she needed inordinate amount of rest compared to other nineteen year old girls. Modern medicine could only do so much, and despite her attempts to stay physically fit, especially through exercising equine sports, she only had the energy to attend so many functions and appearances each year. And she had missed out on her first Season last year, which had been tough for her mentally, which explained her giddiness for the coming one. Adea, on the other hand, had been allowed to attend her first Season as a sixteen year old, albeit in a limited fashion (¡°No sordid liaisons in the ballroom for you until you¡¯re a woman, young lady,¡± Iphigenia St.Eiron had declared), a veritable Season veteran in Valerie¡¯s eyes. ¡°I¡¯ll be at the Big Three, do not worry, Your Highness,¡± Adea said with a humorous glint in her glacier-coloured eyes, ¡°but I don¡¯t know about the rest I am afraid. My brother is coming in from Angevin for the holiday, so I want to spend at least some time with him before he has to go back to finish his degree in mathematics.¡± ¡°Oh pish, just drag him along,¡± Valerie said with an accompanying wave of her hand, ¡°he¡¯s as noble as you, he has an obligation to show his blueblooded arse out in the public if he wants to inherit the S¨¦lincourt title one day, it really isn¡¯t the done thing to omit the Season several years running.¡± Her mind produced a mental image of her brother standing uncomfortably in a formal court suit on a ballroom floor, and she giggled. ¡°Oh my, he would absolutely hate that.¡± ¡°Kostya has been asking about you as well, and he expressed his wish to see you in the coming months,¡± Valerie said, her playful eyes becoming mischievous slits, and Adea groaned. ¡°Convey my well wishes to Prince Constantine, and tell him ¡®up yours¡¯.¡± Both girls giggled heartily at that, imagining the look on the second in line to the throne, who they both regarded was a bit too fond of his own reflection in the mirror and had an inflated impression of his own effect on the opposite sex. ¡°Fair enough,¡± Valerie said after wiping away a few tears of mirth, ¡°I wouldn¡¯t want to spend an entire evening with my brother either, I see him way too much already.¡± Her eyes sparkled just for a moment and she smiled broadly. ¡°I know, bring along your friend Edward to an event or two. He¡¯s surely never attended the Season, it¡¯ll probably be the experience of a lifetime for him, especially if he can go with a beauty like yourself!¡± Adea both blushed and stiffened at the same time, and opened her mouth in protest, but Valerie put a thin finger to her lips. ¡°No, shush, this is an order from your Princess. I want to meet your friend, because you don¡¯t befriend people without good reason and I have yet to dislike any of the people in your circle.¡± ¡°Valerio Greco is a person that exists,¡± Adea said in a deadpan voice, still a bit flustered, to which Valerie nodded sagely. ¡°That is true, but there is always the one exception to every rule.¡± The internal comms system in the skycar came to life at that exact moment, and the voice of one of the bodyguards disturbed the two girls. ¡°I¡¯m very sorry, Your Highness, My Lady, but we¡¯re about to touch down at St. Andrew Palace.¡± ¡°Are you staying the night, Aditsa?¡± Valerie asked, putting on her seatbelt in preparation for landing, but the redhead shook her head. ¡°No, thank you, I promised Papa and Mama we¡¯d have brunch with the Mortimers tomorrow, but I appreciate the invitation.¡± ¡°Unfortunate,¡± Valerie said, ¡°Mommy would have been so happy to have you over for supper. Promise you¡¯ll come over soon though.¡± Adea made a mock-bow. ¡°Of course, Your Royal Highness, by your decree.¡± The two giggled again as the skycar settled down on the pad in the inner court of St. Andrew¡¯s Palace. Chapter 18 - Days of Erudition: Hazards His breath misted the inside of his visor for a split-second before the ventilation and reclamation system of his suit absorbed the carbon dioxide and water he was expelling, and Shawn Bellamy reached out a hand to stabilise himself against the fire-red railing. He took in the sight of the partially exposed skeleton of the steel-grey leviathan that filled his vision, and felt his chest puff a little with pride as he saw the tiny orange and white shapes of his work crews light up as their plasma welders lit them up against the backdrop of the titanium they were fusing, and the black beyond. He grabbed a hold of the scaffolding and swung himself around, his suit¡¯s thrusters gently pushing him along the massive flank of the unfinished warship. Space and microgravity was thoroughly uncaring for the human mind¡¯s perception of such silly notions as ¡°up¡± and ¡°down¡±, and mercilessly bombarded the arrogant creatures who dared venture out into the realm of physics with reminders that space was indeed wholly three-dimensional. In arrogant defiance, decades of experience as a shipyard worker had taught Bellamy to mentally shove that aside whenever he put on his protected zero-gee suit, and pushed out into the ether, giving the laws of nature the finger. It was, however, the largest single hurdle for new yard-hands; that, and looking into the literal infinity of the black beyond, knowing that only your tether line to the scaffolding and your suit¡¯s thrusters kept you from disappearing into that dark maw of nothingness. Well, that¡¯s what Bellamy liked to tell the new farts to scare them into being careful anyway; there was a myriad of security measures in place in modern shipyards, not limited to rescue drones, emergency skips on standby, and tractor beam emitters. ¡°New farts, eh¡­¡± he mumbled, his hush-mic not picking it up. That was the problem these days, wasn¡¯t it? Shawn Bellamy had worked in the orbital shipyards for forty-six years, practically his entire adult life, thirty-two of them at Royal Harrow, had been promoted to shift chief a decade ago, and was now senior deck chief. In his humble opinion, you could hardly ask for a better employer than Royal Harrow; the pay was excellent, even by the admittedly high Auroran standards, security and insurance policies were among the best and most flexible in the business, and the voracious appetite of the Royal Navy for more warships meant that there was always enough work to go around for any hands willing to spend significant time in orbit. Royal Harrow Yards was the Kingdom of Aurora¡¯s primary capital ship dockyard, specialising in making the largest men-of-war known to humanity to the very specific instructions of the Admiralty¡¯s Departments of Research and Ships. The medium and high orbit of Aurora was a patchwork of orbital stations, warehouses, orbital tether platforms, yards, foundries, freight platforms, maintenance slips, shuttle docks, automated defensive forts, transit hubs, solar energy satellites, and of course the immense bulk of His Majesty¡¯s Space Station Trafalgar, the logistical and administrative nucleus of the Royal Navy in the homeworld¡¯s orbit. And in the veritable shadow of that titanic interlocked structure with its dozens of concentric rings, was the enormous Royal Harrow Yards, with scores of thousands of square metre quadratic berths that held their embryonic vessels of mass destruction. Bellamy let go of the scaffolding and intentionally pushed himself hard out into the void of the berth his crew was working in. She was far enough along that her entire arrow-head forward section was finished, as was most of her hull clear all the way to about two-thirds astern, while the engineering/reactor/engine section was still a bare skeleton covered by scaffolding; and where her gargantuan triple railcannon turrets were supposed to go ¨Cthree in front of her tall bridge superstructure and sensor suite towers, two to the rear, and two on each elongated flank¨C were only gaping holes into her unfinished interior. But his dedicated yard dogs had already taken the opportunity to christen the 2,279-metre long battleship with her proper pennant number and name; BA-315, HMS Thunderer. In the next slip over to her ¡°right¡±, was her sister, Temeraire, to the ¡°left¡±, St George, and above, Lysithea. All of the Royal Navy¡¯s eighteen brand new Vanguard class battleships were under construction at Royal Harrow, a contract worth literally hundreds of billions of pounds when all the costs of materials, crew pay, docking rights, transportation, berth rent, and a myriad of other expenses had been accumulated. In addition to the Vanguards were also the six new Courageous class battlecruisers, and the last flight of the County class heavy cruisers; all told thirty-eight hulls in excess of two million tonnes each in normal G simultaneously being constructed by Royal Harrow. Which worried senior hands like Bellamy no end. ¡°Oi, Clarkson,¡± he said clearly into his hush-mic, which picked up his voice this time around and bounced it around the internal comms net of his work crew, ¡°ease up on the sticks of the plate collier, that bitch handles like a skittish debutante at her first ball, but instead of being about buck-eight stone, that one is loaded with a quarter million tonnes of Grade-A titanium in normal gee.¡± ¡°Sorry, gov¡¯,¡± the voice of the youthful pilot of the hauler that kept feeding Bellamy and his welding crew with the titanium hull plates that was Thunderer¡¯s armoured skin, came over the feed, ¡°I¡¯m still getting used to the stick-feel in actual upper gravity compared to the simulations.¡± And there was the crux of the problem, Bellamy thought with more than a tinge of bitterness. Just like the Royal Navy that they were busting their chops building these immense warships for, the shipbuilding industry was having trouble recruiting enough people. Senior Deck Chief Bellamy knew from first-hand experience that drones filled some of the gap, and large industrial-style ones the size of cars were being employed in larger and larger numbers by the major shipyards, including Royal Harrow, but there was only so much a drone could do. No drone, even the advanced SAI ones, could determine construction priorities properly, fine-tune the artificial gravity emitters, make adjustments to the design schematics when running into snags, or evaluate safety risks in a non-Boolean manner. That¡¯s why you needed physical human beings like Bellamy and his crew, and the fact is that they were being stretched awfully thin these days across too many hulls, and their replacements like the young collier pilot, were woefully in need of more training before being let loose on massive hulls containing the most advanced military systems known to humanity. ¡°Stockton,¡± he said into the mic again, ¡°I want you to start with the wiring in Causeway MC-18 next rotation. Take six lads with you, and roll out the electrical and coolant wiring, but hold off on the power generator feeds until we hear back from Miranda and her engineering team.¡± ¡°Understood, boss, we¡¯ll get on it right away, we¡¯re just about done with the polarisation plates anyway,¡± came the reply from one of his shift chiefs, and tiny pinpricks of orange and white on the flank hull detached from their scaffolding moorings and started to make their way inside the exposed ¡°ribs¡± of Thunderer. A bright yellow drone carrying parts for one of the fusion reactors flew past Bellamy where he hovered, trying to get an overall view of the ship and what the work gangs were doing. Modern capital ships were so ridiculously large that it was practically impossible to get a good look at the whole thing when working on it, and you sort of got lost in your own little world of steel-grey when out in zero-gee and plodding away at a hull. Because Bellamy had pushed off and was trying to get a good look at how his people were faring, he was also the first one to notice what was about to unfold. The first human at least, for several of the perimeter security drones had also noticed the errant course of the titanium hull plate collier, and their first response was to flood the pilot¡¯s interface with warning messages. Thomas Clarkson, the same pilot Bellamy had been talking to earlier, was twenty years old and had been an employee at Royal Harrow for nine weeks. The drones¡¯ messages did not help his rising levels of panic as he tried to correct the course of the collier, as the hauler¡¯s own internal navigation system blared its own warnings at him. Bellamy saw as the collier, carrying close to two-hundred thousand tonnes of titanium battle plate, veered off course as it tried to accommodate for the shift in mass after a poorly timed burst from its twin engines. ¡°Clarkson, pull up now!¡± he shouted into his mic, while fumbling with his suit¡¯s wrist-computer, desperately looking for the ¡°Emergency¡± button that would send evacuation orders to his entire work crew. ¡°Clarkson, for the love of God, pull the collier up!¡± Later investigations by both the Auroran Orbital Police Service and the Naval Intelligence Division would come to the conclusion that the accident had been due to human error, and that the pilot had failed to account for the shift of mass following depositing thirty hull plate sections, and had applied too much thrust, sending the still formidably heavy vehicle into a drift when trying to overcorrect his heading. Shawn Bellamy could have told them that as he watched the massive hauler in real time veer heavily, favouring its starboard side as the plates it was carrying its maw shifting its weight, and it slammed heavily into Thunderer¡¯s top amidships, all two-hundred and thirty-thousand tonnes of combined weight in normal gee. Luckily, the middle part of Thunderer was all but completed apart from her weaponry and interior, and the tops and bottoms of Auroran warships were, due to their design philosophy to maximise their railcannon turrets¡¯ broadsides, the most heavily armoured part of the ship. Ironically, cruelly so, Thomas Clarkson had been the one to ferry the titanium plates that made up the wall of metal that now rose up to meet him as he completely lost control of his vehicle. Thunderer and the Vanguard class were Lady Ashwike¡¯s brainchild, and a major part of their defensive design was the double-walled armoured exterior, creating a secondary level of protection between the outer hull and the honey-combed interior armoured shell. That was what saved the warship from basically snapping in two, considering the overall structural frailty of the unfinished battleship. It also killed Thomas Clarkson immediately on impact, as the collier and its cargo smashed hard into the armour, the vessel¡¯s front crumbling like paper when met with armour designed to withstand railgun warheads with energy measured in the megatons. But while the outer hull held, the unfinished inner sections weren¡¯t as lucky, as the potential energy of the impact turned into kinetic energy that carried through the ship. It smashed bulkheads, hallways, causeways; and turned Shift Chief Donald Stockton and his impromptu wiring crew of six into fine red paste as the causeway they had been working in was wrapped around itself several times over. Other work parties were just as unlucky, for while the collier didn¡¯t explode, bits and pieces of cargo vessel and battle plating was sent flying in every which direction as the ship came apart. Razor-sharp debris cut through the open parts of the ship, as well as along the railing and scaffolding, cutting lines connected to mobile power buses for the plasma cutters, slashing through security tethering, chopped apart drones, and eviscerated madly scrambling dockyard workers trying to get clear. Euryphaessa¡¯s light made the crystallised blood a magnificent lightshow of reflected crimson that danced around Thunderer¡¯s hull like a shroud.
Linton Sciacca, Marquess of Howeland, stepped into the familial dining room of the New Ontario country manor, feeling the warm rays Euryphaessa was generous enough to shine down through the wide windows looking out over the gardens. His short curly brown hair was still tussled after a good night¡¯s sleep, and his blue eyes slightly unfocused, but he wore a content half-smile on his rather handsome face. His butler pulled out the argentwood chair for him, and he nodded his thanks as he sat down at the table, still wearing his black dressing gown, and two footmen in blue and silver livery started to set the table with various breakfast foods, and the butler filled his engraved porcelain cup with tea. Lord Howeland was a seasonal breakfast man, as in, only when Parliament was on holiday or in recess for some reason, did he actually have time to sit down and enjoy a morning meal. Being the chair of Parliament¡¯s Naval Affairs Committee as well as a card-carrying member of the House of Lords for the Royalists didn¡¯t leave a lot of time in the morning, including weekends. The door opened and his wife, also wearing in a dressing gown, but longer and more flowing, walked in. Isobel Sciacca, n¨¦e Greco, tucked her long black hair behind her ears, stooped down and kissed her husband on the cheek. The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident. ¡°Good morning, dear,¡± she purred hoarsely, still not completely awake, and Linton replied with a fond smile, before pouring some cream into his tea. Lady Howeland was seated as well (nodding her thanks to the butler), and opted for coffee instead of tea. ¡°Pray tell,¡± Linton asked after a sip of his tea and finding it a bit too hot still, ¡°when do you assume we¡¯ll be joined by our adoring children for breakfast?¡± ¡°We have adoring children?¡± Isobel asked in a mock-incredulous tone, ¡°Are you sure you¡¯re not talking about someone else¡¯s offspring? I can¡¯t seem to recollect bringing someone who fits that description into the world.¡± ¡°Very funny, Mother,¡± Beatrice Sciacca said as she entered the dining room, dressed in a cream long-sleeved summer dress, the black hair she had inherited from her mother tied in a messy bun, ¡°and if the description fits, then it is only because of the incessant bombardment of such inane jokes that has made us thus.¡± She waited for one of the footmen to pull out a chair for her, and mouthed her thanks as she sat down, and started to heap her plate with bacon, fried mushrooms, toast, and scrambled eggs. ¡°Horace,¡± she said after a moment, ¡°won¡¯t be joining us until dinner, by the way, he has already taken off to meet with Lord Scarlet Point and Lady Wraith; something about heading into the Banton foothills.¡± ¡°I¡¯d really wish,¡± Lady Howeland said, her smile at her daughter¡¯s arrival congealing, ¡°that Horace would stop associating with Evelyn Delafontaine, the Wraiths have been of ill-repute since the old Earl Wraith gambled away most of his fortune, and they had to go a-beggar to the Duke and Duchess of New Brabant.¡± ¡°That¡¯s hardly Evelyn¡¯s fault, Mother,¡± Beatrice protested after swallowing a bite of toast, ¡°and the New Brabants are their cousins, so it all stayed within the family. Plus, Countess Marisa Delafontaine¡¯s investments in the Monckton Yards paid off when they won the bid for the Navy¡¯s contract for the new Warrior battleships.¡± Beatrice cast a quick glance at the footmen standing unobtrusively in the corners of the familial dining room before continuing, her tone more confrontational. ¡°Besides, it¡¯s not like our family doesn¡¯t have a black sheep of our own.¡± ¡°Don¡¯t talk about your brother like that,¡± Lord Howeland said testily, ¡°Valerio is still our flesh and blood, my child as much as you and Horace are, and I won¡¯t have you talking ill of him.¡± ¡°He still won¡¯t have anything to do with us though,¡± Beatrice countered, ¡°even rescinding his claim to the Howeland title as third in line of succession, but apparently doesn¡¯t have any qualms taking your and Mama¡¯s money.¡± ¡°That¡¯s quite enough, dear,¡± Lady Howeland said, her tone clearly conveying that this conversation was over, ¡°I have just woken up, haven¡¯t had my breakfast yet, and it is a wonderful summer day, so this gloomy topic is to be shelved for a different occasion. Do I make myself clear, young lady?¡± Her daughter looked like she wanted to protest, but instead Beatrice silently nodded and took another bite of eggs and bacon. A third footman entered with a freshly cooked poached egg with hollandaise sauce on a scone for Lord Howeland, his favourite, and the butler moved to plate up Lady Howeland as soon as she finished her coffee cup ¨Cshe never ate breakfast before having coffee¨C, but as they were about to start eating, a melodic bleep came from Linton¡¯s gown pocket, and he frowned because the specific sound had the notification that an e-letter had arrived in his work inbox, not his private one. Lady Howeland made a disapproving sniffing sound. ¡°Really, Linton, you ought to have turned that off. Parliament is in recess, and we¡¯re on our holiday at the country estate, you should prioritise your family since we barely see you the rest of the year.¡± ¡°I had turned it off,¡± her husband answered in a surprised tone, ¡°so whatever the topic of this e-letter, it was flagged as important enough to wake my handcom up.¡± He fished out the small plate of electronics, let the tiny camera scan his iris, and skimmed through the content of the e-letter. ¡°Papa, what is wrong?¡± Lord Howeland put the handcom down on the tabletop, colour draining from his face, and he snapped his fingers. ¡°Gregory,¡± he said as the butler came up to him, ¡°I need a suit prepared, and a skycar to take me to Providence House in the capital, as soon as practicable. No, wait, Admiralty House, and tell my secretary to send a missive to Sir Hugh Donegal that I must see him at his earliest convenience.¡± ¡°What¡¯s wrong, dear?¡± Isobel asked, starting to rise from her chair, but Linton waved her down. ¡°There¡¯s been a serious accident in orbit in the Royal Harrow Yards, and I need to talk to the Admiralty and get the details before informing the Naval Affairs Committee. You just enjoy the rest of the day, hopefully I¡¯ll be back for dinner, but don¡¯t wait up if I need to spend the night in Cordelia.¡±
¡°Thirty-eight dead and ninety wounded,¡± Lord Howeland said in a low tone and sank down in the upholstered chair in the Admiralty House day room, ¡°how the hell does that happen? I thought Royal Harrow was the best in the business when it came to security measures in their drydocks?¡± He was dressed in a formal three-piece navy suit now, his hair slicked back and visually a far cry from the languid figure he had cut at breakfast four hours earlier. Sir Hugh Donegal, Lady Ashwike, and Sir Morgan Mizushima were dressed in their gold-and-black day uniforms, but it was clear Lady Valentina had been unexpectedly roused from a lazy morning, for her long wavy blonde hair was tied into a ¡°damage control¡± ponytail, her uniform tunic and ankle-length skirts were scrunched, and her peaked cap was nowhere to be seen. ¡°Adrienne,¡± Donegal said, running a hand through his beard, ¡°has her NID people from Trafalgar already onsite to answer that precise question.¡± ¡°But preliminary reports,¡± Sir Morgan cut in, ¡°favours the theory that it was in all likelihood a result of human error; the pilot of the transport collier that was the cause of the accident had been on the job for barely two months, and it was an unfortunate coincidence that large numbers of yard hands were working on that exact part of Thunderer. Royal Harrow has suspended construction work for the time being to re-evaluate their internal security guidelines and routines.¡± ¡°It will unfortunately push back the expected delivery of the Thunderer by a few months,¡± Lady Ashwike said, looking at a datapad, ¡°and depending on the length of the cessation of work, the Vanguard class as a whole is more likely to be postponed by a month, perhaps six-seven weeks. While not a huge difference, it does create problems for the planned Inflexible battlecruisers, which are going to be based on the Vanguards, and the construction-delay carryover could create problems when¡­¡± ¡°Lady Ashwike,¡± Howeland said in a stern tone, ¡°men and women are dead, the postponement of launching these battleships are of a secondary concern.¡± ¡°Ah, yes,¡± she replied, slightly flushed, and toyed with her ponytail, ¡°that is certainly most distressing and tragic, I was only thinking out loud as regards to the engineering situation.¡± ¡°It does beg the question though,¡± Donegal said, ¡°why the head of the Naval Affairs Committee is the first to respond to this, and not the Secretary of Defence or the Secretary of the Home Department?¡± ¡°Because, Beckett is not on planet,¡± Howeland said through gritted teeth and rested his elbows on his knees, ¡°he¡¯s on holiday on Amaranth, and Sir Thomas Tedenby is probably back in his constituency and deaf to anything not regarding the upcoming elections. Thank God Leslie Beckett is retiring from politics, the man has to have been the most ineffectual Defence Secretary of the century.¡± ¡°Not that you heard this from me,¡± Sir Morgan said as he walked over to a window and looked out at Admiralty Park, ¡°but I think a large part of His Majesty¡¯s Armed Forces will be very pleased when you take over the Defence Department after the elections, My Lord.¡± Sciacca smiled wearily, but quickly sobered. ¡°This information will become public news in just a few hours, Royal Harrow can only sit on it for so long; they owe it to the victim¡¯s families to be forthright with this. Ergo, I advise ¨Cunofficially of course, I am still only the head of NAC¨C that the Navy press department creates a statement where you express great regret and heartfelt sympathies with the victims and the ones affected by this horrible accident, and that it happened while working on your warships. And then something about supporting the proper authorities in their investigation, and that you will address the matter in more detail when the final report is ready.¡± ¡°I¡¯ve had Mueller in the Press Division already start on crafting a draft,¡± Sir Morgan said, ¡°and I¡¯ve told him to include basically what you said, but I¡¯ll go over it before we publish it.¡± ¡°How could this happen though?¡± Lady Ashwike asked, her face noticeably paler as she skimmed the initial report from orbit, ¡°we haven¡¯t had such a horrific industrial accident for many decades, and never from such a respected and serious company as Harrow. There is a bit in here how they had to scrape what remained of some poor souls from the walls in order to get enough samples to DNA identify them, and there are body parts hovering around the berth still unaccounted for.¡± She put her hand up to her mouth for a moment, and Howeland felt a pang of sympathy. Ashwike had never seen action during her brief spaceship tours, while Donegal and Mizushima both had experience from the brushfire wars in the Pegasii Region, and the Midwinter Collapse. Hell, Sciacca had been a major in the Royal Marines, and been sent to help suppress the Three Sisters when they rebelled against the Neuhansa Sternbund. He was, unfortunately, all too aware how human anatomy reacted to different types of force and energy. Donegal sighed and crossed his arms. ¡°It is because the shortage of manpower that we feel in the Navy is just as bad in the orbital industries, and if you just think about it for a second, you¡¯ll see how logical it is. The Royal Navy is ordering ships at an unprecedented rate, and that is even with significant pushback from His Majesty¡¯s Opposition in both the Commons and Lords, and ideally we would like to have even more ships in construction. You know this better than anyone, Lady Ashwike, your people are working on five-six different designs, all of which would in an ideal world already been under construction. But the harsh truth is that we can¡¯t properly crew the ships we¡¯re already commissioning, and the new capital ships are going to require literally hundreds of thousands of enlisted and officers, not only to crew them, but also to support them with logistics, maintenance, basing, and a myriad of other tasks. And then they¡¯re going to need Royal Marine complements, and leatherneck recruitment isn¡¯t where we want it to be either. And then take into consideration that the shipyards are going to have to recruit even more workers to help keeping these new ships in fighting shape, to refit them when the time comes, and in general keep them in pristine condition. And that is the core of the problem, because the orbital industries are basically recruiting from the same demographic that the Royal Navy and Royal Marines are recruiting from; technically skilled and educated youths who are willing to spend significant time in space, who aren¡¯t already employed in other cornerstone industries, like metallurgy, high-tech manufacturing, or electronics.¡± ¡°There are plans,¡± Sciacca continued, ¡°to create exchange programmes with other Union worlds that will see their nationals trained in our military shore establishments and King William Academy, and seconded to our navy for an yet not agreed upon time period. That is a medium-term solution, and it¡¯s a bit inelegant, but it¡¯s the best we can come up with at the time being.¡± ¡°Surely,¡± Lady Ashwike shot in, ¡°the threat of conflict with the Alliance would be something that would drive up recruitment numbers?¡± ¡°Well, yes,¡± Sir Morgan answered, ¡°but while that is something that the public is genuinely worried about, it is merely a theoretical spectre at this point. Ironically, the high trust among the populace in the Royal Navy leads many to assume that we will win a shooting war handily. Certainly, there is nothing in the Service¡¯s history to suggest otherwise, but then we¡¯ve never fought a star-nation as large and capable as the ISA. And even if war broke out tomorrow, and people thronged to the recruitment offices so to speak, it would still be years before those who signed up will be ready for service. Remember, it takes four years for an officer cadet to complete their education at King William, and two for enlisted at New Saxony and Cumberland.¡± It looked like he wanted to say something more, but his handcom beeped, and he frowned. ¡°It seems Muller was quicker with the draft than I anticipated, and he has it ready right now. Since you¡¯re already here, My Lord, would you like to help me with the final wording of the statement before we publish?¡± Sciacca nodded in agreement, took out his own handcom and winced at the number of messages and e-letters in his inboxes. He quickly wrote a message to his wife as Mizushima called down to the Press Division. Don¡¯t wait up for me, Dear, I regrettably have to stay a few days at our Cordelia apartment. Tell Horace and Beatrice that I promise to return in time for the derby on Sunday. Love you all. Chapter 19 - Days of Erudition: How the Season is Experienced No:01 The Auroran Season was internationally equally admired and ridiculed for its sheer ostentatiousness, a grand spectacle of extravagance put on every (galactic calendar) summer by the collective of the rich and the privileged of the kingdom. It had its very obvious background from its namesake that had originated in 18th Century Great Britain, and although that one had disappeared due to increasing equality in economic and social standing between the classes, and the effective disappearance of the aristocracy, the founding fathers and mothers of Aurora had revived it a few decades after the Revised Constitution of 2236/2248. It had been a blatant attempt to entrench their social prestige in contrast to the newly politically enfranchised commoners, but despite its thoroughly elitist backdrop, it had stuck and become a seasonal fixture much like any other holiday period. While its (re-)inception certainly raised the eyebrows of most people, and produced disgusted sounds from those of an egalitarian mind-set, it had evolved considerably over the centuries. The Season had by the summer of 2874 become a multifaceted beast that combined politics, social prestige, entertainment, professional advancement, personal networking, and of course dynastic dynamics. Every five years, the Season also became quite a bit more heated and exciting, since as soon as the Proms concluded, there were only four short weeks before general elections for the House of Commons. And since Parliament was out during summer, members of Parliament and incumbent seats in the Lords spent considerable time and energy to build their campaign platforms among the well-off and potential allies for the coming electoral period. And it just so happened that 2874 was an election year. While many of the different events and shindigs of the Season took place all over Aurora, and some even in the planet¡¯s orbit, it was expected that those who wanted to participate would repair to the capital of Cordelia. Large parts of the planetary nobility, and some from the other worlds of the Kingdom, already owned property in the capital city, but a considerable amount did not, and neither did many of the non-aristocratic participants, which meant that the average rent skyrocketed in Cordelia during the summer months. Many with adequately sized and furnished tenements and lodgings made a pretty penny by letting these for a few months, and went on extended vacations to the countryside or off-world, living grand off the rents they got. Which in turn made it somewhat ironic that the decidedly grandest event of the entire seven-week Season was held at a grand manor on the very outskirts of the county of Alba, two-hundred odd kilometres east of Cordelia. However, if invited to the Duchess of New Forest¡¯s Ball, one certainly did not turn down the invitation. Goldstag Hall was a massive country manor complex built in the Neo-Georgian style, featuring adjoining gardens, a truly majestic landscape park complete with a fairly sizable artificial lake, all bordered by exquisitely maintained hedgerows and tall-growing flowerbeds. Despite located a continent away from the eponymous duchy of its owners, Goldstag Hall was the foremost country estate of the Allencourts of New Forest, and widely regarded as one of the finest residences in the Kingdom, bar the royal palaces (and some argued that it was superior to even a few of those). The quadruple argentwood doors at the top of the stairs of the grand entrance were wide open, the cobblestone path leading up to it a tightly orchestrated dance of liveried footmen opening the doors of the stately groundcars which were constantly arriving, before another welcomed the disembarking guests and led them into the princely entrance hall. As a courtesy, soldiers from the New Forest Fusiliers Regiment, dressed in scarlet-and-black parade uniforms, wearing dark grey berets with a traditional white-red fusilier hackle, were posted along the path and stairs. The Allencourts took their affiliation with the Army very seriously, and made it a point that at least one in the main family in every generation was a serving member of the regiment that bore their name. Past the carpeted entrance hall, the guests were escorted through a set of hallways until they reached the grand ballroom. At full capacity, the ballroom could comfortably hold about nine hundred people, even when making room for dancing, but there were far more than that invited to the ball, so there was a tendency to ambulate between other locations on the estate, like the accompanying drawing rooms, the inner fountain court, the rose gardens, and the libraries. A veritable army of footmen were on call in every conceivable location where guests might wander, there to politely attend to their needs. The balls of the Season were primarily for the young, who were as a rule much more excited for the splendour and occasion of the ball, and they were the ones who generally frequented the floor, whilst their parents or chaperones (if in attendance) often retreated to adjoining rooms to calmly catch up or discuss other matters over a glass or four. The inlaid pillars of the ballroom, as well as the far walls, were decorated with golden vines snaking up from the floor, joining and intertwining in each other, standing out against the alabaster paint of the wall beneath. The roof was a single, massive fresco depicting the legend of Daphnis and Chlo¨¥, painstakingly hand-painted in the old Renaissance style. The long side walls however, were even more exciting. The sixth duke of New Forest, the one who had had Goldstag Hall built, had been an avid and adroit student of literature, and he had wanted his new family home to reflect that interest. At a distance, the walls were covered by a muted green wallpaper decorated with stems and blooms of multi-coloured orchids, but upon closer inspection, there were literally hundreds and hundreds of references to classical literature in form of very small vignettes and motifs hidden among the flowers. A slender, grey-gloved finger traced the figures on the wall. It knowingly caressed the figure of Sigurd as he laid in wait to kill Fafnir, the sword Gram in his hand. Over there was the grieved Orpheus falling to his knees as he inadvertently looked back, just to see his beloved Eurydike disappear into the shadows. And a bit up on the wall was the armoured figure of Fingolfin, his mail reflecting the fiery malice of Morgoth as he challenged the Dark Lord to single combat. Adea¡¯s face lit up into a toothy smile at the recognition, fond memories of her youth bubbling up to the surface, but she quickly sobered as she became aware that Lord and Lady¡­ Clyde? No, the bloody Coldbournes, get a damn grip, silly girl, were watching and veritably jumped up from her crouched stance and curtsied politely, before making herself scarce, merging with the ballroom crowd. The two other nobles managed to camouflage their amused smiles admirably enough. Despite her own best attempts to portray herself with a sangfroid and world-accustomed attitude in public, Adea was actually prone to slip into the role of the teenager she actually was, and she bloody hated it when it happened in front of others of her same social class. The self-same young noblewoman hurried back onto the periphery of the dance floor, furiously wafting her folding fan to obscure her embarrassed flush. She wore a slim, salmon robe ¨¤ la grecque, with its traditional high waistline, and comfortably falling skirts which made dancing so much easier than the more elaborate robe ¨¤ la fran?aise. In addition, she wore a pair of comfortable yet fashionable pearl-studded cream faux-leather flats, and a long set of pale grey gloves that almost reached her shoulders. Her hair was expertly formed into a partial bun, her bangles heavily curled to create a contrasting style, something her handmaid Charlotte had done with the gusto of a true fashion aficionado. One of the rules of the Season was that only debutantes were allowed to wear white dresses, and while that was Adea¡¯s favourite colour, she had to accede to the regulations of the social class she adhered. Charlotte had been insistent that the dress she currently wore really accented the colour of her hair and her pale complexion, and Adea was inclined to agree with her slightly hyperactive handmaid. ¡°I bloody hate this getup,¡± a familiar male voice grumbled from behind her, and she turned with a grin on her face which she covered with her fan, her other hand holding a tall-stemmed glass of Gordias passimento rosso, but the corner of her eyes crinkled with amusement. ¡°Why, brother dear, you look absolutely splendid tonight; I have no inkling as to what you might infer, your tailoring is superb.¡± Aubrey Aurelian Carlisle-St. Eiron was almost the spitting image of their father; very tall, slender, with slightly wavy dark hair, and the trademark Carlisle ice blue eyes. Well, one of them at least, his left was the same glacier hue as Adea¡¯s, while the right was Iphigenia St. Eiron¡¯s jade green. He was dressed in a black suit with long tailcoats, and the traditional upturned white shirt collar of the haute couture of the well-off, a garnet tie formed in a complicated knot around it. The jacket tapered off around the waist creating a contrasting style which was emphasised further by Aubrey¡¯s burgundy satin waistband. ¡°Correction,¡± he veritably seethed between clenched teeth, ¡°I don¡¯t hate this getup in particular, the fact of the matter is that I hate this entire setting that has made the wearing of this stupid outfit necessary. There is a bloody reason I chose to spend the past four years in New Angers on Angevin rather than strut around with this pretentious lot.¡± ¡°Welcoming, the Lady Suncrest, and the Lady New Ophelia.¡± The footmen at the door to the great ballroom politely announced each guest as they arrived, but not so loudly as to intrude on the conversations happening on the dance floor. Aubrey, meanwhile, was trying to the best of his irritated abilities to keep his voice down, but Adea cast anxious glances around to make sure no one overheard. She stepped close to him, wrapped her arm around his and leaned in, collapsing her fan. ¡°You might want to keep your voice down, or else you¡¯ll have a Lord What-the-Hell-upon-Nowhere or a Lady Thefuckhill reporting this to everyone in their circle of friends. Papa and Mama have enough on their plates already than you going about making a stink among the good company of the Kingdom. Remember, you actually do have a set of social responsibilities.¡± Aubrey looked like he wanted to physically spit on the ground, but he managed to control his temper at least somewhat, and laid his opposite hand over the one his sister had looped around the crook of his left. ¡°You¡¯re right as always, Aditsa, and it annoys me no end. I¡¯ve always dreaded the Season, since long before I was eligible, and I doubt it will get any better once I enrol in King William¡¯s Academy.¡± Adea pursed her lips. ¡°No, I don¡¯t imagine it will. Up until now, you¡¯ve had the convenient excuse of education abroad, prioritising your studies over the time of travel from Angevin to Aurora during the weeks the Season takes place. But since King William¡¯s is located on Landfall Isle, just a skip away with a shuttle, you¡¯re pretty boned in the future.¡± Aubrey chuckled morbidly at that before his face formed a grimace. ¡°Welcoming, the Marquess of Blackshore, and the Lady Isolde.¡± ¡°I wish I had been born with your ability to fit in, Aditsa,¡± he said, his tone and facial expression serious, ¡°you¡¯ve always been able to effortlessly glide in and out of any social roles that¡¯s required of you. One moment you¡¯re affable and down to earth when talking to a servant or a shopkeeper, the next you switch up your accent and your physical mannerism when you come across someone noble born. I have never learnt to be comfortable with that.¡± Adea actually blushed a bit at the comment from her older brother, and led him further away from a group of similarly aged attendees who had been suspiciously getting closer and closer. ¡°I know, dear brother, which is why what I am about to say is going to hurt you even more. A few days ago, Papa and Mama were discussing to grant you¡­¡± She didn¡¯t get to complete her sentence before a familiar figure appeared before them. Horace Sciacca, eldest son of the Marquess of Howeland, was dressed in a similar style as Aubrey, apart from the fact that his waistband was a fierce turquoise. His hue was as bronzed as his younger brother Valerio¡¯s, but his personality was a good deal more easy-going, and he flashed a warm smile of recognition. ¡°Why, if it isn¡¯t the prodigal Lord Darkmoor returned from his self-imposed exile?¡± His comment could have been misconstrued had it not been for his grinning face. ¡°How does it feel to be back on God¡¯s anointed soil again, Aubrey?¡± Love this story? Find the genuine version on the author''s preferred platform and support their work! ¡°I fucking hate it, thanks for asking, Harry,¡± Aubrey said, untangling his sister¡¯s arm from under his own, ¡°I didn¡¯t come back to the homeworld to be bowing to the likes of Duke Dawnshire and his ilk.¡± The use of titles among the nobility was to many outside the good company of the upper crest quite confusing. Alistair, Adea and Aubrey¡¯s father, was the Marquess of S¨¦lincourt, while their mother Iphigenia was the Countess Darkmoor. However, since they had both inherited their titles directly, they were not entitled to each other¡¯s lands and titles unless specified in their wills, and as such Iphigenia would not be any more ¡°Lady S¨¦lincourt¡± than Alistair could be ¡°Lord Darkmoor¡± since their titles were of equal rank. As such, these titles were given to their children, despite the fact that Aubrey was the eldest and in line to inherit the S¨¦lincourt estates, while Adea would inherit Darkmoor, their titles were switched around to ¡°avoid¡± confusion. For someone like Horace, despite being the eldest son of the Marquess of Howeland, was simply referred to as ¡°Lord Horace¡±, because there was no other titles applicable to him. Many nobles with several titles to their name often chose to defer one of the junior titles to their children. Confusing? Yes. Did it work? Also yes, if you were able to pay close enough attention. ¡°Welcoming, the Duke and Duchess of New Brabant, as well as Lady Bernadetta.¡± ¡°I hear,¡± Horace said mischievously as he folded his hands behind his back, ¡°that you¡¯re going into the Navy this coming spring. Might I offer my congratulations and also condolences; it hurts my poor sensibilities to see the Kingdom losing such a formidable mathematician to the droll and thankless task of serving on a King¡¯s ship.¡± Aubrey punched Horace lightly on the shoulder, the offending noble making a show of acting outraged and physically hurt before his face split into a grin once more. ¡°Well, do say hello to brother once you get over there,¡± he said while lightly rubbing his shoulder. ¡°Valerio might have decided to cut ties with our family, but he apparently has the good sense of serving His Majesty, despite the fact that he has renounced his claims to the Howeland title. He¡¯s graduating with a degree in astronavigation come next spring and is enrolling in the Navy after his customary excessive celebratory revelling are over.¡± ¡°Hang on,¡± Adea interrupted, her voice dripping with knowing sarcasm, ¡°Valerio is cut off from the Howelands? Whenever did this happen?¡± Horace gave her an annoyed glance before clearing his throat. ¡°Ah, it¡¯s not exactly public knowledge as of yet, despite being the source of hearsay in the clubs for quite some time,¡± Horace replied somewhat sheepishly, ¡°but the hints are all out there. Valerio chose to settle in a small flat in the Lysander-on-Goneril ward instead of closer to the Quarters or the Rose, and he¡¯s not been in attendance of a single proper shindig for two years. In addition, he enrolled into Queen Marie¡¯s Metropolitan after getting accepted for the New Victoria University¡¯s orbital engineering programme, giving them the middle finger after he learned how high their fees were. And he only opted for Queen Marie¡¯s instead as it is a public university, since he apparently couldn¡¯t land a scholarship. All of that just skirts around the issue of the screaming matches he had with Father before he moved to Cordelia, how he wanted to chart out his own course and how he loathed the intended path forward expected of him, due to the nature of his noble birth. Naturally, that means me or Beatrice have to pick up the mantle. Not that much has changed in reality; Valerio is a third child after all.¡± That last comment was accompanied by a weary shrug. ¡°Welcoming, Lord and Lady Pembroke.¡± Their discussion was interrupted by the orchestra at the far end of the ballroom finishing their piece and the crowd politely applauded their performance, before they started anew with what sounded to Adea¡¯s relatively untrained ear to be one of Orhenzky¡¯s early sonatas. The music wasn¡¯t loud enough to intrude on the conversations on the floor, otherwise there wouldn¡¯t have been much point of them assembling in the ballroom in the first place. Adea was about to comment on the chosen path of the youngest Howeland when a familiar figure appearing in the corner of her eye caught her attention. Grinning widely, she sprang out, grabbed the nook of the arm of the surprised girl and pulled her into the semi-circle of conversation. Nimue Hastings, the future Countess of Seraphim, could best be described as an unwilling wallflower; she was of Nova Caledonian stock, which was quite exotic considering the small aristocracy of that most sparsely populated Auroran world. She was a slight girl, with hair so black it almost took on a purple shine, and freckled pale skin that betrayed her original Scots ancestry, eyes like dark green pools, and mannerisms that seemed to scream ¡°excuse me for existing¡±, her shoulders slumped and neck always slightly craned downwards. Nevertheless, she was one of Adea¡¯s best friends, a good listener and surprisingly adept at coming up with good advice regarding most social situations, despite her own discomfort when forced upon them. Horace Sciacca bowed deeply as she awkwardly was pulled into the conversational circle, tucking her hair behind her ears. Adea could not help but note the fine grey dress she wore, every part as well tailored as her own, albeit less eye-catching, though with some exquisite laced hems. ¡°Lady Nimue, what a genuine pleasure to see you here, I didn¡¯t believe you would find the courage to attend such an overtly, agh!¡± He didn¡¯t get to finish his sentence before Aubrey dug an elbow in Horace¡¯s ribs, and Adea¡¯s brother bowed courteously. ¡°Forgive my uncouth friend here, he doesn¡¯t know when to shut the hell up. I¡¯m just glad you¡¯re still here in the capital, Lady Nimue.¡± ¡°O-oh¡­¡± the noblewoman in question stammered, ¡°my parents wanted me to attend, Lord Darkmoor, so it¡¯s not like I had that much of a choi¡­¡± Her cheeks turned pink as she realised the faux-pas her comment might be construed as, but she was helpfully saved by the fact that the orchestra cut their performance mid-bar. The footmen serving as heralds by the doors of the ballroom had been politely calling out the arriving guests, but now they straightened up which sent a wave of energy throughout the ballroom. ¡°Welcoming,¡± the duo of footmen proclaimed in unison, ¡°Her Royal Highness, the Princess Royal Valerie, and His Royal Highness, Prince Constantine.¡± As they were announced, the band played up the ancient anthem of the royalty which had not changed at all for literally millennia, the guests placing hands over their hearts as the musicians played the first verse of ¡°God Save the King¡±. Anyone wearing a military uniform in the ballroom immediately came to attention; the rest bowed or curtsied in the direction of the wide admittance doors as soon as the music started. The two royal scions waited for the music to die down before they made their way onto the ballroom proper, walking up to the Duchess of New Forest and to thank her for the invitation. Princess Valerie wore a pristine white robe ¨¤ la grecque, since this was her first Season, despite the fact that she had been eligible for years now, whilst Prince Constantine wore the gilded mess dress uniform of a sub-lieutenant of the Royal Navy, complete with his scabbarded sword and the prominent St. George medal on his chest where his service medals ought to have been had he actually been serving for a few years on a deployed man-of-war. Alas, he was but a recent King William¡¯s graduate, but his elevated station made it almost mandatory to wear at least some of the honours bestowed upon his family over the centuries. Princess Valerie was as pale as ever, which sent a pang of sympathy down the spine of both Adea and Aubrey, as they recognised she wasn¡¯t all that recovered as she claimed in the media; in fact, Adea seemed to discern that the Princess was even slimmer than she was a few months ago, and that was bad news for a girl already visibly underweight and unhealthy. No matter, the princess in question was wearing the widest grin and as soon as her courteous duty to her host was carried out, she spiked out a course for the discussing circle of friends, stopping along the way to greet curtseying Lady New Ophelia, Lord Charleston, and Miss Lohengrin. Not everyone invited to Duchess New Forest¡¯s Ball were nobles, but at the same time, no one were commoners either; just north of sixty per cent were true nobility, whilst the rest were from esquire or gentry families, which explained why people like the Lohengrins, the Cleruchs, and the Barhams were in attendance, although Adea had yet to catch a glimpse of her best friend, Sandy. Typical if the stupid girl got the dates messed up, Adea mentally vocalised half-humorous, half-irritated. Oh my God, the alcohol might be taking a hold of me. Still, she cast a quick glance around, and not seeing her admonishing admiral father around, who had also been in attendance, most likely off to one of the lounge rooms to discuss politics with one Countess or Earl another, she snapped her fingers and as a footman materialised, she placed her empty wait, when did I empty that? wineglass on his tray. ¡°Something stronger,¡± she said quietly, ¡°and more sophisticated, if you please.¡± The footman nodded in understanding and vanished into the crowd. ¡°Your Royal Highnesses,¡± Aubrey said as he bowed politely as Valerie joined their small group, her brother catching up after a short stop to talk to Lord Pembroke. ¡°I hope you have been well since last I saw you?¡± The seemingly innocent question sent spikes up Adea¡¯s spine, but seeing Valerie not outwardly reacting to it, she relaxed a bit. ¡°Thank you, Lord Darkmoor,¡± Valerie responded with a wide grin that exposed her perfectly white teeth, ¡°we have been doing fairly well, have we not, dear brother of mine?¡± Prince Constantine Alexios James was perhaps just a bit taller than Aubrey, his hair brown unlike the customary de Roze hue which was jet-black, but the brother and sister had the same shining amethyst eyes. Constantine¡¯s physically impressive frame made a formidable figure in his naval uniform, despite his lack of seniority and the absence of wide golden bars and epaulettes on his tunic, but he still managed to produce a royal air about himself that his poor sister Valerie tragically seemed to lack. ¡°Lord Darkmoor,¡± the second in line to throne of Aurora said in a husky tone with an accompanying courteous nod in everyone¡¯s direction, ¡°Lord Horace, Lady S¨¦lincourt, Lady Nimue, how delightful that you could all make it out here to the Duchess¡¯ ball.¡± ¡°I, for one,¡± Adea said, rising to the social bait, ¡°wouldn¡¯t miss it for the world, and I know for a fact that my dear brother came all the way back from Angevin to partake in this particular Season¡¯s festivities.¡± Prince Constantine fixed his lilac eyes upon Aubrey and Adea could have sworn her brother came to attention. ¡°Is that so, Lord Darkmoor?¡± the prince said in dulcet tones, ¡°if so I must commend your dedication to the social obligations of your family. For my case, I¡¯m mostly here to take the spot of my older brother George, who¡¯s been detained on his way back from Cymru. The usual Light Way shenanigans he assured in an e-letter, the Aurora Regina has dropped out somewhere near Psi Capriconis to recharge her drive.¡± ¡°So, Your Highnesses,¡± Adea asked as the previous footman rematerialized with a glass of Summer Isle cognac which she grabbed with a certain amount of already intoxicated gusto, ¡°what is your impression of the Season so far?¡± The princess snapped her fingers and another footman appeared with a tall glass of champagne, which the royal¡­ girl really, accepted with innate grace of movement before fixing Adea with a gleaming gaze. ¡°It¡¯s been splendid, Aditsa,¡± she said, speaking quickly, almost brimming over with enthusiasm, ¡°the Victoria Gala, the Queen¡¯s Ball, the Royal Opera Festival, the numerous dinners and parties, it has honestly been some of the best weeks of my life. I¡¯m sorry that after tonight it all starts to taper off and slowly turn into the nasty melee that is the electoral period.¡± ¡°Oh, nothing off it,¡± Horace interjected, ¡°that¡¯s when the real fun begins. Duke Dawnshire over there has been benefiting a lot from making snide remarks in the media the past weeks about ¡®the inherent dangers of ill-advised military expansion¡¯. As if being petty and taking advantage of human lives lost is going to earn him any more supporters in the long run.¡± Constantine cleared his throat, and his sister awkwardly fingered the stem of her glass. As royalty, they were bound by the Constitution to remain impartial in politics, though it was an open secret that the royal family favoured the Royalists and the political centre-left. Yet they couldn¡¯t utter their support in favour of any one or the other parties in such a public setting as a heavily attended ball. Especially since the good duke just mentioned was just a few groups of conversing guests over, talking to Baroness Redgrove, Lord New Odessa, and Charles Nowaczyk, the leader of the Conservatives in the Commons. ¡°Yes, well,¡± the prince said, looking for any opportunity to change the subject, ¡°at least we have tonight to enjoy ourselves before that whole ordeal starts off. Say, Lady Nimue, are you here in Camlann for only the Season, or is it an extended visit?¡± The prince was not Adea¡¯s favourite among the royal family, and he did have a bit of an overinflated ego, but she had to admit that his ability to remember people and names was impressive to say the least. She was pretty sure the two had never met before, so the fact that he remembered not only her name, but also that she was not a homelander was genuinely thoughtful. ¡°Ah, no, Your Grace, I¡¯m staying at the Barhams while I undergo the training courses for Foreign Office employment. I¡¯ve been accepted as a media analyst at the Interstellar Relations Desk, starting around Christmas time, so I need to find a more permanent abode after that.¡± ¡°Your people don¡¯t have a Cordelia apartment?¡± the princess blurted out, somewhat shocked that a noble didn¡¯t have some sort of permanent residence in the capital, to which Nimue shook her head, her freckled cheeks flushing. ¡°No, Your Grace, Nova Caledonia is so far away from Aurora that it would be an immense bother to maintain a residence over here that we would only use whenever we have business in the homeland, which isn¡¯t that often. So until now, I¡¯m ashamed to say I¡¯ve sort of gone around and asked family friends for lodgings." Chapter 20 - Days of Erudition: How the Season is Experienced No:02 ¡°You should have asked us,¡± Adea said somewhat icily, sipping her drink, ¡°I know of a certain lodger I¡¯d much rather have tossed out in favour of you.¡± ¡°Speaking of which,¡± Aubrey cut in, ¡°where is the good Lady Spencer? I thought for sure she was going to be here.¡± ¡°She is,¡± Adea answered in the same tone, ¡°she¡¯s doing the rounds in the gardens I believe. No doubt you¡¯ll have your chance to meet her when the dancing starts.¡± ¡°Lady Spencer?¡± One of Valerie¡¯s black eyebrows hiked up quizzically. ¡°Is Marchioness Fiona here? I thought she had retired from social life long time ago.¡± ¡°No,¡± Horace shot in, now having helped himself to a glass of the namesake whisky of their hostess¡¯ title, ¡°this is her niece¡¯s youngest, the daughter of Duchess Grey Hill¡¯s younger sister, Alice de la Croix-Spencer.¡± ¡°She insists on being called ¡®Lady Grey Hill¡¯,¡± Adea continued vehemently, ¡°and I irritate her by calling her ¡®Lady Spencer¡¯, even though she doesn¡¯t even have the rights to that title either¡­¡± ¡°She sounds like a right old party,¡± Constantine said with a smirk, ¡°can¡¯t wait to meet her, her aunt is like the patron saint of the Navy, so I hope at least some of her has rubbed off.¡± ¡°Who was rubbed off, Your Highness?¡± Alexandra Barham, wearing a muted green dress not unlike the walls of the ballroom, and her hair in an elaborate braid, smiled lopsidedly as Valerie demurely hid her throaty giggle behind her fan, a giggle which Adea and Horace joined as well. Sandy sobered when she saw Aubrey though, and made a little curtsy. ¡°I didn¡¯t know you were back from Angevin, Lord Darkmoor,¡± she said with a completely different tone of voice from a moment ago, and Adea hid a knowing smile behind her own fan. Aubrey smiled and nodded politely back at her. ¡°I only arrived last week, Miss Barham, and with everything going on in the capital, there¡¯s little wonder you weren¡¯t aware. I¡¯m only staying for another eight days before going back, barely just popping in to say hello to Mama, Papa, and little Aditsa here.¡± ¡°You must come with us out to Lake Erin before you go,¡± Valerie suggested, ¡°there is to be a picnic and games hosted by the New Arundels, you simply must come, Aubrey.¡± ¡°I¡¯ll think about it, Your Grace.¡± His tone said he would not, but the princess nodded appreciatively regardless. ¡°Welcoming, the Duke of Trewellynshire.¡± ¡°Ugh,¡± Horace made a face, ¡°do you smell that? It¡¯s the stench of commerce.¡± ¡°Where even is that little cretin of his,¡± Sandy asked, her voice the same disgusted one as Horace¡¯s, ¡°you¡¯d think she¡¯d be here by now, the dancing is about to begin. If you miss out on the first dance, you might as well not attend.¡± Constantine couldn¡¯t help himself. ¡°Lord Horace, you are aware that everyone in this circle is pretty filthy stinking rich, right? The two S¨¦lincourts here have allowances that make small business owners¡¯ net worth look like mere pittances. Even Lady Nimue from small old Nova Caledonia is absolutely loaded.¡± ¡°You exaggerate for effect, Kostya,¡± Valerie chided mildly, before Adea took up the baton. ¡°There is difference between wealth and wealth, Constantine. Most of the jeune noblesse are new money, or they come originally from new money, and many of them forsake a career of service to the Kingdom to pursue even more money.¡± ¡°Just look at the children of the Duke and Duchess of Calvert¡¯s Land,¡± Sandy supplemented, ¡°the eldest became an investment banker, the second a commercial business realtor, and the third a bloody tourist agency manager.¡± ¡°They could at least,¡± Horace continued, ¡°have had the decency of doing a couple of years at the Royal Military Academy, get a commission, spend a decade or so in the bloody Army at the very least. You¡¯re going to live to your three-hundreds anyway, a decade in uniform or as a medical practitioner, or something useful for society would be infinitely better than spend your entire life in the pursuit of personal enrichment.¡± He almost spat that last word out, and Sandy, Adea, and Aubrey nodded in agreement. This wasn¡¯t snobbery on their part, all of them descended from either the first or second enfranchisement of nobility, but more the result of a deeply ingrained cultural identity among parts of the Auroran nobility. The so-called high nobility had ¨Cfor the most part¨C a very real sense of duty to the Kingdom, which the jeune noblesse didn¡¯t necessarily share, but which the gentry and esquires very much did. The high nobility intrinsically understood they were a societal oxymoron; no proper democracy could confidently defend having an entire class of citizens constitutionally elevated above the rest, it simply made no sense. As a result, the high nobility (more of a collective term of those who accepted this reality rather than based on any sort of pedigree) nourished a sense of patriotism, duty, and responsibility to the rest of society. That was why such an extremely large percentage of them entered the armed forces, went into the bureaucracy, the Foreign Office, politics, or made careers as academics in pursuit of furthering society as a whole. They accepted the high tax rate on the rich, as it was only fair that those that had a lot would pay a lot, and they accepted that spending at least part of your hopefully long life in the service to the rest of the Kingdom was the price to pay to keep their elevated position in society, or else they would have been relegated to the dustbin of history already. The royal family understood this perhaps even better than the high nobility, and the ones knocking on the door of aristocracy, the gentry and esquires, admired and emulated this trait. The so-called jeune noblesse on the other hand, those who generally had been enfranchised in the tertiary round or on a family-to-family basis, often did not share this sentiment. They grumbled about the heavy taxation on their fortunes and estates, generally avoided serving in the armed forces, and made their fortunes in the booming high-tech trade or the lucrative orbital and shipping industries. It was this latter group which had formed the core of the Conservative Party when it had been formed, and still did to this day centuries later. Many commoners (and quite a few of the gentry as well) idealised them as they saw them as something of a goal to aspire to; being so successful as to be elevated into the ranks of the socially and financially privileged. ¡°You know,¡± Nimue spoke up for the first time in a while, her voice having a slightly trembling quality to it, ¡°there are a lot of nobles not financially well-off in the kingdom.¡± ¡°Oh, that is also absolutely true.¡± Aubrey said, having emptied a second glass of whisky by now and put it on a footman¡¯s tray before retrieving another, how am I not noticing that we¡¯re ordering drinks left and right? Adea vocalised mentally, I think this is my second cognac already. Are New Forest¡¯s footmen literal ghosts? ¡°You have the, and you must excuse the term, your royal highnesses, the pauper princes of Novorosyia; nobles in name but commoners in means. That¡¯s not due to poor economics or a widespread spendthrift nature, but simply because their nobility enfranchisement was by chance rather than already existing status. Democratic in thought and action, yes, but quite erratic.¡± ¡°Speaking of which,¡± Horace interjected, ¡°isn¡¯t Count Kerengrad one of your close friends? What is Lord Aikov up to these days?¡± ¡°Well, if he isn¡¯t here, then he¡¯s probably buried in some book somewhere. The man has an absolutely unquenchable thirst for knowledge of Earth¡¯s old mythology, and it would be just like him to forget tonight¡¯s ball in favour for a re-reading of the Theogony for the three-hundredth and fifty-ninth time.¡± Before the conversation could proceed further, the music died down, and the Duchess of New Forest strode to the centre of the room and politely clapped to get everyone¡¯s attention. Georgina Allencourt was getting up in the years, celebrating her two-hundredth and forty-first birthday in November, but she still carried herself ramrod straight, with the grace and elegance you would expect from the female head of one of the kingdom¡¯s most celebrated noble families. Her dress was chiffon-coloured with inlaid rows of very small bouquets of thistles and pink roses along the waist, and she wore a silver tiara inlaid with polished gemstones of emeralds and aventurine that held back her long, paling blonde hair. ¡°Ladies and gentlemen,¡± she said in a polite but confident voice that had no problems reaching the ears of everyone in the large ballroom, ¡°and of course, your royal highnesses,¡± she added with a polite nod towards Valerie and Constantine, ¡°I believe it is time for the dancing to begin.¡± Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere. A chorus of polite applause and tinging of rings or fans on glasses made it clear that the guests were very much in agreement. ¡°Since we have the honour of having both the Princess Royal and the Prince of Arcadia amidst us tonight, I feel it is only right and proper that they will be leading us all into the first dance. I trust no one will object to that?¡± The assembled guests again applauded, with some voicing their agreement with cheers of hear hear, or, quite so. A couple of God save the King came from somewhere as well. Constantine and Valerie lifted their glasses in polite recognition of the call-out, but Adea could see the tips of Valerie¡¯s ear turn noticeably pink. The conversational huddles cleared the centre of the room, leaving space for the dancing to commence, most of the older guests pulling back towards the walls, there to watch the spectacle rather than participate. And of course, to launch their own progeny in the general direction of any potentially suitable future mate. ¡°I bloody hate this,¡± Aubrey commented once again through gritted teeth as their group moved back, ¡°I¡¯m not much of a dancer.¡± ¡°Oh pish,¡± his sister chided as they both emptied their glasses in one swig, as the footmen made the rounds to collect empty snifters and high-stems, ¡°you¡¯re capable enough at the waltz and I¡¯ve seen you perform a quadrille somewhat handsomely on at least four occasions.¡± ¡°Dear sister, I will strangle you if you do not keep your voice down.¡± Adea saw in the corner of her eye Sandy straighten her skirts and make sure her braid was resting perfectly over her left shoulder before taking a deep breath. She could also see Lady Bernadetta, daughter of the New Brabants look in their¡­ no, in Aubrey¡¯s direction, the same with Lady Romola of Garnier, Miss Dorothea Sk¨¢lov¨¢, Lord Auguste of New Dumbarton, and¡­ Lady Evelyn Delafontaine? No, she was looking at Horace, that did indeed make much more sense. She knew her brother was physically attractive, on the same level that one could admire a statue or a painting to be objectively handsome, but Adea wasn¡¯t aware that he had this many obvious admirers. Just when she was about to turn around and give Sandy an encouraging nudge to get her to ask Aubrey for a dance, the usually reserved princess turned around and held out her pristinely white gloved hand towards Lord Darkmoor. ¡°May I,¡± she said somewhat haltingly, her ears turning ever pinker, ¡°have the honour of the first dance, My Lord Darkmoor?¡± It took Aubrey a few seconds to regain his faculties for speaking, his flabber well and truly gasted at the unforeseen invitation, but after Horace hissed something in his ear that Adea assumed was concerning the l¨¨se-majest¨¦ it would be to deny the bloody Princess Royal the opening dance in her inaugural Season, he took Valerie¡¯s proffered hand in his own and planted a polite kiss on the top of it. ¡°It would be my honour, Your Royal Highness.¡± The look that he sent back to Adea could have pierced Grade-A titanium battle plate, but his sibling simply suppressed an amused giggle and fanned her face like everything was alright with the world. Sandy, however, looked crestfallen, her shoulders visibly sagging a bit before she picked herself up and opened her own fan. Adea turned to her, fan covering the lower half of her face, and mouthed I am sorry, to which Sandy shrugged, though Adea could tell she was genuinely disappointed. But before Adea had the opportunity to commiserate with her friend further, a white-gloved hand of another kind materialised before her. ¡°May I have the honour of this dance, Lady S¨¦lincourt?¡± Prince Constantine asked, his voice doing some sort of velvety impression that Adea was sure would have worked wonders on anyone who didn¡¯t know him personally. Now it was Aubrey¡¯s turn to grin at his sister and Adea was glad she had the fan ready to hide any expression she made, but she knew her place, and curtsied politely ¨Cwithout a spoken confirmation that is¨C and held out her hand for the prince to politely kiss it and lead her unto the dance floor. Horace made the same proposition to Nimue, who started to mumble something about being a horrendous dancer, really, you shouldn¡¯t bother with me, but Horace simply kissed her hand and led her out onto the floor anyway. Sandy watched them all go, her heart sinking in her chest, especially as more and more couples made their way out there, many of them she knew personally. A small piece of her started to seethe and bubble with anger and resentment. Bloody nobles, who do they think they are? Just because they have a title and I don¡¯t doesn¡¯t make you inherently better than me, you absolute cretins. She became alarmed for a moment at this undiscovered petty and jealous side of her psyche, and took a few deep breaths to steady her nerves. That was when a tall figure materialised in front of her. ¡°May I have this dance, Lady..?¡± The man was about Aubrey¡¯s height, his hair the same half-curly dark hue of Edward Heatherland, but this one¡¯s skin was much paler than that particular Amaranthine. His eyes were shining sea-green, and he wore the brilliantly embroidered and gilded scarlet tunic and white trousers of the Queen Amelia¡¯s Own Chevalier-Guards Regiment, complete with a scabbarded cavalry sabre inlaid with pink gemstones in the hilt, and the golden epaulettes and insignia upon his shoulders that betrayed him as a cornet of that esteemed cavalry regiment. ¡°It¡¯s ¡®Miss¡¯, actually,¡± Sandy heard herself say while also reflectively holding out her hand, ¡°Miss Alexandra Barham.¡± At the mention of her last name, the young subaltern¡¯s eyes widened, before his already polite smile became even wider. ¡°Well then, Miss Barham, may I have the honour of asking for this dance?¡± ¡°I suppose so,¡± Sandy said in a teasing tone, ¡°but only if I can have your name, sir.¡± ¡°Claude O¡¯Shaughnessy, Miss Alexandra, first son of the O¡¯Shaughnessys of Linehan in Kilthrim.¡± Sandy must unwittingly have done her best impression of impersonating a question mark, because he laughed politely. ¡°I am not surprised, Miss, that you haven¡¯t heard of us. It is a small estate in Angevin, and the family still hasn¡¯t been elevated to esquire status.¡± My God his accent was aggressively Wetlands Angevin in origin, now that Sandy thought about it, hurriedly making a mental note of researching this family¡¯s history as soon as she had the time. Which she realised she was not right now, because the good cornet had been holding her hand for some time with the intention of leading her to the dance floor, but she hadn¡¯t moved. Blushing for a moment at her own inattentiveness, she allowed the handsome cavalry officer to take her onto the floor. She was a fair ways down from the leading couples of Aubrey-Valerie and Constantine-Adea, but that suited her just fine, she didn¡¯t want the limelight anyway. Footmen collected the ceremonial swords of the officers who wore them, safekeeping them while their owners danced for obvious reasons. The musicians, apparently on order from their mistress, the Duchess of New Forest, started playing a lively tune, the sinfonia (its full title was Sinfonia di stromenti militari) from Act II of Cleofide by Johann Adolf Hasse, a very martial marcia that the dancers immediately recognised and formed groups of four. As the rhythmic tunes of the marcia played out they faux-marched and curtsied/bowed to the partner they ended up next to, all the while holding their right hands together. When the tune lifted (it kept repeating), they spun on their heels and retreated down to the next group, repeating the same motions. It was a relatively simple quadrille, one practised at most dancing clubs in the kingdom, though not necessarily to this tune. When Princess Valerie and Lord Darkmoor connected hands again, having gone the full twelve-couple circle, the music finally died down, with the onlookers applauding politely. As soon as the dancing couple caught their breaths, the band started to play a few test bars of Tchaikovsky¡¯s Serenade in C Major¡¯s second movement, the Walzer. As soon they found their places, the music started proper, and the individual dances could commence. It was a comfortable Viennese waltz, which all present were familiar with. Aubrey and Valerie moved elegantly around the very top of the ballroom floor, the princess¡¯ skirts swirling around as they turned and switched. Horace and Nimue made a surprisingly good couple since Horace was able to lead with all of his customary Sciacca confidence, while Nimue was perfectly comfortable with being led along, their dancing energies complementing each other¡¯s perfectly. Adea couldn¡¯t help but to admire Prince Constantine¡¯s skill at the nimble art of the dance either; it really shouldn¡¯t have surprised her that the bloody second in line to the throne was more than an acceptable dance partner. She wasn¡¯t entirely sure if it was the soothing, dulcet tones of the music and the way she was being led by the prince, or if it was the alcohol she had imbibed, but suddenly she found herself curtsying to the applauding onlookers as the waltz ended, and they melted back into the throng in preparation for the next group of dancing couples to take the stage. ¡°I think,¡± she said out loud before she had even contemplated what she was about to say, ¡°that I will go look for Lady Spencer. I didn¡¯t see her during the first dance, and I believe Papa will have some choice words for me if I allow her to get drunk in a corner somewhere in Goldstag Hall.¡± Sandy laughed out loud, something she didn¡¯t actually do very often, how odd, and Aubrey nodded knowingly, perfectly aware how their father could get. Not that you¡¯ve met Alice, Adea thought, otherwise you would join me in cursing her very existence. She couldn¡¯t see the Princess, Horace, or Nimue anywhere, but she did have the (dis)pleasure of receiving another kiss on her gloved hand from Prince Constantine before she managed extricate herself from the nearby crowd. Wait, where did that cavalry officer come from, is he a friend of Sandy? Politely nodding to the footmen who manned the nearby doors, Adea snuck down a hallway adorned with portraits of the extended Allencourt family and some she recognised were painted pictures of historical figures of Earth whom the Allencourts claimed to have common ancestry with. She scoffed as she passed an idealised portrait of Sir Isaac Newton, and pushed open a door made partially of glass which she assumed led into the Goldstag Hall inner court gardens. She wasn¡¯t disappointed as she was suddenly bombarded with the smell of carnations, Auroran black-violets, and lilies of the valley in full bloom, combined with the very particular sensation of summer rain. At some point after Adea¡¯s arrival, a slight drizzle had begun, and she could feel the cool and almost regenerative effect it had on her as raindrops almost carefully descended upon her bared skin and dress. Adea stood in the entrance to the inner court for about a minute, just enjoying the refreshing sensation of the downpour, before she realised she was not alone. Chapter 21 - Days of Erudition: How the Season is Experienced No:03 The fountain was a veritable monument of Classical imitation, with a tall Corinthian column emerging from the centre of the base, and the corners hosted figures in a Classical Greek anthropomorphised form of the continents of Aurora; Arcadia, Findias, Gorias, Murias, Summer Isle, New Jharkhand, New Ontario. The women why was it always voluptuous women? poured water from their amphorai into the fountain below, making a delightfully gentle splashing sound. And sitting beside that fountain was a figure, which Adea had some trouble identifying. The person sitting by the fountain obviously identified as female, for she wore a tyrian dress that was of comparable in cut and design to Adea¡¯s own, whilst wearing cream-white stockings and gloves. Her pale long hair was gently combed, flowing across her bare shoulders and down her back, decorated with lavender bows. Adea considered approaching her, asking if she didn¡¯t want to get out of the rain, when she noticed that an unopened umbrella laid by the girl¡¯s right hand, on the fountain¡¯s border. As Adea was watching the girl, she removed the long cream gloves of her left arm, and even from a distance and in the gathering dark, Adea had to stifle her cry of surprise and horror. Even in the poor light, Adea could see even lines of tissue that ran up the inner forearm, many of them. The girl made a sound that caught in her throat as she used her other hand to run along some of the scars. The garden lights chose that moment to come to life, illuminating the wonderful inner court garden, as well as the fountain. Oh, it¡¯s her. The hair should have been a give-away, Adea didn¡¯t know anyone else with as pale hair as Artemisia de Vere, and her small stature should have been the real tell, but it had somehow escaped Adea. ¡°Didn¡¯t your parents teach you that it is rude to spy on people, Lady S¨¦lincourt?¡± The biting remark from the diminutive figure and the accompanying icy glare snapped Adea back to the present, and she returned the favour with a scowl of her own, suppressing her surprise at Artemisia¡¯s ability to spot her from such a distance and awkward angle. She stepped out onto the green, but made her way intentionally quite slowly towards the fountain. ¡°The use of the word ¡®spy¡¯ implies intent, Lady de Vere,¡± Adea replied in a stony tone that was just on the correct side of polite for the courtesy of any others who might be lurking in the half-shadows of the gardens and columned inner court walls. ¡°And that was certainly not my intention, I came out here to look for Lady Spencer, but she seems to be elsewhere, my chancing upon you was merely happy circumstance.¡± ¡°If by Lady Spencer you mean that bore of a de La Croix, I saw her walking towards the lake gazebos talking with someone who looked like one of the Cleruchs and Lady Joinville. They were gabbing away about some regatta result or something equally dull, not that I even tried to listen in. However, albeit not that it is any of my business, but how do you stand living in the same house as that utter shrew? She¡¯s a loathsome bother at the best of times in my experience, and at the worst of times she comes across like a proper diva.¡± Adea, having reached the fountain, surprised herself with a little smile and her tone thawed a little. ¡°It helps that she has her quarters in the opposite wing of Ars Gallante House, and that we keep very different company, and as such minimise the risk of bumping each other, apart from lunch and dinner. And as for her mannerisms, I¡¯m afraid that I can¡¯t really comment, lest I want Papa¡¯s rage bearing down on me.¡± Artemisia made a sort of grunting sound and reached for a glass by her feet that Adea hadn¡¯t noticed, and downed its red contents. ¡°Say, Lady de Vere,¡± Adea said after a short break, the only sound nearby the splashing of water, ¡°not to pry, but why are you out here in the drizzle instead of going back inside? I¡¯m not the biggest fan of the waltz myself, but surely it beats getting soaked.¡± ¡°Because,¡± Artemisia said, running a gloved hand through her long hair, ¡°if I spend even just one more minute with the likes of Dawnshire and Redgrove, I might actually spontaneously combust.¡± Her surprise must have been evident on Adea¡¯s face, because Artemisia produced the smallest ghost of a smile and a low sound that might extremely generously be called a chuckle. ¡°It¡¯s apparent you don¡¯t know me at all, Lady Adea, or else you wouldn¡¯t be so shocked that I absolutely detest the vast majority of the Tories.¡± She fished up a carafe of red liquid from the ground, which also had escaped Adea¡¯s notice, and held it out, that same shadow-smile on her thin, pink lips. ¡°A drink, Lady Adea? I¡¯m honestly not sure if it¡¯s a very sweet claret or a very dry port, but it¡¯s not half-bad. Duchess New Forest is to be commended for her cellar and her generosity.¡± Adea made note of the flush on the pale girl¡¯s cheeks, gave her a small smile of her own and sat down beside her on the side of the fountain, making sure not to crease her dress skirt. Two parts of her brain, the inebriated and her normally hyper-focused one, warred with indecision before her id won out and accepted the carafe, and took a swig of the wine. ¡°If you don¡¯t mind me asking,¡± Adea said after removing a glove and demurely wiped her mouth, ¡°why are you at the ball in the first place if you don¡¯t intend to partake in the dancing and the socialisation? And just before the dancing started, the footmen announced your father¡¯s arrival, which means you didn¡¯t arrive together.¡± That last bit was not a question, more of a statement of fact, and Artemisia shrugged. ¡°It¡¯s simple, my father would give me a proper lashing if I shirked my social duties as a duke¡¯s daughter and heiress, so I did not have much of a choice. As for the earlier arrival, I already told you, I can¡¯t stand the Tory crowd in there, so I was one of the first to repair, gave my thanks to the Duchess, and made myself scarce.¡± Adea bit her lower lip. Had she not witnessed those scars on the girl¡¯s arm, she would have assumed ¡®lashing¡¯ to mean being chewed out, but now she wasn¡¯t sure if Artemisia was being literal or not. Despite her intoxicated state, she chose not to pursue the point. Silence, though not necessarily uncomfortable, stretched on for a bit. The two girls could hardly have been more different, and as they sat beside each other it would have been very striking to any onlookers. Adea was a head and a half taller than Artemisia, her physique muscular and defined whereas Artemisia was slight and delicate. Despite having similar length of hair, one was fiery red while the other was as pale as snow. ¡°I saw you, by the way,¡± Artemisia continued after a spell, ¡°at the QMMU Opera and Baroque Orchestra Year End performance, in attendance with Her Highness Valerie.¡± ¡°You did?¡± Adea was taken a bit back by the non sequitur, ¡°I didn¡¯t see you at all¡­¡± A nearly forgotten memory flickered of a mane of white making its way down the aisle after the final applause and as the audience was leaving the theatre. ¡°I merely wanted to congratulate Edward on an exceptional performance,¡± Artemisia said, her tone now sounding almost jovial, her thin smile slowly expanding, ¡°it was after all, quite an ordeal to get through such a demanding libretto, despite the lack of any soloist sections.¡± Something inside Adea felt like it had been stabbed. ¡°And just what, if I may ask,¡± she replied in a tone that had lost all of the gradual cordiality it had built up during their conversation, ¡°is your agenda with Edward, Lady de Vere? I believe you mentioned you¡¯ve only met him on one occasion.¡± Artemisia¡¯s face reverted to her initial scowl, and pushed herself off the side of the fountain. ¡°My agenda, Lady S¨¦lincourt, I have an agenda? Am I not allowed to socialise with other people? Or is it that I am not allowed to socialise with your people? I clearly remember you saying you ¡®didn¡¯t have a man¡¯, and last I checked this was a free kingdom, so I am allowed to talk to whomever I want.¡± The small girl was furious, half-shouting and the muscles in her hands contracting them into something almost like claws at the ready. ¡°My ¡®agenda¡¯, as you so crassly put it, is that Edward Heatherland is one of very few people I have met in my life who didn¡¯t immediately judge or condemn me for what I am, unlike you and almost every one else; in fact he openly accepted it and made no bigger fuss over it than if you had told him the sky is blue. I can almost count on a single hand the times this has happened in my eighteen years of life, and I¡¯ll be damned if I¡¯m going to be denied talking to him because you¡¯re being childishly possessive!¡± The silence that lingered between them this time was heavy and pregnant with emotion. Finally Adea cleared her throat awkwardly, and readjusted her gloves. Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences. ¡°For the record, I don¡¯t care that you¡¯re a Gen-Two, that doesn¡¯t bother me in the slightest. I¡¯m not a bigot, there¡¯s nary anyone with Gen-Two¡¯ers in their lineage somewhere. The issues between us stem from the company you keep, not some contrived or racist notion.¡± Artemisia laughed humourlessly and spun around with her arms wide. ¡°The company I keep? Pray tell, what company is that? I¡¯m sitting in a garden all alone and drink during one of the grandest events of the year, rather risking getting a cold out here in the rain rather than mingle with the cretins inside the ballroom. The only person I consider ¡®company¡¯ is, ironically enough, the Duke of Dawnshire¡¯s daughter, Amelia Euxina. She, like your Edward, didn¡¯t judge me based on how I came into this world, and treated me like a normal person. Seven years older than me, she flipped His Grace her father the bird, and signed up for the Royal Navy, and now she has a destroyer command in Valerian. My God, what I wouldn¡¯t give for that type of freedom!¡± Panting slightly, Artemisia calmed down, sat back down with her chest heaving rhythmically. She looked around, found the carafe, and drank deep from it (there wasn¡¯t much left), not bothering with pouring into the empty crystal glass on the fountain. ¡°I¡¯m going to show you something, Adea.¡± Artemisia¡¯s tone was barely above a whisper, nude of any of the anger and agitation she had just displayed, replaced by¡­ wistfulness? Slowly, she peeled back her cream-coloured left elbow-glove and laid it in her lap. ¡°These are the ones I do to myself,¡± she said, her sad smile accompanying one of the most distressing things Adea had ever witnessed. Artemisia¡¯s pale inner left arm was covered in even and short strips of bloated scar tissue, the physical remains of dozens and dozens of cuts that ran from her wrist all up just past her elbow. Adea gasped in shock at the revelation, but Artemisia shook her head. ¡°And these are the ones he does to me.¡± Her scarred left arm peeled off the right glove, and Adea felt her stomach turn as Artemisia revealed the scarred, bruised, and burned skin of her right arm. Small circular burn marks, irregular scar shapes that probably stemmed from some elastic material slapped hard from above, and ugly orange contusions with dark purple rings. ¡°I wish,¡± Artemisia said, some of her words struggling to escape the lump in her throat, ¡°I wish I had parents that actually cared about me. You joke about risking the rage of your father, but in my case that is literal. Whenever I don¡¯t conform to his ideal of a perfect daughter, he finds some new and inventive way of hurting me. It might be as simple as not paying the correct courtesy to a noble, or not wearing the attire he wanted to an event, or even for just walking down a hallway in Verius House in a pair of shoes that make too much of a clacking noise¡­¡± She rubbed the insides of her arms, tears appearing in the corners of her pink-grey eyes. Adea felt something shift inside her, a sense of reaching out to the younger girl, to pull her into a tight embrace, to whisper words of comfort to her. Yet she didn¡¯t. How could she? Wait, why wouldn¡¯t she? ¡°Artemisia¡­¡± she said in a wistful tone, ¡°I don¡¯t know what to say¡­¡± The younger girl sniffled and put on a brave smile. ¡°Better say nothing. That¡¯s what everyone else does. My father sends me to a regenerative nanosurgeon in Raleigh every four months or so to remove the marks, and pays him under the table to shut up about it. The staff in our Auroran and Angevin estates knows about it of course, nothing escapes the servants after all, but they¡¯ve been bullied into silence by the threat of immediate dismissal and defamation lawsuits.¡± She looked up at the sky, stars now starting to appear as the clouds had largely lifted, and Adea noticed that it had stopped raining, but water was streaming down Artemisia¡¯s cheeks. ¡°Do you now,¡± she said chokingly, ¡°know why I appreciate when people like Edward appear in my life? Because they represent the total antithesis of everything I¡¯ve ever known. My father, the one who literally down to every detail ordered me, hates me and treats me like absolute shit, despite the fact that I am the one he made sure would be there to carry on his legacy, bloodline, and his fucking disgusting genes!¡± Artemisia wrenched forward, nails clawing into her upper arms, drawing blood and Adea sat back slightly in shock. The pale-haired girl kept her gaze towards the ground, her long hair covering her face, but her body betrayed her as she visibly shook and Adea could hear the stifled cries. Despite herself, she reached out a grey-gloved arm and laid it about Artemisia¡¯s shoulders. What am I even doing? They stayed like that for a little while, Artemisia silently sobbing while Adea held an arm around her shoulders, hopefully reassuring the younger girl. Adea didn¡¯t know what to say, while Artemisia didn¡¯t know how she would regain her dignity after such a display of raw emotion in front of someone she ought to be considering a rival. The sound of the splashing water filled their ears for a time, neither wanting to make the first move to break the emotional deadlock. ¡°So¡­¡± Adea finally managed to produce, squeezing Artemisia¡¯s shoulder amicably before retracting her arm, ¡°what¡¯s your plan after finishing your degree in¡­ history, was it?¡± Artemisia sniffled and nodded an affirmative, and sat back up and readjusted her hair, upon which Adea withdrew her arm, feeling somewhat awkward. ¡°I don¡¯t know,¡± the pale-haired youth said, ¡°I only know that I want to go as far away from my father as humanly possible. Maybe to the Myndowen Empire, or Earth, I haven¡¯t decided yet. I just know I can¡¯t stay where he can come into contact with me, and subsequently get to me¡­¡± It seemed like she would cry again, but she composed herself admirably, straightened her skirts, and replaced her gloves. Then she turned towards Adea with something akin to a genuine curious smile, despite the fact that her eyes were still glossy. ¡°So then,¡± she said, doing her best to sound gamesome, ¡°what¡¯s your ¡®agenda¡¯ with Heatherland?¡± Adea opened her mouth to protest, but she saw the raw hurt in Artemisia¡¯s eyes and proceeded to swallow her pride. ¡°I¡­¡± Adea started, tugging at her skirts, ¡°I don¡¯t actually know.¡± Artemisia hiked up a pale eyebrow in indignation. ¡°I inadvertently bared my heart in front of you, and when I posit a question, you ¡®don¡¯t know?¡¯ Come on, Lady S¨¦lincourt, you need to try harder than that.¡± The fact that Artemisia¡¯s tone was playful rather than depressed or judgemental sent a shiver of¡­ joy? down Adea¡¯s spine which she hadn¡¯t expected, and the tall redhead flashed the Trewellynshire heiress a genuine grin. ¡°I honestly don¡¯t know, Lady de Vere,¡± Adea replied in a voice that was at the same time honest, playful, but most of all unsure. And now it was Adea¡¯s turn to embrace her own chest. ¡°Genuinely, I don¡¯t know, Artemisia,¡± when did I start calling her by her first name only?, ¡°it might be as simple as a flirt that has gone on for too long, or a dare by my friends that has had unfortunate consequences, or¡­¡± Don¡¯t say the words, they aren¡¯t true, they simply mustn¡¯t. ¡°Or I might be in love.¡± Pale eyebrows hiked up in surprise for a brief moment before helping form suspicious slits. ¡°Aha, you expect me to believe that?¡± ¡°What?¡± ¡°Because, when I spoke to Master Heatherland after this past concerto, he told me you¡¯ve only met a grand total of three times. And pardon me for saying, Lady S¨¦lincourt,¡± Artemisia batted her eyelids in a delicate but very sarcastic manner, ¡°if you truly were infatuated with someone, you would yearn to meet with said person more than three times over the course of four months.¡± ¡°How do you know when we first¡­! Oh, you were in the same lecture with Dr van Fluyten.¡± Adea made a mocking disgusted grimace, while Artemisia stuck out her tongue. ¡°Finders keepers, Lady S¨¦lincourt, but I will disavow my claim if you present a good case as to why you deserve him.¡± Adea¡¯s skin bristled at that, sending electricity down her spine and manufactured reactions she didn¡¯t think she was capable of feeling, especially over such a trivial subject. Of course Adea had had admirers before, of both genders, but for some reason whenever Artemisia mentioned Edward, she felt a combination of both awkwardness and anger. ¡°I think,¡± she said at length, ¡°that he reminds me of a sense of naivet¨¦ which I haven¡¯t felt since I was a pre-teen¡­¡± Adea blushed, realising how vulnerable she made herself. ¡°I mean, we both can relate to being nobility, involuntarily being in the spotlight, but here is a young man who has no idea what that feels like, and still approaches us like normal people, addresses us as normal people, attends us as normal people. I, for one, find that extremely endearing. He reminds me of the days before I was made aware of the social duties that lay ahead of me, and I kind of want to go back to those uncomplicated days¡­¡± Adea broke off as she noticed Artemisia looking at her with what could only be described as a sarcastic grin. ¡°Lady S¨¦lincourt is in looove¡­¡± she cooed, upon which Adea quickly snapped the unopened umbrella behind her and opened it with a flurry. ¡°Lady de Vere, if you expose this to the world,¡± she said in a faux-sweet tone that did nothing to hide her intended venom, ¡°I will annoy the hell out of you.¡± Adea had originally planned to say something more menacing, but reined herself in upon remembering what the poor girl had already told about her father. Said pale-haired girl simply gave her a sarcastically large grin. ¡°Apart from both apparently vying for young Heatherland¡¯s affections¡­¡± Artemisia said while rising up from the fountain side once again, following a swig from the carafe of what both had by now decided was claret, ¡°¡­ does this whole series of conversations imply that we are friends now?¡± Adea rose as well at the same time as Artemisia, but fell back down on her backside while giggling. ¡°Oh God no, Lady de Vere,¡± she managed between fits of laughter, ¡°I certainly don¡¯t hope so, that would prove very troublesome.¡± It took a little while before Adea¡¯s inebriated brain recognised the challenge that Artemisia had laid down. Yet the girls looked at each other and smiled. ¡°We should perhaps venture back inside?¡± Adea offered and Artemisia nodded, and snapped her fingers upon which a New Forest footman almost magically appeared. ¡°Me and Lady S¨¦lincourt are about to enter the grand ballroom,¡± Artemisia said with an actual genuine grin on her face, ¡°would you awfully mind clearing out this mess, and then announce us as we enter?¡± Adea, who had held out her arm for Artemisia to loop her arm into, suddenly looked panic-stricken, but the shorter girl reassured her with a smile. ¡°Oh don¡¯t worry, if my father doesn¡¯t die immediately from a stroke, then we¡¯re going to create headlines at the very least.¡± Alabaster teeth split Artemisia¡¯s pale face into perhaps her first genuine grin in a decade. ¡°And those headline might force young Heatherland to choose sides.¡± Adea Sophia Carlisle-St.Eiron didn¡¯t know how to respond to that, and she didn¡¯t have time to as the duo re-entered the muted-green walled ballroom, just as the orchestra was preparing for Schumann¡¯s Op.25, No. 1. Chapter 22 - Days of Erudition: On Voting and the Future ¡°The ballots from Oldtown and the rest of Northvale are coming in now, and once again, I have to say that this evening has shaken out a lot different from what the polls and the analysts predicted. Out of the three boroughs in Oldtown, the Tories take one, and the Social Liberals gain the other two. From Northvale County as a whole, the Tories take three, Labour two, Social Liberals seven, the Royalists six, and the Democrats one. That means that the current government coalition of the Royalists and the Social Liberals still just about retains majority in the Commons, but we¡¯re still waiting for the votes from Cordelia, Raleigh, and New Toronto.¡± ¡°So far, the election has proven very different from what the analysts have predicted, the Tories securing far more seats in the Commons than they¡¯ve previously had, Rodger.¡± ¡°Quite right, Diana, it seems like the voters have really gone with their conscience after the Harrow Disaster, and chosen to support the parties who¡¯ve declared themselves firmly against further naval spending. As it stands, the leader of the Tories in the Commons, Charles Nowaczyk, has said he is amenable to negotiating with Labour and the Democrats in order to present a united front against the Royalists and Social Liberals. And the Homelanders have to be disappointed with the turnout today, since they¡¯ve only added two MPs to their total, when projections had them gaining at least fifteen.¡± ¡°Indeed, and the result in the Commons has direct repercussions for the Lords, where the Tories are already plenty strong. There is a good few backbenchers who¡¯re headed out the door of Goldbrook Palace these coming weeks, most of them replaced by either Tories or Democrats. This marks the first time the Democratic Coalition has had more than twenty peers incumbent, and they¡¯re probably going to make their presence felt. However, we have to stress again for the benefit of the viewers, this is just the preliminary results from parts of the homeworld; we¡¯re still waiting on the largest cities where the votes haven¡¯t been completely polled yet.¡± ¡°Furthermore, Diana, we have to add the caveat that the Royalists in particular will receive a pretty large boost once the votes from our servicemen- and women stationed off-world is tallied. And the votes for the national contingents of Angevin, Nova Caledonia, and the other dominions still have to polled and added as well.¡± ¡°Well, that¡¯s an unholy alliance of convenience if I¡¯ve ever seen one,¡± David Lee commented while clearing scraps of stifado out from his teeth with a toothpick. ¡°I mean, Tories and Labour in bed together in the bloody Commons? I thought Edward getting a girlfriend was going to be the strangest thing I¡¯d see this year, but here we are apparently.¡± He received an ugly glare from Edward as he cleared the plates from their living room table, which resembled a battlefield, the four boys having absolutely devoured the beef stew Edward had spent the better part of the day preparing and cooking. ¡°We¡¯re not having this conversation again,¡± Edward said in a tone that brokered no argument, and David threw his hands up in a mock gesture of surrender. ¡°Shut up, David,¡± Arvind hissed from the other side of the couch, ¡°I can¡¯t hear the news stream.¡± ¡°¡­ And we understand that there is bit of tension at Beauharnais House where the Royalists are having their post-election vigil, Dominique?¡± The image on the large HD screen that dominated the far side of their small common room (complete with a pair of oversized loudspeakers that Arvind had spent an outrageous amount of money on) shifted to the spacious and luxurious conference hall in the massive gentlemen¡¯s club that served as the unofficial Royalists¡¯ headquarters. The camera panned to show about three-hundred or so Royalist politicians, aides, campaign officials, and others staring with palpable apprehension at the huge viewscreen in the hall. The exit poll numbers were trickling in in real time, and every time another constituency was confirmed won or lost produced careful cheers or moans from the crowd. The journalist in the centre of the frame turned to a very debilitated-looking Linton Sciacca, his usually matriculate brown hair messy and he plastered on the most polite smile he could muster. ¡°Lord Howeland,¡± the journalist asked as a trio of Royalist constituency candidates seated at a table behind them groaned loudly as they lost their majorities, ¡°it has been a bit a tough day for the Royalists, wouldn¡¯t you say?¡± It wasn¡¯t really a question, and Sciacca only nodded wordlessly in response. ¡°Do you believe, My Lord, that the voters of the kingdom have spoken out against the ambitious, and some seated opposite you in the aisle would perhaps call it break-neck, naval policy that your party has pursued for these past five years?¡± ¡°First of all, Miss Haberkorn,¡± Lord Howeland answered in measured tones, but it was clear he was not fond of the question, ¡°I would like to point out that the Royalist party as a whole and everyone involved have carried out a tremendous electoral campaign, and I would like to thank everyone involved. Secondly, I may be the shadow defence secretary, but I am also a peer of the realm and a member of the House of Lords, so I might be the wrong person to ask about details of a general election for the Commons.¡± ¡°I understand, My Lord,¡± Dominique Haberkorn did not give one inch, ¡°but with the Right Honourable Leslie Beckett announcing his retirement at the onset of the campaign, you are the de facto head of defence affairs in the Royalist-Social Liberal coalition. And as leader of the Naval Affairs Committee, you have been instrumental in the composition and execution of naval policy for years now. And you have a¨C¡± Sciacca held up one hand and drew in a breath, the camera zooming in on his face a bit. ¡°Miss Haberkorn, it is my firm belief that the voters of the Auroran kingdom has polled in accordance with their conscience. And certainly it looks like a significant part of the people that has previously given us their trust and believed in our political platform, has been disappointed with our policies over the past five years. The leadership in the Royalist party will take this to heart and we will endeavour to re-earn the trust we previously had among the electorate. In the meantime, there are still millions of votes to be tallied here on Aurora, and the exit polls from the other worlds in the kingdom are still days out.¡± Howeland looked directly into the camera. ¡°For now, I would like to congratulate His Majesty¡¯s Loyal Opposition on their new-won constituencies, and thank them for these past weeks of campaigning, debates, and roundtables.¡± ¡°Weird of them to put Lord Howeland out there,¡± Peter Townshend commented as he popped the top off another bottle of Lysander White Brew. ¡°I don¡¯t know what the producers at Global Times were thinking when they sent Haberkorn, who everyone knows is firmly republican, out to interview the Royalists vigil. They could have had the good graces to send someone like Oettinger or Porter if they had to send anyone from their political front desk.¡± ¡°Yeah, well,¡± David commented as he sipped from his own beer bottle, ¡°Global Times is Tory through-and-through, and that¡¯s public knowledge. Watch the next one to interview poor Howeland be Kr¨¢l or some such from the Cordelia Sentinel, just to blow some smoke up his arse.¡± ¡°My my, David,¡± Edward said in a dead-pan voice as he slumped down in the common room couch with a half empty bottle of Nemeian Hill Gold whisky and a glass for himself and Arvind, ¡°you almost sound jaded. I take it the Royalists weren¡¯t your first choice on the ballot?¡± David shrugged his shoulders and ran a hand through his dyed cobalt fade-cut hair. ¡°Let¡¯s just say I¡¯m not the biggest fan of their crusading attitude as the champions of the kingdom¡¯s defence. It¡¯s not like they¡¯re the only ones who supports the Royal Navy.¡± ¡°Oooh,¡± Arvind piped up, putting down the glass of liquor Edward had just poured for him on the table, ¡°sounds like we have a Jacobite in our midst boys, better hide away any sharp objects or he might fashion it into a guillotine and declare us counterrevolutionaries.¡± ¡°Do you actually think you¡¯re funny, Arvind?¡± David said with more than a little bite to his voice. ¡°Remember the whole point of having a democracy and a parliamentary system? Who did you vote for that allows you to take a moral high ground, then?¡± Visibly stung, Arvind sniffed. ¡°The Dahons are proud Kingsmen, thank you very much Mr Lee. My family was welcomed here from India on Earth five generations back, and we are to this day very grateful to be given the opportunity to settle in a prosperous society, when so many other nations at the time had started to close off their immigration. And we are appreciative of the power of the monarch as the defender of the rights of the Commons as a counterweight to the nobility.¡± He took a sip of whisky before continuing. ¡°It¡¯s not about moral high ground, David, it¡¯s about acknowledging the greater politics at work beyond just the promises made from one election to the other; for me and my family it¡¯s about political and social principle.¡± The common room in their shared apartment fell silent, the only sounds for a while being the analysts on the news stream talking about the most recent exit poll numbers. ¡°Well, if we¡¯re sharing,¡± Peter said after a moment, ¡°I voted for Labour.¡± Never the most comfortable with serious discussions or social tension, Arvind leapt at the chance to be his usual quippy self. With a widening grin on his face he grabbed the melodica Peter and Edward had bought him for his birthday as a joke gift that sat on one of their bookshelves, and started to play The Internationale. David and Edward couldn¡¯t help but laugh as Peter groaned and drank more beer. ¡°I retract my earlier statement, Mr Lee,¡± Arvind said after a few bars, ¡°this one is the socialist revolutionary in our midst.¡± ¡°Look, I¡¯m as worried as the next one about the Alliance marching into neutral space like the Corridor or the Lorelei Pocket and simply annex the systems there now that everything points to the hawks in the Liberal Progressive winning the Chamber and the House in a few months. God knows that wouldn¡¯t be the first time they¡¯ve done that, President Uriel Konstantin tried that shit less than sixty years ago, but I don¡¯t believe that countering their aggressive foreign policy with a progressively larger military is the way to go. The Elysians aren¡¯t morons, they know the Royal Union is economically superior to the Alliance, especially since we aren¡¯t a unitary currency commercial sphere, and we have a wider and geographically closer network of trade than they do. We can hurt them much worse financially than militarily, and we should be using that as diplomatic leverage rather than relying on having the biggest stick possible.¡± ¡°You forget,¡± Arvind countered, now back into serious mode, ¡°that the Royal Union relies on the Auroran navy to protect them, right? To the point where most of the other polities don¡¯t have interstellar capable naval defence forces of their own, and the two with the largest fleets, Dionysia and Corinth, fucking hate each other. Driving a wedge between our so-called close allies wouldn¡¯t be very hard at all.¡± ¡°Not to mention,¡± David pitched in, ¡°the Alliance is much more of an industrial juggernaut, and their overall population is much larger than our own. I mean, talking about diplomatic solutions to a cold war that has been going on for close to a century is wishful thinking at best, and downright dangerously na?ve at worst.¡± ¡°Dangerously na?ve? To wish for a peaceful solution instead of this rampant militarisation of space? To wish for a world where accidents like the Harrow Disaster doesn¡¯t happen, because we¡¯re not desperate for more warships is being na?ve?¡± ¡°Frankly, yes,¡± Arvind answered, ¡°I think it is na?ve to believe that because one side is willing to put down the weapons that the other side will automatically do the same. Especially when that side has in the past proven to have little to no qualms about claiming neutral systems as within their ¡®natural sphere of influence¡¯ and prop up their own regimes there, regimes that are lapdogs to the political oligarchy on Elysium.¡± Edward rose from the couch, his head starting to ache. It had been a long day, he was naturally averse to conflicts and arguments, and he¡¯d frankly had about enough of political debates to last him for a long time by watching streams and participating in another one in his own living room was too much. ¡°I¡¯m going to put out the trash,¡± he said and exited to the kitchen without waiting for a response. Fresh air might do him good. Grabbing the huge rubbish bags lazily accumulated over a week of none of them wanting to take responsibility, Edward walked down two flights of stairs that led into the small backyard of the apartment block. It wasn¡¯t anything particular that separated Bellweather Street 28 from any of the other blocks around; they were all red-bricked Neo-Georgian complexes about ten stories high, with white arched windows and doors. The fenced backyards all had storage and garden sheds, and for the most part some plant beds and vegetable allotments, as well as garbage bins that drones emptied every two weeks. He slung the bags into said bins, slammed them shut a bit harder than intended, sheepishly listening to the sound carrying a bit before sighing loudly. Casting an anxious look over his shoulder to confirm he was indeed alone, he fished out a small packet from his back pocket. Gingerly, he put a cigarette to his mouth and twisted it to trigger the self-lighter. Edward wasn¡¯t ready to admit to his friends that he had picked up such a self-destructive habit. He had been ecstatic when Professor Chantelle Winton had called him the day after the Year End Performance and told him that several of the observing professors had been deeply impressed with his playing, and that his A on the semester¡¯s module had been confirmed with Honours. That night, he and the others had gone to the Humble Boatsman to celebrate, and everything had seemed fine up until the third pint had been placed in front of him. Feeling his chest tighten, Edward had hastened to the washroom and locked himself into a cubicle, and his panic levels had shot through the roof as the tightening had expanded from his chest and into his arms and hands. The muscles in his fingers had snapped shut, closing his hands against his will as he rode rolling waves of anxiety and panic. Nearly fifteen minutes passed before he regained control, and he managed to re-join the others, nervously blaming his absence on yesterday¡¯s dinner. Unauthorized content usage: if you discover this narrative on Amazon, report the violation. But he knew better than that. Edward Heatherland knew that it was the result of months of stress, of incessantly hard work, hours upon hours every day at the piano, the crushing sense of responsibility he owed his parents for letting him pursue music off-world instead of going to a university on Amaranth. And because of what Artemisia had said to him after the end of the performance that evening. ¡°You know it would never work between the two of you, right? That is, even if her feelings would happen to be reciprocal.¡± She didn¡¯t need to be specific as to whom she was referring to, Edward was perfectly aware. He had skipped the pub-crawl with the rest of the orchestra that night. Instead, he had made a short stop at a drone-operated cornerstore, gone straight home to the apartment, locked himself in his room and drank a whole bottle of whisky before passing out on his bed, salty tears caking the corner of his eyes and his cheeks. The sound of cheering from an open window in one of the other apartment blocks brought Edward back to the present. With one last pull on his cigarette, he scrunched it against the garbage bin and put it back into the packet; he didn¡¯t dare to throw them away where any of his flatmates could find them. Hopefully they were done discussing politics by now. He turned to walk back up the stairs to the apartment. Maybe he could get a few hours of practice in on the piano in his room before he had to go to sleep¡­
The Marquess S¨¦lincourt flung off his black uniform ulsterette caped coat as he stepped into the inner office in Admiralty House, a woman from the Naval Steward¡¯s Division whisking it away discretely, making sure she didn¡¯t meet his gaze. S¨¦lincourt was perfectly aware that his status as a prestigious peer of the realm and an admiral of renown was enough to make people nervous around him. Still, the haste with which she retreated was a bit unusual¡­ ¡°Thank you, Ensign¡± he said as the junior officer hurried out the door back to the outer office, closing the door quickly behind her. He turned his attention to the only other person in the room, their black-and-gold Day Dress uniforms having the same number of golden bars, but Alistair lacked the diamond-studded crowned anchor with two swords that the man by the window wore on his collar. ¡°I appreciate you taking your time to come at such short notice,¡± Sir Hugh Donegal said, turning from the window to face his visitor. ¡°Oh nothing of it,¡± Alistair replied, taking off his peaked cap and shaking it a bit to remove excess water, ¡°only wish the weather could have been better. The meteorological report said the rains wouldn¡¯t start before the afternoon, and nothing quite like this much.¡± The First Lord Admiral smiled politely, and walked over to his palatial blood-oak office desk and pressed the intercom button next to his computer. ¡°Commander Stanton, please make sure we¡¯re not disturbed for the next twenty minutes or so,¡± he asked the Chief of the First Lord Admiral¡¯s Office, who was the head of his secretariat, his outer office, and the one who monitored his communications. ¡°Of course, sir,¡± was the immediate reply, ¡°I¡¯ll tell anyone who comes a-calling you¡¯re having an extended working lunch.¡± ¡°Excellent, Stanton, thank you.¡± Donegal turned back to Alistair, who had stopped by one of the bookshelves in the large office to admire the selection on display. The office itself was a marked upgrade on even the usually magnificent Admiralty House interior design. Blood-oak furniture, argentwood flooring, and tasteful linen cream curtains gave the room an earthy atmosphere, but didn¡¯t drown out any of the natural light that came through the large windows that faced Admiralty¡¯s inner courtyard. Well, with the heavy rain, it was a bit subdued now, but gilded chandeliers lit the relatively large room well enough. Hand-woven carpets covered most of the argentwood floor, and an old mechanical clock stood in one corner, ticking melodically away. Traditional oil paintings decorated the walls, and only the bookshelves, viewscreens, and the conference table with an inlaid 3D holoprojector betrayed it as a workspace rather than a noble¡¯s drawing room. ¡°Mahan¡¯s The Influence of Sea Power Upon History, huh,¡± Alistair commented as he withdrew the hardcover book from a shelf. ¡°A bit outdated in this day and age, wouldn¡¯t you say, sir? If I recall correctly, his entire thesis is based on secondary sources and from the opportune timing in the advancement of naval technology at the close of the 19th century.¡± Donegal walked over to his cart of refreshments and produced two crystal snifters. ¡°A drink, Lord Alistair?¡± he asked over his shoulder as he poured mahogany-coloured liquid from a bubble carafe in one of the glasses. ¡°A bit early for me, I¡¯m afraid,¡± the aristocrat replied while skimming through the book in his hands. ¡°I¡¯m joining Lady Adeline for dinner later, and we both know New Acre is a very generous host, and her wine cellar is of a most impressive size.¡± ¡°I really think you could need a drink, Alistair.¡± Sir Hugh¡¯s voice made Alistair turn his head as warning bells went off in the back of his mind, and he put the book back on the shelf. ¡°Very well, if you insist,¡± he replied, and Hugh walked over and handed him a glass somewhat more filled than was customary. Alistair sniffed while swirling the glass before taking a sip. ¡°Ah, a New Ayrshire single malt,¡± he said appreciatively after a moment, ¡°not exactly my favourite, I¡¯m more of a Thunder Bay or Luin brewery man myself, but it certainly isn¡¯t offensive on the tongue, far from it.¡± Donegal nodded and smiled, seemingly pleased and impressed by Alistair¡¯s palate. ¡°In regards to Mahan, Lord Alistair,¡± he said after a sip of his own, ¡°I think his work has aged rather well, much like this whisky. Yes, he wrote in the context of the late 19th century, but I am of the humble opinion that many of more succinctly made points are more applicable in our interstellar setting. Take for instance the importance of commerce protection, and the need for a major power to not only maintain but also safeguard a large merchant marine in order to retain economic flexibility.¡± ¡°I can agree with that, certainly,¡± S¨¦lincourt replied, ¡°the 19th century was the age of the railroad, and even with those contraptions carrying trade and goods across the land borders of Earth, control of commercial sea lanes was paramount. Even more so in the 29th century; there are no other ways to export or import than by interstellar travel.¡± ¡°Quite, and commerce protection is only feasible if a power has access to naval bases from which to project power through deploying hulls abroad from its own home systems. Even with the dominion worlds of the Kingdom, we would still only be able to cover less than half the Royal Union¡¯s sphere of economic influence; not to mention trading routes in neutral space.¡± ¡°So, granted Mahan¡¯s first point is still valid, what about his second major tenet about naval blockades being the supreme deciding factor in war? That is by modern standards demonstrably false.¡± He took another appreciative sip, and started to pace the room slowly while Donegal sat down in an upholstered chair by one of the windows. ¡°You can destroy all orbital infrastructure of a planet,¡± Alistair continued, ¡°but the planet itself would in all likelihood be self-sufficient for years to come. Unless we¡¯re talking about some recently colonised backwater, any planetary industry would be mostly able to sustain its population for the foreseeable future, and the only planet in human space reliant on import of foodstuffs to feed its own populace is Earth. And since using even the smallest shipboard weaponry on ground targets is going to cause such horrific kinetic energy upon impact as to be worse than any so-called ¡®weapons of mass destruction¡¯ of old, orbital bombardment to force compliance is completely out of the question. Well, out of the question unless you want to immediately become the worst genocidal maniac history has ever seen.¡± ¡°I¡¯ll concede you that one,¡± Donegal said while stroking his beard thoughtfully, ¡°blockades have gone the way of the dodo since the scale of polities has dramatically increased from being limited to nation states on a planetary surface, to nation states being the planetary surface. But his third point is perhaps the most important; decisive battles are what dominate modern naval doctrine, and the core to ensure victory in decisive engagements is the ship of the line.¡± Alistair pursed his lips for a moment while formulating his arguments. ¡°In principle I agree with you, sir, but even the powerful battleships and battlecruisers of the Royal Navy are fragile beasts when left on their own. Yes, a modern battleship is the pinnacle of military technology and is able to completely lay waste to anything smaller than itself in mere moments if the combatants are engaging one-on-one. But they are slow, vulnerable despite their size and heavy armour, their guns are large and ungainly when tracking smaller vessels, and they lack the sensory capabilities to keep complete watch over the battlespace, especially when munitions start flying and electronic warfare suites begins singing their siren songs. A battle fleet is completely at the mercy of a force of smaller enemy vessels if undefended by escorts of their own¡­ You know this, of course, sir, I hope you don¡¯t feel like I¡¯m belittling you right now.¡± Donegal waved an arm in a dismissive gesture. ¡°Quite far from it, Lord Alistair, I¡¯m more impressed with your zeal than anything else. I have read all those articles you posted in the Royal Journal of Naval Studies and the United Services Journal, and while I imagine you¡¯re the one most exasperated by the previous Admiralty administration¡¯s pig-headed decision to subvert funding from escort class ship construction and R&D, I was very angry about it as well.¡± The First Lord Admiral chuckled, the tone of which sounded almost morose to Alistair¡¯s ears. ¡°I didn¡¯t plan this at all, but somehow this actually segues into what I invited you up here to discuss, Alistair.¡± He finished the rest of his glass in one gulp, rose from the chair and put the empty snifter on the cart, before turning back to the nonplussed admiral. ¡°I am sending you to Amaranth, Lord S¨¦lincourt.¡± ¡°Amaranth? I¡¯m not quite sure I follow¡­¡± It took Alistair¡¯s brain a few moments to connect the dots. ¡°You¡¯re giving me Reserve.¡± His voice was drained of all emotion and he clutched the glass tightly, the tensing muscles hidden by his white gloves. Donegal held up a hand in an arresting motion. ¡°Before you say anything else, let me explain a few things¡­¡± ¡°You¡¯re giving me fucking Mothball Fleet?¡± Irritation bubbled up to the surface and not even his social skills compiled after many decades of hobnobbing with the nobility could stop the outburst in time. ¡°You¡¯re sending me to command the Reserve Fleet, the motley collection of ships too old or too useless to be, in good conscience, deployed to active service. The formation of skeleton manned hulls laid up in ordinary that are simply counting the days until they¡¯re sent to the breaker¡¯s yard. Because I can¡¯t think of any other command on Amaranth senior enough for a full Admiral of the Red, other than that particular station.¡± ¡°If you¡¯d just let me explain,¡± Donegal answered patiently, ¡°you¡¯d also remember the fact that Reserve Fleet is also the station where newly launched hulls are sent to shake down and train their new crews before they are fully commissioned into the Navy. Alistair, I know this seems like a slap in the face on the surface, but just hear me out.¡± He refilled his glass and sat behind his desk chair, and motioned for Alistair to sit down in one of the chairs opposite. After hesitating for a bit, the aristocrat did, albeit after a slight detour to the refreshment cart to top up his glass (near full to the brim this time). ¡°The election last week did not go very well for the Royalists and the Social Liberals, I don¡¯t think you need to be told, but let¡¯s be thorough and cover all the bases here. Yes, they still have a majority in the Commons, but it is a tenuous one of barely fifty-three per cent, and given the divergence between the wings of the Social Liberals on several key issues, they¡¯re reliant on support from the Homelanders, and they were more or less sunk in the Commons, losing nine MPs instead of gaining the predicted fifteen. And one of those key issues is defence spending, in particular the naval budget. Many Social Liberals are leaning towards the Tory-line of reducing naval expenditure in order to both free up funds for other budget posts, and give the Alliance less of an incentive to expand their own navy. Which is why every naval bill for the next five years is going to be a political war of attrition in both Houses, and even if Koyanagi isn¡¯t in charge of Admiralty any more, we still might be starved of the ships we would need five years down the line.¡± After pausing for a brief moment for another sip, while also casting a quick glance at his wristwatch, he continued. ¡°All of that to say that the current wave of ships under construction might be the biggest and most capable that we might see for the next half decade. Take into consideration that the Tories, Labour, and to a certain extent, the Democratic Coalition will do their utmost to slash naval spending, especially on large hulls. Ironically, we may during the coming years actually get approval for those cruisers and destroyers that we desperately need, but at the cost of almost complete stoppage of ship of the line construction. And that is why I need you in command of Reserve Fleet. Reserve is where we send our ships to shake down, but it is also our primary training formation; no other fleet sized station in the Royal Navy conducts as many wargames as Reserve. You will have mandate to carry out as many exercises as you want, and will be given quite free reins as to where within Kingdom space you choose to carry these out. Granted, you will be short of crew and staff for the mothballed ships, and the men and women of the newly launched Vanguards, Courageous and Fearless ships will be for the most part inexperienced. But that is why you, Alistair, are the only one among my admirals up to the task. I can¡¯t send New Acre or Harper-Rowland, for while they¡¯re both excellent battlespace tacticians, they¡¯re too focused on the here and now. Goldspyre is primarily a small-scale formation expert, not adept at handling large fleets. Lady Suncrest is the only other officer senior enough that I would consider, but we need one of you two in command of Home Fleet, and she has only been in the seat for eight months. Lord S¨¦lincourt, you have the experience, the expertise, the reputation, and the strategic capability to pull this off.¡± ¡°What do you mean when you say, ¡®pull this off¡¯? Am I to act as a glorified drill sergeant for the next five years?¡± ¡°Not the way I would have put it, but basically yes. What I, what the Royal Navy, needs you to do, is to ensure that the new wave of ships of the line are manned by the best trained possible crew, who have been through the most imaginative and impossible drills you can think of. And that the crews of the mothball fleet are brought up to the same level of readiness. God knows we¡¯re having huge problems manning all our ships, and I¡¯m afraid that if the interstellar political situation sharpens, we will be forced to make some unfortunate decisions regarding the training and education of our officers and enlisted. The Royal Navy prides itself on having the best trained and best motivated men and women in the galaxy. Your station will be our insurance that remains the case. I will make sure Dame Vanessa¡¯s department regularly rotates the crews of the ships laid up in ordinary, so you¡¯re not stuck with the same people. Think of Reserve under your command as an extension of King William Academy, emphasising on practical demonstration rather than theoretical education.¡± Alistair said nothing for a few moments, simply tapping the top of the First Lord Admiral¡¯s desk with a finger while periodically sipping his drink. The only other sounds were the click-clack of the mechanical clock and the faint hum of activity in the outer office. ¡°I can see why you were chosen to become First Lord Admiral, sir,¡± S¨¦lincourt said at length, ¡°you can certainly spin a yarn. I am almost ashamed to admit how much sense this all makes, despite the fact that I hate everything about it from a personal perspective. Can I at least have some time to think about this?¡± Donegal sighed and shook his head. ¡°I¡¯m afraid not, and I truly am sorry that you haven¡¯t been informed about this sooner, but this was a contingency cooked up by me and Adrienne on the off-chance that the pro-Navy parties lost the election. And I can appreciate that this sounds a bit in a grey area when it comes to the apolitical stance of the Royal Navy, but we have to be grown-ups and acknowledge the facts. Incidents like discovering the Elysian stealth drone network, increasingly worrying reports about Alliance Space Navy activity in the Lorelei de-militarised zone, and even the surge in warship construction in the Myndowen Empire and the Berenice Star Federation is something that must factor into our decision-making. And the current composition of Parliament following these generals, is forcing our hand.¡± Alistair nodded, finished his drink in one swig, and rose from his chair. Correcting his peaked cap, he snapped to attention. ¡°Very well, sir, I will make due preparations in anticipation of receiving my official posting orders. If there was nothing else?¡± First Lord Admiral Sir Hugh Donegal rose as well and returned the salute, before opening one of his desk drawers and withdrawing a deep gilded wooden box. ¡°Only this, Lord S¨¦lincourt,¡± he said and handed him the box, ¡°congratulations on promotion to Admiral of the White.¡± Alistair wasn¡¯t sure if he wanted to smile or grimace as he heard the words and he opened the box to find a neatly folded Royal Navy ensign, the red St. George cross over a field of white with the crowned anchor with seven stars in the top left corner. And on top of the flag, almost smirking insultingly at him, was the large golden brooch of a Grand Knight Commander of the Order of St. Andrew. Chapter 23 - Days of Erudition: Reactions and Decisions With a powerful forward stroke, Adea broke the water¡¯s surface, the strength of her upper body and the bobbing motions of her lower body and legs propelled her forward several metres, before repeating the motion. She alternated between looking straight down at the pool¡¯s floor and moving her head sideways to draw breaths. Swimming was as close to a safe space Adea could come. It was all about technique, every move of a limb, positioning of the parts of her body that carried buoyancy perfectly to off-set drift to the surface, minimising loss of forward momentum; it required complete focus to such an extent that her entire world became just the expanse of water right in front of her, the limits of her extent of imagination the pool¡¯s edge. Adea was able to catch her breath mentally when going full tilt in the water, the physical exertion forcing her train of thoughts down the path of pure banality of athletic perfection and the simple act of breathing correctly. The pool in the basement of Ars Gallante House was not the same length as a competition-sized pool, which would have been ridiculous even for a noble family as affluent as the Carlisles-St.Eirons, but at the same time the pool was not chlorinated, the water through which Adea aggressively crawled free-style through was actually of drinking quality. That did mean that she had to use slightly more energy to swim along the perfect depth underneath the pool¡¯s surface, since there was next to no salinization, but at the same time she didn¡¯t have to wear goggles to avoid the stinging sensation that chlorine had upon human eyes. Nothing of this actually sped through Adea¡¯s mind as her outstretched left arm touched the far side; it was all intrinsic background information which she didn¡¯t really process actively. Hands firmly placed on the pool¡¯s edge, she drew her head up and refilled her lungs with air and removed the swimming cap that contained her long red hair. She felt sluggish, her internal timer recognising that she was well below her personal best on this modest distance. Frustration bubbling to her mental surface now that she was free of the liberating sensation of the water, she slammed a fist into the side of the pool, gnawing her teeth in frustration. ¡°Ahem.¡± The soft sound was both trying to be polite while also grabbing her attention, and Adea looking up into the sea-green eyes of her personal lady¡¯s maid, Charlotte Busby, wearing the onyx and ruby livery of the servants employed by the S¨¦lincourts. ¡°My Lady Adea,¡± the maid said while curtsying slightly, ¡°you have a few guests who would like to repair upon you.¡± Adea liked Charlotte, the slightly older maid was almost like a sister to Adea, serving as her lady¡¯s maid for the past five years and for the most part the two enjoyed a very jovial and non-formal relationship together. That is, when they were alone; when some third person appeared, Charlotte slipped into a very formal and subservient persona that Adea frankly disliked, but she understood that the maid had her professional reputation to consider and as such refrained from admonishing her for it. For despite the egalitarianism of modern Auroran society, it was still considered very bad form for servants to become too familiar with their employers and charges. And ¡°charge¡± was indeed what Adea was in Charlotte¡¯s eyes, for unbeknownst to Adea, Charlotte considered Adea like her na?ve little sister that had to be protected from the real world, and whenever Adea was out on the town, Charlotte fretted more than Lady Iphigenia did. Adea frowned and threw the swimming cap in Charlotte¡¯s general direction, standing as she was in the pool room¡¯s doorway. The lady¡¯s maid didn¡¯t bat an eyebrow. ¡°I¡¯ll tell them to come on down then,¡± she simply said and disappeared, and Adea groaned loudly before hoisting herself up onto the pool¡¯s side. Grabbing a towel from a rack, she patted her body and swimsuit down before starting to wring water out of her long hair, just as her guests arrived. Her irritation at being disturbed eased somewhat as she was greeted with Sandy¡¯s wide grin, and the polite smile and nod from Nimue Hastings. ¡°Nimue, Sandy,¡± Adea said with a reciprocal grin of her own, ¡°I didn¡¯t know you were coming over, or I would have made myself more presentable.¡± Tying her towel around her hair, she gestured to her tight black swimsuit, the type used in competitions, and Nimue chuckled. ¡°Its fine, you couldn¡¯t have known. I only wanted to drop on by to say goodbye for now. The university semester is just around the corner, so I¡¯ll be heading back to Nova Caledonia and King¡¯s Shore University to finish my biology degree. Mama splashed out, and got me a ticket for the passage on the luxury liner Kleophis, which is departing tomorrow evening.¡± ¡°Oh,¡± Sandy piped up, ¡°I hear that the Kleophis has a three-deck open food court and a cat caf¨¦. I¡¯m kind of jealous now.¡± She turned to Adea. ¡°And the reason why I¡¯m here is that I was bored, and figured I¡¯d spend one of the last days of freedom before becoming veritably chained to the toilsome desk of erudition by visiting my best friend.¡± Adea made a mock curtsy and flourished her arms outwards. ¡°Your mere presence honours me, Honourable Miss Barham, I am hardly worthy of the lofty attention given me. Turning serious for a second, if you would give me a few moments to get dressed, we can move to a more suitable locale for polite conversation. Charlotte?¡± The maid was nowhere to be seen, but Adea knew she hovered around somewhere close if she was summoned, and the liveried servant appeared after the briefest of moments. ¡°Yes, My Lady?¡± Adea smiled knowingly, unwrapping her towel as she spoke. ¡°Can you please direct Miss Barham and Lady Nimue to the tea salon while I make myself presentable? And could you ask Mrs Orlova to whip up some tea and an assortment of cakes from the pantry?¡± Charlotte bowed, made a polite request for the two girls to follow her, leaving Adea to shower and get changed in the small locker room adjoining the pool. Sandy and a few other childhood friends had often in the past come to Ars Gallante House for the explicit purpose of playing around in the pool, usually as the energetic highlight of sleepover parties. As Adea rapidly lathered herself in soap, letting the hot water rinse away the tepid pool water and her sweat, she was overcome with a pang of nostalgia. Those days seemed so long ago, feeling almost like a different time. A simpler, easier time. She quickly got dressed back into her black trousers and salmon silk shirt, and headed up to join her friends. Nimue and Sandy had not wasted any time getting comfortable in the second floor tea salon, the same one with the ne¨¹-Persian carpets and upholstered chaise lounges and chairs that served as an excellent window to observe the street below, a real look-out post to watch the coming and going of the well-off in one of the poshest part of Cordelia. Sandy was languidly virtually draped in one of the chaise lounges, a plate of macrons, ¨¦clairs, and bite-sized fruit tarts balancing on her chest, while Nimue was sitting in a chair by the large windows, sipping Sakura Sencha whilst absently watching the activity below. Adea could only smile as she noticed the tall tiered stand on one of the small serving tables was robbed of about half the cakes it should be carrying, before going over to it and grabbing a custard tart. A cup of unsweetened Assam tea with a drop of cream in it had already been poured for her, no doubt the work of Charlotte; Adea was very particular with her teas. The Sakura Sencha was perfect for the likes of Nimue, who really didn¡¯t enjoy sweet flavours all that much, so the natural mild sweetness of the Sakura was perfect for her, while Alexandra was primarily a coffee-drinker, so she abstained from tea altogether unless participation in drinking ¡°dried grass moistness¡± as she called it, was mandatory. ¡°Why does your kitchen staff always have the most amazing cakes just lying around at all times?¡± Sandy mused between bites of ¨¦clair. ¡°You don¡¯t even eat empty calories, you¡¯re a bloody high-level student athlete. Sugar is completely anathema to your draconian diet.¡± ¡°She does drink though,¡± Nimue offered from her little perch, ¡°at times more than advisable.¡± ¡°Oi!¡± Adea protested after a sip of tea. ¡°If you two are here just to air insults at your hostess, I would kindly suggest you find a different venue, for I am not having that shit.¡± ¡°Speaking of ¡®hostess¡¯¡­¡± Sandy put the plate down on the chaise lounge as she sat up in a more normal position, ¡°where are Lady Darkmoor and Lord Alistair for that matter? I expected that at least one of them would have dropped by to say hello. Doubly curious since Parliament is still not completely formed after the elections.¡± Sandy immediately regretted asking the question, since she could veritably see Adea¡¯s expression darken and the tall redhead put her plate of sweets back onto the serving table. ¡°Papa is going away, probably for a long time. Same with Mama, since she lost her seat in the Lords.¡± Nimue and Sandy exchanged worried looks at each other before turning back to Adea. ¡°What do you mean with ¡®going away¡¯?¡± Nimue pressed mildly, putting her teacup back onto the saucer with a muted clink. Adea walked over to one of the windows, leaned against the sill and crossed her arms. ¡°Papa got home yesterday after a meeting at the Admiralty. The first thing he did was throw his cap onto the floor and stomp on it, loudly cursing and shouting. The servants immediately made themselves scarce, and even Lady Spencer made the decision that right now lying low was the better option, hid herself away in the library. He raged on in one of the drawing rooms for the better part of an hour before Mama checked in on him. Turns out he¡¯s to assume command of Reserve Fleet in Amaranth orbit, with five years being the outside estimate of his station length.¡± ¡°Oh Adea¡­¡± Nimue put her hand to her mouth, having done the maths in her head quickly. ¡°Yeah¡­¡± Her tone was wistful now, the crossed arms seeming to more caress her chest than protect it. ¡°Papa said something similar after Mama had calmed him down. I was listening in the whole time from the other side of the door. He said he¡¯ll finally be coming home when I am finished at King William¡¯s and shipping out. And if Donegal¡¯s plan is carried out to the letter, I might be shipped to Reserve as he¡¯s shipping out.¡± Sandy rose and walked over to Adea, putting a comforting hand on her shoulder. ¡°We¡¯re all fully aware that we literally have centuries ahead of us, but not having your father around during these very formative years is so tough, especially when you¡¯re going to be enrolling into the naval academy. Your admiral father should be there to help you through it.¡± ¡°It gets better,¡± Adea said sarcastically, ¡°because after the general elections, and the shift in power balance in the Commons has led to Lady Iphigenia MP, the Countess Darkmoor once again becoming Captain Lady Iphigenia, the Countess Darkmoor RN. She lost her seat to the Baron of Isdale, and as such started to lobby Admiralty for a command, unbeknownst of what Donegal was planning for Papa. So she got the official letter to assume command and control of the battlecruiser HMS Erato four days ago. Erato is slated for deployment in the bloody Lucidia Pocket in a month¡¯s time.¡± A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation. No one said anything for a few pregnant moments. The Lucidia Pocket was a collection of systems that the Royal Union and the Kingdom of Aurora in particular was responsible for safeguarding, despite the fact that they lay about seven-hundred light years away from Aurora itself. And as the name suggested, it was a ¡°pocket¡± that was surrounded by the Independent Systems Alliance to the ¡°north¡± and ¡°west¡±, the Lorelei Special Administrative Region to the ¡°north-east¡±, and the Hydran Co-Prosperity League to the ¡°east¡±. To the ¡°south¡± was the vast neutral expanse of unaligned settler colonies known as the Pannonia Region, which had barely ten million inhabitants spread across nineteen planets. The planet of Lucidia was infamous for its internecine in-fighting, with racial tension occasionally bubbling to the surface violently. Aurora could not in good faith abandon the Lucidians to develop a democratic and well-structured society on their own (they had tried, twice), and was forced to administer the planet and the surrounding systems to keep order. This was often decried both abroad and nationally as blatant imperialism, and to a certain extent it was, and the official policy of the Royalists and Social Liberals was the same flimsy argument that the European powers of Earth of old had used; it was for the betterment of the people who lived there, the main difference between those same-sounding statements a millennia apart being that the Aurorans really didn¡¯t want to remain in Lucidia, but they felt they had a moral responsibility to avoid outright genocide on a planet that they had become all too well acquainted with over the past century. But posting to Lucidia Station or the command of Defence Forces Lucidia was the most dreaded postings in the Royal Navy, Royal Marines, and Royal Army. This was due to a number of factors, not limited to distance to travel (close to a month in the Light Way with regular stops), unfriendliness of the local population, lack of amenities both in orbit and on ground, poor lines of supply from home, and knowing you were surrounded on all sides by people who really didn¡¯t like Aurorans. Travel was further complicated by having to go through the Lorelei Special Administrative Region, which was technically a demilitarised zone, but which over the past decade had more or less become another sector under ISA control, and the Alliance Space Navy was starting to become pushy regarding Royal Union military tonnage allowed to traverse at once. ¡°So yeah,¡± Adea broke the silence by half-saying, half-sighing, ¡°I won¡¯t have my admiral father nor my captain mother to mentor me as I go through the most prestigious and elite naval academy in the known galaxy. And now that the semester is starting, even Lady Spencer is leaving for King William¡¯s, leaving the house completely empty apart from me. Mama¡¯s already made arrangements for most of the staff and servants to go on fully paid furlough; there simply won¡¯t be anything for them all to do with just me here, even if I decide to host dinners every night.¡± ¡°You know if I hadn¡¯t already paid for my lodgings in Vermillion Hall¡­¡± Sandy replied, still stroking Adea¡¯s shoulder in an attempt to comfort her friend, who she had to admit she at times forgot was four years younger than her since she was both taller and carried herself in a very mature manner most of the time due to her aristocratic upbringing. ¡°Oh, I don¡¯t think that would have been a good idea,¡± Nimue offered, now also risen and stood at a companionable distance, ¡°you¡¯d grow sick of each other within the space of two weeks. Just think of long Alexandra is in the shower, if you had to wait for her to finish, you¡¯d be forced to shower in cold water.¡± ¡°That rumour,¡± Sandy replied in a faux-affronted tone, ¡°is more than a little exaggerated. I shower for no more than thirty minutes, maximum.¡± ¡°My god, girl,¡± Adea quipped, ¡°how do you have any skin left at all? All that warm water and soaps are going to strip every millimetre of natural protective fat in your skin.¡± ¡°Superior genes,¡± Sandy huffed, going back to the tray for another macron, ¡°simple as that. I doubt an inbred aristo such as yourself would be able to grasp such an elusive concept.¡± ¡°Ahem.¡± Nimue cleared her throat and Sandy laughed. ¡°Oh, sorry, I forgot I was sharing the room with two inbred aristos. My apologies, Lady Nimue, I will remember to include you in my insults on the next occasion.¡± ¡°You¡¯re such an idiot,¡± Adea said through her sudden grin, going back for her teacup. ¡°And that¡¯s why I not only stand your presence, but actually love you, you little bundle of happiness.¡± Alexandra beamed, smiling widely mid-chew of a lemon macron, yellow bits stuck between her usually pristinely white teeth. ¡°I aim to please. And if you believe for one moment you think you¡¯re going to be lonely this next year, you have another thing coming. I¡¯ll be so on top of you that you¡¯ll develop an allergy.¡± ¡°Quite right,¡± Nimue said a tone that was very uncharacteristically cheerful, ¡°I may be scores of light years away, but messages travel fast through the Light Way and the galactic web. Whenever you feel the need, know that you can just send me an e-letter, and the next morning a reply will be in your inbox.¡± Adea¡¯s throat tightened and she felt her eyes stinging. Quickly turning to look out the window to hide her emotions, she sipped her tea. ¡°I wonder,¡± she mused disarmingly, ¡°if Horace Sciacca, Evelyn Delafontaine, Georgiana Assiotis-Percy, and the rest of the usual criminals are available for a little shindig tonight.¡± She turned and smiled at Nimue. ¡°After all, we need to throw you a little going-away party. And Horace seemed very enamoured with you at New Forest¡¯s Ball.¡± As Sandy and Adea almost howled with laughter at how quickly Nimue¡¯s face took on almost the same colour as her freckles, Charlotte Busby (standing on the other side of the tea salon doors) fished out her handcom and typed a note to check the pantry¡¯s alcohol selection and to send a footman to a nearby pharmacy to buy detoxification pills for the inevitable hangover of her noble mistress tomorrow.
Artemisia sat up in her hospital bed, adjusting the uncomfortable cut of her patient¡¯s gown. At least she had been given the privilege of a private room with a view over central Raleigh; her most honourable duke father didn¡¯t skimp on expenses, that was for sure. She had never learned how much she had actually cost, but comments made by Michael de Vere while he was pummelling her with a cane, belt, fire iron or anything close enough that might serve as a weapon, suggested he had invested a significant part of his already significant fortune in paying black market Earth cloners to craft her. By the laws of the Auroran revised constitution, Artemisia¡¯s entire existence was illegal; the ordering of clones was punishable by law with up to fifty years in prison if a case could be proven in court. Problem was, the Duke of Trewellynshire had been extremely adept at hiding his financial and physical trails, something his lawyers had proven time and time again during hearings in local and regional courts on Angevin. Everyone knew there was no chance Artemisia was a natural child of Michael, due to both the timing of her birth and to the fact she looked absolutely nothing like her supposed father. She watched a skycar swoosh past the hospital window and sighed deeply. Feeling the mental itch, she rolled up her gown sleeves and admired the work the scummy surgeon had done. Had it not been on her father¡¯s orders to cover up the scars he inflicted on her, she would have admired the good doctor for his good work. There was no indication left of the scars Michael de Vere had left on her arms the night of the Duchess of New Forest¡¯s Ball. He had been especially furious that night, as she had re-entered the ballroom arm-in-arm with none other than the daughter of Lord S¨¦lincourt and Lady Darkmoor, not only politically opponents but people the Duke considered personal enemies. He had swapped the cane for a blunt knife that night. The other scars and welts had been accumulated over the two months since. Artemisia actually shuddered with the realisation she had lost account over the times her ¡°father¡± had physically assaulted her over the course of the past few years. He hadn¡¯t always been like this. In the beginning, as far as Artemisia could remember, he had been a loving and devoted father. She especially remembered her fifth birthday (enhanced memory was part of the package Duke Trewellynshire had paid for) when she had been given an honest-to-God Norwegian Fjord Horse foal from Earth, whom she had named ¡°Bernie¡± and had loved unconditionally. That was until the fateful day when she had bad-mouthed the Duke of Calvert¡¯s Land at a tea party in the Angevin capital of Aldney. She had been twelve at the time, only repeating what she had overheard her father talking about with other Conservative peers. It had evidently been enough of a loss of face for the Duke that he immediately afterwards went back to their estates and had the stable master put the horse down. With Artemisia as a witness. That was the day Artemisia really understood how small a man her ¡°father¡± was, one completely obsessed with his standing amongst the nobility, his perception in the media, and how much of a perfect exterior he was able to protrude. In the interest of saving herself from repeated beatings and berating, she had to toe the line as well, since she was by proxy the senior female member of the de Vere dynasty. She had to welcome and humour guests during dinners and gatherings, be a cute and welcoming face to the media whenever Michael didn¡¯t feel like facing the cameras and drones, and generally be the very best example of noble progeny that the Kingdom had ever seen. All of that to avoid getting physically abused. That had been going on for seven years now, with her getting sent to the same clinic in Raleigh, Arcadia on Aurora every four months or so to get regenerative surgery to cover up his maliciously abusive tracks. ¡°I wish I could just fade away into nothing¡­¡± Artemisia didn¡¯t immediately recognise the voice as her own, but she was the only one in the hospital room, so she was the only logical culprit. Her own line of deduction produced a muted chuckle. Looking for anything that could distract her from her current poor mood, her eyes landed on a magazine adorned with a very clearly advert-oriented front page featuring a male and female officer dressed in what Artemisia immediately recognised as a fanciful artist¡¯s rending of a Royal Navy¡¯s Mess Dress uniform. The background was a starspace backdrop of equally fanciful and slightly strangely shaped illustrations of Royal Navy warships; the artist had gotten the overall shape right, but not even close to correctly depicting how long and thin the hull was. Nevertheless, she was enamoured by the romantically phrased advert slogan: ¡°Be Proud, Conquer the Galaxy¡±. Under her smile, she could only assume that the artist behind the poster had intended for the meaning of the word ¡°conquer¡± to mean ¡°remain victorious¡±, for the Royal Navy and the Kingdom of Aurora didn¡¯t really undertake any offensive actions that resulted in capture of territory. The last time that had happened was during the war with the Hydran Co-Prosperity League in 2610-11, during which the systems of Nebuchadnezzar and Cyrene had been ceded to the Royal Union, more than two-hundred and sixty years ago. Still, the image was evocative, inspiring a sense of patriotism Artemisia wasn¡¯t aware that she had. And then it hit her. How else to gain a distance from her ¡°father¡± by socially acceptable means? Sure, she had the option of running away to a foreign nation, going on an extended sabbatical, or some other inane excuse. But instead, Artemisia kicked herself mentally for not considering the military route earlier. Her best friend Amelia Euxina had done it six years prior, so why not her as well? It would require four years at King William Academy following this last year at QMMU, but it meant separation from her ¡°father¡± and a convenient excuse from attending social events at Verius House. In fact, the more Artemisia thought about it, the more it made absolute sense. ¡°Erin,¡± she said out loud, still holding the magazine, calling for her lady¡¯s companion, ¡°would you awfully mind giving me my handcom and my purse. I have a few very important life decisions to make.¡± She rubbed the upper part of her arms again, more in phantom pain than anything else, before fixing her eyes on the magazine. ¡°Yes, this is the way I will make my own story.¡± If only she¡¯d have known at the time how cognizant that statement had been¡­ Chapter 24 - Days of Erudition: Statements The whole of the massive Burnside Square with its adjacent Magnolia Monument Park was completely filled by an ocean of humanity. The approximately three million people had slowly started to trickle in the night before, those closest to the footsteps of the Constitution Palace having brought sleeping bags and picnic equipment, betting on the October night not being too cold to sleep outside. All of New Seattle was abuzz with excitement at the inauguration of President-Elect Terrance Rodrigo Kelley, at least the parts of the population who had voted for him and the Liberal Progressives, and even a few who hadn¡¯t but didn¡¯t totally disagree with his political platform. The main parts of New Seattle were located on a collection of five large islands in the middle of the huge Alighieri River Estuary, leading further into Penury Bay and the Rekindling Ocean. New Seattle wasn¡¯t as large neither in terms of size of populace or metropolitan area as Cordelia or Newdawn on Marduk, but it was still the beating political heart of both the Republic of Elysium, and the Independent Systems Alliance as a whole. Gabriel Island, placed centrally in the estuary, which was also the largest of them all, housed the central apparatus for the ISA, from the High Courts of Justice, the Charter Chamber, the House of Planets, to the Combined Joint Armed Forces Command HQ, and the Elysium Bourse which was the huge multi-system concordat¡¯s central economic transfer-and-communications hub. In addition was the large Constitution Palace where the ISA¡¯s President and administration lived and worked, but also the private residences, businesses, and workspaces of millions of Elysian citizens. In terms of political, military, economic, and social power and leadership concentration per square metre, no other location in the known galaxy came close. Now, on 31 October, two weeks after the presidential elections, it was finally time for Kelley to address the citizens of the Alliance, and billions both at home and abroad waited with bated breaths. For anyone who had paid even cursory attention during the months¡¯ long election campaign, they¡¯d have a vague idea what he would say, but it was still a momentous occasion. The man in question appeared on the raised platform in front of the gold-white walls of the Constitution Palace, which was architecturally very similar to the old Palace de Tuileries of Paris, albeit more modest in size and less gilded, although the exterior walls and columns were made from Elysian travertine-d¡¯or. A throng of politicians high up in the Liberal Progressive party, military officers dressed in a rainbow of ceremonial uniforms, representatives from an immense number of public organisations, and who knew else sat in a tiered stand behind the main platform. President Terrance Rodrigo Kelley wore a simple black suit, a white shirt with an emerald green tie. He was very often described as being a ¡°hawk¡±, firmly placed in the camp of Elysian politicians that demanded a tougher line on foreign relations, in particular with the Royal Union and the Kingdom of Aurora. It was a coincidence that his visage might also conjure the mental image of a bird of prey; his nose was long and sharp, and his jaw and chin thin and slightly pinched, his salt-and-pepper hair worn combed back. He was not an unattractive man, but he gave off a slight impression of permanently judging whoever he was looking at. His clear grey eyes did not help dissuade this notion. ¡°My fellow citizens.¡± His voice was surprisingly baritone, despite his rather lithe appearance, and it spread out across the entire Burnside Square, Magnolia Monument Park, the nearby Lars DeGruyt Avenue, and the webnet to reach the worlds and voids beyond Elysium¡¯s atmosphere. There was no podium for him to lean on, nor any evident microphone, so instead he talked with minimal movements of his hands to emphasise his points. ¡°I stand before you in humility and appreciation for electing me to be the fifty-third President of the Independent Systems Alliance. It is an immense honour, a humbling experience, but also an extremely daunting responsibility that I swear upon our Constitution that I will do my utmost to live up to.¡± The huge crowds, packed shoulder to shoulder, cheered and applauded, the sound droning out every other noise in the huge city for as long as it continued. Kelley gave a thin smile. ¡°I must thank former President Kametz for the industrious maintenance of his duties these past four years, as well as the rest of his administration. While their policies have at numerous times collided with my, my fellow party members¡¯, and many of yours¡¯, the Elysian and Alliance people, personal views, they have managed to steer our great federation towards increased prosperity, and has largely kept the predations of those that wish us harm, away.¡± If you come across this story on Amazon, it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it. The applause this time was much more muted, more polite than heartfelt and the hundreds of camera drones could easily focus on the many tens of thousands who didn¡¯t clap, or who jeered at the mention of Ferdinand Kametz. It was almost impossible to not hear the accusation in Kelley¡¯s last sentence. ¡°Yet that spectre haunts us at all times, not necessarily seen or felt, but unfailingly present regardless. Our great collection of nations have through sheer force of will carved themselves out from the molasses of the mismanagement of former regimes, first the tyranny of the United Earth Alignment, and then the floundering Verge Federation. Our planets were rudderless, adrift in the wind, until Jeffery and Sophia Burnside came to our rescue and through their diligence, and the numerous generations that have come since, we have created the greatest human society to ever grace the stars.¡± The crowds roared their approval again, and Kelley had to hold his hands up to calm them down sufficiently for him to continue. ¡°But we are assailed by those that would see us bent and broken, our economy shattered, our way of life extinguished, and replaced by their own autocratic ways. Fellow citizens, I shall not insult your intelligence by beating around the bush further. I speak of the Kingdom of Aurora and their accomplices in disturbing galactic peace and order in the Royal Union. Acting with supreme arrogance and reckless abandon for diplomatic propriety, they send their ships of war into neutral space, and their massive battleships though regions declared demilitarized through interstellar treaties. They keep systems and people under their dominion far away from what can in good faith be claimed as their sphere of political influence and interest. The Aurorans further threaten galactic stability through aggressive militarization. As a result, the Independent Systems Alliance has done great work in strengthening our own defences, especially in space. Thanksgivings must be directed towards previous administrations, and particularly to our men and women in uniform. But in face of the distressing commissioning of larger and more powerful ships by the Aurorans, I am convinced that the only way to safeguard our own people and interests in space, is to step up our own efforts. There will be no wavering or any doubt communicated to the rest of the galaxy, that the Alliance will shirk its responsibilities to remain free, secure, and ultimately at peace from external threats.¡± The crowds were silent now, enraptured by the cold passion on display, putting words to ideas and notions that had been nurtured over years and decades in the cockles of the hearts of many in the Alliance. ¡°We strive for freedom and peace, not only for ourselves, but for all people of the galaxy wherever they might be. Liberty is one of the deepest and most noble ideals of the human spirit. Liberty and Prosperity are two sides of the same coin, inseparable sisters that are in constant warfare with the dark twins of Poverty and Oppression, and their mother, War.¡± He drew in a deep breath. ¡°It is a heavy mantle to wear, but someone has to carry the burden, lest the whole of civilisation is relegated to the dustbin of history. The Independent Systems Alliance must rise up to the challenge, and proclaim itself the champion of humanity. Every blow we inflict against poverty and oppression will be a blow against war. Every victory for human freedom will be a victory for galactic peace. So we go forward today, a collection of systems and planets ascendant in its youth and powerful in its purpose. With the bonds of friendship with our allies strengthened, with our economy leading to a new golden age, we look forward as one people to be a beacon for those still suffering the crushing shackles of the Old World.¡± The crowds didn¡¯t cheer this time. The rapturous roars of more than three million people seemed to make the skies tremble, and did in fact blow out the microphone pickups of dozens of media drones too close to the crowds. Similar sounds were echoed in homes, dorm rooms, bars, office lunchrooms, spaceport halls, warship wardrooms and leisure spaces, and everywhere in between all over Elysium and her orbit. In the coming hours and days, as the broadcast reached the other worlds of the Alliance, the same could be heard there as well. President Terrence Rodrigo Kelley allowed himself another rare smile as he saluted the ISA flag, a winged white constellation on a blue field, with a flight of VA-76 Super Marlin vector-jets roaring overhead trailing blue and white smoke. Chapter 25 - Days of Erudition: Perceived Impossibilities The office of the President of the ISA was called the ¡°Presidium¡±, and was located close to the top of Constitution Palace, with the wide windows behind the teak desk and tall upholstered chair providing an excellent view of Magnolia Monument Park and the cityscape of central New Seattle beyond. The twin stars of Rho Martialis and Rho Pacifica had slipped down over the horizon, and the lights of the hightowers, towers, skywalks, and the skycar traffic was on full display. The Magnolia Monument was illuminated by spotlights, the thirty metre tall marble plinth a brilliant cream, topped with the statue of a genderless figure clasping a flag to its chest while raising a closed fist to the sky in defiance. Fleet Admiral Edwina Bradford had never been much a fan of the monument; it lacked a certain gravitas that could only be found in life-like artistic impression. She could recognize that the artist¡¯s intention had been to create a unifying symbol that didn¡¯t visually identify with any particular culture or nationality, but it still undersold the immense courage of the brave souls of what would be known as the Verge Federation, who had broken free from the United Earth Alignment to form their own independent society. On the flip side, soldiers were often romantics at heart, so it might be that often unrecognised part of her psyche that was putting words in her ¡°mouth¡±, so to speak. She kept standing at parade rest with her hands clasped behind her back while staffers and Palace employees swarmed all over the Presidium. The office was a large rectangular room with an impressive eight doors, four of which led to outer staff offices, two were entrances, and the other two led to a lounge and a personal library respectively. The centre of the room featured a long table with seating for twenty, a more informal coffee table with adjoining couches, a small drinks cabinet, a few shelves, and two massive oil paintings of Jeffrey and Sophia Burnside, the father-daughter duo that had effectively forged the ISA. President Kelley¡¯s speech had been delivered only four hours ago, and the staffers were busy moving in his personal belongings, his choice of art that would adorn the rest of the office, plus his files and documents. ¡°Ma¡¯am Bradford, please excuse the mess.¡± Kelley came out from the library door, flipping through a documents folder, having popped in there just as Bradford had been announced by one of the Presidium butlers. He had shed his tie and jacket and he had rolled up the sleeves of his shirt, giving off a much more unarmed impression than his lofty title as President of the ISA, Supreme Commander-in-Chief, and High Commissioner of Elysium suggested. ¡°I haven¡¯t had the opportunity to move all the bits and bobs required to give the impression that I¡¯m actually running the state before now. I¡¯ve had my secretary call around to organise meetings with those people who it¡¯s imperative I meet with right away. You¡¯re the second person I¡¯ve called to my office today.¡± Bradford didn¡¯t bat an eyelid, unimpressed at the easy attempt at flattery. ¡°Understood, Your Excellency,¡± she said simply, continuing to stand at parade rest. She wore her General Dress, a navy blue double-breasted tunic with a tall white collar, a white bar along the sleeves, a white belt, and two rows of golden buttons in addition to the gold-and-red bars on her cuffs and shoulder straps. Her trousers were white with golden stripes, and black boots partly concealed by white gaiters. She had taken off her white peaked combination cap and held it under her left shoulder. While ribbing the Royal Navy for having a complicated uniform scheme, with lots of different uniforms and too-similar sounding names was common in the Alliance Space Navy, it really was a case of the pot calling the kettle black; they had just as many idiosyncratic uniform conventions, though they generally involved a lot less golden lace and frogging. ¡°I think it¡¯s better if we retire to the lounge,¡± the president said while gesturing at the door with the folder, ¡°much less chance of being interrupted, and significantly fewer prying eyes and listening ears.¡± Bradford nodded and walked stiffly into the lounge room. It was a pretty simple affair, which suited Bradford nicely, with only a few couches, low tables, a fireplace, and an entertainment system at the far end of the room, and a large Ne¨¹-Persian carpet dominating most of the floor. The windows along the southward facing part of the rooms had the same view as the office ones, but weren¡¯t as tall and didn¡¯t dominate the room as much. There was a bar present, but the president steered away from it, depositing himself in a reclining chair, and mentioned for Bradford to get comfortable. She remained standing. ¡°Let¡¯s set a few ground rules right off the bat,¡± Kelley said as he crossed his legs comfortably or potentially in a show of feigned superiority. God knows he wasn¡¯t the first politician to try that shit in front of Edwina. ¡°I know for a fact that you¡¯re not my biggest fan, and while I can appreciate that we do not exactly see eye to eye politically, I do hope that you will put those personal feelings aside when it comes to carrying out your duties as the Chief of Naval Operations.¡± His cold eyes were fixed on her adamant dark brow ones, but she didn¡¯t relent an inch. ¡°It is as you say, Your Excellency, I did not vote for you two weeks ago. And, again, like you said out there a few hours back, I won¡¯t insult your intelligence by beating around the bush¡­¡± She felt her heart skip a beat in pleasure as she noticed the slightest of twitches at the corner of Kelley¡¯s mouth, but her well-honed kabuki¡¯s mask of a neutral facial impression didn¡¯t betray anything. ¡°We are both perfectly aware of our responsibilities. I, along with any officer of the Alliance Space Navy, am bound both by both oath and law to obey the orders of the elected head of the ISA. At least, so long as the orders given are conscionable and morally defendable. If they are of such a nature that I in my capacity as the highest ranking officer of the Alliance Navy cannot find it in myself to carry them out, then none of the officers and enlisted under my command are obliged to carry them out. That is written in the Alliance Charter. And it includes the ordering of an armed conflict that I might deem we, as both a combined armed forces and civilian society, cannot in good conscience win without excessive loss of life.¡± She let the implication with what the president had just recently said to the millions who had showed up to attend his inauguration hang in the air. And the man simply smiled. ¡°Then we are of the same mind, Admiral Bradford. I wouldn¡¯t have it any other way. Your dedication to the Fleet and your sense of duty does you credit.¡± He rose and threw the documents folder onto the nearby coffee table, and walked over to the bar. Kelley produced two glasses and poured a small measure of off-yellow liquid in both, before walking back and handing one of them to the still standing Bradford. He resumed his seat and in response to such an unexpected answer and gesture, Bradford sat down almost against her will into one of the similar chairs opposite the president¡¯s. ¡°I don¡¯t really care if you have a poster of me up on your bedroom wall, Edwina. Is it alright if I call you Edwina?¡± Bradford nodded sharply, tasting the alcohol. It was a mezcal, for sure, but she couldn¡¯t tell anything beyond that, she wasn¡¯t much of a connoisseur. ¡°You have a talent, Edwina,¡± the president continued after a small sip of his own drink, ¡°an exceedingly rare one in this day and age. You¡¯re able to discern between what needs to be done, what must be dealt with, and what the future might require of yourself and the people around and below you, sifting through all of the other bullshit and tedious minutiae. And in an organisation as large, varied, and spread out as the Alliance Space Navy, that is no small feat. There is a very good reason why you¡¯ve been able, or should I say be allowed, to stay on as Chief of Naval Operations through two, now beginning a third, administrations.¡± Kelley took another sip of his drink and put the glass down on the armrest of the chair. ¡°In addition, I¡¯ve heard you¡¯re straight to the point, and don¡¯t suffer fools. I like that a lot, especially in my most important military officer. I¡¯m more than willing to look past our political disagreements if you can promise me to continue in the same manner as CNO.¡± ¡°Your Excellency,¡± Edwina said after a short pause, ¡°I have only one way of doing things, and that¡¯s my own way. If that had been intolerable to you, I would have resigned before you¡¯d had the time to fire me, so I¡¯m appreciative for that at least. My staff at CENTCOM has become a pretty well-oiled machine over these past ten or so years, and I would believe it would be to the general detriment to the Fleet as a whole if it was significantly altered or re-assigned.¡± She tasted her drink again. ¡°However, I¡¯m not an innocent virgin when it comes to political backroom dealings. So I believe it is just about now that you ask me for some favour or other in return for me retaining my current position and staff.¡± The president smiled that cold smile of his and picked up one of the dossiers he had put away, and opened it, retrieved a couple of pages and handed them to Edwina. She accepted them gingerly, her face still the same neutral mask, but her stomach was threatening to do somersaults. Let¡¯s see just how much of my soul I have to sell to avoid an idiot like O¡¯Toole or Mendoza taking over as CNO¡­ Her eyes skimmed the content of the first page, a pretty terse press statement, traditionally worded by an unimaginative press officer at the Constitution Palace communications staff. ¡°Latife ?avdarli as Secretary of the Navy, really? I would have thought you¡¯d put a more¡­¡± Edwina really wanted to say ¡°bloodthirsty¡± but managed to reel her tongue in before using the polemic adjective. ¡°¡­Passionate senior member of the Liberal Progressive Party in that post. ?avdarli doesn¡¯t even have a military background, as far as I am aware, while someone like Rasmussen or Thap-Min does. Not that I¡¯m complaining mind you, I like ?avdarli, she¡¯s a fellow Thracian and without becoming too political, publicly supports a lot of bills that I am personally partial to.¡± ¡°You won¡¯t like the choice of Defense Secretary though,¡± Kelley said in response, ¡°I gave Winston Daifallah the good news last night.¡± Edwina suppressed the urge to grimace. Daifallah was a firebrand with more than a whiff of the populist about him, playing the anti-Auroran card as often as he could, doing his part in nourishing the growing xenophobic sentiment in the Alliance populace. ¡°Well, I won¡¯t have to deal with him all that often, so that¡¯s at least something. If that¡¯s the worst you throw at me, then that¡¯s a trade I am very comfortable accepting.¡± ¡°Page two,¡± the president said simply and pointed to the other piece of paper. Edwina furrowed her brow slightly and skimmed that one as well. Then her eyebrows mutinied against the harsh regime of calmness that the rest of her face practiced. ¡°A public promise to increase naval on-paper strength and tonnage by thirty-three per cent in four years?¡± ¡°The penalty if this is not accomplished is your job and your entire naval career.¡± Kelley¡¯s eyes were icy cold. ¡°No cushy desk job to fall back on, no ship or station command, not even as a janitor on a remote listening post. Ignoble retirement is the only thing that would be waiting for you. And of course a small forest¡¯s worth of State Secrets Non-Disclosure papers for you to sign once you¡¯re booted out. Breathing a word of whatever you¡¯ve ever done at the Stage would be considered breach of the National Security Act, and punishable by decades in prison. Still want to accept the suggested trade?¡± Edwina¡¯s dark eyes met his grey ones. Oh fuck you, I am more than willing to pick up the glove that you¡¯re throwing down, bring it on. Her thin smile rivalled the president¡¯s. ¡°If it keeps fuckwits like Jackson O¡¯Toole out of the CNO chair, then sure, I¡¯ll still sign on. I¡¯m not sure if you¡¯ve noticed, by over the past ten years the Fleet has increased by two million employees and added more than fifty-five million tonnes over replacement.¡± Again, the president surprised her by clapping his hands together and smiling again. ¡°Excellent, just excellent! I knew you had balls, Edwina, I was absolutely sure of it. Kir¨¢ly and Daifallah told me you were a cold bitch, and by God is that exactly what I want in my CNO.¡± He rose from the chair, walked over to the bar and brought the bottle of mezcal back before topping off both their glasses. He put it on a table and resumed his seat. ¡°Why don¡¯t you give me a little rundown on the status of the Fleet, just a preview of what we¡¯ll surely be talking about ad nausea for the next four years? I¡¯ve not yet had time to read all the reports and heaps of preparatory briefing material that¡¯s been thrown my way for two weeks now, so I¡¯d appreciate a personal walkthrough, so to speak.¡± Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation. Edwina opened her mouth just as a staffer poked her head in through the door. She squeaked an apology as she noticed the president and the uniformed admiral and disappeared as quickly as she had materialised. Kelley made a ¡°go on¡± gesture with his free hand and Edwina supposed he would humour him, wetting her throat with the stinging alcohol. ¡°I suppose I can give you a little highlights package. Fundamentals first; the Alliance Space Navy currently has a battleship strength of sixty-six with a further twenty-eight in various stages of construction, two-hundred and four cruisers, of which seventy-eight are heavy and one-twenty-six are light, and a hundred and ninety destroyers. In addition are about five-hundred and seventy supporting vessels of varying types and classifications, in total crewed by around one-point-three million enlisted and officers, plus another four-hundred thousand civilian employees spread out across both space-going platforms and ground-based stations. The Alliance Marine Corps is, as you know, its own separate organisation which only falls under the purview of the Fleet, but there is naturally a symbiotic relationship between the two branches.¡± ¡°And how does this compare to the Auroran navy?¡± Edwina didn¡¯t even pretend to be surprised by the question she knew the president had been dying to ask. ¡°I was getting to that, Your Excellency, which is why I mentioned ¡®fundamentals¡¯. Over the past thirty years, the Fleet has expanded by more than forty per cent in terms of hull numbers, some thirty-ish per cent in number of personnel, both regular and reservists, and close to seventy per cent in total tonnage. None of the ships in service when I took over as CNO are still in commission, and the average age of our combatant platforms is less than twenty-five years, which is significantly better than most of the Aurora battle fleet, to the tune of ten to thirteen years, depending on ship type. That¡¯s the good news. The bad news is that in terms of total tonnage, we are still woefully short of the mark of the Royal Navy.¡± She chose deliberately to use the correct title of the Auroran naval service, and she noticed that miniscule twitch in the corner of Kelley¡¯s mouth again. ¡°While the Royal Navy currently has seventy-four battleships in commission, over half of them fifty-plus year old hulls, they nearly all outweigh and outgun our own designs. Furthermore, they have fifty-six battlecruisers as well, and although sixteen of those are slated for retirement, the rest are on par with our own battleships in terms of tonnage, and many of them are even more heavily armed than their own battleships.¡± ¡°I¡¯m not sure I follow the distinctions made and the labels here,¡± the president interrupted, ¡°what differentiates a battleship from a battlecruiser, and why are the Auroran ones bigger and presumably better than ours? It seems like by the numbers you just described that we¡¯re building and replacing more ships than the Blues if they have that many old ships in service, so why are you sounding so worried?¡± The Fleet Admiral sighed and sipped her drink again, and before she could react she was topped up by the president. Is he trying to drink me under the table or something? Hoping I might say something incriminating? ¡°It ultimately boils down to military procurement and strategy as a built policy, Your Excellency. The Auroran navy and society have a tradition of making warships that stretches back literally centuries. This is important for a number of factors, with the biggest being the accumulation of know-how in the work force, adaption of the economy and industry to accommodate for such large and complex construction projects, and a social tradition of service in the Royal Navy. The Royal Navy is, for all intents and purposes, too large an organisation for a polity like the Kingdom of Aurora to functionally exist, had it not been for the butterfly effect it has on their society as a whole, and the way it is able to mobilise the work force, not to mention their aristocracy. Historically, aristocracies have been a net burden on societies, consuming much larger parts of the collective wealth than what they produce.¡± She realised with a pang that she was waist deep in dangerous political waters; a central tenet to the Liberal Progressives¡¯ political ideology was the abolition of patrician classes, and there were in their eyes no worse enemy of the state and the people than aristocrats and nobility, and the Auroran one was their absolute anathema. Well, in for a dime, in for a dollar. Kelley seemed to pay the comment no mind, and seemed genuinely interested in the impromptu lecture. ¡°Large parts of the Auroran nobility, though far from all of them mind you, lead careers in the Royal Navy, composing a disproportionate part of their officer corps compared to their percentage of the population as a whole. They sort of serve as paragons of dedication and service to the nation which is readily emulated by others, which might seem a bit trite, but there are libraries¡¯ worth of research papers and studies that confirm this hypothesis. Returning to a built policy theory, Sir, the most distinct advantage the Aurorans have over the Alliance, is that their navy is designed from the keel out as a power projection force, with their primary role as a decisive action, positive fleet-in-being force.¡± She could basically see the president¡¯s eyes glass over a bit, and she cleared her throat. ¡°What that means is that the Royal Navy is designed to operate in large formations in wartime with a priority to force a decisive engagement which they will most likely win due to the much heavier and uniform armament of their major combatants. Fleet-in-being with a positive connotation is the theory of a navy being a major influence on interstellar and military policy of their own and foreign nations through the sheer force it represents should it be launched. The Royal Navy is just that, and the pledge you¡¯d have me to sign is an indirect reaction to its very potential of power. When it comes to the discrepancy in firepower, I¡¯ll be the first to admit that the Aurorans¡¯ commitment to a completely different hull design was a stroke of genius. If you¡¯ll allow me, Sir.¡± Edwina grabbed the press release regarding Latife ?avdarli¡¯s appointment as Secretary of the Navy and put it on the low table between them, and pulled a pen out from an inner pocket of her navy-and-white jacket, before starting to scribble and doodle on the blank space on the paper. ¡°This one,¡± she said, pointing to the long rectangular shape to the left, ¡°is the general outline of the port broadside of one of our warships. Bear in mind there are differences between classes and designs, there always will be, but this captures the gist of the overall shapes.¡± She followed up by pointing to the longer, thinner shape with the long tower roughly in the middle. ¡°And that is the general shape of the Auroran warships. You¡¯ll notice they are much thinner along the flanks, their engine and forward sections are much larger than the main hull, and they have very tall superstructures. And then have a look at this.¡± She drew some more, and flipped the paper back towards the president. ¡°This is a comparison of the two from the top. Notice our ships have a much, much smaller berth, whereas the Aurorans have intentionally made the middle parts of their main hulls elongated and the widest point of their ships. That is because of our differing design philosophies when it comes to warship armament. Our battleships generally have five or six decks of broadside railgun batteries, supplemented by a significant number of forward and flank torpedo launchers. Auroran battleships, by contrast, are continually reducing the number of broadside batteries in favour of large turret-mounted railcannons, placed on these elongated flanks and the central line of the main hulls. This reduces their rate and volume of fire, but makes each of their broadsides much more powerful, since these are of such a large calibre to make even the most advanced titanium warship armour seem obsolete.¡± ¡°Why hasn¡¯t the Navy simply copied these designs, if you¡¯re aware of the shortcomings of your own armament?¡± It was an innocent enough question, but it betrayed that the one who had posited the question really didn¡¯t know anything about naval architecture and design, and it required all of Edwina¡¯s impressive ability to restrain herself from pinching the bridge of her nose in exasperation. Instead, she smiled in what she hoped was a neutral enough manner. ¡°Because, Sir, I was getting to it,¡± shit, more polite, ¡°that being the other part of the built policy argument. The point about the Auroran industry is very important, because they have built up the know-how to manufacture complicated warship designs and components over the course of decades and centuries. These guns, their fittings, and internal magazine systems are so large and complicated to manufacture, that they require almost as long as it takes to complete the rest of the ship. A warship is, after all, not all that different from a civilian ship when you remove the complicated pieces of technology, like sensor systems, gravpulse arrays, drone launcher, magazine systems, guns, and the frankly immense amount of titanium and reactive armour. The crux of the matter is that our weapons industry doesn¡¯t have the expertise to recreate these types of weapons, and our shipbuilders don¡¯t know how to create hulls that would incorporate them effectively. If we tried, we¡¯d end up with sub-par ships that would perform worse than our current ones. I¡¯d love to sit here and say we have a panacea up our sleeves over at NAVCENTCOM, but sadly that would be a lie, Sir.¡± ¡°Hm, that¡¯s a shame,¡± President Kelley said, and stroked his chin in thought. He rose and walked over to the window and regarded the view for a few silent moments. Edwina wasn¡¯t entirely sure if what she had said had really made all that much sense to the president, but she couldn¡¯t really come up with a way to explain it in a more pedagogic way, so she contended herself with finishing her drink while the president pondered. ¡°What would you need in order to come up with said panacea?¡± Kelley said at length just as Edwina was putting her empty glass down, and covering it with the doodled-on paper to indicate she had had enough. ¡°Fifty years of collective shipbuilding and armoury experience, a naval budget size fifty per cent larger than todays, about a million more men and women in uniform, and another two or three naval bases,¡± she quipped, allowing herself to smirk slightly. ¡°I can¡¯t give you the first, but I can certainly try to give the latter items.¡± Edwina¡¯s smirk turned into a half-cough of surprise. ¡°Your Excellency, it was a poor attempt at a joke, I wasn¡¯t being serious.¡± Kelley¡¯s tone didn¡¯t change a bit. ¡°But I was, Admiral Bradford. I can give you the money to put into R&D, for experimental platforms, and ultimately for the hulls themselves; the personnel to complete this is a given of course.¡± Edwina could only pinch the bridge of her nose. Does he know how unrealistic he is being? He expects me to complete all of this over the course of four years? ¡°Your Excellency, I appreciate the vote of confidence, but this isn¡¯t something you can simply throw money at and it¡¯ll solve itself, especially since you¡¯ve given me a four-year limit. There is a reason why the Aurorans spent the better part of three decades to perfect their own uniform gun designs, and almost six decades to develop their battlecruisers.¡± ¡°And you have their homework notes so to speak, it should take you significantly less time.¡± ¡°Sir, have you not listened to me at all? The industry that actually makes the ships doesn¡¯t know how to do what you¡¯re asking, and my officers don¡¯t know how to incorporate such ships into our current naval doctrine.¡± ¡°Then they¡¯ll all simply have to learn how to really fucking fast.¡± The president had turned back towards Edwina, what could have passed for an affable expression on his face had disappeared in favour of an ice front. ¡°Because I intend to put the Aurorans in their place, and to do that I need the ships and troops required to make their pompous bowels empty themselves. If that means re-making our navy in half a decade, so be it, and even taking that fleet into battle to prove our ascendancy. The fucking Aurorans and their sanctimonious cronies have had their time in the sun; it is time that the rest of the galaxy claim their spot and shove the complacent assholes firmly back into the graveyard of history where they belong.¡± Edwina Bradford knew her mask had slipped, but she couldn¡¯t help it. She knew Terrence Kelley was a hardliner, but not in her wildest dreams had she imagined he was an actual warmonger this detached from reality. ¡°Your Excellency, the Alliance Space Navy in its current configuration wouldn¡¯t stand a chance in open warfare with the Royal Navy, even if we were able to add a couple of squadrons of new Auroran-style battleships¡­¡± ¡°CNO Bradford,¡± President Kelley cut her off, voice as cold as his facial expression, but somehow his eyes seemed even frostier, ¡°I believe I have given you an ultimatum. Either comply with my orders, or I will toss you out on your ass and find me a Chief of Naval Operations that will. It goes without saying that I will require admirals and senior officers in all branches of the military willing to follow the orders of the rightfully elected President of the Independent Systems Alliance.¡± Edwina rose stiffly from the chair, trying to hide the fact that her hands shook slightly. The man is either a demon or the biggest idiot to ever set his feet into these hallowed halls. She did the only thing she could in the present situation. She saluted. ¡°Your Excellency, if you permit me, I will start the work immediately.¡± A cold smile answered her, and he waved a hand. Edwina turned on her heel, put her peaked cap on and started to leave the room, her emotions broiling in a complicated cascade of fury and terror. ¡°Oh, and by the way,¡± the president said just as she opened the door, ¡°I¡¯ve ordered Admiral ibn Houdhri to relinquish command Capitolis Fleet back to Admiral Montmorency, and take up command of Lorelei Fleet. I trust you have no objections?¡± Edwina Bradford could veritably feel her heart sink to the pit of her stomach. Wordlessly she slammed the door behind her.
The shuttle folded its wings back up as it descended down the elevator from the flight deck into the boat bay of the Alliance Navy battleship Fimbulvetr, its hull and wings painted white with green stripes. As the elevator came to a stop, a roll-out gangway clacked out from under port side hatch. The moment the hatch opened, the boatswain¡¯s pipes played its trill to denote the arrival of a senior officer, and the advance party of Alliance Marines in tan-coloured battle dress and enlisted and officers in black-and-white Ship Dress uniform came to attention. A lieutenant (junior grade) stepped forward as the first of a number of ASN officers with an impressive amount of gold and red bands along their cuffs and shoulder straps descended the gangway. The lead one came up to the lieutenant and returned the salute. ¡°Permission to come on board, Sir?¡± the man asked formally, his voice flanging and unnatural. The youthful lieutenant swallowed. ¡°Permission to come on board granted, welcome to the Fimbulvetr, Admiral.¡± ¡°Thank you, Lieutenant.¡± A short-haired woman, wearing the straps and cuffs of a flotilla captain, walked up past the now rapidly retreating lieutenant, and saluted the admiral as well. ¡°Welcome to Lorelei, Admiral,¡± she said with a polite smile on her face, ¡°and thank you for choosing Fimbulvetr as your flagship, we certainly won¡¯t embarrass you or the rest of the Fleet. Would you like a tour of the ship while the stewards bring your and your staffs¡¯ luggage to your quarters?¡± Admiral Philippe ibn Houdhri el-Ahmadi smiled thinly and ran a hand through his long dark ponytail. The rest of his staff started to form behind him, and the pipes sounded again to dismiss the side party. ¡°Thank you, Captain Chambers, I would like a tour very much, I¡¯ve never set foot on an Entente class battleship. And have no fear, we will have much to do the coming months, the crew of Fimbulvetr and the rest of Lorelei Fleet will not be sitting by idly.¡± Chapter 26 - Days of Erudition: Normalcy Upset No.1 The Honourable Lady Amelia Euxina Isobel de la Lune was absolutely drop-dead gorgeous, with a slightly curving face, amethyst eyes, and long wavy flaxen hair comfortably resting across the shoulders of the black-and-gold Royal Navy battle dress uniform she wore, partly obscuring the straps marking her as a lieutenant commander. Her white beret hung from the back of her upholstered command chair in which she half lounged cross-legged, while skilfully balancing a cup and saucer on her left upraised knee. She was, incidentally by the circumstances of fate, the eldest child and the nominal heir to the estates and titles of one of the staunchest opponent of the Royalist and Social Liberal parties¡¯ naval policies in the House of Lords, the Duke of Dawnshire. Dawnshire, Algernon de la Lune, was the public front-figure of the Conservative Party in the Lords, which in turn would have made Amelia a prime target for harassment and hazing in a martial institution which was largely Royalists-aligned. Instead, it had boosted her position considerably, and proven quite a boon for her personal career. She had quite publically broken with her family by choosing to enrol into the very institution which her father had staked his political career on to defund and de-arm, and it had propelled her into a position of admiration by those within the same formations she served. Forsaking familial relations and potentially considerable estates in order to serve King and Country was admired by most, especially when it was the prime progeny of such a prestigious family. It wasn¡¯t as if Amelia had done it for the attention and the publicity of it, she genuinely desired to make a naval career, and it had cut her off from basically her entire family, but being a lieutenant commander at twenty-six and already commanding a destroyer was a meteoric professional trajectory. She picked up the cup of tea as she crossed her legs the other way and cast a languid glance over the bridge crew of HMS Euphoria. It was currently about nine in the evening shipboard time, so the second-rotation watch had still a few hours left before they were replaced by the third watch, and only about half of the bridge stations were manned. During a series of wargames arranged between Home and Southern Fleet shortly after the commissioning of the E Class destroyers, an observing admiral had commented that the lithe and fast vessels were ¡°spiffy little fighting girls¡±, and the moniker had stuck. If the battlecruiser crews regarded themselves the elite of the Royal Navy, the destroyer crews liked to consider themselves the Navy¡¯s workhorses, the shoulders upon which the rest of the Fleet stood on and would fail without. Despite being the most numerous of warship types in the Royal Navy, some two-hundred and forty in total, only about ten per cent of all uniformed warship personnel were at any time assigned to a destroyer class ship, which in turn made them even more cognizant of their importance to the Fleet as a whole. In Amelia¡¯s and other destroyer skippers¡¯ mind, the destroyers were the blood veins of the body that was the Royal Navy, they did everything from scouting for fleets and task forces, function as messenger ships, pirate hunting, deep reconnaissance, close-in torpedo attacks during engagements, to merchant escort duty. Any other ship was either too large, too unwieldy, too slow, too conspicuous, or too expensive to do the same tasks. This also meant that they usually had the most experienced crews in peace time, since shipping lanes had to be patrolled, routine exercises had to be carried out, and rapid transfer of orders, personnel, and materiel had to be shipped. Euphoria was no exception, and Amelia¡¯s eyes rested on the holographic plot and noted for probably the eleven-thousandth time that her little convoy was still in perfect formation and kept uniform speed through the Light Way. Her convoy. It left a satisfying ¡°taste¡± as she rolled the term around in her head. Euphoria had departed Kitezh and Southern Fleet six days ago as escort for the Indiamen Astral Pearl, Antiochene Heldin, and Selenagrad Prize, headed ¡°south-west¡± to Lucidia through the Lorelei Special Administrative Region. The Alliance had over the past six months or so started to crack down hard on foreign groups of ships larger than a seemingly arbitrary tonnage, and no warship larger than a light cruiser was allowed as escorts for merchant shipping; pure military formations were completely out of the question, and had to be redirected through the Co-Prosperity Sphere to the ¡°south¡±. In reality, there was no reason for a warship to accompany civilian shipping in these parts of space, since piracy was practically unheard of within two-hundred light years of the southern edge of the Royal Union, but it allowed for valuable learning experiences for officers and crew which was too good to pass up on. Especially for young officers like Amelia de la Lune, despite her air of bravado and superiority inherited from her social status. ¡°Hail from Captain Parzer of the Heldin, ma¡¯am,¡± the communications tech reported, returning Amelia¡¯s attention to the here and now, and she sipped some of her now pretty lukewarm tea before placing the cup down on a small tray next to her command chair. ¡°Direct to my console, if you please, Mr Durzi,¡± she said and put a wireless set to her ear. ¡°My Lady,¡± the throaty voice of the merchant skipper said into her earpiece, ¡°my engineering officer is recommending that we drop out of the Light Way pretty soon and recharge our Lorentz field emitters. He says the coils of the fusion drive are starting to run pretty hot, though not anywhere close to hazard threshold yet.¡± ¡°Have you conferred with Mr Antonov and Mrs Chapman about this?¡± Amelia asked, mildly annoyed that they had to drop out after only six days. Euphoria could keep going for ten more days without recharge, no problem. ¡°Yes I have, My Lady,¡± Leopold Parzer replied, who was, unbeknownst to Amelia, very unhappy with having to defer to such a young officer who only had four years of space-going experience under her belt and who was a noble to boot. ¡°Antonov says Pearl can probably go on for another thirty-six hours but isn¡¯t averse to dropping out early. Prize is closing in on the same amount of fusion drive stress as Heldin, but Chapman says she could go on for another day or so.¡± Amelia muted her mic and turned to the only other senior officer on the bridge, Operations Officer Lieutenant Aiden Fraser-Perry. ¡°What do you think, Mr Fraser-Perry, should we drop out this early? I¡¯d reckon we¡¯re not much more than halfway through the SAR, perhaps sixty per cent depending if we caught a favourable wind or not.¡± There were of course no ¡°winds¡± in the Light Way, but there were occasional hypercapacity energy bands which could boost the relative speed of a physical object at even faster rates, but apart from a few stable ones (the Corridor, the Arcturus Treadway, and the Dioscuria Three-Way were the most famous) there were no way to reliably locate one apart from tripping over it when travelling through the Light Way. Lieutenant Fraser-Perry shrugged at Amelia¡¯s question, and put away his thermocup of coffee which was the only thing still keeping him going this far into the graveyard watch. ¡°On the one hand, it is standard engineering procedure whenever the coils failsafe systems start to give off warning signs, even though they¡¯re designed with layers upon layers of redundancy, so Antiochene Heldin is probably a week out before we can realistically start thinking about an imminent fusion reactor failure. But safety procedures are procedures for a reason, and we¡¯re in the middle of a well-trodden shipping lane in pretty civilised space, so there shouldn¡¯t be any risk entailed.¡± ¡°And on the other hand?¡± Amelia asked as an eyebrow rose quizzically. Aiden was a tall young officer, with very short black hair and dark fuzz around his upper lip and along his jaw that was hopefully the embryonic stage of a proper beard, and like many of the male crew (and a few of the female as well) he was absolutely infatuated with the Honourable Lady Amelia. ¡°On the other hand, we¡¯re going to have to call the ship to Readiness Two, and I don¡¯t want to be on the receiving end of Ms Lowell¡¯s sleep-deprived ire when she has to step back onto the bridge, she only just left three hours ago.¡± The dead-pan joke fell in poor soil, as Amelia simply rolled her eyes and un-muted her mic. ¡°Acknowledged, Captain Parzer, we¡¯ll follow your suggestion and start charging Lorentz field emitters to re-enter normal space. Euphoria will of course take point and make sure to slot your ship into our defensive matrix; we will relay the same orders to Prize and Pearl. La Lune out.¡± She cut the connection and removed the headset, and nodded to the communications technician, who immediately started to hail the other two ships of the small convoy. ¡°Ms Gallagher,¡± Amelia said as she sat up straight in her command chair and put the beret back on, ¡°please sound Readiness Two and call Number Three watch to their stations, before contacting the First Lieutenant with my compliments to repair to the bridge. Mr Korvel, spin up the sensor suite and set AIC SAI to detect-and-protect mode. Helm, start angling for immediate deceleration and prepare for N-space entry. Mr Fraser-Perry, update our point defence and sensor bubble matrices and slave our Close Battlespace Awareness SAI to our charges via tight-beam, and get Mr Durzi to relay codes to the merchantmen as you go.¡± Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings. The bridge crew answered with a hail of ¡°aye aye, Ma¡¯am¡± and repetitions of orders received, and Amelia smiled to herself as the small bridge of Euphoria became a tightly choreographed dance of military activity. The E Class was pretty middling in size as Royal Navy destroyers went with a weight of about two-ninety-one thousand tonnes in normal G, a length of four-hundred and nine metres, and a crew of three-hundred and four officers and enlisted, plus a platoon of forty-one Royal Marines. Destroyers normally didn¡¯t carry bootnecks on board, but whenever they were deployed to patrol or escort missions, exceptions were made. Euphoria and her sisters were however known for their excellent speed, ample torpedo launcher package (seven front and flank batteries), and being surprisingly tough as escort class vessels went. Their sensor suite left much to be desired though; Euphoria was fitted with the notoriously troublesome DYNA D5E which had a perverse tendency to completely break down at the most inopportune moments. She¡¯d been stuck in Amaranth orbit for two months less than a year back for substantial hard- and software updates, but Lieutenant Fraser-Perry (nor anyone else on board for that matter) trusted the system¡¯s reliability the slightest. ¡°This has better be important,¡± a grumpy voice accompanied the sound of the bridge hatch sliding open, and Amelia turned half around to pat the upholstered 2-i-C chair. ¡°Come have a seat, Hannah, you¡¯ll just have to grin and bear about half an hour or so before we stand down to R-Three and you can go back to your bunk.¡± Lieutenant Hannah Lowell grunted and deposited herself into the chair, slouching slightly. She hadn¡¯t bothered closing the tunic of her black-gold battle dress, the high collared white shirt not entirely buttoned up as well, but she had somehow managed to get her white gaiters on properly. Like Alexandra Barham, the chestnut-haired and grey-eyed lieutenant was a scion of an illustrious naval family that could trace their roots to the second wave of colonisation. But unlike Sandy, Hannah Lowell was brimming with ambition to excel and go far in the Service, and being a First Lieutenant on a deployed warship at the age of twenty-five was a very impressive accomplishment, but she was quietly envious of the year older Amelia for having already reached that next rung. She wasn¡¯t exactly a classical beauty like the Euphoria¡¯s captain, but she had a dancer¡¯s agility to her and a slender physique that could produce a mental comparison to a large feline, like an Earth panther or an Auroran silvercat. ¡°Engineering reporting ion drill is steadying at 93% efficiency, Lorentz field concentration at maximum output.¡± ¡°N-space astrogation alignment completed, counter-thrusters at standby.¡± ¡°Thermal and LIDAR is at standby, ready to cycle gravpulse once in N-space.¡± ¡°Deck officers report all sections at full readiness, bugler at the ready to sound beat to quarters.¡± ¡°Gun captains report batteries 1 through 9 are manned and ready.¡± Amelia picked up the headset again and pressed the ship-wide button. A long, low tone sounded over Euphoria¡¯s tannoy. ¡°All hands, prepare for translation from Light Way travel and re-entry into Normal space. We will simply loiter for a while until our merchant charges have cooled down their fusion coils, and then we¡¯ll be on our way again, expect no more than a three to four hours wait before we¡¯re translating back into the Light Way. That is all.¡± ¡°Short and concise, Skip,¡± Warrant Officer Stephen Korvel, the Tactical Officer, said, ¡°but I¡¯d be surprised we¡¯ll be hanging about for even that long, those new St. Krylovska long-range freighters have some of the best civilian engine packages money can buy. I¡¯ve heard they can recharge from H-10 to H-1 in less than two hours.¡± ¡°That sounds like corporate propaganda, Mr Korvel,¡± Fraser-Perry said, ¡°because that would put to shame even the new fusion coolers that are being fitted on the Vanguards and the Fearless ships, and those beasts have four separate fusion reactors that all have three Misaki bottles each.¡± ¡°Gentlemen,¡± Lowell interrupted in a stern voice, ¡°please prepare yourselves for translation into N-space.¡± She barely had time to complete the sentence before everyone awake on Euphoria could feel the momentary disorienting sensation of completely losing concept of up and down, left and right, and total spatial awareness. It was over as soon as it had begun, and on the order from the Operations SAI, the windows de-polarised and external sensors resumed their feeds to the viewscreens scattered across the interior of the ship. Directly looking at the pure insanity that was the Light Way would burn out human retinas within moments, and ships travelled ¡°locked down¡± while underway. Now the crew of the Euphoria was greeted by a gentle starscape, seemingly in the middle of absolutely nowhere. ¡°Spooling up the astrogation SAI, telemetry should be forthcoming within a couple of minutes,¡± Sub-lieutenant Antonio McMorrow reported from his station, kind of cramped as he was between the Sailing Master¡¯s Mate¡¯s station and his own Astrogator¡¯s Mate¡¯s. Room on ships was always at a premium, but it was doubly so for warships with such ¡°low space board¡± as destroyers and smaller light cruisers; they were designed for function, not comfort. Amelia tapped her fingers restlessly on the arm of her chair, noting that the three Indiamen exited the Light Way around the Euphoria in a decently spaced formation. Absolutely nothing like the tight gap control a trio of naval ships would have managed of course, but she wasn¡¯t above giving civilian sailing masters credit where it was warranted; they had adhered to the overall layout of the defensive scheme Fraser-Perry had devised, and they were connected to the much smaller destroyer¡¯s sensor network. Euphoria was dwarfed by the merchant ships nearly thirty times over, but while they were big, they each had only about a third of the warship¡¯s crew, their armour was so thin compared to the Euphoria¡¯s as to be considered almost paper-thin, and their immense bulk was given over to cavernous cargo holds. ¡°Astro-SAI confirmation is ready,¡± McMorrow sang out, ¡°we¡¯re six-five-six k-clicks inside the t-limit of N¨¹rmann-184, about nineteen light years from the Lorelei System.¡± ¡°Right in the middle of bumfuck nowhere then,¡± Ensign Joseph Durzi, the Communications Officer pretty much straight out of King William¡¯s, said with a bit of a chuckle, ¡°exactly the kind of spot we¡¯d want to be in if one of our civvies experience engine troubles.¡± ¡°Mind your tone, Mr Durzi,¡± Lowell snapped, and the junior officer straightened in his chair, ¡°this is a King¡¯s Ship and we¡¯re here to do our duties, not practice our routine for next open mic-night at the local pub.¡± That last comment made some of the NCO¡¯s chuckle, and Durzi¡¯s cheeks turned ever so slightly pink. ¡°Scopes are clear, My Lady,¡± Fraser-Perry reported from his station, and Amelia¡¯s glance over at the holographic plot confirmed the lack of any contacts apart from their own. ¡°Not surprising in the least, Mr Fraser-Perry,¡± the captain answered, crossing her legs comfortably again, ¡°this stupid blue giant only holds astronomical interest and no strategic or political one whatsoever, it hasn¡¯t even been deemed worthy enough of a proper name.¡± Ensign Anna Gallagher, the Assistant Operation Officer, had been out of King William¡¯s for all of four months and was of Joseph Durzi¡¯s cohort, despite the fact that she had been part of House Lion and he of House Dragon. She had scored extremely high in astrophysics, and when she had decided on communications and operations as her choice of focus, her house leaders and supervisor had tried to persuade her to choose otherwise but to no avail. It was commonly known that the ones who rose to shipboard commands in the Royal Navy came either from the tactical, the operations, or the astrogation branches; communications, engineering, quartermaster, and medical almost always ended up as rear-service officers if they proceeded along the Service¡¯s career path. Captain Susannah Goodenough, Gallagher¡¯s academic supervisor had for the better part of two years tried to get Anna to change courses to Astrogation since her aptitude scores for that course had been excellent, which would have opened up so many more possible avenues for meaningful career advancement, but Anna had adamantly refused. In Anna¡¯s mind, being a cog in the huge machine was more than enough; she really didn¡¯t fancy the idea of being in Lady Dawnshire¡¯s seat, despite the fact that said lady¡¯s seat was modest enough with only having to carry the burden of the welfare of some four-hundred souls. Imagine if she advanced all the way to division or squadron level, and the immense burden of managing the fates of thousands upon thousands of actual human beings while also carrying out orders given by the Powers That Be started to pile up, upon which the Fates might ask her to forego her humanity in order to carry those orders out. No thank you, sir, Anna Thomasine Winfield Gallagher did not want that kind of responsibility dumped on her. And yet, in that one decisive moment in history, that was forced upon her. She had been looking at the rest of the bridge crew in slight amusement whilst for some reason ignoring the wailing of mental klaxons at the back of her mind. Anna Gallagher was an exceptional bright young girl, her grandfather originally descended from a rather poor family of thorium miners on Angevin, but her mother¡¯s family had moved to Aurora and had managed to scrape together enough funds to finance their offspring with the opportunity that they might never have, namely sending their only daughter to King William¡¯s Naval Academy. And the culmination of that literally generationally-long journey was rather trite. ¡°My Lady, I¡¯m picking up a rather aggressive signal,¡± young Ensign Gallagher reported, just as Lieutenant Commander Lady de la Lune finished telling a rather used-up joke to her Astrogation Officer, but despite the social distance between the two women, the ship¡¯s captain perked up. ¡°Let¡¯s see what you have, Ms Gallagher.¡± Instead of trying to communicate the importance of said situation, or warn her superior officer of how important this exchange of messages was, Ensign Gallagher simply chose to relay the subspace-pulse message her station had received moments earlier. ¡°Attention, Auroran warship, this is the Alliance Navy Ship Royfort, state your intention and itinerary.¡± Chapter 27 - Days of Erudition: Normalcy Upset No.2 ¡°Why would they transmit directly using subspace pulse, why not send it in the clear?¡± Lowell vocalised what they were all wondering in the wake of the surprising missive. ¡°Whatever their reasoning, they¡¯ve singled us out,¡± Fraser-Perry said, having moved to stand over his second¡¯s computer station, ¡°choosing to keep the civvies in the dark that they¡¯re there.¡± ¡°Speaking of there,¡± Amelia said, scratching her head, ¡°where are they? I thought you said the scopes were clear?¡± ¡°They are,¡± the Operations Officer protested, ¡°there¡¯s nothing on neither LIDAR nor gravpulse, apart from the star of N¨¹rmann-184 itself and that massive asteroid belt.¡± ¡°So the Greens have got to be in there somewhere then,¡± WO Korvel said, and Gallagher immediately started typing in commands to run more scans of the closest parts of the belt, ¡°or else they wouldn¡¯t have been able to see us.¡± ¡°Nor contact us that quickly,¡± Durzi commented, ¡°subspace pulses are quicker than regular radio, you know, with the whole speed of gamma waves and all that, but they evidently had us on their sensors almost immediately upon our arrival, ran a recognition scan, and then had the time to set up, record, and transmit a sub-pulse.¡± ¡°We¡¯ve only been in-system for all of nine minutes,¡± Lowell pointed out, looking at her old-fashioned mechanical wristwatch, ¡°and since we apparently did not register a gravpulse ping against our own sensors, it is logical to assume she has us on LIDAR.¡± That last comment was accompanied by a slightly pointed glare at Fraser-Perry and Gallagher, and both of them swallowed hard. ¡°Mr Fraser-Perry,¡± Amelia said in an authoritative tone, ¡°you know what to do. By that logic, work out where she could be if she only has us on LIDAR. LIDAR travels literally by the speed of light, so you just have to work out the travel distances and timing by using time stamps from, say, ninety seconds to eight minutes.¡± The Operations Officer nodded in confirmation and he and his second got down to it, querying the sensor SAI systems, and communicated with the third Ops officer down in the Action Information Centre. ¡°Mr Durzi,¡± Amelia continued, ¡°put me through to the civilian captains. They need to know what is going on, and potentially be ready to crash-drop back into the Light Way.¡± ¡°What about the Royfort, Ma¡¯am?¡± Korvel asked and Amelia shook her head. ¡°We¡¯ll play for time. We can¡¯t tight-beam her or send a subspace pulse back without knowing her exact location, and we won¡¯t give her captain the satisfaction of scrambling by sending a response in the clear. No, we¡¯re going to coordinate with the rest of the convoy, find the bastard, and talk to her directly. That, or make her wait long enough for her to starting squawking in the clear.¡± She picked the headset up again and put it on, choosing to activate her command chair¡¯s video pick-up in the armrest as well. After a few moments, the inlaid computer screen (which very practically swivelled around on a pivot so the captain could position it just the way she wanted it) came alive with the nonplussed faces of the three Indiamen. ¡°Lady la Lune,¡± Shipmaster Molly Chapman of the Selenagrad Prize was the first to speak, ¡°what¡¯s the matter? We¡¯ve only just dropped out of the Light Way and my engineers have only now started to cool down the fusion coils, we won¡¯t be at H-1 for at least two hours.¡± ¡°Firstly, I would like to inform you that we¡¯ve arrived in N¨¹rmann-184, a particularly charmless piece of interstellar real estate, close to twenty light years away from the Lorelei System, so we¡¯re just about halfway through our trek across the Lorelei SAR. Secondly, we, as in the Euphoria, have been messaged through a direct subspace pulse communiqu¨¦ about our intentions and travel plans by an Alliance warship.¡± That second part made the civilian captains hike their eyebrows up in surprise and they started speaking to their bridge crews, no doubt running through the same motions Amelia and her own people had just been through. She held up a hand and cleared her throat to regain their attention. ¡°I can pretty much tell what your officers are saying right now; there¡¯s no signal on sensors, there¡¯s no way the Greens are close enough to send a direct message without us seeing them. To that, I will offer you a pretty simple possible hypothesis as to why.¡± She smiled morbidly. ¡°Your civilian sensors are, and do forgive me for saying so, barely worth the rhenium and technetium that went into making them. And while yes, you are also tied into the Euphoria¡¯s sensor network, we also have a completely useless sensor package, the D5E, which has failed us frequently on previous occasions.¡± ¡°Bloody brilliant,¡± Jakub Antonov of the Astral Pearl said with a huff and crossed his arms over his chest, ¡°we¡¯re practically caught with our pants down and our ¡®escort¡¯ can¡¯t even see who¡¯s stalking us.¡± ¡°Mind your tone, Sir, what what,¡± Amelia said with the slightest of smirks, intentionally slipping into a more aristocratic drawl, ¡°we¡¯re searching for this troublesome fellow right now, and if we don¡¯t find her, we¡¯re going to wait long enough for her become so impatient she will start communicating in the clear, ruining whatever ¡®clever¡¯ ploy she was attempting.¡± She was about to say something more, but Lieutenant Lowell, who had walked over to the holographic plot and taken over commanding about the bridge crew while Amelia was occupied, snapped her fingers sharply. ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± Amelia said, looking back into the video pickup, ¡°but duty calls.¡± Her tone sobered up quite a bit. ¡°Euphoria will remain linked to your ship¡¯s sensor SAIs, and keep your frequencies open. I would advise expediting the cooling of your fusion coils and have your crews at high readiness. That is to say, I do not expect trouble, but given the problematic attitude of the Alliance Space Navy in regards to policing the SAR these past months, the quicker we were on our way, the better.¡± ¡°Surely you don¡¯t think they¡¯d accost merchant ships travelling along a known interstellar shipping lane?¡± Chapman asked, slightly indignant and Amelia shook her head. ¡°No, I don¡¯t believe the Elysians would take issue with you, but I wouldn¡¯t put it past them to make some sort of ruckus if recent history is anything to go by. I will keep you appraised as the situation develops, Euphoria out.¡± She cut the link and turned to face Lowell and Gallagher. ¡°What do you have for me?¡± Lowell pointed at a zoomed in part of the holographic plot, a section showing a bunch of heavy asteroids most likely filled with rare earths, and as Amelia concentrated on them, an ever so barely visible greenish-yellow outline could be spotted in the space between the two largest asteroids. ¡°Looks like we found the Royfort,¡± Fraser-Perry commented, rather unhelpfully. ¡°It appears she is in hull-down mode, running as silent as possible in terms of emissions and electronic signature exposure. From that angle and distance, about seventy-two million kilometres out, it would have taken them three minutes and fifty-eight seconds to spot us on LIDAR and the same time for the readings to bounce back. That fits perfectly with the about nine minute mark, and would also explain why they used subspace pulse instead of normal communications.¡± ¡°Because sub-pulse is faster since it dips into the Light Way,¡± Amelia finished for him, the pieces of the puzzle slotting into place, ¡°and since only the Euphoria has a gravpulse array powerful enough to receive sub-pulse messages, that explains why the message was directed at us.¡± ¡°Indeed,¡± Lowell said, ¡°which means we really could be answering in the clear.¡± ¡°Quite,¡± Amelia answered and put a hand up to her chin in thought, ¡°but I want to play this safe. Ms Gallagher, please note this in the log. Euphoria and Convoy LP-77 arrived in N¨¹rman-184 to recharge fusion coils at 21:29 shipboard time, 10 November 2874 galactic relative. At 21:39, Euphoria was contacted by a ship claiming to be the Alliance Navy Ship Royfort via subspace pulse. O-i-C Euphoria decided at 21:46 to open communications with the ship claiming to be Royfort. Await further log entry.¡± She took a deep breath and straightened her beret and tugged at her uniform tunic. ¡°Put me on main screen, Mr Durzi, and start recording on my mark. For the record, send it over normal radio channels, we¡¯re not playing to the Greens¡¯ tune. Meanwhile, Ms Lowell, get the rest of the crew up and at Readiness Two. Hold off on donning C-suits, but have them close by.¡± ¡°Wouldn¡¯t it be easier to simply call to quarters?¡± Lowell asked, having found her seat again in the 2-i-C chair, but Amelia shook her head. ¡°No, this is probably some hotshot captain looking to peacock his feathers about a bit, trying to play his own importance up and earn some bragging rights among his mates. Trust me, I¡¯ve met the kind before when I was out on the border with the Neuhansa Sternbund and had to deal with paranoid Sternmarine captains who thought every foreign ship either carried contraband or were a covert invasion attempt.¡± ¡°Damn clever hiding spot he picked out for himself though,¡± Lowell said, ¡°but I cannot for the life of me figure out why he would pick this waste-of-space system to hide in, it¡¯s pretty far from the usual layover stops on this shipping route.¡± ¡°Well, we¡¯ll just ask him if we get the chance. Now, get the rest of the boys and girls out of their bunks and have them report to their stations and divisions.¡± ¡°Aye aye, Ma¡¯am.¡± ¡°Alright, let¡¯s have it, Mr Durzi.¡± Sub-lieutenant Durzi typed in a few commands, and a light came on above the massive mimicglass bridge window that also doubled as a huge computer screen, and part of it became filled with a feed of Amelia from the stomach up, and she stared into the camera pick-up with a calm, but firm look on her face. ¡°To the ship claiming to be the Alliance warship Royfort, this is His Auroran Majesty¡¯s destroyer Euphoria, in charge of Royal Merchant Marine Convoy LP-77, Lieutenant Commander Lady de la Lune commanding. We are en route to Lucidia and have entered N-space to recharge the fusion coils of the Light Drives of our Indiamen-type merchant ships. We plan to continue on our way within the next three standard shipboard hours. Euphoria clear.¡± Durzi didn¡¯t need a cue to know when to cut the feed, and Amelia¡¯s face disappeared from the screen and the little light went out with a single clack on his keyboard. ¡°Sent, Ma¡¯am, should be about seven minutes and change before they receive it.¡± ¡°Excellent,¡± Amelia said, ¡°now, someone clear away this tea tray, and I want to know what kind of beast the Royfort is. Ms Gallagher, run through the database and see what we have on her. Ms Lowell, call our merchant skipper friends and ask how they¡¯re getting along with their fusion coils. Don¡¯t be rude, but also drop a few hints for them to light a bit of a fire under their arses. I don¡¯t want to sit here and exchange ¡®pleasantries¡¯ with the Greens for three hours straight, I have better things to do with my time.¡± ¡°Oh, looks like the Royfort is on the move,¡± Fraser-Perry reported, and all eyes were drawn to the holographic plot, and indeed, the little dot denoted as the Royfort, with the blurb of information attached to it, was slowly but surely moving away from the asteroids it had been hiding behind. ¡°That makes no sense,¡± Korvel said in a confused tone, ¡°they can¡¯t have received the message that fast, she¡¯s over seventy-thousand k-clicks out.¡± ¡°Why are they moving at all is my question,¡± McMorrow opined, ¡°if they¡¯ve somehow received the missive, they¡¯d know that we aren¡¯t trying anything funny-like, and that we¡¯ll be gone as soon as practicable.¡± Anna Gallagher simply could not shake the feeling that something was wrong, but every time she consulted the holographic plot and asked the computer systems to run another scan of the sensor data, she came up with nothing. Fraser-Perry was too busy to notice what his junior was doing, and since he was doing most of the work with keeping the plot updated and the coordination with the AIC, Anna was more or less free to keep searching for what nagged her, in between sending updated data to Warrant Officer Korvel¡¯s Tactical division. Her computer made a ding sound as the database search produced results. ¡°Ma¡¯am,¡± she said, half turning to look at de la Lune, ¡°central registry came up with a positive for Royfort.¡± Her eyes skimmed the data and she swallowed. ¡°The Royfort is a Rangertown class light cruiser, commissioned seven years ago, last noted as part of the Alliance¡¯s Starfall Fleet. She has twice our numbers, sixty per cent more guns, and over two times the mass advantage on us.¡± ¡°Well well,¡± Amelia said, following letting out a low whistle, ¡°she¡¯s a little lady with a bite is she? No matter, we¡¯ll be out of her hair shortly. And, for the benefit of the log, I would like to point out that we are well within our rights to be in this star system.¡± ¡°Oh, Ma¡¯am,¡± Durzi interjected, ¡°Royfort is addressing us via sub-pulse again.¡± Amelia clicked her tongue and put a hand up to her temple. ¡°Damn their eyes, why can¡¯t they just stop this idiocy and start sending via normal frequencies. But alright, let¡¯s have it.¡± Ensign Joseph Durzi tapped a few commands on his keyboard, and part of the mimicglass screen was given over to the stern face of an olive-skinned man with very short black hair under his black and white peaked cap. ¡°Auroran warship claiming to be the Euphoria,¡± he said in clipped tones, ¡°this is Commander Ali Vargas of the Royfort. It is my duty to inform you that you are currently in a restricted Alliance territory without specific permission given, nor any advance warning of your arrival provided. I cannot confirm your proclaimed identity, nor that of your companion ships, and as such I have no option but to ask you to port at the nearest Alliance naval base. I will ask you to turn off your active sensors, stand your crew down, and allow yourself to be boarded by our marines and officers who will take your ships to the Lorelei System, where your data logs will be inspected. If you indeed are the Euphoria as you claim to be, you will be permitted to be on your way only after this has been carried out. Royfort clear.¡± Amelia and Lowell could only stare at the now blank mimicglass screen for a solid half-minute, before the captain broke the silence. ¡°Excuse me, what the actual fuck?¡± She thumped a closed fist into the armrest of her chair and pointed at Durzi. ¡°Put me right back on, open channels again, and keep the log running; I want our side of the conversation to be retained for posterity.¡± The light came back on, and Amelia leaned forward in her chair, her calm expression replaced by an icy cold one this time around. ¡°ANS Royfort, this is His Auroran Majesty¡¯s warship Euphoria. Your previous message, which for the benefit of both our shipboard logs were delivered as a direct subspace pulse, is in fact indicative of intent of breach of not only the Genoa Treaty of twenty-one-twenty-two, the interstellar agreement that ensures the security of commercial shipping without arbitrary and unlawful impediment, but is also a violation of the Azurea Agreement of twenty-eight-forty between our two respective star nations. The Lorelei Special Administrative Region is not, repeat, not sovereign Alliance territory, it is an internationally recognised demilitarised zone under the temporary jurisdiction of Alliance authorities, and the Alliance armed forces have a duty to uphold order in the SAR. This does not extend to ordering merchant vessels of neutral nations to port at Alliance Navy bases for unlawful inspections. I await reception and recognition of these facts, Commander Vargas. Until such time, Convoy LP-77 will continue in current fashion. Euphoria clear.¡± The feed cut again, and Amelia had to place the palm of her hands on the armrests to hide the fact that they were shaking violently from the rest of the crew. ¡°Joseph,¡± she said with as much steadiness in her voice as she could muster, ¡°put me through to the civilian captain again, I need to run this through with them.¡± ¡°Aye aye, Ma¡¯am,¡± the young Communications Officer replied, once again rerouting the comms channels of the ship. At the same time, Anna Gallagher was running every sort of scan she could think of, while also forcing through diagnostics of the Euphoria¡¯s notoriously unreliable sensor package that the central AIC CBA-SAI protested noisily against in its own electronic way, but Gallagher overrode its attempts at shutting down what it felt like unnecessary distractions. Something was off-kilter and was gnawing at the back of her mind, but what? ¡°Helm, put us to thirty per cent FMP acceleration,¡± Lieutenant Lowell ordered from her First Lieutenant¡¯s seat, ¡°and angle us towards the Royfort, course one-oh-five by oh-niner-niner. Put us between the Greens and the civvies as best you can. Mr Korvel, extend the CBA-SAI¡¯s network and prepare a tube to launch recon drones. Also, my compliments to Ensign Dunleavy, and have him order his torpedo crews to start putting fish in the pipes.¡± That last few comments caused heads to turn on the bridge. Amelia managed (somehow) to cut the status update with the civilian captains short while still remaining civil, before turning towards her second in command with a horrified grimace on her attractive face. ¡°Steady the Buffs, Ms Lowell! No one¡¯s ordered you to prepare our torpedo batteries hot for action! Have you any idea what you¡¯re doing right now?¡± ¡°Ma¡¯am,¡± Hannah Lowell said as she turned to face her captain directly with a facial expression like battle-grade titanium, ¡°we, as officers and sailors of the Royal Navy, have sworn to defend the honour of the kingdom and our sovereign, protect our allies, and uphold the safety of civilians and the innocent in space. If this jackass in an Alliance Navy uniform isn¡¯t coming perilously close to violating that latter point, then I don¡¯t know what else could constitute such an example. In any case, wouldn¡¯t it be better to be prepared for the worst while aiming for the best?¡± This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it. ¡°Lieutenant,¡± Amelia said in a tone that would in most cases have brokered no argument, ¡°you are walking a very dangerous path right now. Do you have any idea what would happen if this became public knowledge, that a Royal Navy ship was actually prepared to open fire on an Alliance warship over what in all likelihood is a massive misunderstanding? The fallout would be catastrophic, and although I agree with you in principle, I cannot in good conscience allow you to¨C¡± ¡°Buoys!¡± The sudden outburst drew all eyes away from the confrontation between the two senior officers on board towards Ensign Anna Gallagher, and she involuntarily shrunk a bit into her uniform as she realised she had shouted it out loud, but she had solved the puzzle. While everything else had been going on, Anna had been studying the plot, quarrelling with the central SAI systems, and running through any related reports her own Dumb Artificial Intelligence systems could dig up, skim through, and give abbreviated notes on. Her brown eyes had bored into the screen, all the while Lady Dawnshire was angrily arguing with her Elysian opposite some sixty-odd million kilometres away, freeing a hand to flick away troublesome mahogany-coloured hair whenever it escaped the confines of her beret to fall across her eyes. Her eyes almost glossed over, and in her intense focus, Anna was mentally transported back to a time not too long ago. ¡°Ms Gallagher!¡± The crass voice made Senior Cadet Anna Thomasine Winfield Gallagher sit straight up, and she instinctively made sure her blue beret was properly on. Captain Susannah Goodenough shook her head and sighed, before rapping the old-fashioned blackboard with her pointer for emphasis. ¡°I certainly hope,¡± she said out into the auditorium, raising her voice without the use of a microphone for the benefit of the forty-odd cadets present, ¡°that my lecture isn¡¯t as boring for the rest of you as it evidently is to Ms Gallagher here.¡± Anna¡¯s cheeks heated up as laughter rang all around her, but Captain Goodenough soon put a stop to it by rapping the blackboard again. ¡°Some of you may laugh, some of you may sleep, some of you may be texting your boy- or girlfriends right now, but trust me when I say that what I am discussing in this lecture might just save your lives someday. Now, we¡¯ve already covered the basics of the physics involved when it comes to computer-based sensor systems made by humanity. That was first year curriculum, and if you still have trouble comprehending it, I will be honest and proclaim that I¡¯m having problems believing you¡¯re actually fourth year cadets. Anyway, as I was saying, the stealth systems of modern military technology is, objectively, as immaculate as is humanly possible to manufacture. For four-hundred years, naval shipyards have produced hulls that are radiation-absorbent, with internal water-coolant systems that drink up any resident solar energy and store it internally in said ships for further consumption, or simply stockpile it and then flush it at convenient times. But somehow, collectively as a species, we¡¯ve managed to create sensor technology that foregoes any physical technological advancement readily available to us. Take the gravpulse as an example. Yes, as a system it is very visible and indeed vulnerable, since it is as easily seen as it can see other objects in space. But, but, and here is the rub, ladies and gentlemen, it is also the speediest and most accurate mode of measurement known to Humanity. Actually, that¡¯s a falsity, it is so accurate that we as a species still have not managed to manufacture a recipient sensor receiver that is capable of absorbing all of the data that a gravpulse is able to transmit, with the speed it is able to transmit, dipping into the Light Way as it does, without throwing up a bunch of false positives, or positive negatives that our SAI systems have to filter through before a complete sensor picture is presented before our dumb human eyes, able to be translated by our dumb human brains.¡± ¡°Excuse me, Captain Goodenough,¡± a male voice from somewhere behind Gallagher asked, ¡°are you implying that computer systems are somehow smarter than humans? Because that would go against any conventional perception of the superiority of a non-limited and multiple-decision capable entity versus a mechanical construct designed for efficiency within a given parameter of ideal tasks.¡± Captain Goodenough presented a thin smile that didn¡¯t fool Anna at all, and the King William¡¯s Naval Academy professor tugged at her black and gold peaked cap. ¡°Suppose what you say is true, young Mr Maldonado, that Humanity is undeniably superior to the transistor-based servants that we have chosen to create¡­¡± Her tone set off alarm bells in Anna¡¯s brain, but she chose to remain silent, fingering the collar of her blue Royal Naval Academy cadet¡¯s uniform. Of very similar cut to the commissioned junior officer¡¯s uniform of the Royal Auroran Navy, it was of an ocean blue colour with white stripes with a dark blue beret; whereas the Royal Navy officer¡¯s uniform was the infamous black and gold with white or navy blue berets. ¡°It doesn¡¯t change the fact that computer systems are inherently more capable at relatively simple tasks than we are. How fast, Mr Maldonado, can you name all the prime numbers up to the first thousandth? I can guarantee you that a very simple Boolean DAI can do it a million times faster than you. And then I would ask you to compare your times when finding the square root of them all, round up to nearest whole number, and then use those numbers to calculate a spread of positive-operator-valued measures on a Hilbert-Nipissing space. Pretty impossible for you to accomplish unless you have an entire week to do it, Mr Maldonado, wouldn¡¯t you say? That should just prove a benchmark as to what even basic computer systems are able to in terms of compiling and analysing raw data, make sense of it, and produce understandable mathematical results and readouts that our poor monkey brains can make sense of; it scales up when more advanced constructs are used, and then we introduce artificial intelligence systems, and so forth and so forth.¡± That shut the cadet up, and provoked a few more chuckles launched in his general direction. ¡°Now, as I was saying, again,¡± Captain Goodenough said with a half-stern, half-humorous expression on her face, ¡°I would like to compare the translation of complex sensor data to the millennia-old adage of Ockham¡¯s razor. Simply put, if something seems too incredible to be true, then in most circumstances it is, the less fanciful explanation is likely the more logically preferred. If, for instance, a foreign warship has too fast a reaction speed in regards to travel time for radio signals to reach, be translated, a response formed and recorded, and sent back; you can bet your arses that they have deployed some sort of advanced communications drones or other AI-aided system in order to aid with zone-and-control of a given patch of space. Don¡¯t simply assume that your own technology is faulty, out of date, or somehow not up to snuff; just give your erstwhile opponents the benefit of the doubt and allow yourselves to believe that they might have been planning for such a contingency, and then observe, plan, and thereafter act as such.¡± ¡°Buoys, My Lady!¡± Ensign Anna Gallagher shouted again, back in the present, although no one caught her drift, despite her stating it a second time. ¡°I believe, Ms Gallagher,¡± Hannah Lowell said in a slightly condescending tone, ¡°that you need to explain yourself a bit.¡± Anna wasted no time, her hands flying across the keyboard of her station, now completely sure what the stupid little pings of false returns the gravpulse sensor SAI was throwing back at her were. ¡°Here, look,¡± she said with gusto, leaving her chair and pointing at the holographic plot, ¡°this is the confirmed electronic signature of the Royfort.¡± She shuffled a bit to the other side of the plot and pointed again. ¡°And here we, LP-77, are. As you can tell we¡¯re a very tell-tale cluster of four electronic signatures with our active transponders firing, meaning that anyone just looking in our general direction knows that we¡¯re a warship, and these other huge beasts are merchant ships.¡± She made an exaggerated motion with her arms to encompass the computer display of the large Indiamen-type ships. ¡°Warships put out a stupid amount of signals when under normal cruising conditions, especially gravpulse signals, so it is practically impossible to be misidentified for a civilian vessel.¡± She paused and drew in a breath. ¡°But what then, are these?¡± Anna said, pointing to a seemingly empty part of the N¨¹rmann-184 System. Eyes followed her pointing finger. It looked like a few variable results that shifted every time the next gravpulse wave hit, moving both location and attached electronic data; the very definition of sensor false positives. There were a few scoffing noises, two officers started to whisper things under their breaths, and Lady Dawnshire¡¯s brow started to scrunch up¡­ That was until Lieutenant Aiden Fraser-Perry suddenly produced a surprised sound. ¡°You¡¯ve read the Carcharodon report, haven¡¯t you?¡± His tone wasn¡¯t as much accusatory as it was admiring, and Anna nodded while smiling. ¡°I skimmed it a month or so back, and accessed it again just now because I had a hunch.¡± ¡°My Lady,¡± Fraser-Perry turned towards the still seated noble lieutenant commander, ¡°what Ensign Gallagher is pointing to is in all likelihood Alliance Navy communications or observation drones, possibly even intelligence buoys.¡± ¡°How can you be sure, Mr Fraser-Perry?¡± Lieutenant Lowell asked in a tone that suggested she would have liked a less complicated or fanciful explanation, but the Operations Officer shook his head. ¡°I¡¯m sorry, but the ensign is right. These ghost pings that our gravpulse is picking up are very¡­ no, extremely similar to what HMS Carcharodon found close to six months back in New Malta. What Carcharodon had to deal with that we don¡¯t, is that the suspected Alliance drones were hidden in a Jovian¡¯s ice ring, whereas these are just hiding in plain sight, pretty far away from any solar objects. That means our gravpulse at the standard configuration is just barely able to pick up on the very low frequency output they generate, but the SAI interprets it as ghost pings; in other words false positives.¡± ¡°It would also explain why they keep sending via subspace pulse,¡± Durzi said, mental pieces clicking into place for him as well, ¡°because if they transmitted in the clear over open comms channels, they would be routed through the same buoys and we¡¯d receive the messages just as fast as they are. The buoys are probably hooked to subspace and Light Way transmitters, meaning their signals are getting incrementally and exponentially boosted depending on the size of the buoy network. We use the same approach when we set up surveillance and communications networks, but I can¡¯t think of an example of doing it in an uninhabited system like this¡­¡± ¡°I guess the shoe is on the other foot, then¡­¡± ¡°My Lady?¡± Warrant Officer Stephen Korvel looked up at the comment made by Amelia, which she really wished could have gone unnoticed. She drew her flaxen hair back and tied it into a ponytail. ¡°Very well done, Ms Gallagher,¡± she said, and gave the junior officer a smile of appreciation, ¡°I will make sure to mention your contribution in the report later. But for now, we have a very agitated light cruiser captain that needs to be put back in his place. Mr Durzi, open channels again.¡± The light came on, and Amelia sat up straight. ¡°Royfort, this is Euphoria. We have multiple reasons to believe that the Alliance Space Navy have deployed extensive communications and/or monitoring buoys in the N¨¹rmann-184 System. In addition to the previously outlined potential violations of interstellar treaties described in our last missive, the presence of a military surveillance network in the demilitarised zone of the SAR is in breach of the Interstellar Court of Justice¡¯s paragraph eleven, as well as a further breach of the Azurea Agreement. Euphoria will upon arrival in Lucidia forward the information gathered to the appropriate authorities of both our star nations, as well as relevant third party polities. We will also lodge a complaint to the Alliance Navy regarding Royfort¡¯s belligerent actions which have been totally unbecoming in relation to neutral vessels in a marked DMZ. Needless to say, we will not comply to Royfort¡¯s previous instructions, as they are by their very nature unlawful. Euphoria clear.¡± As the recording light disappeared again, Amelia turned to Lowell. ¡°Inform the civilian skippers that we¡¯re leaving, damn their fusion coils. We¡¯ve wasted too much time and energy already dealing with this Commander Vargas, and we need to get this information to Lucidia Station before the Greens can clear their trail of any wrong-doing. And I have a sneaking suspicion that¨C¡± ¡°Royfort is accelerating and powering up her sensors!¡± Fraser-Perry half-shouted in surprise from his station. ¡°She¡¯s hitting Antiochene Heldin and Astral Pearl with targeting lasers!¡± Korvel reported, his voice betraying his disbelief. ¡°She¡¯s what now?!¡± Lowell spun around to look at the plot. Royfort was still over forty million kilometres away from Euphoria, which had already started to close the distance, and as such were close to fifty million clicks from the nearest of the Union Indiamen, but the tell-tale bright beams that emanated from the holographic contact were unmistakable. ¡°They¡¯ve gone completely mad,¡± Lowell said in a low voice, ¡°they¡¯re actually aiming their weapons on neutral ships, civilian ones at that.¡± ¡°Warship claiming to be the Euphoria,¡± the angry voice of Commander Vargas said over the comms, now apparently messaging in the clear since their cover had been blown, ¡°we have every reason to believe that you are not the ship you are claiming to be, and as such is in direct violation of the Azurea Agreement between the Independent Systems Alliance and the collective governments of the Royal Union, in addition to flying under false flag. There are also grounds to doubt the veracity of the identity of the ¡®merchant ships¡¯, and as such you will accompany the Royfort to Lorelei Fleet headquarters for internment and questioning. Please stand down your crews, shut off your systems, and prepare to be boarded and hand over control of your vessels. Failure to do so will be regarded as an act of hostile intent. Royfort out.¡± ¡°That slimy fucker,¡± McMorrow commented angrily, slamming his fist into his station, ¡°you know the cat¡¯s out of the bag and now you¡¯re trying to get rid of the evidence.¡± ¡°This is so beyond illegal that I don¡¯t have any words,¡± Fraser-Perry said and slumped back in his chair. Hannah Lowell and Amelia de la Lune exchanged glances, and Lowell nodded. ¡°Ms Lowell,¡± Amelia said in a calm voice, ¡°call all hands to Action Stations and beat to quarters.¡± The bridge immediately fell silent, the only sounds being the whirring of the ventilation system and the faint hum of the computer stations. ¡°Aye aye, My Lady,¡± Lowell replied in a similar tone, rose from her chair and saluted. She picked up her own headset and selected internal comms and ship-wide. The tannoys played a tune before the First Lieutenant¡¯s voice was broadcast all over the interior of HMS Euphoria. ¡°All hands, this is the First Lieutenant, Action Stations, I say again, Action Stations. Bugler, sound the beat to quarters. All hands don your C-suits, deck and division officers report readiness status.¡± The bulkheads, hallways, and decks of the Euphoria rang with the sound of heavy boots hitting the metal flooring in heavy tempo, the sound of the Action Station klaxons ringing out. Most stations were already manned by the bare minimum crew for operations, but at the call of beat to quarters, everyone dropped whatever they were doing and ran to put on their protective C-suits before rushing off their assigned stations. The Royal Navy¡¯s Combat/Closed Circuit Mk VII suit was a tightfitting, all-encompassing spacesuit with inlaid plates of aramisteel in critical areas such as the chest, stomach, crotch, shoulders, knees and the back. A helmet with a wide visor of mimicglass slotted into place over the high neck guard, creating a completely tight and vacuum secure seal, and internal oxygen canisters held enough air for a period of up to ten hours of intense activity. The Combat Gunnery suit was even more heavily armoured and protected against flash fires, minor to moderate back-blasts from malfunctioning guns, had blast padding, and polarisation on their visors instead of a retractable extra visor like the normal C-suit. The suits were uniformly light grey, but with increasing amount of navy blue and golden stripes on the upper torso, arms, and legs according to rank; it was much more effective to colour-code the combat suits rather than rely on insignia, especially in the heat and tempo of battle. ¡°All hands, this is the captain speaking.¡± Amelia¡¯s voice penetrated the noise of running sailors, NCO¡¯s shouting and directing troops to their stations, Royal Marines donning their own combat armour and grabbing pulse carbines out of arms lockers, winches hoisting railgun shells, medics preparing surgical tools and crash carts, Damage Control teams making sure their flame-retardant spray canisters were correctly fastened, and the engineers sealing off the fusion reactor and the Misaki bottles to prevent overheating from energy roll-back. ¡°Shortly after arrival here in the N¨¹rmann-184 System, we were hailed by a warship claiming to be the Alliance Navy Ship Royfort. After a series of exchanges and increasingly worrisome sensor readouts, the conversation turned hostile. The captain of the Royfort has accused us and the civilian ships we are escorting of flying under false flag, and to be in breach of interstellar law, which for the record, we decidedly are not. Me and my officers have, on the other hand, conclusive evidence that either the Royfort or some other Alliance ship has created a surveillance network here in N¨¹rmann-184, which is a blatant breach of the Azurea Agreement and a violation of the Lorelei Demilitarised Zone treaty. When we confronted the Royfort with this, they turned aggressive and ordered us to stand down, be boarded, and forced to port in Lorelei where we would be interned. Naturally, that is not happening. Shortly after informing the Elysians of that, they powered up their sensors, staked a course for our merchant charges, and are now targeting them with aim-lasers. It is the duty of the Royal Navy and all its officers and sailors to protect civilians and the innocent, and we will act accordingly. Know that I will do everything to de-escalate the situation, but be ready for anything. Good luck. Captain de la Lune out.¡± ¡°Bridge is now in Readiness One,¡± Lowell reported as Amelia received her C-suit from a yeoman who had fetched it from her cabin, ¡°all officers and technicians are present. Bridge will now enter Action Mode, all orders are logged, and all interactions are transmitted on lower bands of the internal net. Captain, you have the bridge.¡± Lowell saluted and Amelia returned the gesture, her throat suddenly very dry. She was good at maintaining a professional exterior, but on the inside she was a quivering mess. Self-doubt, questions, fears, worries over misinterpretations and miscalculations bounced around in her mind. Alright old girl, stiff upper lip. Never say die, for the devil a morsel of good that¡¯ll do. ¡°I¡¯m going to get changed, you have the conn for the moment, Ms Lowell.¡± Amelia stepped into the bridge¡¯s adjoining readiness room, a relatively small compartment with a few chairs, tables, fold-down beds, a small kitchen space, and heads; it was used for rotating crews during extended operations, and also as a changing room for this exact purpose. Ensign Gallagher saluted as she exited the heads and Amelia stepped in. Once inside and the door to the stall was locked, she slumped down onto the toilet and put her head in her shaking hands. Her breath was heavy and laborious, and her stomach roiled. Steady old girl, steady, you¡¯ve trained for this, you¡¯re ready for this. You always knew there was a possibility something like this would happen. The crew looks up to you, you can¡¯t fail them now, and especially not the merchant sailors. Still shaky, she stood up and started to remove her battle dress. When she was stripped down to her underwear, her nerves had had enough, and she barely had time to open the toilet before the contents of her stomach came soaring back up. Amelia absently reflected that there was next to nothing but tea and bile, and that she shouldn¡¯t have skipped dinner. ¡°Status report?¡± she asked as she stepped back onto the bridge, now wearing the C-suit, and slotted her helmet into place, having tied her long hair into a bun that could fit inside it. ¡°No change, Ma¡¯am,¡± Fraser-Perry reported, his voice coming both from the external speakers of his helmet as well as from inside Amelia¡¯s own over the internal bridge channel net. ¡°Right, let¡¯s show the Greens how the Royal Navy conducts itself in the face of what amounts to uniformed pirates,¡± she said with an angry snarl as she sat down. ¡°Mr Fraser-Perry, fire up our sensor suite to maximum power. I want every targeting laser and guidance beam we have pointed squarely at the Royfort. Stealth be damned, I want us to look like the next best thing to a Christmas tree on their plot. Master Baker, put us between the Royfort and the civilian ships, and keep us in their path regardless of course changes, we¡¯ll be the merchantmen¡¯s shield. Speaking of, Mr Durzi, put me through to all three of them.¡± The three merchant captains appeared on the screen again, and Amelia saluted them formally this time. ¡°As you have heard over the open radio channels, the Royfort is intent on unlawfully intern and port us. This is in violation of so many interstellar treaties and laws that I have lost count, and basically boils down to outright piracy. I have therefore called my ship to action stations, and I will through any means necessary force the Royport away from your ships. As commanding officer of Royal Merchant Marine Convoy LP-77, I order you all to power up your fusion reactors and Light Drives, head directly for the t-limit, and translate into the Light Way as soon as possible and make your way to Lucidia with the data packets and sensor information you are now in possession of. Lodge a formal complaint to the Royal Navy Lucidia Station and to the Auroran administration on Lucidia, and present the data. If Euphoria does not show up in Lucidia twenty-four hours after your arrival, assume the worst.¡± She took a deep breath, and tasted the nasty afterwash of bile at the back of her throat. ¡°I¡¯m not going to lie to you, this may become a major interstellar incident, and I will continue to de-escalate using any means necessary, but you now represent the best hope of Aurora and the Royal Union to get this vital information into the hands of the appropriate authorities.¡± ¡°Lady de Lune¡­¡± Captain Chapman began, but Parzer cut her off. ¡°My Lady, don¡¯t do this, you can outrun a cruiser, just come with us! We still have an advantage in distance, we can all translate into L-space before the Royfort can enter effective firing range.¡± Amelia held up a gloved hand and allowed herself a thin smile. ¡°Don¡¯t worry, Captain Parzer, I don¡¯t intend on getting myself and my crew killed in some death-or-glory charge. I will simply buy you time to effect a getaway. I was simply outlining the worst case scenario. So, get going now, and Godspeed.¡± She cut the feed before the other captains could say anything more, and she sighed. Lowell leaned over and touched her helmet against Amelia¡¯s, muting her microphone and letting the sound waves travel through the contacting metal and plastacene. ¡°How much of that was true?¡± Amelia smiled wearily at her First Lieutenant. ¡°Some of it, to be sure. But come now, let¡¯s get down to do our jobs.¡± Chapter 28 - Days of Erudition: Normalcy Upset No.3 The Auroran Silvercat (Auroridaeum argyrofelidae) is the largest predator of the Auroran lowland terrain of New Ontario and Gordias, commonly reaching lengths of two-hundred centimetres from head to tail. Like most of Auroran fauna, they are hexaped, i.e. they are in possession of six digitigrade legs, though uniquely the silvercat has a trio of tails that presumably primarily serve as a method of communication; they are able to intertwine, move independently, or ¡°pair up¡± in order to communicate certain emotions (in regards to silvercat emotional spectrum and expression, c.f. Huynter 2770 or Madrigades 2688). As most predatory Auroran fauna, the silvercat¡¯s diet is primarily ¨Cbut not completely¨C composed of protein, and due to their large size they need large hunting grounds, encompassing numerous packs of meandering prey fauna. A grown male silvercat can weight close to three-hundred kilos, but a lot of their total weight is due to their extremely dense bone-mass, which seems like an evolutionary aberration when taking into account the lower-than-1G gravity of Aurora. In fact, no other comparable predator from Earth history comes close in regards to degradable muscle mass compared to intrinsic genetic material growth; not even the famous Great White shark, making the silvercat a truly unique predator from a pure genetic and evolutionary point of view. The feline-adjacent predator is, again, like all other native Auroran animal groups, such as the waterlossacs, the mosselks, and the redcoons, only able to comfortably consume proteins with very high levels of dextro-amino acids which thankfully have made this huge predator largely harmless to humans because of Earth-originated fauna¡¯s protein composition. The fur of the silvercat, like the name suggests, has a grey-silvery shine to it, but it is off-set by the shimmering effect that most predators on Aurora have developed in order to more effectively stalk their prey. The silvercat is, upon first glance, a perfect predator; they have six legs with seven clawed toes on each paw, have an extreme bone-to-muscle mass density that allows them to effectively traverse near-sheer mountains and cliff ridges, and their four eyes are placed strategically along their elongated skull beneath huge ears which has been proven to hear subsonic noises. Yet all of this has apparently not been enough for this alleged apex predator, because evolution has granted them the ability to ¡°shimmer¡±. This refers to the way the fur of the silvercat (and similarly quite many other predators on Aurora are able to manipulate their fur and skin in this way) more or less blends into the background, not unlike what military camouflage did back in the day before personal cloaking effect shrouds were invented. A silvercat will very effectively blend into the background, creating a hazy image comparable to a mirage produced by a human mind seriously afflicted by heatstroke. The fact that predators on Aurora, and not prey, have evolved this ability is regarded as very disconcerting by the Royal Institute of Biology. Excerpt from the galactic encyclopaedic networked service regarding the search topic of "Auroran predator", accessed 4th of November 2874 CE.
Like all Royal Navy destroyers, the E class was designed for maximum acceleration and speed, as good a sensor suite the hull could realistically fit and power with its fusion reactor, and a main strike package of revolver-reloaded torpedo launchers to capitalize on their high speed and compensate for the lack of deck space for significant numbers of broadside railguns. Euphoria carried a combined broadside of only sixteen 12-inch railguns, each housed in their individual gunports and mounted on computer-assisted swivel mounts, but that was usually more than enough to get the job done when fending off the occasional smuggler or buccaneer, as well as other navies¡¯ snooping corvettes and frigates. Against a modern light cruiser, the Euphoria¡¯s broadside was next to useless given the level of armour, internal, external, and reactive, a cruiser of Royfort¡¯s configuration would be fitted with. However, they still had their torpedoes. Unlike the magnetic and acoustic guided explosive devices of Earth¡¯s water navies, the ¡°torpedoes¡± of the 29th century were in essence long-range guided missiles, carrying its own computer-assisted guidance system that was slaved to fire director or AIC SAIs. They were usually equipped with relatively low-yield nuclear or ¡°shredder/shrapnel¡± warheads; the first designed to cause as much damage as possible, the second to fray armour plates off of their targets or rip apart swarms of drones as well as any smaller warships that might stray in their path. Torpedoes were the true battlespace equaliser of naval warfare; one perfectly launched and aimed torpedo from a humble destroyer could do as much or even more damage than a battleship¡¯s broadside. Some star nations leaned heavier on this weapon system than others, and a few like the navies of the Majapahit Protectorate and the Caliphate of Asqalan invested heavily in torpedo cruisers as a cost-effective alternative to the eye-wateringly expensive battleships that the major powers favoured. The ¡°First Strike School¡± of Sir Damien Koyanagi, which had held sway at the Admiralty for the past two decades, had tried something similar but with mostly underwhelming results, such as the notoriously unreliable and poorly designed Aggressor class light cruisers. Amelia didn¡¯t exactly mentally vocalise that directly, it was more of a background data entry that she half-remembered, but she was very aware that if the Royfort decided to force the issue and continue on her headlong charge at the Union Indiamen, the torpedo batteries was Euphoria¡¯s only actual chance to deter the Alliance ship. ¡°Master Baker,¡± she said out loud, the microphone of her helmet turned back on, ¡°increase our acceleration to seventy per cent of FMP, and keep helm to a zero-ten intercept course on the Royfort. Mr Korvel, I want a firing solution for our chase batteries aimed towards the cruiser¡¯s engine section, at least as far as is practicable. Mr McMorrow, give me a best-time estimate of the convoy¡¯s escape vector into L-space, and a calculation of Royfort¡¯s ability to overtake them within that time frame; I want a best and worst possible scenario, if you please.¡± She turned back to Lowell. ¡°I believe you¡¯re needed in AIC, Ms Lowell. My compliments, and relieve Mr Andreychuk before the poor lad breaks down from the stress. I¡¯ll leave it up to you how to manage our drone screen, but for the time being I want a tight net of jammers, and load a tube of noisemakers just in case.¡± ¡°Aye aye, Ma¡¯am,¡± Lowell said, rose from her chair and made for the bridge hatch, snapping her fingers at Ensign Gallagher and a tactical technician to follow her. When the trio were gone, Amelia turned back towards the plot, leaned forward and put her helmeted chin on her closed hands. ¡°We¡¯re pushing an acceleration of almost six thousand km/s,¡± she said half-aloud, the crew unsure if she was speaking to herself or to them, ¡°meaning if the Royfort continues at her current acceleration at roughly four-nine, and assuming no course correction to maintain zero-ten is effected, we¡¯ll be at overlay in nineteen minutes and change to zero-ten. Effective range of our twelve-inches is in the range of forty k-clicks, so overlay should be a full one-eighty by two-hundred and maximum burn for at least one minute forty-eight seconds¡­¡± She had been tapping in queries on her command chair computer while mumbling, running the maths back with the inlaid DAI just to be sure she wasn¡¯t miscalculating. She knew Lionel Baker, the Sailing Master, was fully aware of when and how to cut their acceleration to maintain the close-in course she had ordered, but Amelia took comfort in running through the calculations herself. ¡°Drones away, Ma¡¯am,¡± WO Korvel said, and Amelia could feel the slight reverberation of the hull as a box launcher of drones unleashed its content into the void, and the plot updated to show clusters of small electronic signals that swarmed the Euphoria¡¯s hull. Holding their position a few hundred meters out from the titanium hull of the ship using small electromagnetic anchors, the drones immediately upon order from the Close Battlespace Awareness SAI started doing their utmost to obfuscate the electronic signals of Euphoria, creating a haze of bogus data that any potential warship sensor had to dig through. The Auroran ¡°Starling¡± Mk XII drone was a seventeen metre long metal construct that could at first glance be mistaken for a small torpedo, but it had eight small wings towards the back of the hull where the engine was located, and two bulbs towards the front; one housed the on-board Dumb Artificial Intelligence computer system, while the other protected a fire-and-forget communications and sensor package. An aqueous lithium-ion battery was charged by a small miniaturised fission engine that held 0.013 grams of intensely pressurised plutonium encased in a chamber of an ultra-saline solution. That provided the Starling with ample power to do whatever required of it, and had a theoretical deployment length of eight days, but they rarely lasted more than five or six hours during intense manoeuvres. The mission packages could be switched for reconnaissance, long-range communications, targeting aids, monitoring, direct electronic warfare, torpedo countermeasures, aka ¡°noisemaker pattern¡±, and a myriad of other profiles, making the unassuming pieces of metal and electronics one of the most versatile and important tools available to the Royal Navy. And compared to what military technology and hardware usually cost, the Starlings were dirt cheap, which was why they were usually loaded into box launchers twenty or thirty at a time. ¡°Drones in flight, Ma¡¯am, and set to obscuration pattern, slaved to CBA SAI and running frequency-hopping and random beam walks,¡± the Electronic Warfare Officer ¨Ca petty officer in the under-officered Euphoria¡¯s case¨C reported from her station and Amelia could see the electronic signature of the Euphoria become clouded and distorted on their own plot. Electronic warfare was fundamentally the same in the 29th century as it had been centuries before, only the computers running the algorithms to confuse the other side¡¯s had become infinitely more complicated and electronically devious. While the main strategy for hiding targets from gravpulse by making sure the sensors read the signals as false positives because of their weak output, electronic warfare was the opposite; make so much electronic noise as to overwhelm the opposite logic centres, which if powerful enough could interfere with one¡¯s own. That was incidentally what was happening to Euphoria¡¯s poor CBA SAI, and the EWO had to divert other sensor systems away from close-in observation or else their primary battlespace monitor system would be overloaded by doing the simple task of keeping tabs of its own vicinity. This wasn¡¯t a problem for bigger ships, especially cruisers, which were designed from the keel out for this type of task, but Euphoria was limited by its size in terms of what systems she could fit, and corners had to be cut somewhere. One of the corners cut in the E Class destroyer was having a truly independent sensor recipient system, which meant that all input went through the same computer matrices, including their own electronic and energy emissions. How someone hadn¡¯t simply made the artificial intelligence logic cores filter own signals out, was a thought every operations and electronic warfare tech and officer who had ever served on an E Class had had at one point or another. Minutes ticked by as the dots denoting the Royfort and Euphoria crept closer on the holographic plot, seemingly at a veritable crawl despite the fact that both ships were moving at thousands of kilometres per second. The trio of merchant vessels had started to move in the opposite direction, away from the system primary in order to not get caught in its gravitic sphere. Ships could exit from the Light Way well inside a system¡¯s t-limit, but had to get within a certain range of it in order to re-enter the Light Way, the range dependent on the strength of the Lorentz force field that their Light Drives produced. And since the Indiamen had had their Misaki bottles completely shut down in order to cool them off, they would need quite a bit of time before the bottle gyros were operating at even a fraction of full power. With all of that in the back of her head, Amelia kept her eyes fixed on the Royfort¡¯s signal, listening absently but noting the reports her bridge officers sang out. ¡°Ma¡¯am,¡± a gruff male voice reported over the internal net, ¡°Royal Marine Number One section is now in place to protect the bridge, and Number Two section is position to protect the bulkheads heading to Fusion One. Number Three and Four sections are standing by to assist Damage Control or Medical if needed.¡± She thumbed the internal comms response button on the right underside of her helmet. ¡°Understood, Lieutenant Glendower, thank you,¡± she replied to the Royal Marine lieutenant in charge of the platoon on board, though Amelia knew there hadn¡¯t ever been a boarding action of a Royal Auroran Navy ship in its centuries-long history. Regardless, the Royal Marines still adhered to a very strict security procedure of protecting the most important parts of the ship. In reality, the bootnecks were handier as assistant medical or DC personnel, or helping the gunnery crews, but they still had their traditional role to fulfil as the protectors of a warship, which they jealously guarded. ¡°Royfort is hailing us, Ma¡¯am,¡± Ensign Durzi said, hand awkwardly hitting his helmet as he absentmindedly tried to wipe his brow, ¡°shall I put it on screen, or to your chair?¡± ¡°Screen please, Mr Durzi, let¡¯s see if this Commander Vargas is willing to actually see sense and calm the hell down.¡± Part of the mimicglass screen blinked alive, showing the seemingly perpetually angry face of Commander Vargas, and while he still wore the black and white cap, his neck was now covered by the collar of a white Alliance Navy C-suit equivalent. ¡°Euphoria, this is Royfort. Please comply with previously transmitted orders, and cease this meaningless posturing you are currently attempting. You and your fellow Union ships are in violation of numerous interstellar treaties, and as such are bound by law to observe the directions I have given you multiple times already. If you do not, I will be forced to take drastic measures to see that Alliance sovereignty is not violated.¡± If you encounter this story on Amazon, note that it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it. Not even waiting for Vargas to complete his spiel, Amelia literally punched her chair¡¯s comms override button, the distance between the two warships sufficiently low that communications was practically instant, the transmission speed of the radio signals aided by the Alliance buoys. ¡°Royfort, as I have previously iterated, N¨¹rmann-184 and the Lorelei SAR is not sovereign Alliance territory; its security is administered by the Alliance Armed Forces, but that is the extent of your reach in this stellar region. Given the current relations between our respective star nations, what Royfort is attempting to do is directly comparable to piracy, since no formal declaration of war or a special cessation of normal activities and contact exists. In fact, if you are resolved to carry out your previously stated commands, your actions may be regarded as a direct act of war against the Kingdom of Aurora and Her allies in the Royal Union. I would respectfully ask that you take this into consideration, and allow LP-77 transit to Lucidia, whereupon members of the diplomatic service of our two countries can have a chance to¨C¡± ¡°Royfort¡¯s cut the feed, Captain,¡± Durzi reported in a blank tone and Amelia¡¯s jaw almost dropped. ¡°Someone please tell me,¡± she half-shouted, teeth grinding as she seethed with anger, ¡°if having actual brain damage is a prerequisite for signing up for the Alliance Navy? That bloody twat over there is actually going to force the issue over entry into this arse-end of nowhere system, come hell or high water.¡± She fell silent and fingers drummed rapidly on her armrest, while the rest of the bridge crew stole nervous glances at each other and at the plot, where the symbols of the two warships gradually closed in on each other. ¡°Mr Korvel,¡± she said as the range dipped below thirty-two million kilometres, ¡°I want a torpedo firing solution for the Royfort, three tubes, nuclear-tipped warheads, and a targeting/pen-aid drone to accompany and lead the launch.¡± The air felt sucked out of the bridge, and Sub-lieutenant Antonio McMorrow crossed himself, muttering a silent prayer. ¡°Ma¡¯am,¡± the disembodied voice of Lieutenant Lowell came over the bridge speakers, ¡°for the benefit of the logs, I must point out that the radiological alert of armed nuclear warheads might be interpreted as intent of opening fire on the warship of a foreign nation, and could be construed as a casus belli.¡± ¡°And I will counter,¡± the captain replied, ¡°that the numerous messages from the Royfort has clearly demonstrated their intent to commit what is in essence a casus foederis, on top of already blatant breaches of ius inter gentes.¡± ¡°I love when you speak dirty to me, Captain,¡± Lowell replied, trying her best to alleviate the palpable tension on both the bridge and in the Action Information Centre deep in the ship¡¯s core, but Amelia was not in the mood for quips, something her shaking hands could attest to, had she not been trying her best to hide it by keeping them balled into fists. ¡°Stand to your post, Ms Lowell, and keep me appraised of any changes in the Royfort¡¯s combat profile. You have the CBA logic core with you, and all combat and sensor information flows through you first. Bridge out.¡± She turned halfway around in her chair to look the direction of the tactical stations. ¡°Now, Mr Korvel, order Ensign Dunleavy to load the aforementioned torpedoes and drone, and await my order to launch. And rest assured, I¡¯m not moronic enough to fire the first shot, but I want our options ready should the proverbial shit hit the proverbial fan. But I do want every gunner to be ready at their station for anything.¡± ¡°Aye aye, Milady,¡± Warrant Officer Stephen Korvel answered and started to run the calculations for a firing solution on his inlaid console, helped by his two tactical specialists (Lowell had grabbed his Gunnery Officer¡¯s Mate to assist her in the AIC). A different set of klaxons, more high-pitched and rapidly pulsing than the Action Stations one from before, started singing, and Fraser-Perry leaned over his console in concern. ¡°Milady, the Royfort is hitting us with targeting lasers, but she still has about half of her rangefinders and guidance systems focused on the Indiamen.¡± ¡°Well, she had to switch targets eventually; anything else would be absolutely idiotic. How far away from transit are the merchant ships? And someone shut off that damn alarm, it¡¯s threatening to give me a migraine.¡± ¡°Ma¡¯am, the Antiochene Heldin is the lead of the trio,¡± McMorrow reported, ¡°and she¡¯s approximately thirty-four minutes from generating enough Lorentz force to enter the Light Way. The Selenagrad Prize might do it in twenty-nine minutes, but if they don¡¯t transit as a squadron they¡¯ll lose each other within a few minutes once inside the Way.¡± ¡°Bloody brilliant,¡± Petty Officer Kendra Blackwell, the Electronic Warfare Officer (who had so far mostly kept her mouth shut outside of delivering mission-specific reports, focusing on her tasks) commented, ¡°we have to dance around these megalomaniacal idiots for half an hour and hope to the Gods they don¡¯t open fire?¡± Something clicked inside Amelia¡¯s brain and she stood up from her command chair, startling Fraser-Perry (stationed by the holographic plot and ergo the closest to the command dais), and she slapped her hands together, though the C-suit made the clapping sound well muted. ¡°That¡¯s bloody it, EWO,¡± Lady de la Lune burst out, the embers of something akin to an idea to get out of their current predicament taking shape in her mind, ¡°let¡¯s play up and ask them to dance.¡± ¡°Milady?¡± Fraser-Perry and Durzi both said simultaneously in equally confused tones, but Amelia simply waved them away. ¡°Master Baker, change our intercept to oh-,¡± she had to sit down into her chair again to crunch a few numbers on her command chair computer, but grinned when her rough estimates came back mostly positive, ¡°correction course change, oh-eight-one by oh-oh-niner.¡± ¡°Uh, aye, Milady,¡± the Sailing Master replied, starting to adjust the multi-thousand tonne ship¡¯s course and the pitch, yaw, and force of the five ion engines from his large computer console, ¡°changing course to oh-eight-one by oh-oh-niner. Beg Milady¡¯s pardon, but acceleration as before?¡± ¡°No, actually, increase thrust to full FMP, I want all the Euphie can give us. Mr Korvel, I trust those torpedoes are ready?¡± ¡°Yes, Ma¡¯am,¡± WO Korvel replied, having double-checked his armaments readiness display, ¡°Dunleavy reports flank tubes one through four are loaded, and standing by for further instructions.¡± ¡°Good man,¡± Amelia said enthusiastically, and sat further back in her chair. Silence dragged out for a few more moments, allowing the plot to correct for the Euphoria¡¯s new course compared to the Alliance light cruiser. Fraser-Perry was the first to break the bridge¡¯s sudden reticence by clearing his throat. ¡°Beg your pardon, Ma¡¯am, but what do you mean by ¡®ask them to dance¡¯?¡± An enigmatic smile crept across Amelia¡¯s pretty face and she nodded towards the plot. ¡°Take a look for yourself, Aiden, and tell me how that¡¯s not the most apt description you can come up with.¡± It took a few more moments for the bridge officers and technicians to consider the course change, how it affected the overall battlespace situation, but none was the wiser before the enthusiastic voice of Ensign Anna Gallagher emerged over the bridge¡¯s speakers. ¡°You¡¯re going to use the mass of the Royfort as an electromagnetic sling, Milady?¡± Every set of eyes on the bridge turned towards the lieutenant commander, who grinned and crossed her arms across her chest in response. ¡°Surely the Royfort has too small of a mass for such a manoeuvre, Ma¡¯am,¡± McMorrow protested, and Amelia cocked her head slightly. ¡°I don¡¯t know, Sub-lieutenant, does she? Because according to my calculations, if we launch every single of our drones and activate their electromagnetic anchors in a chain, we should theoretically, whilst also firing off our emergency counter-thrusters, be able to use the Royfort as an emergency gravitic anchor; very much against their will I might add, which only adds another element of jeu ne sais quis in my book.¡± She rose from her chair, her grin now wiped from her face, and using sharp finger movements, transferred her calculated plot projections from the command chair to the central holographic plot, which displayed the suggested trajectory and its result, and more than a few of the bridge crews¡¯ eyebrows rose in surprise. ¡°Ma¡¯am,¡± Lowell¡¯s voice reappeared over the speakers, ¡°this suggestion is wholly dependent on the Greens actually sticking to their current course, and not deviating from it in any considerably fashion in order to chase us down.¡± ¡°Ms Lowell,¡± Amelia replied, ¡°not to sound too disparaging or sell ourselves short here, but for an Alliance cruiser captain hell-bent on violating the Azurea Agreement, three large interred Indiamen class ships are a much more visually appealing prize than a single destroyer, despite the bloody nose in regards to prestige it might give the Royal Navy. Run back the train of logic this Commander Vargas has stuck to during this entire encounter. He has claimed that none of the ships of LP-77 are what they claim to be, the unsaid accusation being that this is a convoy composed of purely warships. What possible base do his arguments have? Apart from the electronic signals and the transponders we are all transmitting, which for the record are all correct and were last updated in Kitezh three weeks ago, the Royfort must be relying on sensor data to support their claim. And even basic LIDAR and thermal will confirm that we, the Euphoria, have a mass that translates to roughly two-eighty k-tonnes when converted to normal G. On the flip side, the Indiamen are north of eight million tonnes in 1G, the same as a battleship or a large battlecruiser. Surely, if Commander Vargas over there has even the slightest inclination to cover his own arse whilst also dealing the Royal Union a humiliating blow, or even just make our lives that much harder, he could realistically blame faulty electronics and sensor systems for the Royfort¡¯s inability to recognize the merchant ships as civilians. It wouldn¡¯t be hard for him and his crew to claim they showed up as ships of the line on their screens, while we were clearly a destroyer class all the while.¡± Confused silence stretched on for a few moments before Lieutenant Aiden Fraser-Perry actually laughed out loud. ¡°My God, Milady, I sure hope we in the wardroom never have to play poker against you anytime soon.¡± ¡°Aye,¡± WO Korvel commented with a lopsided smile on his weathered face, ¡°that does sound slightly farfetched or like wishful thinking, but Milady¡¯s logic does seem to hold water.¡± ¡°Are we just going to accept that hypothesis as fact?¡± Ensign Joseph Durzi argued, his voice betraying that he might be just a bit more panicked than the rest of the bridge crew. Not that Amelia blamed him, he was a fresh twenty-two year old on his first proper deployment. ¡°After all, what if we¡¯re wrong, and we get blown to bits whilst trying this slingshot around the Royfort, a foreign man-of-war, I might add, for the benefit of the logs.¡± ¡°Unless hostile intent is recognised,¡± Lieutenant Lowell supplied over the comms, ¡°there is nothing illegal in straying into the close-in sphere of control of a warship, provided that we inform the opposite warship of this beforehand.¡± ¡°Ah, speaking of which,¡± Amelia hurriedly snapped her fingers at Korvel, ¡°tell Ensign Dunleavy to disarm those nukes right the fuck now, or the radiological alert on the Royfort will go off when we try this little ¡®Ring-Around-the-Rosie¡¯. But keep the railgun batteries manned, I still want to be able to respond if Vargas proves to be even more of an idiot than he has already demonstrated.¡± ¡°Aye aye, Ma¡¯am,¡± WO Korvel reported before, with some relief, ordered the gun captain of the torpedo batteries to stand his missiles down and disarm them. ¡°Ordering Ensign Dunleavy to disarm nukes and prepare every drone in his arsenal and make sure their anchors work. Any particular package you want him to fit them with?¡± ¡°Considering the fact that there¡¯s some hundred-and-sixty drones in question, absolutely not,¡± Amelia said with a bit of a grimace, ¡°I¡¯ll just be happy if he and his boys and girls can get them launched before Master Baker is forced to make his turnover. Speaking of which, when will that be, Lionel?¡± ¡°In just about eleven minutes and some change, Milady,¡± the Sailing Master replied as he corrected (for the ninth time since the captain had ordered this abrupt course change) the handling of the Euphoria. Amelia swallowed hard. ¡°Well, Mr Korvel, impress upon Mr Dunleavy that he has only ten minutes to launch every single drone we have and stack them all, sans those already in flight, on our port side. Have him layer them as best he can whilst still retaining a coherent electromagnetic field of adhesion.¡± ¡°Pardon me, Milady,¡± McMorrow piped up, ¡°but how is this going to force Royfort to give up the pursuit of the Indiamen? As far as I¡¯m able to make out, we¡¯ll sling around her and that¡¯ll be the end of it; we¡¯ll be hopelessly out of position to pursue her further because we will have lost the acceleration and momentum to match her speed, which they will use to close even further on the merchant ships.¡± ¡°Ah, Antonio,¡± Amelia smiled whilst tapping the top of her C-suit helmet in a knowing gesture; ¡°spoken like a true astrogation officer, but you¡¯ve missed the obvious tactical consideration of such a move on our part.¡± ¡°We¡¯ll be crossing their rear tee, Sir,¡± PO Blackwell filled in and the corners of her mouth crept up as well. ¡°Euphoria will be able to rake the basically unprotected rear ¨Cthe engine and engineering section of any starship¨C with our full broadside if we should choose so. Which means the Royfort will have to follow our turn, lose the exact momentum you¡¯re so worried about, Sir, all the while Euphoria can follow the slingshot through and regain our acceleration still using the Royfort as an anchor.¡± ¡°Quite right, EWO,¡± Amelia positively beamed as the rest of the bridge crew was catching on to her idea, ¡°the cards will firmly be stacked in our favour, to follow up on Mr Fraser-Perry¡¯s allegory of poker. Now, Mr Durzi, if you¡¯d be so kind to inform the Royfort that we will be performing a course correction that will lead to us ending up within her zone of control, but no hostile intent is intended? Surely she¡¯ll demand us to reverse, but the lady doth protest too much, methinks. Don¡¯t bother me with Vargas¡¯ replies unless he becomes unacceptably nasty.¡± ¡°Aye aye, Ma¡¯am,¡± Ensign Durzi said with considerably more enthusiasm than he had displayed a few minutes ago. ¡°Not the most apt quote, Ma¡¯am,¡± Lowell opined from AIC, and Amelia made a dismissive hand motion that she realised only after the fact would go unrecognised. ¡°I¡¯m not exactly a wellspring of good quotes to begin with, First Lieutenant,¡± she said with humour colouring her voice, a sort of giddiness born from desperation. Her hands were still shaking whenever she unclenched them. Fumbling twice, she finally found the transit-all button on the armrest that linked to her helmet. ¡°Attention all hands, Euphoria will in about ten minutes affect a slingshot move around the Alliance warship Royfort, aided by the electromagnetic anchors of every single remaining drone we have on board. Royfort¡¯s captain has been informed of our non-hostile intentions, but I want every man and woman to stand to their posts in case their comportment is inclined towards belligerence.¡± Amelia cleared her throat, realising her aristocratic way of speech and mentality had naturally surfaced due to the stress she faced, and she took a deep breath. ¡°That is to say, I want all gunners to stand to their posts, and all other hands remain ready for anything. The Greens might be liable to try any sort of underhanded tricks, which they¡¯ve already proven to be capable of given the current situation we are in. I expect every man and woman to act honourably in carrying out their duty to His Majesty and the Kingdom of Aurora.¡± Encyclopaedic Interlude No.01: Map of Human Space as of 2875 CE As the ease and availability of interstellar travel developed in the roughly two centuries following the launch of the Providence in 2199 CE, both supranational organisations and territories formerly their own independent nation-states launched several colony missions in an attempt to further their own gains on Earth and in the near-Earth sphere of influence. While Aurora was the first interstellar colony, she was located too far away for the United Commonwealth to actively control it directly, and others like the Eurasian Federation and the Latin League chose to settle habitable worlds closer to Humanity''s cradle. However, even this proved impossible to manage from afar, and as the various political formations of Earth congealed into the United Earth Alignment in the 2280''s, the colonies their predecessors had created continued to develop on their own. However, the effective colonisation of so many worlds was extremely impractical given that Earth''s population was a "mere" thirteen billion in 2270, but humans had already settled thirty different worlds at this point. In order to expedite the process, judicious use of cloning was applied to create enough people to live on all these worlds and transform them from untouched wilderness into Earth-likes that were financially sustainable in their own right, which became especially important once interstellar trade really took off in the early 2300''s. As the centuries progressed, these embryonic societies largely took on a veneer of old Earth history and culture. Sometimes it was because the main body of settlers came from a specific region of Earth, like the majority of the original Aurorans came from countries with ties to the United Kingdom, or the Caliphate of New Asqalan, where the first few colonist groups came from the Arabic Middle East. Others were different. The Neuhansa Sternbund was initially a very loose pact of economic cooperation that started on the world of Thrakesion, but as more and more nearby worlds were colonised and they developed their own orbital-based industry, it became clear to the collective political leadership of the region that they were better off together rather than disparate. Creating first a closed currency zone, they quickly escalated to include treaties regarding shipping fees, customs dues, transfer of goods, work force, and money, before settling on the logical solution and signing mutual defence agreements. As of 2874, the Sternbund is a very well-functioning confederated multi-polity state that might be the most democratic in all of Human Space considering the time and effort it takes in order for every member world''s populace to have their say on political affairs that may or may not affect them. In turn, this has led the political process of the Sternbund''s Altersrat to be excruciatingly slow. Another divergent is the United Stars of Autarchos. This polity started as a refuge for Gen-Two people who left their original homeworlds following the pogroms and persecutions many worlds experienced following the Tau Ceti Accords of 2503. Generation Two people had always lived with the stigma of being different and genetically superior to "naturals", and while the Tau Ceti Accords had been intended as a force of good as it outlawed cloning, it resulted in a lot of societies basically condoning outright oppression and genocide by forcefully evicting the Gen Two populations. In scenes eerily reminiscent of certain European nations of the 20th century, Gen Two''ers were forced to board spaceships that were destined for uncharted regions of space. However, they largely managed to survive and even thrive, and whilst a thoroughly isolationist star nation, the United Stars of Autarchos is one of the most financially and socially successful of the "frontier" polities. After the United Earth Alignment imploded in the late 2370''s, Earth and Sol lost most of its political significance. Earth itself retained the status of the "Mother World" from which Humanity had originated, but other than as a monument to past glories and a certain cultural allure, she has progressively sunk into the molasses of history. Mars, Venus, Titan, and Europa, all of which had at the time of their colonisation been trumpeted as the future of Humanity, has become nothing but space-based suburbs for Earth, which still remains the most populated world in the galaxy. This is not a positive thing, since pollution has done away with the polar ice caps, 80% of the natural wildlife, and Earth is the only world in Human Space reliant on food imports from other worlds and its own orbital agricultural industry. Luckily, most of Earth''s flora and fauna has lived on on other worlds, even thrived. One notable (and very invasive) example is the Earth rabbit, which has become pests on more the three-fourths of the worlds it has been introduced to. The same can also be said of the ubiquitous rattus rattus, cockroaches, various forms of spiders, but also more curious species like kangaroos, opossums, and even water buffalos. Please note that none of these are apex or high-level predators; local fauna predatory species almost uniformly learned very quickly how to adapt to this rapid influx of new prey. Auroran, Angevin, and Amaranthine predators remain curious outliers in this case. This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there. As a final note, this map seems to indicate that the Royal Union is a monolithic political structure, which is about as far away from reality as is possible. The Royal Union was the brainchild of King Henry II de Roze of Aurora, but it was His Majesty''s own intent to make sure the individual star nations retained as much social, cultural, and political independence as possible whilst still being in a interstellar supranational alliance. As such, it is important to note that many foreign people, even politicians, academics, and pundits, have a hard time differentiating between the Royal Union and the Kingdom of Aurora. A brief explanation is forthcoming. The Kingdom of Aurora is composed of the seven worlds that are directly pledged to the Monarch and Parliament of Aurora, currently being King Nicholas I de Roze, plus the two dominion worlds. The first seven are (in descending order of population) Aurora, Amaranth, Angevin, Westernesse, Cymru, Avalon, and Nova Caledonia. The other two are Novorosyia and Kitezh. These are regarded as "dominion worlds", as in they have their own elected bodies that do not directly answer to the Auroran parliament, but they are still pledged to the monarch, however in a slightly different fashion. On Novorosyia, the king or queen is referred to the "Grand Duke" or "Grand Duchess", which was agreed upon after the Novorosyian referendum in 2570 which established that no one would be the sole ruler of Novorosyia, but should be subservient to the nation''s duma. As this was already common parliamentary practice in Aurora, walking in the British footsteps, this was deemed more than acceptable. In the wake of the plebiscite, a new national Novorosyian nobility was formed through lottery. Some very more lucky than others, which is illustrated by the extreme disproportion between the "haves" and "have-nots" in the Novorosyian nobility; some can compare themselves to old Auroran noble families, whilst others are close to the poverty line but still retain their titles, often as a source of pride if (almost literally) nothing else. Kitezh did not go down this second route after joining the Kingdom of Aurora in 2609, and the Kitezhians refused to create a planetary nobility, and forbade any Auroran noble to establish themselves primarily on Kitezhian soil. That is not to say they refuse any Aurorans aristocrats, but Kitezhian financial authorities are diligent in shutting down Auroran nobles trying to move their primary financial operations to their planet as a sort of tax-evasion scheme. Still, Kitezh youths form a disproportionately large percentage of the Royal Army in particular, and the Royalist party is the most popular one by far in every Kitezhna Rada parliamentary election. The rest of the Royal Union is composed of a number of nominally independent polities, the most influential of which are, in descending order of GSP (Gross System Product, a relatively problematic measurement) the Republic of Corinth, the Sacred Kingdom of Dionysia, the Principality of New Malta, the Despotate of Antioch (contrary to popular impression, a despot or tyrannos in Ancient Greek did not denote a gruesome ruler, rather someone with close to absolute power, which the Antiocheans with their largely Greek, Sicilian, and Northern African cultural roots are still to this day trying to make clear), the United Duchies of Valerian, the Dual Kingdom of Mithras, the Republic of New Babylon, and the Republic of Azurea. There are several more systems and worlds attached to most of these polities, but none more so than Aurora, and since it is the leading economic, financial, and most importantly, the military hegemon in, not only the Royal Union, but Human Space, it is obvious why she remains the figurehead of this extremely diverse alliance. However, that might be challenged by the Independent Systems Alliance in the short to medium term, considering the extreme financial and industrial muscles the Republic of Elysium and its alliant star nations are capable of putting together. Excerpt from the galactic encyclopaedic networked service regarding the search topic of "Royal Union vs ISA rivalry", accessed 30th of December 2874 CE. Chapter 29 - Days of Erudition: Normalcy Upset No.4 Several decks and dozens of metres straight down from the top of the extended superstructure the bridge was located on, First (Gunnery Specialist) Rating Jamie Schneider and the rest of Battery No.4 (as did indeed most of the ship upon hearing their captain¡¯s announcement) launched in a cheer of ¡°God Save the King, Long Live the Kingdom, and Heavens Protect the Union!¡±. A shouted statement that was perhaps somewhat trite, but no less heartfelt by those who uttered it, especially given the tension on board. Just as soon as he and the rest of his gunnery crew of five, manning the temperamental Battery No.4 12-inch railgun (predictably nicknamed ¡°No.4 Failgun¡± by Gunnery Rating Kate Sears) finished cheering, Petty Officer Jarel Gutzmer stamped down the stairs to No.4 from the upper walkway which ran along the entire destroyer¡¯s port broadside. ¡°Oi, you lot, man your gun, prime the charges, and stand to to stand to, the Lady might have us firing some shells yet!¡± ¡°Imagine us actually firing a gun in anger,¡± Rating Koby Wynter said with a snide smile on his face to Schneider as they winched a four-hundred pound shell from the underdeck magazine feed hauling system onto No.4 battery¡¯s shell cart, ably helped by the intentionally-kept low gravity of the Euphoria¡¯s gun deck. They were joined by Rating Kate Sears and Rating Justin LeClerk as they together pushed the cart to the breech of the massive railgun. The gun deck of the Euphoria was, by comparison to the cavernous internal battery decks of the ships of the line, pretty cramped. Down the deck to the right and left of them, other gunnery crews were doing the same, but shielded from each other through layers of technically blast proof titanium plating, but which had large viewports and old-fashioned wired phone lines hooked into them so they could communicate directly without having to rely on the internal comms network. Like all modern warships, the Euphoria had enclosed gunports for her battery guns, reinforced titanium boxes that housed the swivel-mounts the railguns slid unto once their human crews had reloaded them, protected against the vacuum of space. Inside their gunports, the gun¡¯s computers aimed and fired them in accordance to orders from the Fire Director and AIC SAI systems. Once fired, they slid back to the gun deck, where human crews made sure the guns were still cool enough for action, reloaded them, updated firing matrices using their handheld computers, and ran down simple systems checks that computers simply didn¡¯t think of running, like looking for build-up of firmed-up coolant in the guns¡¯ feed systems, remnants of scattered shell casings blocking the roll-back rails, or coolant feed-lines being loose or leaking. Railguns were vastly superior to the chemically powered weapons that had dominated naval warfare for centuries until Humanity left their cradle in the 23rd century. For one, railguns technically could not overheat in the conventional way; electromagnetic charging did not produce heat as much as it produced static energy. Static electricity was easily absorbed by the 29th century be-all plastacene layer that encased most equipment on-board warships. But while electromagnetic energy didn¡¯t have heat as a waste product, it did need a vast amount of energy to be stored before being launched as intermittent ¡°spurts¡± of extremely high intensity energy. That needed to be stored in massive on-site batteries (the storing kind, not the shooting kind), as having long feed lines was both extremely ineffective and prone to jams or loss of contact. Several levels of breakers were put in place to avoid overloading the batteries, cutting them out from the ship¡¯s electric feed loop, so there was generally a low chance of a dangerous electric overcharge. But what railguns did produce in abundance was heat through friction. The ridiculous speeds attained by the munitions before exiting the charge rails and the barrel of the gun, meant that while the gun itself didn¡¯t produce heat as a by-product, the immense acceleration of a round meant that even the milliseconds before the shell left the charge rails created a superhot localised atmosphere within the barrel. That was what the liquid coolant, mostly composed of helium, was there for; to shock-cool the titanium-manganese frames of the railgun barrels before the heat could spread. But since it shock-cooled, it also firmed up within seconds, and despite the guns¡¯ internal flushing system, sometimes it pooled up in cracks and creases, and gunners with tools that looked eerily like old sponge loaders dipped in an absolvent liquid had to swab the breeches. Had the guns been muzzle-loaded instead of breech-loaded, it would have looked like a facsimile of the reloading process of a gunpowder cannon. Unlike what military analysts had predicted in the 23rd and 24th centuries, space warfare had diverted pretty sharply away from missile-based combat once interstellar travel had become commonplace and especially with advancement in metallurgy and electronic warfare. Small craft for fighting purposes had also gone the way of the dodo, simply because they weren¡¯t able to carry heavy enough ordnance to penetrate the dozens of inches of reinforced titanium battle armour that modern warships sported. Railguns were the perfect weapon for warfare in space, where Newton was the absolute master. Gunners were from the first moment they started training beaten over the head with the basic laws of motion, gravity, mass, and energy, and everyone of Schneider¡¯s crew could recite all of them off the top of their heads. An object in motion will stay in motion unless affected by an opposing force, and in the case of the vacuum of space, the only possible opposing force would be the electromagnetic gravity of a celestial body, or a spaceship, meaning once in flight, a shell would retain the same high kinetic energy as it had the moment it exited the barrel of the railgun. Missiles were dependent on the acceleration created by their own thrusters, and while more manoeuvrable and could be coordinated by fire control computers, they were too easy to shoot down by even basic DAI-controlled point defence weapons like CQB laser clusters and gauss turrets. Torpedoes were the exception to this rule, since they were huge beasts with their own internal armouring that at least somewhat protected them from smaller calibre point defence systems, but due to their size and complicated loading and priming procedures, were only ever employed as first strike or ambush weapons. Railguns could be fired rapidly, and gunnery crews trained incessantly to put as many rounds into space as possible in as short a time as possible, which made large-scale naval battles completely insane displays of munitions crisscrossing between the opposite lines of battle, to the point where gravpulse had a tendency to simply lose track of the munitions in flight, and simple LIDAR and radar became the operations personnel¡¯s best friends. ¡°Don¡¯t say that,¡± Rating LeClerk responded as they slid the heavy shell into the breech-loader rails, and Gunnery Rating Aaron Miller twisted the activation on the priming charge he held and slotted into the rails behind the shell the rest had just loaded, ¡°PO Gutzmer was in the Solus War eight years ago, and he fired more than a few shots against the Solusians from the main gundeck of the Alba.¡± None of them spared any thought of what they had just done, preparing a large, advanced weapons system capable of electromagnetically flinging shells that reached speeds of thousands of kps and energy measurement upon impact in the thousands of megajoules. All their training had made the motions innate and second nature. Energy and excitement was high, adrenaline was in their bloodstreams. ¡°That¡¯s hardly ¡®firing in anger¡¯,¡± Rating Kate Sears commented as she shut the gun hatch and made sure that the battery was ready to commence firing from the handheld computer strapped to her inner left arm, ¡°that¡¯s more like to bullying using heavy shipboard weaponry.¡± Her accent was delightfully New Victorian, heavily stressing certain vowels and reducing others. ¡°The Solusians didn¡¯t stand a snowball¡¯s chance in hell during that engagement. I mean, a multi-national task force based around three Auroran and Dionysian heavy cruisers squadrons, with ample light cruiser and destroyer support to subdue a third-rate border system? Please.¡± ¡°You say that,¡± Schneider shot in, ¡°but we did suffer casualties of our own during that trade war.¡± ¡°Barely,¡± Sears argued, ¡°and they were all due to a stupidly lucky shot down the throat of the flagship¡¯s defence, and managed to hit the flag bridge of the Exeter before the close-in defence destroyers could form a proper protective screen. More dumb luck than anything. Trust me, I¡¯ve watched enough documentaries to know what I¡¯m talking about.¡± ¡°I appreciate the effort made to divert attention from the present,¡± Wynter said, following typing in the battery¡¯s firing solution into the forward fire director¡¯s SAI offensive matrices, ¡°but can we just take a moment to appreciate the fact that we might be firing at, or receive fire from, an Alliance Space Navy ship? I mean, I¡¯m not a political science graduate, but I even I know that¡¯s pretty fucked up.¡± ¡°Relax, Wynter,¡± Schneider said while waving a hand in a dismissive gesture, ¡°this is all gonna blow over. The Skipper already explained that the Greens are clearly in the wrong, and that she has a plan how we¡¯re going to get out of here without any diplomatic incident happening. And come on, if the Greens aren¡¯t stupid enough to fire on a Royal Navy ship, you can sure as shit be confident that a Royal Navy officer won¡¯t dumb enough to do vice versa. And while I can¡¯t speak for all the bandies on board, Captain de la Lune is as smart as they come, I can tell you that.¡± Sears snorted. ¡°You only say that because you think she¡¯s hot, aren¡¯t you?¡± Schneider sort of shrugged, which became a pretty weird gesture in the low gravity of the gundeck since he had used too much force to move his shoulders, and he slowly ascended a bit before the magnetic soles of his C-suit boots kicked in. ¡°Hey, I have complete faith in Her Ladyship, she hasn¡¯t given me any reason to doubt her these past four months, and that is completely irrelevant as to her physical appearance.¡± ¡°Right, and you probably believe that as well,¡± Sears countered, rolling her eyes inside her blast-padded gunnery helmet, the visor hiding the motion from her direct senior. ¡°Oi!¡± a familiar voice came over their internal comms net, ¡°I thought I told you lot to stand to, not stand around fondling your various bloody genitalia in public? This is a King¡¯s Ship, for fuck¡¯s sake, act like you¡¯re worthy of serving on one!¡± ¡°Yes, PO Gutzmer!¡± Ratings Schneider, Miller, Sears, LeClerk, and Wynter responded in unison, professionally abandoning their previous banter and stood to their actual action stations, Schneider and Sears sitting down in the gunner and bombardier computer-seat stations, LeClerk tending to the swabbing station, while Miller and Wynter stood by the winch-lift to ready the next shell and priming charge. More than a few decks up above, Lieutenant Commander de la Lune was considering the idea of shutting down the health monitor system all Royal Navy C-suits were hooked into, mostly because it would betray her extreme stress levels. ¡°Mr Dunleavy,¡± she spoke into her helmet-mike, ¡°what¡¯s the status of the drones you¡¯ve supposed to launch by now?¡± ¡°Begging Milady¡¯s pardon,¡± the tall, dark junior officer who had since arriving on Euphoria become the chief bar officer of the wardroom, despite being only being twenty-one, panted into the pickup of his helmet. ¡°But if Milady has had any experience priming, aiming, and launching close to two-hundred drones in a single watch, I would really appreciate some advice. If not, I¡¯d appreciate if Milady left me and my crew alone to carry out our orders. Forward torpedo batteries out.¡± ¡°Cheeky bugger, ain¡¯t he?¡± Amelia said, accompanied with a slight smirk that took the edge of her words. ¡°We¡¯re coming up on five minutes to turnover, Ma¡¯am,¡± Sailing Master Baker commented as the range between Euphoria and Royfort dropped to less than fourteen million kilometres. Both ships were now veritably painting each other with targeting lasers and washing the hulls of their opposite number with so many gravpulse waves that one might be forgiven thinking the grey paint of the Euphoria and the pristine white of the Royfort would peel off. ¡°Dunleavy will get the drones out in time, Ma¡¯am,¡± Warrant Officer Korvel said, trying to reassure the roughly forty year old younger captain. ¡°It is not the question of if we get the drones out that troubles me, Mr Korvel,¡± she responded, desperately feeling the need to bite her nails, ¡°but what Commander Vargas will do about it. So far he¡¯s been acting like a lunatic on a mission, hell-bent on self-destruction, and I¡¯m worried he might take this upcoming manoeuvre of ours as hostile intent. Still, it is the best shot we got of pulling him off of the tails of the civilians.¡± Lowell, still seated down in AIC, started to say something but the tell-tale reverberations of several box launchers depositing its contents cut her off, and Ensign Shaun Dunleavy¡¯s voice came over the internal channels. ¡°Done, Milady, we¡¯ve successfully launched a hundred-and-eighty-two drones, absolutely every drone we could get our hands on without having to strip them of already pre-installed mission packages. We still have a few recce and comms drones, and a few pen-aids lying around, but I¡¯m afraid you¡¯re going to have to sign a pretty significant requisitions order once we reach Lucidia, Milady.¡± Amelia, tension getting to her, actually laughed out loud before she managed to compose herself. ¡°Understood, Mr Dunleavy,¡± she replied, ¡°and if this works, I¡¯ll both sign that order and buy you a bottle of top shelf once we reach station, how does that sound?¡± ¡°I, uh, that would be lovely Milady,¡± the surprised ensign replied. ¡°Thank you, Mr Dunleavy, and give my thanks to your gunners as well, but don¡¯t rest yet. If worse comes to worst, we might still need those pen-aid drones and torpedoes.¡± ¡°Aye aye, Ma¡¯am,¡± the torpedo gunnery captain said before cutting the feed, and Amelia took a deep breath. ¡°Alright, Hannah, Dunleavy¡¯s given you the drones, now I want you to slave their electromagnetic anchors to Euphoria, but also start stacking them in layers so that they extrude from the hull quite a ways, probably as far their anchors still hold tether. Have the final three or four layers on a quick-change anchor lock configuration so AIC can swiftly change the direction of their lock-in.¡± ¡°Aye aye, Ma¡¯am,¡± Lowell said in a very serious tone, ¡°we¡¯ll get right on it.¡± If anyone had looked outside in the following few moments, they would have seen a quite astonishing number of ¡°Starling¡± drones start to form up into neat and ordered lines of about thirteen before another line slowly pushed about ten kilometres further out using concentrated bursts from their fissile-powered engines, and so on and so on until there were twelve of them stretched out almost one hundred and twenty-five kilometres away from the Euphoria. While one-two-five kilometres were an impressive distance on the ground, in space that was uncomfortably close, and very much well past the limits of violating personal intimacy. For warships of the same navy, this was the sort of range where collision warning klaxons would be blaring; for warships of different navies, this was the sort of range where boarding actions could be mounted, and railguns would have one-hundred per cent accuracy. Not to mention effective penetration, regardless of armour thickness. The gunnery techs in AIC were completely focused on the task of managing this immense drone screen, far larger than anything the E class was designed to realistically handle simultaneously. Sure, a more modern B or Daring class of destroyers could theoretically handle such large launchers using mostly their SAI systems, the E class was not primarily an electronic warfare ship; they were screeners and torpedo specialists, designed with brawns and not brains in mind. It took all ten of the Action Information Centre gunnery techs, plus two of the Ops techs, as well as Lowell herself to keep tabs on all the drones and micro-manage their patterns, with the Close Battlespace Awareness SAI running itself hot. They were all sweating profusely as they concentrated, and it might be considered a blessing that they wore their absorbent and water-reclaiming suits. Unauthorized use of content: if you find this story on Amazon, report the violation. On the bridge, the tension was just as palpable, with Sub-lieutenant McMorrow reciting the Lord¡¯s Prayer over and over again under his breath, and Aiden Fraser-Perry looked frequently in the direction of the heads, his face decidedly paler and greener than normal. ¡°Coming down to seven million kilometres, two minutes-fifty until turnover.¡± Even wizened and experienced senior non-coms like Lionel Baker, with thirty-nine years in the Service behind him, sounded anxious, which made the fresh officers feel even worse. ¡°Mr Durzi,¡± Amelia said with as much authoritative iron in her tone as she could, ¡°give me Royfort and Commander Vargas again.¡± She had almost said one last time. Trained fingers flew across the keyboard, and the young subaltern turned half-around and nodded to his captain, who reciprocated. Part of the mimicglass screen once again portrayed the inside of the Royfort¡¯s bridge, but now zoomed out further and the officers and techs on Euphoria could see that their opposite numbers had finally suited all the way up, having secured their action station suit helmets. ¡°Royfort, this is His Majesty¡¯s warship Euphoria.¡± Amelia spoke clearly and sternly in a voice that she actually had a hard time believing was her own, considering the whirlwind of emotions flying around inside her brain. ¡°We will be executing a fly-by of your ship in about two minutes. No challenge is intended, I repeat, no challenge is intended. We are simply¡­ conveniently using your ship as a useful mark whereupon to fix our turnabout. Expect therefore that we will be approaching at extreme close range, but as I said, do not expect this as any sort of challenge. Take the fact that we have no active radiological sources on board, which your sensors should be able to pick up on in a few moments, as a sign of good faith. That being pointed out, we will act with complete impunity if our own safety or the safety of our charges is affected during the course of this turnaround. Lieutenant Commander Lady de la Lune out.¡± Commander Vargas opened his mouth to no doubt protest, since his face had become increasingly scrunched up in frustration the longer Amelia had talked, but Durzi was quick on the uptake and without waiting for confirmation from his captain, he cut the feed before the Alliance officer could reply. ¡°Good lad, Joe,¡± Amelia smiled at the Communications Officer and for a moment she was sure she could see his cheeks redden a bit. ¡°Ah, begging your pardon, Milady,¡± Fraser-Perry commented as the timer on the holographic plot changed from having a one in front of it to zero, ¡°but you said no active radiological sources¡­¡± ¡°Yes, which is completely true,¡± she said nonplussed and turned to face the Operations Officer, ¡°since I ordered Mr Dunleavy to disarm the nukes we had prepared, and Mr Korvel confirmed the order had been carried out.¡± ¡°Aye, Milady,¡± Fraser-Perry, casting nervous glances at the almost run-out timer, ¡°but I¡¯m not talking about the nukes. I¡¯m talking about the power plants of the drones. They¡¯re fissile.¡± ¡°I am perfectly aware of that, I am up to date on Royal Navy hardware.¡± ¡°Engaging counter-thrusters, preparing to lay about and execute yaw-pitch correction,¡± Sailing Master Baker reported and the bridge crews (as well as the rest of the crew for that matter) felt the G¡¯s shift as the inertial dampeners and artificial gravity struggled to maintain even pressure as the Euphoria started to bleed speed as she flipped around and fired her ion thrusters at full tilt, including a set of tertiary boosters that were there for the exact purpose of quickly affecting course or speed change. All across the ship, gear that had not been stowed correctly shifted, fell off tables, tumbled out of lockers, or in case of light items like cups or plates, went crashing to the deck floor. ¡°Milady,¡± Fraser-Perry¡¯s eyes had become almost like black disks, ¡°this many drones stacked so close together is going to produce a near continuous radiological output, despite the tiny amount of fissile material in each, but it could look awfully like a stealthed nuclear-tipped torpedo we¡¯re pulling in our wake using gravity emitters!¡± Colour drained rapidly from Lady Amelia de la Lune¡¯s face. ¡°Oh shit, I didn¡¯t think about that.¡± Euphoria did exactly what her human masters told her to. The electromagnetic chain-link of drones did as well, obeying for the most part perfectly to the instructions coming from the well-armoured core of Euphoria¡¯s AIC. The two warships barrelled straight into what was shaving distance for naval warfare, both ships¡¯ helmsmen stubbornly refusing to yield ground. Had the helmsman on the Royfort lost this game of chicken, Amelia¡¯s plan would have floundered. Yet they didn¡¯t, because Commander Ali Vargas, from a small hamlet in the uplands of Adrestia, kept shouting to maintain their present course. ¡°Lieutenant Osterlund, if you even so much as think about abandoning the chase of those three battleships, I will exercise my right as this ship¡¯s captain to place you in the brig for mutiny.¡± Ali Patrick Vargas was grinding his teeth as he watched the green-blue holographic plot continue to display that irritating little imp of an Auroran destroyer come well within kill-shot range for the Royfort¡¯s manned and ready railgun batteries. This was sheer idiocy, or more likely, typical Auroran noble arrogance. The Rangertown light cruiser could obliterate the older Auroran E class with a single broadside if she so wished, the number of railguns higher, the calibre of the broadside larger, and their own assisted fire direction much better. Yet here that little gnat was, trying desperately to divert their attention away from the fact that the Aurorans had illegally tried to smuggle a half-squadron of battleships through Alliance territory. If we could just get visual confirmation of the battleships and transmit it back to Lorelei Fleet using the buoy comms network, the Aurorans would be fucked diplomatically. This is just what Admiral ibn-Houdhri said would happen when he took over Lorelei Fleet. Fucking predictable war-mongering Aurorans. ¡°Sir, we got a radiological alert!¡± the Operations lieutenant shouted out, and Vargas felt something in his neck pop uncomfortably as he turned to look at the junior officer. ¡°Have the Aurorans launched nukes?¡± ¡°No sir, it isn¡¯t as overt a trace as a confirmed recent launch,¡± the woman explained, running a number of sensor scans on the signal, ¡°but it could be a pulled torpedo, or several even, in the wake of the exhaust of the Euphoria, although I can¡¯t really tell despite the short range.¡± ¡°Sir,¡± Lieutenant Aleksander Ostlund, the helmsman, sang out, ¡°the Euphoria is angling to sling around us!¡± ¡°How the hell do they intend to do that?¡± someone asked, though Vargas wasn¡¯t sure which bridge officer or tech it was, his mind was too focused on the rapidly deteriorating situation going on. The last message from the blonde captain of the Euphoria was still rattling around in his brain, and while it seemed like the most idiotic thing in the world for a destroyer to challenge a light cruiser to a knife-fight and the repeated insistence that was not what this Lieutenant Commander de la Lune, why did the Aurorans have so complicated names, intended to do, every fibre and Mahan Naval Academy-trained muscle in his body screamed this was a sort of trick. ¡°Sir, the Euphoria is angling for a shave-by, requesting orders!¡± ¡°Gundeck captains are screaming for permission to fire, same as fire direction officers, Sir!¡± ¡°Sir, do we angle our approach to the Euphoria, or do we follow the three large targets?¡± If I pull the trigger, I start an interstellar incident unlike ever seen since the dissolution of the United Earth Alignment. If I don¡¯t, the Aurorans and their stealthed nuke might obliterate me and my entire command. ¡°I want a single starboard railgun battery to fire a warning shot as the Euphoria comes within five-hundred clicks, straight across their bow. Align the starboard broadside to accomplish this. Helm, abandon the presumed battleship targets, keep our heavily armoured broadside towards the Euphoria. Keep following her at all times as she makes her presumed turn, never show us the tee of our bow or stern. Confirm reception of orders!¡± A chorus of ¡°aye aye¡±-s answered the Alliance Space Navy commander, and each division head immediately started relaying the information down the chain of command. But since the dots of the two warships were practically on top of each other on the holographic plot of both bridges, stress levels were extreme, and the proximity sensor warnings had started playing their plaintive tunes as well. The two bridge crews had spent so many tense minutes looking at each other that when a complete change of circumstances was ordered, everyone floundered a bit. So much so that a crucial word was omitted by the Tactical Officer on Royfort¡¯s bridge to the Sailor First Class in charge of Gun Battery S7. The word was ¡°warning¡±. ¡°Alright, steady as she goes, Ms Lowell,¡± Amelia ordered, clutching the armrest of her chair with all of her might, eyes focused on the holographic plot and the myriad of numbers and timers next to the two almost conjoined dots that denoted the two warships. ¡°Oh, this might actually bloody work,¡± Lieutenant Hannah Lowell said to herself after killing the mike-uplink to the rest of the internal net. ¡°Holy shit, they¡¯re actually pulling a slingshot around us,¡± Lieutenant Aleksander Ostlund of the Royfort said half-aloud as the Euphoria¡¯s much smaller mass started to hurl itself around the Alliance light cruiser through something the experienced helmsman hadn¡¯t seen before. ¡°Stand to, my lovely gunners!¡± Petty Officer Gutzmer shouted out over the gunnery deck intercom, ¡°let¡¯s just watch as we gracefully slide on by the Royfort, courtesy of what the Skipper told u-¡± He didn¡¯t get to fully complete his sentence before Starboard Battery Seven on the Royfort, having missed that crucial bit of contextual information opened fire. Had the range been higher, even by a few hundred kilometres, the railgun shell might not have hit. It might have been confused by the immense electronic countermeasures the Euphoria was putting out every millisecond, or the rangefinders might have misjudged the distance between the two warships. But since they were about two-hundred kilometres of each other, and the drones deployed by the Euphoria had already started to find purchase against the hull of the Royfort, there was no chance a railgun shot this close in could miss. The shell didn¡¯t even need the aid of the forward fire director. As the range dropped to below one-eighty kilometres, just as when the Auroran drones found purchase and started to sling the Euphoria around in an electromagnetic slingshot manoeuvre, S7 Battery on Royfort, commanded by Sailor First Class Enrico Cruz let loose their loaded shell, much like the batteries on the Euphoria had already done, but refrained from what their instincts told them. They were just following orders given from the bridge, which they fully believed were given in good faith. But unlike the Alliance light cruiser, the battery crews of the Auroran destroyer hadn¡¯t been expecting their opposite number to do anything but follow their course change through, mostly due to their captain¡¯s insurances. And that was how First (Gunnery Specialist) Rating Jamie Schneider and his crew died. The fourteen-inch shell left the barrel from the Starboard Seven battery gun silently, because unlike what films and web-series portrayed, there was no such thing as noise in space. Sound travels through airwaves, which doesn¡¯t exist in vacuum. No matter, the six-hundred and ninety kg shell fired by this lone battery from the Royfort, travelled the less than two-hundred kilometres between the two dancing warships in about a half a second. There was no time for the Auroran crews to react. In fact, WO Korvel informed Lieutenant Commander de la Lune of the fact that the Royfort had fired seven seconds later, well after everyone on board the destroyer had already felt the impact. The railgun round, made out of simple titanium without any more complex chemical or metal additives, penetrated straight through the outer gunport of No.4 Railgun Battery of the Euphoria. Above all else, it was an extremely lucky shot. It hit a target that was in the context of interstellar warfare of the age, a very finicky one, but it regardless found its mark. The shell¡¯s heat as it exploded against the outer titanium layer of the gunport melted its way inside, and the kinetic energy produced a wave of insanely hot and sharp shrapnel. This shrapnel ripped through the 12-inch gun that No.4 battery still hadn¡¯t run out yet, reducing it to a useless collection of metal and electric wiring. Worse, the shrapnel continued, blasting through the inner gunport protection. Koby Wynter and Aaron Miller died soundlessly as more than three-thousand pieces of scorching hot shrapnel that came from inside the gunport they were manning literally passed through them. Kate Sears, seated the closest to the layer and gunner positions managed to start to cry out, before the bombardier station she was manning blew out, and she was almost instantly transformed from human being to useless wads of meat, chewed apart by that same storm of shrapnel that had just gone through, despite ¡°only¡± catching bits of it. Justin LeClerk somehow survived the first shrapnel storm, but the explosive decompression that followed saw him grabbing at everything and anything nailed down. Alas, he found nothing to hang onto, and screaming into his non-receptive helmet-mike, he was sucked out into the void as No.4 Gun Battery remained open to the uncaring vacuum. Last of all was First Rating Jamie Schneider. Not that he hadn¡¯t been hit, his left arm had been severed neatly by a piece of shrapnel, and despite the fact that his C-suit had clamped down and tried to avoid pressure-loss on his arm, he knew he was fucked. Hell, he wanted to die, clawing his way to the upper gundeck as the magnetic effect of his one remaining arm and his boots kicked into action. He had just watched his crew that he¡¯d spent the past four months sharing bunks with get absolutely torn to pieces. He managed to activate his helmet-mike with his right hand as he pulled up to the upper walk of the gundeck. ¡°Beg to report, Ma¡¯am,¡± he said in a tone that belied his dire situation, ¡°we¡¯ve received hostile fire from an opposing warship.¡± Then the gunner¡¯s computer station flamed out, and instead of dying a quick although horrifying death like parts of his gunnery crew had, James August Schneider died while electric flames ignited and licked up across his suit, inside the compromised integrity of his severed left arm, and as it travelled all up his supposed protective suit. The last thing to give out was his internal comms, meaning the bridge and the rest of the gun crews could only listen to his suffering for excruciatingly long seconds. ¡°Complete the electrogravitic manoeuvre, Mr Baker,¡± Amelia said through gritted teeth. ¡°Ms Lowell, go to into the gun decks and ascertain the level of damage inflicted. Do not hold back in your report, I want a strict, no-bullshit assessment. Mr Aiden-Perry, tell me if the Royfort are following our intended dance path.¡± ¡°Who the fuck opened fire?!¡± Commander Vargas was almost reaching for his service sidearm, and the bridge crew of the Royfort were busy looking in every direction but in his. ¡°It seems like it was Starboard Battery Seven, Sir,¡± Tactical Officer Ross Baumgartner reported, though really apprehensively, ¡°they might have misunderstood the order that was sent from the bridge¡­¡± ¡°Misunderstood¡­¡± Vargas¡¯ helmeted head was in his hands. ¡°Misunderstood is the most euphemistic term I¡¯ve ever heard on board an Alliance warship. You mean to say, someone FUCKED UP! Call off, I repeat, call off!¡± Whilst this was going on, the Euphoria, thanks to her expeditious usage of drones, had managed what Amelia had imagined, now holding her head in her hands much like her opposite commanding officer. ¡°Master Baker,¡± she managed, ¡°assuming the Royfort aren¡¯t following us directly, set a course for extreme crash into the Light Way. Euphoria can handle it. I assume the civilian ships are close to entering L-space?¡± ¡°Aye aye, Ma¡¯am,¡± Fraser-Perry reported, now having taken off his helmet, ¡°they¡¯re six minutes away from transitioning as a squadron, and the Royfort, having chosen to follow us through our manoeuvre, is nowhere near close to resume pursuit.¡± ¡°Lady Amelia,¡± Lieutenant Lowell¡¯s voice came over the comms, ¡°do you want the accurate report, or the actual accurate report? Because I¡¯m here with a section of Royal Marines who¡¯re about as queasy as I am. I¡¯m going to need several body bags.¡± ¡°Write it up, First Lieutenant,¡± Lady de la Lune responded, feeling like throwing up again, knowing she had lost crew, ¡°but first we need to get out of here.¡± She turned to Sailing Master Lionel Baker. ¡°I trust our little manoeuvre was successful?¡± ¡°Oh damn straight, Ma¡¯am,¡± he responded in a very stereotypical lowlands Amaranthine accent. ¡°The Royfort has been completely thrown off our tracks. Just say when and we¡¯ll be outta here.¡± ¡°Well, I doubt it¡¯ll be that easy,¡± the lieutenant commander responded, ¡°but give it your all, Sailing Master. Put us as far away from this system as you possibly can.¡± About five minutes after Lady Amelia de la Lune said that, the Selenagrad Prize, Antiochene Heldin and Astral Pearl managed to slip into the Light Way. The Euphoria was about ninety minutes late, but she too entered the Light Way nominally unharassed. By then she had already carried out a military funeral. And a report to Admiralty had been sent. Chapter 30 - Weeks of Uncertainty: Feelings Awakening 28 July (Galactic Relative) 2871 CE, Amaranth, Kingdom of Aurora ¡°You know, it¡¯s still not too late to reconsid-¡± A skyshuttle lifted off its designated pad just a few dozen metres away at that exact moment, and what Wallace Heatherland was saying was completely drowned out by the sound of the powerful vector-jets of the large transport vehicle. Wallace waited for the shuttle to gain a fair bit of altitude before resuming. ¡°As I was saying, it¡¯s still not too late to reconsider, Eddie. I could apply to the school¡¯s board for a temporary head teacher role, or perhaps take on extra administrative duties¡­¡± ¡°And I could ask my lead administrator for that promotion to upper management he¡¯s been hinting at for two years now. If I explain the situation I¡¯m sure he¡¯d agree; Connor¡¯s not an unreasonable man after all.¡± Theodora Doukas-Heatherland flicked her long dark hair behind her ears as the backwash of the shuttle¡¯s jets reached them. ¡°Mum, Dad, we¡¯ve been over this so many times,¡± Edward complained, clutching the handle of his suitcase just a bit harder, an eerie sense of d¨¦j¨¤ vu washing over him just as much as the heat of the jets. ¡°Dad, you¡¯re already working yourself to the bone at Cybelia St. Patrick¡¯s and if you¡¯re thinking of adding administrative duties on top of that, your blood pressure is going to send you to an early grave. And Mum, you¡¯re already bouncing between both the Saltshore as well as the Cybelia offices, there are only so many hours in a workday, and your workload isn¡¯t going to decrease if you¡¯re moved into a higher position. Cybelia is smack-dab in the Reserve Belt, it¡¯s one of the busiest tourist spots outside of Persephone. These aren¡¯t realistic solutions at all.¡± ¡°We only want is best for you, Eddie,¡± Wallace said as he walked up to place his hand on his son¡¯s shoulder. They were of roughly the same height, and had the same bronzed hue that most native Amaranthines shared, but where Edward¡¯s hair was dark brown and curly, Wallace¡¯s was a slightly faded sort of dirty blonde, which was not uncommon given the intense heat of the massive star Aditya that incessantly bombarded Amaranth with its radiation. Edward had inherited his mother¡¯s hair- and eye colour, the dark locks and emerald eyes passed down to him through the dominant Gen-Two genes of Theodora. ¡°All we are saying, mour¨¤ki mou,¡± Theodora said softly, her English pretty significantly accented despite living on Amaranth for over fifty years and still using Greek here and there, ¡°is that there are alternatives to you having to go all the way to Aurora to pursue a classical piano education. If we make some adjustments to our household budget, and tap into our savings a bit, I¡¯m sure we can afford for you to go the Royal Persephone Conservatory. And with that excellent referral from Princess Elizabeth¡¯s, I¡¯m sure you¡¯d be accepted in a heartbeat.¡± Edward shook his head, just as another monorail train arrived at the station, the doors opening and a throng of people stepping off. The Persephone Orbital Tower had been erected on an artificial island a few dozen kilometres out from the city dubbed ¡°the New Venice¡± across deep near-tropical water in the Pherousa Ocean, but monorail lines led directly back to the planetary capital of Amaranth. In addition, massive skycar landing towers and both passenger and cargo ports for ferries were all around the island. Dominating it all however, was the titanic orbital tether, reaching up and through the sky. Buoyed supporting towers rested on the ocean surface for kilometres in all cardinal and inter-cardinal directions, and deep-water anchor lines dozens of meters thick went hundreds of metres deep into the ocean floor. The truly immense Orbital Tower complex was the hub for all transport of humans and cargo up to and down from orbit for Persephone, and the rest of the island- and atoll dominated continent around. Carts that rivalled the size of rapid transit railed traines rode up and down in rapid succession, before after a short trip arrived at the mid-orbital point of the tether, where a massive spaceport had been constructed. From there, ships docked to take on their cargo, before launching off onto their journey. The high-orbital point was the location of the tether station itself, which produced the centrifugal gravitational force that actually kept the entire structure steady and supported its millions of tonnes of weight; no man-made material would be able to support such a defiant middle finger to the laws of physics if constructed from the ground and up into space, it simply used the force of the planet¡¯s own rotation and atmospheric gravity to hold it up. ¡°That referral, Mama,¡± Edward countered as the wave of people dissipated a bit, headed as they were across the esplanades and piedways towards the check-in and departures areas of the Tower, ¡°was why I got accepted into Queen Marie¡¯s Metropolitan with an accompanying stipend. It¡¯s not a full scholarship, but I wouldn¡¯t even get a stipend if I chose the Persephone Conservatory or something like the Royal School of Music on Aurora. And please, we¡¯ve talked about this so many times. You know that if a classical pianist major is going to have any chance at landing a full-term concert job after graduation, you more or less have to be on Aurora or New Malta. No offence Dad, but I don¡¯t want to end up as a school teacher or private piano tutor. I want to actually be a part of a proper classical orchestra. And without that stipend, you¡¯d be spending all our family savings on me within two years. Suffice it to say, none of us want that, and I don¡¯t particularly want the anchor of guilt around my neck with the inscription ¡®you pushed your parents into destitution for the sake of your education¡¯. Which is why a public, non-specialised, university makes the most sense, Dad. Plus, QMMU is by far the best public university in the Royal Union, and not some second-rate college.¡± Wallace sighed, a knowing but nonetheless a sad sigh. ¡°You can¡¯t blame us for giving it one last shot, son. Your mother and I have dreaded this day for years, and to be honest, in this moment there¡¯s nothing I¡¯d rather hear than you agreeing to stay on Amaranth¡­¡± ¡°But what parents would we be,¡± Theodora picked up with a wistful smile of her own, ¡°if we didn¡¯t allow our one and only child to travel out into the world to experience life on his own? You might be light years and a week on a liner away, but still in hearts always, paid¨ª mou. Remember that always, and know we both love you.¡± Theodora walked up and stroked Edward¡¯s chin with her right palm, visibly holding back tears, and Edward suddenly had to arrest his own. ¡°Pardon me, Sir, may I enquire to which port you are headed, and may I take your luggage?¡± The polite and androgynous tone of a porter drone disrupted the moment, and Edward (using the opportunity to compose himself) turned to face the drone, dressed in blue-and-cream livery-esque painting and keeping itself afloat (like all Auroran drones) using small gravity emitters. Its central display showed a machine-like facsimile of a courteous but inquisitive smile, and Edward nodded towards the DAI-powered porter. ¡°Thank you, if you¡¯d be so kind to take my hand luggage to Port 37 and sign it in for the Lunar Tear, headed for Aurora within the next orbital window. I¡¯ll find my way to the departure hall myself, thanks.¡± ¡°Of course, Sir,¡± the drone responded in the same uncanny but respectful tone, and using a hidden gravity projector grabbed Edward¡¯s suitcase and flew off to join a veritable train of drones that hovered about twenty metres in the air going in all directions into the special reception areas on the roof the Orbital Tower¡¯s ground-level complex. ¡°Well, I guess this is it,¡± Edward said with feigned nonchalance, and his father opened his arms wide to embrace his son. ¡°Bon chance, my boy, and know you¡¯re welcome home any time. And if you need money, just send an e-letter and we¡¯ll transfer it as soon as we get it.¡± ¡°Stop making everything about money, Dad,¡± Edward managed from underneath his father¡¯s suffocating grasp, ¡°there are more important things in the world after all!¡± ¡°Oh quite so,¡± his mother shot in, taking her husband¡¯s place as soon as he had let go of Edward, and though she was shorter and looked less physically intimidating, her superior Gen-Two muscles clamped down and crushed even harder, and Edward felt substantial amount of breath leaving his lungs as his mother hugged him with all her might. ¡°Go live your dream, dear Edward, and keep in touch with your parents. Go make new friends and forge new experiences, and make us¡­ No, I know you¡¯ll make your family proud.¡± ¡°Thanks, Mum,¡± Edward managed as she let go, and a tether cart launched upwards with a nail-biting electromagnetic sound as background noise, not some nostalgic violin sonata that Edward thought would somehow mark such a momentous occasion in his life. Alas, that was the stuff of films and e-dramas, apparently. ¡°I¡¯ve talked to a specialist student realtor in Cordelia,¡± Wallace said after clearing his throat, ¡°and he¡¯s set you up in Albany Square in the capital, though it is a shared apartment. But I have it on good authority it¡¯s a good area with a lot of QMMU students, in addition to newly settled young couples, not too far from major amenities and good shopping and park areas.¡± ¡°Thanks Dad, I¡¯m sure it¡¯ll be fine. I¡¯ll buy whatever I need apart from the essentials I¡¯m bringing with me once I¡¯m there. The QMMU stipend also pays for a practice piano, so you don¡¯t have to worry about that.¡± Another skyshuttle took off, and the jet-wash disturbed them once again, but Theodora used the pause to adjust Edward¡¯s shirt collar and once the vehicle had flown off, she smiled brightly, which immediately alarmed Edward. ¡°And if you get a lady friend,¡± her mother said in her charmingly Greek accent that botched many vowels and had a very different lilt to it compared to normal Auroran English, ¡°be sure to use protection.¡± ¡°Muuuuuum!¡± ¡°All passengers headed for the Travanion, the Scythian Queen, and the Lunar Tear, please report to your respective check-ins at departure in preparation for tether-shuttles launches in the next thirty minutes. I repeat, all passengers headed for-¡± It was all the excuse Edward needed. Despite knowing he most likely wouldn¡¯t see his parents for at least three years, he hurriedly kissed them both on the cheek, before turning on his heel. Though while in the motion of turning, he mouthed a heartfelt sentence to his mother, which produced another wave of tears, and made her cover her mouth to stop any embarrassing noises from escaping. ¡°Kalinychta, Mana mou.¡±
12 November (Galactic Relative) 2874 CE, Aurora, Kingdom of Aurora ¡°¡­ And so, the strings section were aware of the key change, the brass, the woodwinds, and the percussion sections were all aware, just looking subtly looking for the signal from the conductor. But since this was like at the bottom of the third act, and the brainfog was really settling in, the harp soloist was in her own world, completely oblivious.¡± Edward hadn¡¯t picked up his by now pretty lukewarm cup of tea for a while, since he was excitedly using his arms for emphasis, animatedly gesturing the flow of a written note sheet of the piece he was referring to. ¡°So when the key change happened, she continued in the same key, at the first few bars completely unaware, but you could hear it almost immediately that she was off, and it even brought her back to the present.¡± ¡°Oh dear,¡± Adea said as she just finished a sip of her own tea, using one hand to hide her smile bashfully, ¡°how did that go?¡± ¡°Well, thing is,¡± Edward continued with the same excited energy, ¡°harp soloists need to be a combination of both incredibly lucky and skilful in order get into conservatories, because it¡¯s such a niche soloist position for an orchestra. There is only one or two of them per a major orchestra, so those that do make it are usually the cream of the crop. And Siobhan is pretty out there in terms of skills, I¡¯ve heard her recitals before. So, anyway, she recognised pretty quickly that she was off-key, though every one of us soloist majors in the audience are grasping the armrests of our chairs until our knuckles turn white at this point, just looking at the judges and the professors to get just a hint of what they¡¯re thinking. We¡¯re a band of sisters and brothers, we soloists, we want and spur each other to do well. That¡¯s when Siobhan, crazy girl that she is, in pure adrenaline-induced panic, just starts a Fantasia on the leitmotif of the entire symphony, just on the harp. You could positively see the conductor wanting to turn around and go ¡®what the fuck?¡¯, but to their credit, they didn¡¯t, and Siobhan just sort of took the show for about two minutes, just riffing along, before slowly settling down into the actual key and what she was supposed to be playing according to the note sheet all along. Naturally, she thought she had proper naffed it, and she was crying for a solid fifteen minutes in the ready room following curtail fall, but one of the professors in the audience came in and told her to calm down. For reference, it¡¯s not like I was stood outside the door and eavesdropping or anything, but he said he¡¯d never seen such a creative solution to a misplay by a harpist ever, and that her Honours in Performative would stand. Siobhan later put out for a full round for the orchestra on the post-performance pub-crawl, she was that chuffed.¡± Edward realised he had been laying out his story a bit too loudly compared to the usual low hum of the background chatter. The Saffron Countess was a ground floor caf¨¦-bakery venue that specialised in the ancient tradition of afternoon tea, and the Auroran water-oak table between Edward and Adea was adorned with a tall silver serving tower that still held about a third of the sandwiches and cakes it had started out with. A silver bucket filled with ice held two bottles of lambrusco, of which there was only a tiny amount left in one of the bottles, the other having been opened by a helpful waiter, but as of yet untouched. The Saffron Countess was located just on the outskirts of St. Barbara Park in upper Kent, very close to the east bank of the Goneril in Cordelia. It was a veritable skip away from the Lysander or the Oriel, but it still counted as part of the posh inner city, which really explained why Edward was slightly off-put by the amount of recognisable capital city personalities in the locale. He¡¯d already recognised (without giving too much away, hopefully), Geoffrey Kendall, the son of the Duke and Duchess of Westshire, the future Lady Blackshore, Isidore or Isolde or something, and a famous webnet star called Riley Colquhoun just out on a regular Saturday for people of her ilk apparently, enjoying some afternoon tea in a nobility-proximate locale. Due to the availability of gossipy-nature news on the webnet, it was really easy to recognise even the prodigy of the nobility, and Edward had a nasty tendency to just scroll through pages and pages of hearsay sites and celebrity webpapers on his handcom when bored, just like so many other Auroran and Union youths. However, at the present, his eyes were always drawn back to the pair of icy blue ones across the table, and he was trying to avoid physically pinching himself as he constantly reminded himself that he was sharing a boozy afternoon tea with none other than Lady S¨¦lincourt herself. The memory that had just passed through his subconscious about leaving his homeworld and parents behind seemed so much like a past life compared to what he was experiencing in this exact moment. Who¡¯d have thought a mere piano student from the outskirts of Persephone, the son of a teacher and a tourism agent, would be having afternoon tea in an upscale caf¨¦ three years later with the prodigy of prestigious aristocrats, who were Royal Navy celebrities to boot. Every time the thought crossed his mind, Edward felt slightly lightheaded, and he was pretty sure it wasn¡¯t because of the alcohol, and he had to suppress a grin by taking a sip from his teacup. He felt extremely underdressed for the occasion however, since most of the clientele wore early autumn suits or dresses, while he wore a white open-throat overshirt and a pair of khaki seashell trousers, and his favourite pair of mahogany low-heel flats. ¡°It must be hard though,¡± the young lady sat opposite said as she put her own teacup down and used the opportunity to grab another triangle of crust-less kimchi-tuna sandwich, ¡°to know that all you soloists are directly in competition with each other? I mean, you say you¡¯re supportive of one another, but you¡¯re all literally your own worst enemy. Since you all compete for very limited spots in orchestras, and even with the amount of symphony orchestras around the Royal Union, you¡¯re still kind of in rivalry with each other. Your piano mate you¡¯ve talked so much about, oh terribly sorry, what¡¯s his name again¡­?¡± While using the opportunity to take a bite of her sandwich, Adea snapped her fingers in a desperate attempt to recollect the name, but Edward came to her rescue. She, unlike Edward, had known what sort of establishment the Saffron Countess was, and wore a grey sheath dress under a black over-the-shoulder cape inlaid with silver threads, and a pair of heeled black boots decorated with small golden flowers along the holes for the laces. ¡°Arvind, My Lady, and yeah, that¡¯s not something we really want to think about. The life of a solo classical musician is one of extreme juxtaposition. We all want each other to succeed, but at the same time, we cannot afford to wish each other much success, because we could be hurting our own future livelihood.¡± Edward¡¯s lopsided smile told Adea all about how he really felt about that; incredibly morally conflicted and frustrated at the nature of classical music. ¡°That sounds like such a cutthroat way of living life,¡± Adea said with an accompanying shake of her head. ¡°I¡¯m not sure I could be able to wrap my head around such a way of life.¡± ¡°If you¡¯d indulge me, My Lady¡­¡± Edward started, but was cut off by an angry glare from Adea. ¡°I thought we¡¯d been over this, Edward,¡± the young noblewoman said in a tone that usually didn¡¯t broker any discussion, but kept low in order to respect the rest of the clientele of the caf¨¦. ¡°Stop it with the ¡®My Lady¡¯-s, and the ¡®My Ladyship¡¯-s, I much prefer we retain a more colloquial tone when it¡¯s just us.¡± ¡°You say that, My La¡­ I mean Lady Adea, but I can¡¯t help it.¡± Edward really needed another sip of tea¡­ ¡°I¡¯m having trouble talking to you informally. It¡¯s like I¡¯m committing a really serious social faux pas, and my parents raised me to be better than that.¡± He took another nervous swig of tea, and helped himself to a mango-infused laddu to try to hide his rapidly reddening cheeks. Adea had to hide her smile at that, taking the opportunity to take another sip of her own tea-cup. Edward exuded energy so very similar like to that of a nervous debutante, so extremely afraid of making any mistakes, seemingly unaware that the nobility were just regular humans just like him. He seemed to have this mental barrier up most of the time that separated himself, and by association most of humanity, from those who had randomly (and in some cases quite unfairly) been elevated to so-called nobility status. This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there. ¡°How have your exams been so far, then?¡± She tried moving the conversation into a more relatable direction. ¡°Do you have any theoretical ones this penultimate semester, or is it all performatives?¡± ¡°Only had the one so far,¡± Edward after finishing his cup of tea and refilling it, buying him some precious seconds, ¡°and that was in Intermediate Conducting Theory. It was a traditionally written one, as in, stuck in a crummy auditorium writing using old-fashioned pen and paper. I thought we as a society had come a bit further, but alas¡­¡± Adea drew some of her red hair behind her left ear whilst still balancing her cup in a steady right grip, making sure that it rested pretty naturally. ¡°And how do you feel it went?¡± The question Adea posited was innocent enough, but there was a certain amount of¡­ something Edward couldn¡¯t quite place hiding underneath the question, but it was off-set by Adea¡¯s calming smile. Edward fumbled for a bit, (smiling, concluding that smiling was creepy, reverting to a neutral expression, before realising that Adea was endearment incarnate, and returned to smiling, all within the space of less than two seconds), before picking back up his cup of tea and sipped it politely. ¡°Considering the fact, Lady Adea, that I¡¯ve never have had Basic Conducting Theory, I don¡¯t put much stock in my chances of landing a B or an A. I don¡¯t even know what end of the conductor¡¯s baton you¡¯re supposed to hold, and if given the opportunity to find out, I¡¯ll probably poke someone¡¯s eye out with the damn thing.¡± Adea put her hand up to her mouth in order to muffle her uninvited chuckles, whilst Edward used the chance to grab the as to hitherto untouched bottle of lambrusco and poured for the both of them. Lord above, may this afternoon never end. ¡°Well, I can tell you,¡± Adea said after her giggles stifled, ¡°I¡¯ve had a much more rough time of it than you have had. November is the worst month of the academic year; I have it circled in angry red on my ¡®com calendar.¡± She sipped from her re-filled glass of sparkling wine, apparently paying no mind to Edward having topped her up again, her cheeks ever so slightly tinted pink. ¡°So far into the exam season, I¡¯ve had a full-day on Comparative Politics, one regarding socio-linguistics of post-exodus English in regards to settled worlds, and I have one the day after tomorrow in Auroran Cultural Influents. I¡¯ve also had a folder-exam that lasted an entire week on the Goldbrook Model and how it compares to the Westminster System, God that was a drudge of a thesis. I didn¡¯t come close to imagine that the exam period would be this demanding for a mere political science student.¡± ¡°Calling yourself a ¡®mere political science student¡¯ is doing yourself more than a little bit of a disservice, Lady Adea,¡± Edward answered, before the tips of his ears started to heat up as they had a tendency to do when his synapses concluded he had put his foot in his mouth. ¡°I only mean to say,¡± he followed up quickly, tongue stumbling slightly over the words, ¡°that you¡¯re a pretty special case in terms of the rest of the students at QMMU, given your status, and those you know, and your family, and¡­¡± Arriving at the conclusion that digging a further hole would be a waste of breath, he took a pretty large swig of wine instead. Lady Adea Sophia Carlisle-St. Eiron produced a throaty giggle at that display of unadulterated awkwardness, Edward having gone absolutely off-colour in his bronzed cheeks, and his eyes had become desperate disks. ¡°Please, Edward, just relax,¡± she said in a low tone, trying to calm him down, ¡°we¡¯re just two friends out having some afternoon tea and snacks, two students discussing the three week hell that is exam season. No need to stand at attention, God knows I see way too much of that every day around my family and on official business, and I don''t need it to dominate my free time as well.¡± At the mention of the word friends, Edward felt a sharp, cold pain inside his chest. Launching himself at an opportunity to divert to a new topic, Edward saw a chance at the mention of Adea¡¯s family. ¡°Speaking of which My La-, I mean Adea, how is your lord father? Has he settled down nicely on HMSS Sluys yet?¡± One of Adea¡¯s red eyebrows hiked up in surprise at Edward naming the huge naval station in Amaranth orbit, to which he shrugged. ¡°I am more than a little bit interested in the military from a hobbyist historian¡¯s perspective, and it pays to know at least something about the kingdom¡¯s most prominent and celebrated institution.¡± ¡°Depends on who you ask, there are some in my circle of acquaintances who would vehemently disagree on the Royal Navy being the most ¡®celebrated institution¡¯ of the Auroran kingdom.¡± Her tone had been lightly coloured by humour while pointing that out, but her timbre shifted afterwards. ¡°As to Papa, he¡¯s still surly Lord Admiral Donegal put him in command of Mothb-, I mean Reserve Fleet. It¡¯s not considered a very prestigious posting, despite the fact that Papa currently is in command of thirty-two capital ships, about forty cruisers, and the entire Royal Navy¡¯s orbital assault fleet, but since apart from the latter, all the other are old-ass ships that are manned by half crews, their purpose is pretty much to be there only if some emergency happens. Like an accident involving a posted warship that cannot be immediately replaced from Home or any of the other fleets. Or something like a war, not that that is bloody likely. No, his e-letters are pretty surly, and he hates being stuck in orbit. He hasn¡¯t had a full-time space command for a good many years now, courtesy of the former regime in charge of the Admiralty.¡± ¡°A shame he can¡¯t command from the surface,¡± Edward commented, trying his best to provide at least some positivity, ¡°Persephone is perhaps the most beautiful city in the kingdom, Lord S¨¦lincourt should lobby the Admiralty to create a ground-based command headquarters there. I mean, they have Admiralty Palace on New Malta and Navy House on Valerian, and those planets aren¡¯t even in the Kingdom, so why not one on the Second Planet?¡± She smiled at that. ¡°First, I think you should be glad there aren¡¯t evidently any Angevins around, I think they¡¯d take deep offence to Amaranth being called the ¡®Second Planet¡¯ ahead of Angevin¡­¡± ¡°But it¡¯s true, Amaranth was the second world settled¡­¡± ¡°And second, if you think Persephone is most beautiful in the Kingdom, you must come with me to Exeter someday. New Devon isn¡¯t the Pherousa Atolls, and Exeter isn¡¯t the ¡®New Venice¡¯, but many call it the ¡®New Br¨¹gge¡¯, which isn¡¯t a bad shout, plus it¡¯s a lot smaller and quainter that Persephone.¡± Edward had been about to protest what his sensibilities translated as slights towards his homeworld¡¯s honour, but the words died instantly before he could utter them at the mention of an invitation to New Devon and Exeter. Edward knew that the S¨¦lincourt estates were close by, Sandy had told him as much, and it also happened he had checked the National Registry of the Aristocracy for Adea and her family. More than a few times actually, though he hadn¡¯t admitted that to anyone. Am I awake, is this a dream? Or am I really misunderstanding what she meant? She did say we were just two friends earlier¡­ He suddenly realised the background noise of the Saffron Countess had changed. Since the moment they had stepped into the caf¨¦, guided to a window table overlooking St. Barbara Park by their waiter, the tone of conversation had been a low and polite hum which occasionally had been interrupted by polite laughter, or pretty subdued exclamations of surprise. But now the voices of the patrons around Adea and Edward were speaking rapidly, and with growing volume. He looked around and saw many had their ¡®coms out. Since any handcom that wasn¡¯t a cheap knockoff came with for-your-eyes-only screens that looked transparent but weren¡¯t, it was impossible for him to make out what they were looking at, but he realised that something was off; the nobility and their social coattails did not normally act like this in public under any circumstances. ¡°What¡¯s going on?¡± Adea had picked up on the strange atmosphere around her, and was looking around. She rose suddenly and walked briskly over to a table closer to the caf¨¦¡¯s entrance where a young man dressed in a cream linen suit and what appeared to be his mother, dressed in a burgundy ulsterette dress, sat and stared at their ¡®coms, occasionally sharing worried glances. A few of the waiters and waitresses were glued to their own ¡®coms as well, and a few held their hands up to their mouth in what Edward could only interpret as shock. Unsure what to do, he followed Adea over to the seated pair. ¡°Excuse me, Lady Palecliff, Lord Anthony,¡± Adea said politely as she came up to them, and the Palecliff son jumped up out of his chair and bowed politely, but Adea could tell something was off. ¡°I¡¯m so sorry to intrude,¡± she continued politely as Edward caught up to her and performed a slightly unsure bow of his own to the seated lady, ¡°but could you please tell us what is going on? Everyone seems so upset all of a sudden, has something happened?¡± ¡°Oh my dear,¡± Lady Palecliff said in a strangely scared tone of voice that set off multiple alarm bells in the back of both Adea''s and Edward''s minds, although Edward had never met the woman before, ¡°I pray for your lord father and lady mother.¡± Ice replaced blood in Adea¡¯s veins and she tensed up. ¡°What do you mean, Milady?¡± Edward asked as he saw Adea freeze up. ¡°You better see for yourself,¡± Lord Anthony said, and unlocked the screen of his handcom and turned it towards the pair. It showed the front page of the Cordelia Sentinel, one of the largest and most reputable of the Auroran webpapers. The headline read: ¡°Royal Navy destroyer attacked in interstellar space near Lorelei on Nov 4, five servicemen and ¨Cwomen killed.¡± There was a subline underneath: ¡°Both Houses of Parliament have called emergency sessions, Royal Navy ordered to maximum readiness by Admiralty.¡± ¡°Edward,¡± Adea said shakily after a few moments, and he swallowed hard, ¡°take me home please.¡±
Claude O¡¯Shaughnessy looked up just at the right time as Robert¡¯s troop returned to Oosterend Barracks a few kilometres outside of New Toronto, having just slid out from underneath the tracks of the lifted main battle tank he was servicing. Robert de Loladze struck a very fine figure as he came riding in through the barracks gates on top of a bay wearing a scarlet caparison to save the poor horse from being too drenched by the downpour. Robert wore the scarlet parade tunic and white trousers of the officers of Queen Amelia¡¯s Own Guard-Chevaliers, with a silver cuirass engraved with the crest of the De Roze-Tournai branch of the royal family covering his chest, along with a white leather band that held his long sabre sheath. His tall silvered crested helmet (a chevalier style crested helmet, unlike the more common cuirassier or dragoon style ones) had the same engraved crest, and a long white mane. Over his shoulder he also wore a black ulsterette cape, which was dripping wet. Behind him rode the rest of his thirty-odd troop, dressed in the sky blue parade tunics and white trousers of the enlisted Chevalier-Guards, the rest of their uniform similar, but less engraved and silvered, their helmet manes black. All had their bared sabres resting on their shoulders in parade order, but they were exhausted from carrying out parade drill exercises for hours, and the laboured breath of their bays misted in the cold autumn air. They all cut an extreme contrast to Claude and his fellow troop leader, Vincent Minkjan, dressed as they were in green-grey overalls that were flecked with large grease stains and completely soaked through, their once white neckties were horribly stained and off-coloured. Their berets would have been as well, had they not been safely tucked into their breast pockets. They looked at each other and put their arms on their hips as the mounted troop rode past. Robert halted his horse in front of them and gave them a slightly mocking salute by bringing his sword¡¯s guard in front of his face before slashing down and to the right. ¡°I bid you good afternoon, sirs,¡± he said in his extremely annoying high society Westernessan accent, which was bordering on a parody of what Westernessan aristocracy actually sounded like. ¡°I trust you¡¯ve have a fine time looking out for your metal steeds today?¡± He turned his head slightly over his shoulder to address his troop. ¡°We¡¯re done for now, boys and girls. Go lead the horses back to the stables, then return the ceremonial equipment to the quartermaster before you head to the showers. I want all uniforms cleaned and ready for inspection by tomorrow at roll call.¡± He was answered by a muted chorus of confirmation as the riders fell out of formation and started to head to the horse stables of the large barracks complex. ¡°Not everyone can be out gallivanting on horseback,¡± Vincent replied in a sour tone, ¡°someone has to do some actual soldiering and look after the weapon systems that our regiment will actually use if there¡¯s a conflict.¡± ¡°Oh don¡¯t start, Vinnie,¡± Robert said as he sheathed his sword, removed his helmet and ran a gloved hand through his slightly longer than regulations allowed dirty blonde hair, ¡°someone has to form part of the honour guard for His Majesty¡¯s birthday come spring. And these new troopers have for the most part never seen a real horse before, and it falls to me to train them.¡± ¡°You could at least join us from time to time to keep up maintenance on your Destrier,¡± Claude said as he started to gather the various spanners and tools that lay scattered about and put them back in his toolbox, ¡°the tanks won¡¯t maintain themselves you know. And it sets a good example to the ranks if their officers are willing to dirty themselves and do the same thankless tasks they¡¯re doing.¡± Robert¡¯s nostrils flared momentarily at the suggestion. ¡°I don¡¯t know about you, Claude, but I commissioned into the Guard-Chevaliers to be a cavalryman, not a glorified mechanic. Besides, most of my troop have some sort of mechanical experience, if only from training.¡± ¡°You mean you got your father to commission you into the Guard-Chevaliers,¡± Vincent said as he used a small controller pad to order the anti-gravity drones that held the eighty tonne Destrier VII main battle tank suspended in the air to gently lower it back down. Claude crouched to see that the tank came down to the ground properly and gently, and as the tracks clattered metallically to rest, he gave the grey hull of the tank his crew had christened Lady Godiva an affectionate smack. Robert sighed and climbed down from his horse, and stroked her muzzle gently. ¡°I¡¯ll get on it tomorrow,¡± he said in a much more natural Westernessan accent, indicating that he was done messing around, ¡°Sergeant Waters¡¯ informed me that Thunderlily is having some teething problems with the new integrated multi-aiming system, something about it not meshing correctly with the automated targeter. I¡¯m not the best with software, so I was wondering if one of you could take a look at it, if you have the time? I¡¯d really love to have it fixed before the joint exercise with the Garde du Corps next week.¡± Claude walked over with a smile and put his hand on Robert¡¯s shoulder. ¡°Sure, I can take a look at it after lunch tomorrow if you want. I only have consultant duty after lunch, so I can easily squeeze in time to look at Thunderlily.¡± The other officer smiled in appreciation, before his smile instantly disappeared and he smacked Claude¡¯s hand away. He scrunched his neck around (not easy while wearing a high, stiff parade uniform collar and a steel cuirass) and groaned loudly at the huge black imprint of Claude¡¯s hand on his scarlet tunic shoulder. ¡°You rat bastard,¡± he shouted, ¡°do you know how hard it is to get track grease out of dyed wool? I¡¯m charging you for my cleaning bill!¡± Vincent and Claude were almost doubled over in laughter at this point, Claude smacking his knee in mirth. They were drying away tears and Robert was trying to wipe the mark off using his black cape, when they noticed many of the other guardsmen on different sort of duty starting to speak loudly in excitement, many of them jogging towards the main barracks hall. NCO¡¯s and officers were trying to be heard over the animated chatter as more and more cavalrymen, not only from the Guard-Chevaliers but also their sister regiment, the Horse Guards which they shared barracks with, started to exit storage facilities, garages, sentry posts, mess halls, and converge on the main building. Many of Robert¡¯s troop, still dressed in parade gear, were running as well, their armour and swords clinking loudly. The three junior officers looked at each other in confusion and started to walk in that direction as well, Robert leading his horse along, the poor animal getting riled up by all the human excitement. A trooper wearing the tartan-banded visored cap of the Horse Guards ran past, and Vincent held out a hand to stop her. She looked angry at being stopped by a fellow private at first, because she didn¡¯t immediately recognise the ranks on the dirty overalls, but once she saw Robert¡¯s red tunic she came to attention. ¡°Sirs, terribly sorry, Private Whittaker-Eighteen expresses her apologies in not identifying the sirs.¡± ¡°It¡¯s fine, private,¡± Claude said and pointed at the main barracks hall, the entrance of which was now positively thronging with troops, ¡°but can you tell us what¡¯s going on? What¡¯s all this hubbub, has the Cordelia Royals traded away Eric Rawadi or something?¡± He now saw that the private¡¯s eyes were wide open, and her saluting hand trembled slightly. ¡°It¡¯s the Greens, sirs,¡± she answered in a rapid surge of words, ¡°they¡¯ve whacked a Navy ship out south-west. The news are saying we lost a lot of people, and that Parliament is convening, and the King is going to speak tonight, and¡­¡± The private didn¡¯t manage to finish her frantic explanation before the officer started to walk bristly towards the throng of troopers, shouting ¡°watch your backs¡±, to make the enlisted make a hole. Unsure of what to do, nineteen year-old Eileen Whittaker blinked for a few moments before following in the wake of the trio.
The sudden outburst of giggles made a few of the monorail car¡¯s passengers turn around, and in that most noble of North-Western European traditions that had survived centuries and hundreds of light-years, looked sternly at the girls that had produced the sounds, but said nothing. Alexandra "Sandy" Barham noticed, and looked abashed at a nearby elderly couple, and bowed her head slightly, but she had to stifle a fit of laughter. Narissara Roxburgh and Wilhelmina Lohengrin took the hint as well, and lowered their voices slightly, sipping from their kenofoam cups of agave-mitchi. ¡°You can¡¯t be serious,¡± Sandy said, now in a more hushed tone as she leaned in towards the much taller Narissara, ¡°she did not say that?¡± Narissara nodded energetically. ¡°She did, she fucking did, she went up to Isolde and demanded she stay away from Horace. You should have seen her fucking face, poor Isolde was so confused, and I can¡¯t tell if it was because of the setting, right there in the admittance hall, or if it was because she¡¯s spoken to Horace Sciacca, like, eight times this past year.¡± ¡°What did Bernadetta do next?¡± Wilhelmina demanded from the seat to Narissara¡¯s left. They were all sitting in a monorail car flying along about a hundred metres over the Goneril River, going up into the Quayside, following a spirited shopping raid in the Sanderson mall. The weather was pleasantly sunny on that particular Saturday, the 12th of November. The trio had been slaving away with exams all week prior, and they were rewarding themselves with a proper girl¡¯s outing. They all had several paper bags of merchandise already, and were enjoying some mitchi they''d bought from an authorised drone vendor. ¡°I mean,¡± Narissara continued after another sip from her drink through a straw, ¡°Bernadetta is part of Lord Horace¡¯s close circle of friends, and by the Gods is it obvious she has the biggest crush on him, so I can understand that she was afraid that Isolde Stanhope was putting her flirt on. Problem is, and I say this as someone who loves her dearly, but Isolde is the fucking dumbest bitch ever when it comes to flirting. She could be undressing in front of a bloke and still think it was the most natural thing in the world, and think nothing of it.¡± That sparked another burst of giggles, and the other passengers in the white-and-black monorail glared again. There weren¡¯t that many, which was slightly surprising considering the fact that it was just after lunch time on a Saturday. The laughter drew the attention of a pair of constables from the Royal Cordelia Police, and once they saw the cups in the girls¡¯ hands, they started to move towards them, but stopped when they saw the large green sticker of approved vendors that denoted that the drink was alcohol free. The two constables, dressed in their trademark navy and white, with their accompanying small monitoring drones that hovered around at shoulder height, turned away and started to walk into the next car. ¡°Oh my god,¡± Wilhelmina continued once she had nodded her apologies to the other passengers again, ¡°Bernadetta really need to get out there more, but poor Isolde, what a dunce.¡± ¡°It¡¯s for the better though,¡± Sandy said, ¡°her parents are conservative in the relationship sense. I don¡¯t think they¡¯d like it very much if Isolde was fooling around a lot. Not that I think that the Marchioness of Blackshore is like ¡®no ding-ding before you get a ring-ring¡¯, but I think she¡¯d want her little airhead to at least have a stable relationship before she allows her to go all the way.¡± ¡°But with Horace though?¡± Narissara complained, ¡°I mean, yes he¡¯s good-looking, and he¡¯s funny, but he¡¯s also perfectly aware of that himself. He¡¯s the type of lad you like to have around for a few hours before you grow tired of him.¡± ¡°Speaking from experience, Roxburgh?¡± Wilhelmina teased, but Narissara did not rise to the bait. ¡°I¡¯m more partial to his brother, I love my men a bit more wild.¡± ¡°You also seem to like commoners passing well,¡± Sandy fished with a nasty smile on her face, ¡°I seem to remember you falling pretty hard for Edward Heatherland in your drunken state at the Pale Peacock. I don¡¯t think the Earl and Countess of New Lucknow would appreciate their daughter hooking up with a mere classical music student.¡± Narissara¡¯s cheeks turned red, which was uncharacteristic for the usually unabashed girl. ¡°A mere slip of the mind, and I blame the alcohol. Lady Adea is a very generous host after all, and I was brought up to not say no when someone offers to pay for your tab.¡± Wilhelmina said something to tease more reactions out of Narissara, but Sandy was distracted by her handcom bleating its call tune. She fished it out from her strapped-on-belt handbag and keyed it to life. She¡¯d just missed the call, but eyes went wide when she saw her father had called her not once, not twice, but seven times in the past three minutes. Quickly she turned away from her friends and hit the respond button. ¡°Hello, Daddy, what¡¯s goin-¡± ¡°Darling, come home, right now. Doesn¡¯t matter where you are, order a skycar and get home immediately.¡± Sandy, thoroughly confused, was about to say something when Wilhelmina and Narissara both shouted out in surprise and Sandy looked up. One of the vidscreens on the car¡¯s walls showed a news stream, a drone camera zooming in on the unmistakable hull of a Royal Navy warship, where a maw of twisted metal and wiring like an ugly unhealed scar adorned its flank. The feed underneath showed text which made Sandy¡¯s face go pale. ¡°I¡¯m on my way home now, Daddy.¡± Encyclopaedic Interlude No.2: Enlisted Ranks of the Royal (Auroran) Navy Enlisted Ranks
Rating (OR-2)
The rank awarded upon an enlisted sailor after completing their twenty-eight week training course at one of the shore establishments HMS New Saxony or HMS Cumberland. The first ten weeks is mainly composed of introductory training in basic military drill, discipline, maintenance, weapons handling, and comportment. This is often carried out at smaller establishments, such as naval schools or "floating forts", aka training areas in major naval orbital stations, such as HMSS Trafalgar, Sluys or Quiberon Bay. More specialised training is further handled by the large shore establishments Cumberland on Angevin, and New Saxony on the Arcadia coast on Aurora. A sailor will be expected, at the end of their training, to be more than passably proficient in their field of operations, spanning from all-important gunnery and engineering, to the more humble hydroponics, mess deck, or administrative duties. A rating''s level of education is the approximate work market equivalent of a certificate of apprenticeship. The median age of a rating in the Royal Navy is nineteen years old. Uniform: Action dress is black tunic and trousers with white lining, white gaiters, and a single, thin, white band on the cuff. Navy beret. Parade dress is much the same stylistically, though with brass buttons blazoned with the crowned anchor, and the beret is changed for a white sailor''s cap.
First Rating (OR-3)
The rank awarded to a rating that has shown leadership skills and portray a certain attitude that is deemed conducive. A First Rating is a leader of a small party of sailors, usually closed units such as a team of gunners, cooks, naval clerks, or any similar minimum-level formation, normally around five or six individuals. The rank of First Rating constitutes the first rung on the leadership ladder of the Royal Navy. Uniform: Action dress is black tunic and trousers with white lining, white gaiters, and a single thick white band on the cuff. Navy beret. Parade is much the same, with brass buttons blazoned with the crowned anchor, and the beret is changed for a white sailor''s cap, with a black streamer.
Leading Rating (OR-4)
The Leading Rating is a more specialised operator than a First Rating, their focus being on technical expertise rather than leadership or management skills. Following their training as a Rating, a Leading Rating would take on extra training courses or on-site practical experience to advance their skills to a level that is deemed by the Admiralty Board''s level of expertise to be sufficient for promotion. A Leading Rating is not expected to, but very often are, forced to lead teams of subordinate ratings. Technically, a Leading Rating outranks a First Rating, but the distinction is so blurry that it is common Royal Navy practice to consider the ranks similar in terms of seniority. Uniform: Action dress is black tunic and trousers with white lining, white gaiters, a single thick white band on the cuff and a white stylised rudder above it. Navy beret. Parade dress is very much the same, with brass buttons blazoned with the crowned anchor. The beret is swapped for a white sailor''s cap, with two black streamers.
Petty Officer (OR-5)
The petty officers are considered the nucleus of the Royal Navy, the plucky non-commissioned officers that keep the whole complex machinery of His Majesty''s Navy running and getting none of the credit for it. A First or Leading rating is normally only considered for Petty Officer promotion following ten years in the Service, and then only after having demonstrated a knack for leadership, technical skill, and a certain flair for interpersonal relationships that might have gone under the radar in civilian society. A petty officer is the leader of a sub-division of men and women, usually numbering between twelve and thirty, and they are the most immediate go-between for a mere enlisted rating and their officer. A petty officer is required a further ten-week course of training after getting chosen for potential promotion by their officer. No petty officer can apply on their own, they require a letter of recommendation from someone of at least sub-lieutenant rank or higher. Following completion of said course, the fresh petty officer (already an experienced Navy hand by nature of their service before this point) will report to a new ship/station/ground establishment where they likely would have no direct ties to subordinates. Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road. Uniform: Action dress is black tunic and trousers with white lining, white gaiters, two white bands on the cuff, and a small white crown on their shoulders underneath the station/ship crest, as well as on their collar. Navy beret. Parade dress is similar, but with silver buttons blazoned with the crowned anchor. Beret is swapped for a white sailor''s cap, with a golden bordering underneath the rim, and a red kenofoam rose fixed to the front of the cap.
Chief Petty Officer (OR-7)
A merging of technical and leadership skills, the Chief Petty Officers of the Royal Navy is the human fuel that keeps the vast RN men-of-war running. They are elevated from Petty Officer rank virtue of their technical expertise, combined with hand-proof experience of commanding men and women in small to medium-small formations. Most often, a CPO would be assigned to command a critical sub-division, such as a Misaki fusion-bottle, the magazine and handling of such, or controlling an railcannon, or a head-chef on a mess deck. Uniform: Action dress is black tunic and trousers with white lining, white gaiters, two white bands on the cuff, and a small white crown with seven stars on their shoulders underneath the station/ship crest, as well as on their collar. Navy beret, with a single white streamer. Parade dress similar, silver buttons blazoned with the crowned anchor. Beret is swapped for a white sailor''s cap, a golden bordering underneath the rim, and a red kenofoam rose fixed to the front of the cap.
Master Chief Petty Officer (OR-8)
The rank of Master Chief Petty Officer is usually reserved for the most senior non-commissioned officer onboard a warship, or on a (smaller) naval station. It is comparable to the Royal Army rank of colour sergeant. An MCPO is in Royal Navy tradition (unlike most other modern navies) the one to head a side party when welcoming a dignitary or an admiral, though the tradition of making the most junior officer onboard carry out the duty is starting to make a return, much to the chagrin of the RN NCO corps. In terms of actual duties, an MCPO is the equivalent of a sub-lieutenant, commanding up to several divisions and having as many as sixty people under their command. They combine the technical skill of a hand long versed in the Royal Navy with leadership and know-how that only a long-time veteran can accumulate. Uniform: Action dress is black tunic and black trousers with white lining, white gaiters, three white bands on the cuff, a small golden crown with seven stars on their shoulders underneath the station/ship crest, as well as on their collar. Navy beret, with a single golden streamer. Parade dress similar, silver buttons blazoned with the crowned anchor. Beret is swapped for a white sailor''s cap, golden bordering underneath the rim, a golden streamer from the rear, and a red kenofoam rose fixed at the front.
Warrant Officer (OR-9/OF-1)
A Warrant Officer is the first rung on the path of the commissioned officer''s path. An enlisted rank elevated to officer''s level, the Warrant Officers are usually regarded with quite some reverence. They earn their promotions through literally decades of dedicated service to the King''s Navy, first as an enlisted sailor, and then years later, become eligible for this distinguished promotion. Even junior officers are traditionally bound to pay heed to WO instructions, junior as they are, and the WO''s have been around for at least half a century. Uniform: Action dress is black tunic, and black trousers with white lining, white gaiters. Three white bands on the cuff, a golden crown with seven stars on the the shoulders underneath the station/ship crest, as well as on their collar. White beret. Parade dress similar, silver buttons blazoned with the crowned anchor.
Senior Warrant Officer (OR-9/OF-2)
The post of Senior Warrant Officer is usually reserved for the most exemplary of NCOs'' that serves on any one of the Royal Navy''s platforms. Be it an active warship, an auxiliary vessel, a station, the Senior Warrant Officer is the scourge of the enlisted ranks, such as they are. According to Navy scuttlebutt, the SWO patrols the hallways, the gangways, the bulkheads in search of shirkers and malingerers. In reality, Senior Warrant Officers are dedicated NCO''s who make sure the discipline of the Royal Navy warships don''t ever fall below a certain level. They are also very handy assistants for junior officers, since they have so many years of experience. Uniform: Action dress is black tunic, black trousers with white lining, white gaiters. Three white bands on the cuff, a golden crown but with seven diamonds on the collar. White beret with a white-gold seven-star anchor on the front. Parade dress similar, silver buttons blazoned with crowned anchor, but with small diamonds inlaid.
Encyclopaedic Interlude No.3: Commissioned Ranks of the Royal (Auroran) Navy Commissioned Ranks
Ensign [ret. Midshipman/ -woman] (OF-1)
The rank of ensign is the first proper rung on the ordinary commissioned officer''s ladder (apart from the mustangs of the Warrant Officers), invariably a fresh graduate from the King William''s Naval Academy at Landfall Isle on Aurora. Said ensign would have completed a full four year course in order to qualify for "marching out", in other words graduation. About 40% of King William''s students never finish the full officer''s induction programme, most of them due to failing to meet the very demanding science and interpersonal leadership standards that needs be displayed in an officer cadet. During their time at King William''s, an officer cadet will receive training and education in almost every subject imaginable, ranging from astronomy, gunnery, astrogation, and psychology, to etiquette, history, philosophy, physics, and dance lessons. There is in addition electives and sports that officer cadets are supposed to sign up for and attend, such as track-and-field, fencing, marching bands, sailing, ancient languages, and a myriad of others. It is the aim of the Naval Academy to shape their cadets into gentlemen- and -women, which visibly culminates with the Grand Naval Ball each May. It is the stated goal of King William''s to not only provide their officer-cadets with education, but also formation. More than just for the purpose of creating gentle- men/women officers, it is also to provide their cadets with relevant educational experience if they should choose to leave the Navy and re-enter the civilian world. An ensign is the most junior officer on board a deployed warship or any other Royal Navy station or platform, but that still elevates them above most other enlisted ranks, although a smart ensign would be wise to listen to an experienced hand like a CPO or a Warrant Officer. It has become tradition due to sheer expediency, to not let ensigns manage larger stations on their own without non-commissioned officer backup. Due to this, it has become commonplace to refer to NCO''s that supervise newly assigned ensigns as "nannies", much to the chagrin of both the ensigns and the NCO''s in question. Still, the officer corps of the Royal Auroran Navy is widely regarded as by far the best in the galaxy, the foundations laid during the four years at King William''s, and the thorough education given there, which has proven to translate very well into actual practice in most cases. It is complemented with a generally very high level of ¨¦lan displayed by the fresh graduates. Uniform: Action dress is black tunic and trousers with gold lining, white gaiters, a single thin golden band on the cuff, and a small white crown with seven stars on their shoulders underneath the station/ship crest, as well as on their collar. Navy beret. Parade dress similar, silver buttons blazoned with the crowned anchor. Beret is swapped for a black non-detailed visored cap on parade. Silver half-moon crest of the ship''s/station''s name on the uniform shoulder.
Sub-lieutenant (OF-1)
The sub-lieutenant is by their own humble opinion what keeps the Royal Navy running (much opposed by the Petty Officers, and accompanied by their usually muted protests). This rank is relatively quickly achieved by humble ensigns, only requiring about two-three years of active service to attain on average. That said, a sub-lieutenant is a consummate professional, usually in charge of a division or a critical sub-section, and there is something to be said of more responsibilities being heaped upon junior officers rather than NCO''s, forcing them "to learn on the job". Their span of duties might range from gun deck officers on smaller warships, to medical specialists on larger platforms, or as mess deck officers, to quartermaster juniors in charge of pay and HR. In under-officered ships like destroyers or scout cruisers, sub-lieutenants are usually given critical bridge officer roles. While often pointed out as a sign of problematic Royal Navy personnel procedures, a fully trained King William''s Naval Academy graduate is more often than not able to fulfil her or his duties satisfactorily, despite their seeming junior officer level, especially compared to other navies like the Alliance Space Navy or the Neuhansa Sternmarine. Uniform: Action dress is black tunic and trousers with gold lining, white gaiters, a thick golden band on the cuff, and a small white crown with seven stars on their shoulders underneath the station/ship crest, as well as on their collar. Navy beret. Parade dress similar, silver buttons blazoned with the crowned anchor. Beret is swapped for a black visored cap on parade, embroidered with a thin line of golden wreaths on the visor. Silver half-moon crest of the ship''s/station''s name on the uniform shoulder.
Lieutenant (OF-2)
The humble "left-enant" is the nucleus of the Royal Navy officer corps. They are the human glue that fulfil important bridge operations, serve as mess galley commanders, as gunnery officers, boat bay flight officers, medical specialists, quartermasters, administrative clerk division officers, staff psychologists, fusion reactor specialist officers, and everything in-between. They can be found in command of sections of a battleship''s broadside, or the communications division, and every other station that handles relatively large number of people and functions. A King William''s graduate of usually at least five years of service on their record, the lieutenant might also become the First Lieutenant of a smaller warship, like a destroyer, or a scout/light cruiser. They are generally the most hard-working of the Auroran officer corps, often dead on their feet after a long shift. It is also the introductory rank of specialists that have seconded themselves to the Navy, like surgeon specialists, trans-atmospheric flight officers, and staff officers. Uniform: Action dress is black tunic and trousers with gold lining, white gaiters, a wide golden band on the cuff, and a small golden crown with seven stars on their shoulders underneath the station/ship crest, as well as on their collar. Navy beret. Parade dress similar, golden buttons blazoned with the crowned anchor. Beret is swapped for a black visored cap on parade, embroidered with a thin line of golden wreaths on the visor. Golden half-moon crest of the ship''s/station''s name on the uniform shoulder.
Lieutenant Commander (OF-3)
The lieutenant commander is the first officer rank that might be considered "command rank", despite the junior nature of the rank itself. A lieutenant commander will ideally have some ten years or so of experience as a naval officer. However, due to the recent manpower crunch of the Royal Navy (generally believed by the Department of Personnel to have started as early as 2863), this prerequisite has been flagged, to the point where lieutenants with barely seven, or in some extreme cases just five, years of space-going experience are being promoted, a cause of concern for the Admiralty. Generally, lieutenant commanders would be senior department heads, like gun captains for an entire battleship''s broadside of railguns, or senior shore establishment officers, or as senior flag officer staff specialists. While considered of "command rank" it is also the highest rank of "working officers" in Royal Navy nomenclature, since a lieutenant commander in charge of a division will still be personally involved in the running of said division, while more senior ranks are increasingly physically absent from their subordinates. In the case of under-officered ship classes like destroyers and scout/light cruisers, lieutenant commanders are often Captains or First Lieutenants, chosen by the Powers that Be of the Admiralty''s Department of Personnel simply due to the fact that the Royal Navy is in (and has been for the past twenty-five years) a precarious situation, leading to more and more junior officers taking on roles that are on paper too senior for their level of experience. Nevertheless, the King William Naval Academy-educated youths (relative) are more often than not able to step up to the plate, and perform to the level that is expected of them. Uniform: Action dress is black tunic and trousers with gold lining, white gaiters, two wide golden bands on the cuff, and a golden crown with seven stars on their shoulders underneath the station/ship crest, as well as on their collar, supported by a golden star overhead. White beret with a crowned anchor insignia. Parade dress similar, golden buttons blazoned with the crowned anchor. Beret is swapped for a black visored cap on parade, embroidered with a thin line of golden wreaths on the visor. Golden half-moon crest of the ship''s/station''s name on the uniform shoulder.
Commander (OF-4)
A Royal Navy commander is by historical precedence the first rank of "commanding officer", traditionally going all the way back to the 17th century of the English Royal Navy. Being a commander in the Royal Navy can mean a myriad of things; one might be the Captain of a cruiser attached to a major fleet formation, a high-ranking staff officer at one of the Admiralty''s departments, or one might be an accomplished academic at the King William''s Naval Academy in charge of tutoring the next influx of youthful naval cadets. Regardless of one''s duties, a commander is in charge of, or at the very least, responsible for a large number of people and their well-being. In Royal (Auroran) Navy practice, it has been common to brevet-promote lieutenant commanders to full commander rank if they find themselves in command of warship platforms of scout cruiser size or above for a certain amount of time, though this has recently been abolished. Ironically, considering the state of the Royal Navy as a whole, this is because the Royal Navy suffers from a bottleneck of officers eligible for ship-command rank, but has not been promoted due to lack of available warships. Uniform: Action dress is black tunic and trousers with gold lining, white gaiters, three wide golden bands on the cuff with a golden hoop overlaid. A golden crown with seven stars on their shoulders underneath the station/ship crest, as well as on their collar, supported by a golden star overhead. White beret with a golden anchor insignia, inlaid with a single small white pearl. Parade dress similar, golden buttons blazoned with the crowned anchor. Beret is swapped for a black visored cap on parade, embroidered with a moderately thick line of golden wreaths on the visor. Golden half-moon crest of the ship''s/station''s name on the uniform shoulder.
Captain (OF-5)
A captain of the Royal Auroran Navy is generally an object of admiration. The regular Auroran, due to the glorified status that the Royal Navy enjoys in general society, is usually in awe of someone who has achieved the rank of captain in the RN, able to recognise the decades of dedication that it likely took to achieve this important rank. The term "Captain" is in of itself problematic, considering it refers to the "chief" of any ship, and even a lieutenant can be referred to as "Captain", due to the fact that they might be in command of a platform. Someone with the RN rank of captain is one that has spent years and years in the Royal Navy uniform, most likely as both ship-commander and/or as a staff/ground officer as well to supplement their overall skill and proficiency level. As a rule of seniority, a captain will very seldom be found in command of a ship smaller than a cruiser, or as a First Lieutenant of a heavy cruiser or a battlecruiser. In public, a captain would announce themselves as "Captain RN" following by their name, considering that a Navy captain is much more senior to a Royal Army or Royal Marine captain. If you encounter this story on Amazon, note that it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it. Uniform: Action dress is black tunic and trousers with gold lining, white gaiters, four wide golden bands on the cuff with a golden hoop overlaid. A golden crown with seven stars on their shoulders underneath the station/ship crest, as well as on their collar, supported by a golden star overhead. White beret with a golden anchor insignia, inlaid with two small white pearls. Parade dress similar, golden buttons blazoned with the crowned anchor. Beret is swapped for a black visored cap on parade, embroidered with a moderately thick line of golden wreaths on the visor. Golden half-moon crest of the ship''s/station''s name on the uniform shoulder.
Post-captain (OF-6)
Originally a defunct title to differentiate beached and active serving captains, the Post-captain rank was resuscitated by the need of the Royal Auroran Navy for another step between captain and commodore. Post-captains are usually in command of major platforms such as battleships or battlecruisers, or senior flag staff members, indicating a level of seniority that sets them apart from a regular captain. Unlike common practice in 18th and 19th century Britain, the rank of Post-captain is a formalised and permanent rank, but they''re commonly referred to simply as "Captain" in speech unless formality is strictly observed. Uniform: Action dress is black tunic and trousers with gold lining, white gaiters, four wide golden bands on the cuff with a golden hoop overlaid with a golden anchor inside the hoop. A golden crown with seven stars on their shoulders underneath the station/ship crest, as well as on their collar, supported by a crested golden star overhead. White beret with a golden anchor insignia, inlaid with two small white pearls. Parade dress similar, golden buttons blazoned with the crowned anchor. Beret is swapped for a black visored cap on parade, embroidered with a thick line of golden wreaths on the visor. Golden half-moon crest of the ship''s/station''s name on the uniform shoulder.
Commodore (OF-6)
The most junior of flag ranks, but still allowed to fly their own flag and appoint a flagship amongst their command. Originally in the water-going navies of Earth, it was more of a job description rather than a proper rank, but it became formalised over the course of the centuries, forming a very much needed gap between the commanding ranks of Captain and Post-captain, and the flag officers. Still, a commodore is not exclusively a ship-commanding officer; it is as entrenched in the 29th century as any other naval rank, and commodores are found in the hallways of the Admiralty more often than walking the bulkheads of battlecruisers. In larger formations, commodores act as flotilla or squadron commanders, but may command smaller task groups on their own if the tactical situation requires it. Uniform: Action dress is black tunic and trousers with gold lining, white gaiters, a full wide golden bar on the cuff with a golden circle overlaid. A golden crown with seven stars on their shoulders underneath the station/ship crest, as well as on their collar, supported by a crested golden star overhead. White beret with a golden anchor insignia, inlaid with three small white pearls. Parade dress similar, golden buttons blazoned with the crowned anchor. Beret is swapped for a black visored cap on parade, embroidered with a thick line of golden wreaths on the visor.
Rear Admiral (OF-7)
Unlike the ancient days of sailing fleets, Rear admirals do not nowadays command the rearward squadrons of a fleet; instead, they''re the first formal flag rank officers. As such they''re entitled to flying their personal flags from their chosen flagship, hence the term "flag officer". Rear admirals are some of the most senior officers in the Royal Navy, often acting as squadron or task group commanders, or as commanders of shore establishments, or important Admiralty station officers. As part of the RN cursus honorum, achieving the rank of Rear admiral is close to being guaranteed retiring at least as a Vice admiral, unless something very unfortunate would cut your presumed close to three-hundred year old life-span short. Most of that is based on promotion through real seniority, as it is RN custom to promote officers close to retirement as a "thank you to long and faithful service". It is also very common for retired Rear admirals to re-enter service in the Royal Merchant Marine, immediately jumping to command rank in that civilian service due to their RN seniority. Uniform: Action dress is black tunic and trousers with gold lining, white gaiters, a full wide golden bar on the cuff, with a golden band overhead, a golden hoop overlaid. A golden crown with seven stars on their shoulders underneath the station/ship crest, as well as on their collar, supported by a crested golden star overhead. White beret with a golden anchor insignia, inlaid with a small diamond. Parade dress similar, golden buttons blazoned with the crowned anchor. Beret is swapped for a black visored cap on parade, embroidered with a thick line of golden wreaths on the visor.
Vice Admiral (OF-8)
Vice admirals has evolved beyond the 2-i-C that the original rank implied in the 17th century English Navy, and has become an entrenched professional rank, more often than not when in ship-command situations commanding several flotillas or squadrons of warships. As a high flag rank, the Vice admiral is courtesy of their rank, one of the most senior officers in the Royal Navy, but due to the sheer size of the RN, they''re one among scores upon scores. Uniform: Action dress is black tunic and trousers with gold lining, white gaiters, a full wide golden bar on the cuff, with two golden bands overhead, a golden hoop overlaid. A golden crown with seven stars on their shoulders underneath the station/ship crest, as well as on their collar, supported by a crested golden star overhead. White beret with a golden anchor insignia, inlaid with two small diamonds. Parade dress similar, golden buttons blazoned with the crowned anchor. Beret is swapped for a black visored cap on parade, embroidered with a thick line of golden wreaths inlaid with silver on the visor.
Admiral (OF-9)
Like the title suggests, the Admiral is the highest rank attainable in any navy, and the Royal Navy is no different. Most full admirals will have spent close to sixty years at the very least in the uniform, having served both on space-going platforms as well as ground-based establishments/staff positions. Admirals combine literally a lifetime of experience of service in the Royal Navy with the foundations of education made so many decades ago at King William''s Naval Academy. Like literally every other rank in the Royal Navy, an Admiral is not guaranteed command of formations of space-going platforms, and the number of actual fighting admirals is at any time very low (as the time this was written [12 Nov 2874] only five full admirals has been assigned to command fleet- or fleet-like formation). The top of the Navy''s cursus honorum, the admirals are both figures to be envied as well as sympathised with. Few are as hard-working as fleet or naval station commanders, not to mention senior figures of the Admiralty. Another added level of complexity added upon reaching flag rank, is the unavoidable connection with the political reality of Aurora and the Royal Union; no flag officer can afford to be a virgin in political matters. Uniform: Action dress is black tunic and trousers with gold lining, white gaiters, a full wide golden bar on the cuff, with three golden bands overhead, a golden hoop overlaid. A golden crown with seven stars on their shoulders underneath the station/ship crest, as well as on their collar, supported by a crested golden star overhead. White beret with a golden anchor insignia, inlaid with three small diamonds. Parade dress similar, golden buttons blazoned with the crowned anchor. Beret is swapped for a black visored cap on parade, embroidered with a thick line of golden wreaths inlaid with silver on the visor.
Lord/Lady Admiral (OF-10)
The Lord/Lady Admiral is the ultimate head of the Royal Auroran Navy, the chief in command of the Admiralty. Unlike other navies, like the Alliance Space Navy, the official title of the head of the space navy is not "Chief of the Navy" or "Head of the Fleet", but "Lord/Lady Admiral of His Most Serene Auroran Majesty''s Navy". In the past, this rank had been reserved for royals for pure ceremonial reasons, but the extreme expansion of the Royal Navy demanded an upper command rank be created in order to facilitate the huge increase in not only personnel and hull numbers, but also the overall responsibility of administrating the entirety of the RN and the Royal Union sphere of influence. Nowadays, especially following the tenure of Duchess Grey Hill as the Lady Admiral, has become as much a political focal point as whom sits the chair of Speaker of the House of Commons, regarded as just a central tenet to political life in Auroran society, much to the chagrin of the personnel of the Royal Navy. Uniform: Action dress is black tunic and trousers with gold lining, white gaiters, a full wide golden bar on the cuff, with four golden bands overhead, a golden hoop overlaid. A golden crown with seven stars on their shoulders underneath the station/ship crest, as well as on their collar, supported by a crested golden star overhead. White beret with a golden anchor insignia, inlaid with four small diamonds, and crossed swords in gold underneath. Parade dress similar, golden buttons blazoned with the crowned anchor. Beret is swapped for a black visored cap on parade, embroidered with a thick line of golden wreaths inlaid with platinum on the visor.
On the subject of Admiral seniority and flag colours
In many aspect of the British Royal Navy of old, the sea-going one to differentiate the two, has influenced the Royal Auroran Navy to the point where it has inherited quite a number of practices and traditions. This should really not come as a surprise, given the overall British tone of Auroran society, with all its boons and flaws taken as one. One tradition that is very notable is the piping of senior officers coming on board and having the most junior officer greet them. Another is the usage of Royal Marines as Masters-of-Arms and guarantors of security on-board. What the RAN does different is how they organise their flag officers'' seniority and the colours of their flags. Where the old British Royal Navy divided its flag officers into "squadrons" of Blue, White, and Red in that order, the Royal Auroran Navy has done it a bit differently. The cursus honorum of flag rank now include the advancement through three divisions of seniority. The three divisions are Red (junior), Black (middle/active posting), and White (senior). Advancement from Rear-admiral of the Red to Rear-admiral of the White is not dependant on passing through attaining the rank of Rear-admiral of the Black (though it certainly doesn''t hurt), because flag officers with Black flag rank are almost always posted to active service postings. In regards to the topic of flying the flag in an era of electronic signals, every warship in any navy is assigned with an electronic signature, but this signature can be enhanced by a further electronic signal that can visibly denote the LIDAR/grav-pulse read-out with extra details attached to that particular ship or formation. In Royal Navy flag colour terms, this translates to an attached burst of electronic detail that ultimately materialises as differently coloured flags attached to the electronic signals on their ships. A flagship''s code would therefore be on the holographic plot of any ship be displayed as a coloured outline of its hull, its attached data readout, plus a small rectangular Royal Auroran Navy flag with its white environs differently coloured and with a varying number of coloured circles to denote flag rank.
Chapter 31.1 - Weeks of Uncertainty: Discussions and Premonitions The crowds had started to gather and slowly congregate as far south as Prince Regent Street, and the throngs of people thickened further up Nestor Street, and a huge assembly waving placards had gathered at Trinity Square. The groups were behaving quite politely, and wardens in high-vis vests were omnipresent this far out. Small groups of Royal Cordelia Police constables were visible here and there, although they were simply observing for the most part. But as soon as the groundcar entered Tillborough Street, the temperature of the crowds started to increase. The police presence had increased from patrols to entire squads, and they wore riot gear complete with stunrods and shields. The bodies of protestors had also grown larger and more vocal, shouting rehearsed slogans as they marched along the pavements and piedways, carrying homemade banners. Linton Sciacca, the Marquess of Howeland, had started to regret taking a groundcar to Goldbrook Palace instead of a skycar about twenty minutes ago; he would have been there in a tenth of the time. He just hadn¡¯t considered the fact that November 13 was a Sunday, and as such the vast majority of Cordelia would be off work or school, he had been too preoccupied with the startling news and preparing for the inevitable debate in the Lords. As Goldbrook Commons (not to be confused with the House of Commons in Goldbrook Palace, but tourists routinely were anyway) and the pillars of Graces Square came into view, Linton knocked on the window to the driver¡¯s compartment for his chauffeur to stop; it was impossible to see the steps and fences of Parliament for all the bodies. A long line of navy and white of constables in heavy riot gear stood on the steps leading into the Goldbrook Palace grounds, perhaps as many as eight hundred police officers with shields presented and visors lowered. Some held the leashes of snarling harnessed police wargs, their grey fur bristling and tails whipping back and forth in agitation. Troops of mounted police officers were trying their best to keep the road through the Commons and Graces Square clear for traffic, but there was a palpable tension in the air. The huge downtown Inner City areas were packed with protesters, and the police had their hands full keeping the more belligerent parts separated from the more well-behaved ones, the total numbering in the tens of thousands. In addition to the usual omnipresent cloud of drones of all types, cries, denunciations, and slogans filled the air. Blood must be paid in blood! Close the ports! No war in our lifetime! God save the King! Justice for our men and women! Down with the Alliance! Block Elysian trade now! Up the Navy! Death begets only death! Linton still hadn¡¯t left the safety of his vehicle, considering it somewhat of a personal peril until a squad of police officers reached him. More groundcars were haphazardly parked in the chaotic scene, some trying to back off while wardens and constables tried to clear enthusiastic protestors out of the way. The police were trying desperately to hold open a corridor for members of Parliament to get through the ocean of people, the Parliament Security officers of the MPs shielding them. It wasn¡¯t as if the crowds were intentionally physically threatening the MPs, but the sheer press of bodies was immense and only a small spark of excitement would be enough to start a stampede. And as the squad leaders on the ground saw the ¡®car bearing the flag of the Secretary of Defence, they immediately blew whistles and ordered more constables around Linton¡¯s vehicle. The aristocrat took a deep breath, corrected his purple cravat and downed the large glass of cognac in his chair¡¯s armrest (not the first he¡¯d had on the way up from the Oriel), grimacing as the alcohol travelled down his oesophagus, hopefully providing a measure of Valhallan courage. Only then did he open the ¡®car door and faced the cacophony outside. It wasn¡¯t only the police officers who recognised the Defence Secretary, for camera drones came swooping down almost immediately, and a cheer rose from the crowds in his immediate surroundings, and he instinctively affixed a polite smile. As best Linton could make out from behind the struggling lines of navy and white riot geared constables, most of the protestors who¡¯d managed to make it this close to Goldbrook were pretty young, dressed in everything from the haute culture of the upper classes, to fashionable street wear, to non-descript cheap clothes. There were also more than a few wearing the mahogany and red uniforms of the Royal Army, the black, gold and white of the Royal Navy, and the black, red and white of the Royal Marines. ¡°We¡¯re with you, My Lord!¡± a shout could be heard from Linton¡¯s right, which was followed by shouts of support and agreement. ¡°Just let us at them, Lord Howeland, we¡¯ll sort the Greens right!¡± another shouted voice proclaimed to further calls of endorsement. ¡°An eye for an eye, Milord! Justice for our sailors!¡± Linton couldn¡¯t do anything but be led along through the human corridor by two burly men in black suits from Parliament Security. He managed to muse briefly on the professionalism of the Royal Cordelia Police. The crowds had been gathering for hours, but had seemingly yet to turn nasty. The day was thankfully young, not even twelve in the afternoon, which meant that there hadn¡¯t been much time for hooligans and troublemakers to get sufficiently drunk to start much mischief. It helped that the pubs around this part of town were both very expensive and also not open at this hour. But Linton was pretty sure that the police would have their hands full before long¡­ The author''s content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.Just as he was thinking that, something went flying through the air and smashed into a thousand pieces on the cobblestones. ¡°The people still remember Harrow, Milord, no more deaths to stuff the warmongers¡¯ pockets!¡± The person started to howl something else, but three constables immediately burst into the throng of people to apprehend them, and things became even more chaotic. Whistles blew and about twenty officers mounted on what corresponded almost to warhorses started to disperse the nearby crowds. Howeland didn¡¯t see much more, as he was hustled ¨Cnay, manhandled¨C along and suddenly he was through the thick line of police that guarded the Parliament gates, a line four deep. Letting out a breath he didn¡¯t know he was holding Linton walked down the Goldbrook Palace entry grounds and through the open gilded gate, veritably jumping up its short flight of stairs. Goldbrook Palace was a massive complex originally constructed as the official royal residence in Cordelia in 2320, but had relatively quickly been replaced as such by the smaller, but more central and ornate St. Andrew Palace in 2397. Instead, Goldbrook had been chosen to house the Parliament, and expanded to accommodate such a purpose. Unlike what some tourists expected, given Aurora¡¯s cultural history, it looked nothing like the old Westminster Palace in London on Earth. It was built in a Neo-Baroque Revival style known as Lydellism that combined elements from what would later be dubbed Neo-Edwardian and late Reconstructivism. If any rough Earth equivalent could be produced, it would have been the old Akasaka Palace in Tokyo, but scaled up many times over, with four distinct wings, a massive entrance hall, and a domed clock tower hall. Some five-thousand staffers worked there full time, and it had in addition to the large chambers of the House of Commons and Lords, numerous anterooms, lounges, conference rooms, decorative hallways, a royalty suite, lobbies for each of the chambers, press rooms, several museums and display rooms, caf¨¦s, and a (very expensive) restaurant that faced the huge gardens on the northern (backwards) facing side of the domed central hall. The huge complex was slightly elevated over street level, which was why there was a broad flight of stairs at the southern end of the palace grounds. The grounds with all their gardens and small pavilions were encased by fences that were more decorative than protective, but their twenty-foot height made them inconvenient to scale. The lavishly decorated Reception Hall was filled with Members of Parliament from both houses, many of them looking confused and more than a little dazed. Parliamentary Security officers and police constables were omnipresent, guarding doors and flights of stairs, in addition to the traditional porters and doorkeepers in their elaborate long black coats and cocked hats. Staffers and personal aides milled about, and there was a sense of absolute confusion, the usual quiet and professional behaviour usually conducted in these halls of power completely abandoned. Linton sat down on one of the wooden benches close by the main entrance doors, watching as more and more MP¡¯s and their staff came through, most of them having plastered on a nonchalant expression that probably belied their actual emotional states. No one was unaffected of what was going on, and Linton wasn¡¯t thinking about the crowds outside the palace fences. He fished out his handcom and started to look for a news stream, eventually settling (with some slight chagrin) on the New Guardian¡¯s. The camera drones were hovering just over the heads of the crowds, and the split-feed was trying to give an impression of the different groupings and the police¡¯s attempt to separate them. A very vocal throng of mostly males dressed in street clothes, some waving or draped in the violet national flag of Aurora were shouting slogans, which made Linton wince. The other half of the stream was a vox-pop, in which the journalist was asking seemingly random people of their opinion of the current political situation. ¡°My son¡¯s in the Navy,¡± a woman dressed in a mauve coat said, looking straight into the camera drone¡¯s pickup, ¡°he¡¯s in Western Fleet, and I¡¯ve never questioned his choice of profession. But now it¡¯s different, innit¡¯, the Elysians are pushing for some sort of reaction, and we¡¯re not havin¡¯ it, no. So I¡¯m proud my lad is in the Service, protecting us all.¡± Swiping away the stream, Linton searched for a different one, landing (much more to his liking) on the Evening Post and their own version of a vox-pop. The camera focused on two young men brandishing placards with the text Thank you Mr Prime Minister, no war today if you don¡¯t mind written in bold black font, a reference to a popular political satire show. The female journalist approached them and asked what they hoped the Parliament would decide after the day¡¯s discussions. ¡°Frankly Miss,¡± one of them said, dressed in a black anorak, ¡°I don¡¯t really care for what they say, I much more care for what they do. If the Roys and the Solibs want to drag us down the horrible path of even more militarisation, I honestly don¡¯t know what I¡¯ll do.¡± His friend, wearing what was still called a souvenir jacket despite the change in pictorial styles over the centuries, picked up the baton. ¡°It¡¯s not that we don¡¯t love our country and the Union, but this increased brinkmanship is not helping anyone. We send a warship to the frontier, the Elysians send two. We commission a new cruiser, the Alliance immediately orders three more. It can¡¯t go on just from a financial and demographic point of view, no matter what the people or the Powers that Be feel.¡± ¡°What¡¯s the judgement of the hoi polloi?¡± Linton looked up into a pair of dark brown eyes that shined with part mirth, part dead serious. ¡°Sir Edward,¡± Linton said as he rose from his rather uncomfortable pew, ¡°If I that comment had come from any other man, I¡¯d be asking if they were being serious. It smacks of disregard for the populace which the Parliament is supposed to represent, and that comes from me, a non-elected member of the Lords.¡± Sir Edward Ranganekary flashed a brief grin. ¡°Well, good thing you know me, and are aware that I¡¯m pulling your leg.¡± Lord Howeland responded with a smile of his own. ¡°I didn¡¯t know the Commons were joining this early?¡± ¡°Ah, yes,¡± Sir Edward Ranganekary said somewhat sheepishly ¡°the Commons is convening about an hour after the Lords. And your opening statement is streamed in both houses, considering you¡¯re the Secretary of Defence and all that. Once the Lords have had their fill of meaningless nonsense, we proper shakers in the Commons will have at it.¡± Sir Edward¡¯s smile at that last comment congealed a little, and he sniffed the air. ¡°I say, have you been drinking? A sort of performance enhancer I reckon?¡± Lord Howeland snorted and brushed off some imagined lint off his blazer shoulders. ¡°More like a life-buoy, Sir Edward. I don¡¯t think I¡¯d be able to physically survive the retorts Dawnshire and Trewellynshire are no doubt preparing at this very moment without having some alcohol in my bloodstream.¡± Edward Ranganekary, despite himself, smiled at the retort. ¡°Well, no matter what may come, I have every confidence that¡¯ll you will make us proud, Milord.¡± Chapter 31.5 - Weeks of Uncertainty: Discussions and Premonitions The large chamber fell quiet as Lord Howeland rose from the upholstered bench, and strode the few paces to stand at the large table that stood in the exact middle of the two sets of benches. Despite the dissimilarity of Goldbrook Palace¡¯s exterior from Westminster Palace, the interior of the Houses of Lords and Commons were strikingly similar. The Chamber of Lords was much larger than the old British one, incorporating 953 seats rather than the 813 sitting members that it had upon its dissolution in CE 2262. That was a key difference, because the Auroran variant had a fixed number of seats, unlike the old British system which had essentially been a revolving door of Members of Lords who had the opportunity to sit in on a discussion or voting session. Following the revised Constitution of 2248, and the 2301 addendum, it had become common practice for the Lords to switch out their members in (more or less) accordance to the general election winners in the Commons. Still, there was an entrenched tradition of backbenchers that permeated the culture in the Lords, and although it was expected of a peer to relinquish their seat if their party suffered losses of constituencies in the Commons, it was by no mean codified, which led to parties like the Conservatives and Royalists having larger contingents in the Lords than what their number of MPs in the Commons would suggest. Some like the Lady Iphigenia of St. Eiron of the Royalists had adhered to this unwritten law without protest following this past election, giving up her seat in favour for the Baron Isdale, a Democratic Alliance peer, some others were more loath to give up what they considered their birth right, like the Social Liberal Countess Leicombe; her entire electoral district had flipped from Social Liberal to Labour, but she refused to relinquish her seat to the Labour Lord Farenden, much to the district¡¯s vehement fury. The Auroran House of Lords wasn¡¯t a perfect system, but it was a far sight more democratic than their predecessor; no prime minister had any right to elevate MP¡¯s to peers, that was the prerogative of the monarch, and following the third enfranchisement of 2490¡¯s, each elevation of a family or individual to noble status had been meritocratic, not the product of a prime minister¡¯s resignation peerage elevation list. Yet, calling making people and their offspring hereditary nobles based on the accomplishments of an individual was still problematic, but it was a far sight better than what many other interstellar nations did. All of this sped through Lord Howeland¡¯s brain at the speed of the Light Way as he stepped up to the table, giving the traditional bow to the King¡¯s Truncheon that lay at the end of the Speaker¡¯s Table, the four foot gilded mace serving as a spiritual placeholder for the King in the presence of His lords and ladies in Parliament. He then bowed towards the Lord Speaker, Lord Richard Brydges, the Earl of Chandos, seated upon the raised throne that sat on the dais that held the Lord/Lady Speaker Throne, and the Noble Bench of the Lords¡¯ Secretaries; the minute-takers dressed in long black robes and powdered wigs whose job it was to note every word said during every meeting of this most august house. Howeland placed his old-fashioned paper-print speech on the table in front of him, and fixed his cravat slightly, clearing his throat. ¡°My Lord Speaker,¡± he said, bowing his head again to Lord Chandos, ¡°and my honourable friends of the House of Lords, I am sorry to appear before you as the bearer of bad news.¡± He adjusted the lapels of his black blazer before continuing, his voice serious and looking straight ahead, towards the seating of His Majesty¡¯s Most Loyal Opposition. ¡°Firstly, on behalf of the Prime Minister, I apologise for his absence. He has been forced to stay at home due to an unforeseen illness.¡± Well, it wasn¡¯t a complete lie, the Prime Minister and Lord Protector of Aurora, Alfred Carmichael was ill, he had a slight cold, but he wasn¡¯t at home; rather, he was sitting watching the stream from the House of Lords in the Cabinet¡¯s Lounge of Goldbrook Palace. This was intentional, the brainchild of the apparently non-sleeping whippet masquerading as Lord Howeland¡¯s press secretary. Julian Rossbach had presented the brilliant idea of splitting the attention between both Houses, completely unprompted might be added. Displaying political mastery of divide et impera that really belied his age of just twenty-seven, Rossbach had suggested inventing an excuse for the Prime Minister to be absent. His argument was that if Carmichael faced the Commons, everyone would focus their attention on him, and due to the composition of the two houses when it came to the coalition parties of the Social Liberals and the Royalists, along with their allies in the Homelanders, their strength of argument would be in the Lords. It helped that they had such powerful orators like Howeland, the Countess of Greenvale, and the Lord Charnwood in the Lords, while Labour had firebrands like John Baptiste, a union leader of fifty years and the 2-i-C of the Labour Party in the Commons who could pretty much circle around anyone who weren¡¯t Dame Fiona Spyros or Angelique Perrault from the Cabinet¡¯s side. Sir Edward Ranganekary was not to be trifled with either, but since he was non-elected, he didn¡¯t have the right to pose questions in the Commons, only answer direct ones. Which was why the Lords was the leading house during this discussion, because had Carmichael joined the Commons, Howeland and Greenvale would have been completely side-lined, since the Commons would have grilled the PM for the entire day without involving the Lords. ¡°My regards to the House of Commons,¡± Lord Howeland continued, and bowed slightly in the general direction of the drone cameras, ¡°I will not uphold this august assembly any further, but arrive straight at the point. As has been shown by a myriad of media these past twenty-eight hours, it is my unfortunate duty to inform the noble houses of Parliament that the Royal Navy E-class destroyer HMS Euphoria, pennant number D-359, was attacked in the late galactic standard hours of 10 November of this current year by a light cruiser tentatively identified as the light cruiser ANS Royfort, which fired a single shot from one of its broadside railgun batteries. This shot managed to penetrate and detonate one of the flank batteries of the Euphoria, killing five enlisted men and women of His Majesty¡¯s Royal Navy. Their names are, as their family and close affiliates are currently being notified, not to be disclosed to the public until further notice.¡± A wave of support in form of muted slapping of notes or palms upon knees were heard throughout the chamber, a calm chorus of agreeing with the decency. ¡°Furthermore, it falls to me,¡± Linton continued, ¡°to inform the most august houses that the upper echelons of the Royal Navy and Royal Army were informed of these events forty-eight hours ago, and in accordance with the State Secrets Act of 2484, elected to sit upon the information before alerting the media.¡± There were grumblings and a few boos, but nothing out of the ordinary whenever the Navy was mentioned in the House of Lords. ¡°As I said, the information was passed on to the public sector as soon as the aforementioned 48-hour period had transpired. I have talked to the Judge-Advocate General as a formality regarding this retention of information, and he has judged it as completely proper.¡± Muted applause greeted this, mostly because the Lords knew that if the military had overstepped their boundaries, the first to report their misgivings would be the Judge-Advocate General¡¯s Office, due to their Constitutional-bound role to represent civil law. They were, after all, educated as civilians before seconded into the Royal Navy, and were eligible to prosecution by civilian courts if they somehow mismanaged their station. ¡°However,¡± Linton Sciacca continued, ¡°in light of this newfound aggression, it is the express will of both the Admiralty and His Majesty¡¯s Cabinet, that the Lucidia Pocket is reinforced by a significant force multiplier. The Alliants have overstepped their boundaries as laid out in the Azurea Agreement of 2840, which clearly stated the limitations of the signatory nations in regards to the management of the Lorelei Special Administrative Region. The Alliance Space Navy is ultimately responsible for the maintenance of interstellar security in said space, but that does not lead to the unlawful detainment of neutral, or indeed signatory-space civilian ships crossing said space. As such, it is the Admiralty¡¯s suggestion that the Royal Union station of Lucidia is reinforced by a combined battle squadron of two battlecruisers and four battleships, drawn from a combination of Home Fleet and Reserve Fleet, as well as a combined scouting flotilla of scout cruisers, destroyer leaders, and destroyers, numbering twelve in total, to be sent to Lucidia Station, Vice Admiral of the Black Erica Kuznetsova commanding. Let me be clear, this newest escalation of relations by the Alliants, is not enough to force His Majesty¡¯s Government to consider such extreme acts as declaration of war.¡± Linton Sciacca drew in a deep breath, desperately wishing for another glass of stiff spirits as he felt the entirely of the House of Lords focusing on him. ¡°But it does make me, as Secretary of Defence, want to decry the current situation openly and without shame. Men and women in uniform, loyal to the Crown have paid with their life without our being able to answer in kind. Many outside these hallowed gates are asking for exactly that, but we as a society cannot be quoting the Hammurabi Code, and ask for an eye to answer for an eye lost. We¡¯re better than that. But that does not mean we should step down. I ask for my honourable friends in both Houses to vote for a customs tariff sanctions for all flagged Independent Systems Alliance merchantmen that port in Royal Union or Royal Auroran space, in addition to the aforementioned tactical redeployment of naval assets. God save the King.¡± Linton left the table to the roar of applauding Members of the Lords; it wasn¡¯t just Royalists and Social Liberals, all of the Unionists, quite a damn few backbenchers and many Democrats were applauding as well. There was also some polite slapping of hands together from the Tory and Labour camp, but it was mostly courteous in nature. He sat down in his upholstered seat, Lord Seabourne and Lady Ichata wanting to shake his hand, others around him praising his performance. Howeland smiled and thanked the well-wishers in turn, but his smile froze as he heard the Lord Speaker. If you encounter this tale on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it. ¡°The Chair recognises the Lady Yserhall, Felicity Thenjwayo,¡± Lord Chandos announced and Linton had to suppress what would have been an audible groan. Out of all the leaders in the House of Lords, why did it have to be her? Trewellynshire would actually have been the better option. Lady Felicity Thenjwayo stepped up to the middle table, stretching her shoulders. She was short for an Angevin, which was reasonably explained since she was a third-generation immigrant from Nigeria of Earth. Her family had rose from complete obscurity, to become one of the most important political families on Angevin in just a few short decades. Moreover, Lady Yserhall was the leader of the Democratic Alliance in the House of Lords. The Democrats were the uncomfortable equivalent of a roadblock hand-grenade that might be chucked in every which direction, dependant on the political discussion. The Democrats weren¡¯t populists, there weren¡¯t any party in Auroran politics that could be identified as such, but the Democrats didn¡¯t adhere to a firm political platform either. They were dominated by interest spheres, and could as easily support Labour as well as the Royalists, it all depended on the question in front of them. Which made Lady Yserhall and her companions the real wildcard of the Lords, because no one knew where they stood on any issue; they¡¯d applaud you as easily they¡¯d boo you. And that made Lord Howeland wish for a stiff one. Lady Yserhall cleared her throat, and nodded politely to the Lord Speaker. Like Howeland, she was dressed in a black suit, but it was cut for a female, and didn¡¯t have the same high collared shirt, but she did have a black scarf tied around her neck, indicating her sympathy for the victims. Linton was unsure if it was sincere or just a public set-piece. ¡°I must thank my honourable friend opposite,¡± she started, nodding slightly towards Linton, ¡°for his honesty in this desperate hour for our Kingdom. His Majesty¡¯s Navy is to be commended for their rapid decision-making, and their suggestion for a quick equalization of the current problematic situation¡­¡± ¡°Where the fuck is she going with this?¡± Erin Findlay, the Countess of Greenvale, whispered into Lord Howeland¡¯s right ear, and he had no option but to shrug, since he was as nonplussed as the countess. ¡°But is must be argued, simply for the sake of acting the Devil¡¯s Advocate¡­¡± ¡°Oh no¡­¡± Greenvale breathed out as she put her head in her hands. ¡°That furthering an escalation of positing formations of warships against our political opposite results in an exercise of futility.¡± Not only the Democrats clapped their hands together at that, so did the vast majority of Tories and Labour Peers. Lady Yserhall made a courteous bow before continuing. ¡°Now, I also find myself in agreement with my honourable friend, the Defence Secretary. We cannot allow the Alliants to simply gain complete control over interstellar area that they legally have no legitimate claim to, in particular the Lorelei Special Administrative Region. While I believe I do speak for the rest of the Democratic Alliance, when I say that further escalation is anathema, there can be no doubt that some measures must be taken as a reaction to this belligerent act of hostility.¡± ¡°What would my most honourable lady propose, then?¡± some lord from the Social Liberal side shouted, and Howeland tried to see who it was but to no avail. Lady Felicity smiled a thin smile. ¡°Simple, my honourable friend opposite, I would ask the Lords and the Commons to vote for a customs tariff to the tune of 27% of all Alliant shipping into Union space. We all know that the ISA is a unitary currency economy, and they rely on exports into the Royal Union to gain foreign currency which again enables them to more easily conduct trade and transactions with the likes of the Republic of Corinth, the Holy Kingdom of Dionysia, the Despotate of Antioch¡­ I could go on, but I believe my honourable friends of Parliament are quite aware of the proximate galactic geography. Such a hike in tariffs would hurt their export profits hard, and serve as a firm statement from His Majesty''s government and elected parliament that will have much further effect than physically escalating this current crisis in interstellar relations.¡± The vast majority of Tories, Labour, and Democrats, and perhaps almost half the backbenchers applauded as Lady Yserhall sat back down, after a deferent bow to the Lord Speaker. Howeland raised his hand up in order to be recognised as the first to retort, but he was overturned by a white-gloved hand, and the House of Lords almost collectively drew their breath at her intervention. The Duchess of Grey Hill, Caitlin de La Croix, was about two-hundred and seventy years old at this point, but she was still a backbencher in the House of Parliament. And she just so happened to be the most decorated officer in Royal Navy history. She had stopped wearing the black-and-gold day uniform of the Royal Navy decades ago, but she still wore the customary white gloves, and whenever she wanted to voice her opinion in the House of Lords, everyone else junior shut their mouth with a click. As was the case in that particular moment. ¡°I might be an old fogie,¡± the Duchess began, to the polite laughter of many Lords and Ladies, but she held up a hand to continue. ¡°Old fogie I might be, but I¡¯ve seen what the vast majority you haven¡¯t seen, and that is war.¡± Royalist and Social Liberal peers looked awkwardly at each other. ¡°War is the opposite of honourable, my lords and ladies. War is the cessation of politeness extended to each side. It¡¯s what happens when we turn the advanced machinery of destruction we¡¯ve used centuries to perfect against each other. There is no such thing as an honourable war, because war is inherently gruesome.¡± ¡°Your Grace, I must insist¡­¡± some backbencher shouted, only to be stared down by the indomitable gaze that originated from the most celebrated naval commander in Auroran history. Her next-to-purple eyes seemed to penetrate one¡¯s soul from afar. The duchess¡¯ hair been blonde at some point, but at north of two-forty years old, it had turned to pristine white. Not that it had calmed the Duchess¡¯ spirit at all. ¡°¡¯Your Grace this¡¯, and ¡®Your Grace that¡¯,¡± she said in a mocking tone, ¡°you young whipper-snappers must know that warfare is not about numbers of ship in space, nor of comparing broadsides; it¡¯s of the quality of the men and women who man said broadsides that decide engagements. And therefore I would back Lady Yserhall in her suggestion to forego the deployment of any more men-of-war to an area that is already politically tense, and that was before the Elysians started to expand into the Lorelei Region. Do not forget that many of the Lucidians are not exactly thrilled to be controlled from Cordelia, and sending more metal to hover in their orbit would be regarded by many as a further provocation.¡± The rest of the House of Lords weren¡¯t sure how to respond to that, so there was a mild polite applause. Linton thought about stepping back up and address the Lord Speaker, but then a worryingly familiar voice grabbed the floor¡¯s attention. ¡°My Lords and Ladies, if I may pick up the baton to play the role of Devil¡¯s Advocate, we must assume the worst when it comes to the continuation of the Alliants¡¯ commitment of their border-control. I know this is a very uncomfortable topic of discussion, but as public servants of Aurora, we cannot avoid this discussion. Overstretched stations like Lucidia and Novorosyia require reinforcements. This is agreed upon by both the Cabinet and the Opposition.¡± What the hell is Dawnshire trying to gain by proclaiming this? Sciacca thought, wracking his brain in order to figure out the senior Tory peer''s line of thought. ¡°As political leaders, we are forced to send young men and women into the dire straits of political brinkmanship, which we¡¯re unfortunately¡­¡± ¡°Yes, you¡¯ve already sent your daughter,¡± some Royalist lord shouted out loud, not that Howeland could identify them, ¡°and they¡¯ve become a national hero, since it appears like you¡¯re not able to acknowledge her, Your Grace!¡± The Duke of Dawnshire, dressed as he was in a coal-grey suit with a black necktie, froze for a moment at that last comment, before adorning the mask of injustice. ¡°You sir, Lord Iandel, have no idea how I feel when it comes to my daughter and heir when she voluntarily walks into harm¡¯s way¡­¡± ¡°Oh please, Your Grace,¡± Lady Greenvale shouted from her seat to Linton''s left on the Position''s side, ¡°it¡¯s public knowledge you denounced Lady Dawnshire when she joined the Royal Navy six years back.¡± ¡°My honourable lords and ladies,¡± Lord Chandos half-shouted, banging his mallet in an effort to restore order, ¡°this is quite inappropriate; might I suggest we return to the original discussion regarding the relationship with the Independent Systems Alliance?¡± Lord Howeland would, in any other circumstance have wanted to lead the discussion as it pertained to the ISA, and how the Royal Navy wanted to (or rather did not want to) respond, but as he was preparing a response, Julian Rossbach came running up to him, not raising his voice (aware of the faux-pas of doing that in the House of Lords), instead soundlessly providing him with a handcom that showed a stream from cameras of the outside squares of Goldbrook Palace. Someone somewhere had apparently pressed the panic-button (most likely someone close to the top of the Cordelia Metropolitan Police Department), since the feed showed soldiers from the Royal Army¡¯s Provost Corps¡¯ 30th Field Battalion deploying from grav-carriers and armoured APCs into Trinity Square. The 30th Field Battalion RAPC was nicknamed the ¡°Crimson Constables¡±, due to the fact that they were the double-strength Military Police unit that was garrisoned in the capital of Cordelia. They deployed from the grav-carriers and the APCs¡¯ they rode into the Parliament proximity in textbook order, debussing in perfect section-order to the shouted commands of their NCO¡¯s. However, once they were in position, placed behind the navy-and-white ranks of the Cordelia Constabulary, confusion set in. Lord Howeland could see it in the actions of the officers on the stream, just as he tried to pay attention to Charles Nowaczyk¡¯s opening statement in the House of Commons in reaction to what he and the other Lords had recently presented. Military Police were told from day one that they did not have any sort of authority over civilians; they were there to bring unruly sailors or privates to heel, and protect military installations, but now about seven-hundred of them were deployed in front of Goldbrook Palace, in camouflage overalls, plate carriers, integrated tactical helmets with visors; as well as riot shield and shock-lances. They looked at each other in confusion, unsure what they were supposed to do, fearful of overstepping their mandate; the officers and NCO¡¯s of the Provost¡¯s Corps afraid of breaking their oaths to the state and their King. ¡°Someone,¡± Lord Howeland whispered to Rossbach, making sure the drone-mics didn¡¯t pick up his voice, ¡°get an officer with at least one bar on his shoulderpad, regardless of Royal Army or Police, and tell them if the crowds breach Goldbrook Palace grounds, they¡¯re inhibiting the execution of Auroran democracy.¡± Lord Linton Sciacca said that, without knowing how bad the situation outside the Parliament grounds had become. He would come to regret his choice of words in the coming days. Chapter 31.9 - Weeks of Uncertainty: Discussions and Premonitions While Lord Howeland had addressed the Houses of Parliament, the temperature of the large crowds that by this point completely filled the Goldbrook Commons and Trinity Square, had risen by a significant amount of degrees. The Cordelia Police would later issue estimates of around sixty-eight thousand just around the Parliament palace, with as many as three-hundred thousand in the Inner City area in total at the peak of the demonstrations. Independent media would report more akin to five-hundred thousand, and that would perhaps have explained the total lack of control the police would in a few hours demonstrate. The vast majority were there to make their voices heard, be it to demand armed response from the Royal Navy, declare support for the families of the dead soldiers, or to shout out their desire for peace. But like with every huge crowd that has ever gathered there is always a very small, but very visible minority who was present for completely different reasons. If asked, someone from this small group in this particular huge crowd, what they were there for, they¡¯d probably answer ¡°to start shit¡±. By the time the House of Lords convened, many of these troublemakers had managed to mingle with the parts of the crowds that were closest to the barrier line of police officers who were blocking the steps up to the Parliament complex. After the MPs had been escorted inside, the police had reshuffled their formations, the mounted squads pulling back behind a thick line of shield-bearing officers, with large armoured trucks forming a laager in the centre of the Goldbrook Commons. There were approximately a thousand police officers in the Commons, plus a further four-hundred at Trinity Square, but there were about sixty-thousand people between the two groups, which made coordination very hard. And that made the next few events even more unmanageable. Almost as soon as Lord Howeland started his address, these few vandals started what they¡¯d set out to do, and began pelting the thick line of interlocked police officers with empty bottles, rocks, and a myriad of other projectiles. Up until this point, the only thing shouted at the police had been slogans (and the occasional insult or physical object, but not to any large extent). Naturally, and in response to their crowd control training, the constables answered by raising their shields to protect themselves and they started to look around for the culprits, contributing to the general confusion of the immense crowds, some officers dashing out in an attempt to apprehend the throwers. As innumerable philosophers over the centuries and millennia have pointed out, humans are just advanced pack animals. And as soon as the projectiles started flying, the collective that was the deployed units of Cordelia Metropolitan Police started to close ranks, and feeling the sheer animalistic threat the pressure of the immense number of demonstrators represented, a senior police lieutenant made the desperate call up the chain of command for reinforcements. The fact of the matter was that the vast majority of the crowds were behaving politely, but the troublemakers were so well-hidden amongst the general backdrop of humanity that the extremely outnumbered constables were unable to tell the yahoos from the rest, and with a very real sense of human claustrophobia setting in, the request for backup was placed. But by noon of the 13th, 80% of the Metropolitan Police was already on the streets all over Cordelia, because demonstrations were carried out all along the central Goneril districts, like Lysander, St Barbara¡¯s, Gloucester, and Kent, and there were also the usual police duties to attend to. As such the only source of reinforcements that had judicial authority was the Royal Army Provost¡¯s Corps 30th Field Battalion. Within twenty minutes of reception of the signal from the CMPD, the Provosts and Redcaps of the 30th RAPC were on the move. The Army had been expecting something akin to this, since they had been informed by the Royal Navy of the attack on the HMS Euphoria forty-eight hours previous, and the General Staff of the Royal Army had told formations around major cities like Cordelia, Raleigh, New Toronto, Arundel, Persephone, New Angers, Oldtown, and New Gwalior to be at an increased level of stand-by in case of major protests that the police would have trouble handling. In the end, only Cordelia and New Angers would become hotspots that required Army intervention, but the aftermath would be felt for a long time, especially in Cordelia. Almost as soon as the projectiles were thrown from the crowd, the police closed ranks and started to call for the crowds to disperse. Officers stood on top of the personnel carriers that were formed in a laager formation, and using loudspeakers, tried to address the crowd. ¡°By order of the His Majesty¡¯s government, I am requesting that you disperse and leave the immediate surroundings of Parliament in an orderly fashion,¡± one constable shouted, trying to be heard over the repeated slogans that were shouted back at her. ¡°The closer you are to stepping onto the Parliament complex, the closer you as a collective are to impeding the democratic process of the Kingdom of Aurora, and preventing our elected politicians from carrying out their duties.¡± The female officer, trying her best to make the crowds stand down, was in turn answered by receiving a sizable rock to her (thankfully) helmeted head. She dropped the loudspeaker, and tumbled down the side of the navy-painted carrier truck, thankfully caught by a trio of other constables who had observed the scene. From that point on, pandemonium erupted. The ones responsible for creating the quickly escalating chaos in the vast crowds pulled on their masks and balaclavas, and started to pelt the police lines with anything they could get their hands on, much of it brought in backpacks and bags, while every peaceful protestor around them immediately looked for the most convenient exit route. It did not help that it was at this point in time that a captain from the 30th RAPC received the call from Lord Howeland that the very apparatus of Auroran democracy might be in danger if this situation was allowed to continue. These orders were quickly communicated down the line, whistles were blown, gasmask filter slotted into their integrated tactical helmets, and activation buttons on shock-lances were pressed. The Redcaps started to march forward to the shouted orders of their NCOs and officers, and the police accommodated their approach from the rear by splitting into smaller squads, so that the combined RAPC and Cordelian Police line was a patchwork of camouflaged and white-navy blocks. And as the Redcaps hefted their shields, presented their shock-lances, and the Cordelia police started to lob teargas and sting grenades into the crowds while continuing to shout for the crowds to disperse, Horace Sciacca, eldest son of the Secretary of Defence, had moved past the point of starting to regret bringing Lady Evelyn Delafontaine to the demonstration, to actively wishing he hadn¡¯t gotten out of bed that morning. That Sunday morning had started so innocently, with a nice full breakfast at a street-level caf¨¦ in the fashionable quays in St Edmund¡¯s, something he and Evelyn had planned for a couple of weeks now. It was hard finding time amidst his busy schedule as a doctoral student in biochemistry at the King¡¯s College of Science, and fulfilling his obligations as a peer, so Horace enjoyed relaxing and mundane outings like simple breakfasts out, or trips to the theatre, which lacked the overt show and pageantry that accompanied going to the opera. And it certainly helped that he was accompanied by Lady Evelyn Delafontaine, the Lady Wraith. Evelyn was about his sister Beatrice¡¯s height, somewhere around one-eighty, with long copper hair, crisp grey eyes, and a charming full-toothed smile. Her status as Lady Wraith had been due to some quite unfortunate familial scandals, which had sadly ended with her parents¡¯ divorce and her mother¡¯s denouncement of her noble status, which meant that Evelyn¡¯s father was still the Marquess Wraith, but Evelyn was now styled as Baroness Wraith in a very convoluted dance of titles and propriety. Horace didn¡¯t pry into the specifics; he was a gentleman after all. They¡¯d finished their nice breakfast and wondered what to do for the rest of the afternoon. Both of them were completely aware of the recent news from Lucidia, Horace was the son of the Secretary of Defence after all, and the story of the attack on Euphoria was transmitted and discussed on every news stream in the Kingdom. So they¡¯d casually decided to walk down to Goldbrook Palace, more to observe than to anticipate, excited by the prospect of watching the congregations. However, they¡¯d been pulled along by the momentum of the gathering crowds, and as noon rolled along, the pair found themselves in the thick of Goldbrook Commons. A sting grenade exploded close by Horace¡¯s feet and his world became a ringing cacophony of high-pitched noise and white light, and he struggled to keep his balance, but refusing to let go of Evelyn¡¯s hand, despite rubbing his eyes with his free one. ¡°Come on!¡± he shouted over the din of panicked screaming, the keening ring of the grenade¡¯s aftermath, and the shouts, pulling Evelyn along in what he judged to be the opposite direction from where the grenade had come from. ¡°We need to get out of here, they¡¯ll start to clear the square!¡± ¡°I can¡¯t see anything,¡± Evelyn complained, using one of the hems of her long tan autumn coat to dab at her face in an attempt to wipe her eyes clean. ¡°Where are we going? Where is out?¡± ¡°I think this way,¡± Horace said loudly, but immediately bumped into someone and staggered back into Evelyn, before finding his feet and setting out again. The air was getting thick with tear- and incapgas, making people¡¯s eyes sting and water horrifically, producing choking sensations, and sent rolling waves of nausea in their stomachs. The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there. ¡°Clear the Commons,¡± the repeated call came from loudspeakers, ¡°by the order of His Majesty¡¯s Government, please disperse.¡± Horace could hear the shouted responses of profanity-heavy defiance from around him, but personally he was more than happy to apply to the police¡¯s recommendation. Problem was, there were people everywhere and everyone were in the way. Evelyn grunted as someone much larger and heavier than her ran shoulder-first into her from behind, and stumbled into Horace¡¯s back. He fought to stay upright, bracing himself on an unseen body to his right using his free arm, receiving a ¡°get the fuck off¡± in return, but it helped arrest his fall. With fight or flight instincts activating, he knew it would mean certain death to fall to the ground and be trampled by the panicking horde. ¡°Evelyn,¡± he said, drawing her close enough that he could see her face through the streams of tears and mucus that leaked from his eyes, ¡°you have to stay on your feet, no matter what. Keep close to me, never let me go, and we¡¯ll get out of this safe. Do you understand?¡± Her face was as much of a terrifying mess of physical and emotional distress as he reckoned his own was right now, but she nodded after a moment to retch at the invasive incapgas that flooded into her lungs with every breath. There were more sounds of tearing canvas around them, the tell-tale sound of sting grenades, and a sudden leaden current that seemed to suck what remained of air out of their immediate surroundings. The pair didn¡¯t know at the time, but they were very close to the advancing line of police and Redcaps, the military police armed with long shock-lances and marching forward through the gas in what could only be described as a shield-wall, lances presented. While not deadly in any way, the electric shock of these lances would not inspire anyone to reacquaint themselves any time soon, and they were effective tools to disperse stubborn crowds. By now the scene at the Commons were complete and utter chaos, and the panic had spread to the crowds in nearby Trinity Square just across from Nestor Street, and the police there fared much worse than the much larger contingent at the Commons, supported as they were by a battalion of Provosts. The vandals had for the most part decided (some groups were coordinated, a lot were lone wolfs looking for adrenaline kicks) to get as close to the Parliament gates as possible, but a few had opted for disturbing proceedings at the other end of the huge crowd. In a worse position tactically, without vehicle backup, but with the hundred-forty odd constables mounted on horses, and with a sizable number of K-9 officers and their trained police wargs, when the Trinity Square detachment were met with thrown bottles and other assorted missiles, they first resorted to holding their ground. That worked well for about four minutes after their colleagues and the MPs at the other end started to escalate the situation. The press of bodies was even more extreme at Trinity, since people were fleeing in that direction, and ran up the steps towards the plaza where the three huge pillars that held the large statues of a regal lion, dragon, and unicorn. A monument to remember the original United Kingdom origins of Aurora, it now became a desperate battleground for the suddenly rushed police. Like at the other side of the street, they ordered the crowds to spread out, but there was no way to coordinate such a large number of people in such a limited space. And then the horses and wargs added to the already horrible situation. Auroran wargs were similar to dogs in that they were easily trained and bonded very well with humans, but their average size was the same as a Giant Schnauzer (fur universally grey-silver, like most Auroran predators), with six legs, three tails, four eyes, and a long snout full of snapping teeth. Obedient to a fault when trained by professionals, they were still just animals, and their banshee-esque shrieks that were intended as warnings to the running two-leggeds to not get closer, spooked the Earth Ardennais horses the Cordelia police used. One-hundred and forty of which, with their human riders, were located behind a struggling line of constables trying to stave off thousands with their shields, backs turned to their mounted colleagues. The screams coming from the opposite direction were the first hint that alerted Horace and Evelyn to what was happening. ¡°What in the Gods¡¯ name is that?¡± Horace asked, trying for the umpteenth time to clear his nose of the lingering incapgas, but failing for the umpteenth time. Evelyn was as clueless as he was, dry-heaving as another bout of nausea hit her from the gas. ¡°Sounds like horses,¡± she said after a few moments, having spent almost inhuman focus and effort to not deposit the remains of the breakfast unto the cobblestones at her feet. ¡°Horses and human shouting, it sounds like.¡± ¡°By the order of His Majesty¡¯s Government, please clear the area!¡±, the artificially amplified shout came from somewhere behind them, but it had become more like a background noise more than something Horace actually focused on. Someone to his left ran up, hitched a tossed object back in the general direction of the police/Redcap lines, and Horace could hear the weird clapping sound of an electric explosion wasting itself on the plastacene shields of the police. The person right in front of Horace were suddenly violently thrust right into his face, and his first instinct was to protest loudly, before feeling his body sagging towards the ground under the person¡¯s limp weight. ¡°Eve,¡± he managed as he felt his knees buckle under the weight of a grown male while still holding Lady Wraith¡¯s hand, ¡°please fucking help me here!¡± Evelyn, not sure if the person had just body-tackled Horace or passed out, quite inhumanely grabbed the collar of his coat and threw him to the ground, the very situation Horace had warned about finding herself in. She realised that just a few moments after the fact, after making sure that Horace was still upright, and immediately started to look around for the person, but visibility in the writhing mass of humanity and the omnipresent gas made that impossible. ¡°Shitshitshit, fucking shit, I just threw someone down, Harry,¡± she said as Horace regained his footing and they embraced, making sure they were still both there. ¡°Shh,¡± he breathed in her ear, ¡°don¡¯t think about that right now, let¡¯s just get the fuck out of her, and then we¡¯ll talk through it.¡± A loud whinnying to the couple¡¯s left caught them off-guard, and despite the numbing presence of the gas, they could see a huge rider-less horse with empty stirrups flapping along its flanks race past, people tossing themselves aside to avoid getting run over. ¡°What the flying fuck?¡± Horace half-shouted, but shook his head immediately after. ¡°Doesn¡¯t matter, we need to get out of here. We get out here, I treat you to a lovely bottle of upper shelf, we¡¯ll discuss it, and we¡¯ll laugh about it. But right now, don¡¯t let go of my hand, and keep following my voice.¡± It would take days for the Cordelia Metropolitan Police Department to reconstruct the hell that had transpired in Goldbrook Commons and Trinity Square, but after about nine days of intense investigation, which involved large numbers of officers from the Special Affairs Investigative Division, the preliminary reports that were delivered to Sir Thomas Tedenby¡¯s office, being the Secretary of the Home Department, highlighted the unpreparedness of the Cordelia police units in facing such large crowds. Sir Justin McCloud, the Chief Commissioner of the CMPD immediately protested this, but was ultimately let go fifteen hours after the report became public to the mass media. As far as the Royal Army and their performance was concerned, they pretty much escaped the public eye¡¯s ire, despite forming a substantial part of the Goldbrook Commons formation that in essence went to war against the gathered protesters. Lord Howeland had started his address at 12:40, the Houses had argued for about forty minutes before the noises of the mess outside had forced proceedings to be suspended. By the time that the Houses had been cleared, sixty-three demonstrators and three Cordelia police officers had been killed due to the desperate actions of the large mobs. But the Trinity Square panic added just so much more misery. Most of the wargs were involuntarily let loose, and the poor horses of the mounted officers fled the scene, shedding their riders. The stampede that followed down the steps of Trinity Square claimed further one-hundred and forty-three lives, and five-hundred wounded. The areas around the Parliament palace were, in the end, cleared, but not due to the peaceful dispersal of the crowds, but due to sheer fear and danger of being trod under foot. Linton Sciacca would only the day after, the 14th, learn that his own son had been present, because Horace and Evelyn had both been hastily transported to the nearby hospital of St. Gertrude because of their excessive inhalation of the police¡¯s anti-riot gas substances. They¡¯d both make speedy recoveries, and a few nurses would comment on the fact that they wanted their beds next to each other in the recovery ward, and get distressed if one or the other was wheeled out for examinations. In all, eleven Cordelia Metropolitan police officers lost their lives, along with two members of the Royal Army Provost¡¯s Corps, all the while one-hundred and seventy-three of their combined number were wounded in one way or another. 5849 protestors were arrested on site that day (including another few thousands from other parts of the city), but the vast majority were released after twenty-nine hours. One-hundred and three were charged with the intention to deliberately disturb the peace, and ninety would later be found in the courts of law to be guilty of trying to upset the democratic coalition of the Kingdom of Aurora, or excessive use of force against public officials. In New Angers on Angevin, sort of the same happened but in smaller numbers; the National Angevin Parliament was convened to discuss how to respond to this new threat to the Kingdom¡¯s and the Union¡¯s security, but about fifteen thousand protestors amassed outside Parlemont Plais. Luckily, the New Angers Police was prepared, and had sought help from the RAPC 19th Battalion, although the Redcaps of the 19th would have very little to do apart from providing rear-area support and cleaning up. What this would entail, in the end, was a very lively debate in the House of Lords and Commons, the likes of which had not ever been in Auroran society. That was after excusing the Secretary of Defence for two weeks as he sat by his son¡¯s hospital bed. Chapter 32 - Weeks of Uncertainty: Events and Complications She reached out for her engraved porcelain cup and brought it up to her lips only to find it was empty, with only small traces of cold coffee at the bottom. Grimacing in annoyance for a brief second, Vice Admiral of the Black Erica Kuznetsova considered getting up from her office chair and refill her cup from the refreshment cart near her cabin door, but settled back into her previous rhythm of filling out what was in all likelihood the tenth report this week, fingers rapidly flying across the keyboard. ... Considering the current state of affairs it is this officer¡¯s humble opinion that RN Lucidia Command is at present time, with this existing order of battle and table of organisation, unable to carry out its assigned duties to the high level of efficiency expected by both Your Lordships of the Admiralty, nor to the confided high standards of His Majesty¡¯s Navy. External factors like the Alliance Space Navy¡¯s mien in the Lorelei SAR aside, local affairs on Lucidia Major is, as always, an unwelcome distraction that continues to hamper our forces¡¯ ability to maintain a proper defensive and patrol aegis in surrounding Royal Union space. Furthermore, the supply situation is approaching levels of complete tomfuckery, ably helped by the absolute monkeys in the Royal Fleet Auxiliary logistics train that you¡¯ve straddled me with¡­ Kuznetsova stopped writing and pinched her temples, feeling the familiar encroaching background pain of a building headache. A low buzz sounded, disturbing the silence of the admiral¡¯s office. ¡°Voydite,¡± she said, instinctively slipping into her native Russian, and the hatch swished open, the tall figure of Commodore Philomena Cortez stepping into the cabin. ¡°It¡¯s been a few years since my upper secondary Russian classes,¡± she said with a lopsided smile as the doors shut behind her, ¡°but I seem to remember that means ¡®come in¡¯, or something to that effect.¡± Kuznetsova didn¡¯t reply but instead pointed to the refreshment cart near the hatch and then to her empty cup. ¡°Fill me up, Phil,¡± she ordered to which her chief of staff rolled her eyes, and brought the thermocan of coffee over, and gave the commanding officer of His Auroran Majesty¡¯s Royal Navy Lucidia Naval Station the caffeine top-up she so desperately needed. Erica Kuznetsova was a Novorosyian, specifically from the Kiergan bracklands which was a particularly charmless tract of land (roughly the size of Earth¡¯s Arabian Peninsula), an extremely sparsely populated region but for mining cities and algae harvesting-towns. But Kiergan bred hard people, and Kuznetsova was no exception; she was shorter than most Aurorans, but her arms and legs were ever so slightly longer than seemed anatomically correct for her height (a genealogical trait in Novorosyians due to the extreme magnetic field of the belt of asteroids and minor planetoids in the planet¡¯s orbit). She wore her oak-brown hair short and functional, her face very triangular for a female, and her thin mouth usually hid a snarky quip or barbed comment. Erica was often referred to as the ¡°Averse Admiral¡± in navy scuttlebutt, having been promoted almost against her will over the course of her naval career. Joining the Royal Navy out of upper secondary because she didn¡¯t really feel like joining her parents¡¯ algae packing plant business, Erica had been given service and command opportunities other officers would have killed for. She had been a junior lieutenant on board a heavy cruiser during the First Pegasii Incursion, a light cruiser captain during the Midwinter Collapse, and forming one (the junior) third of a three-way rivalry as battleship captains with Lord S¨¦lincourt and Lord Hartcastle during the Three Sisters, performing exemplary all the while retaining a complete no-nonsense attitude and a well-deserved notoriety as a hard ass. The numerous wrecks of Unbridled ships, war- and otherwise, left in her wake could attest to that. No wonder the Admiralty had stuck her with the most problematic and remote fleet posting in the entire Royal Union; if the situation required the stick, she was the perfect woman for the job, and she was also far enough away to not cause headaches in the home systems. All of this raced through Commodore Philomena Cortez¡¯ head as she poured coffee while Kuznetsova removed the last few sentences of her report on her computer, suspended in air as it was on an anti-gravity stand. Philomena, Phil among friends, was an ardent admirer of the Admiral, and luckily the professional affection was mutual. A fairly tall Cymran, Philomena also wore her black hair short, and she towered over her senior officer by over a head, but they both shared eyes like deep pools of brown. ¡°I thought you might want to know,¡± Cortez said as she placed the can back on the cart, ¡°that the Erato and the Patroklos have finally arrived in-system after their lengthy detention in Zhongzhou. Captain Lady St.Eiron sends her apologies and her intention to work her division quickly into the overall battlespace structure of Lucidia Station¡­ blah-blah, nothing you haven¡¯t heard before.¡± Kuznetsova lifted one corner of her mouth and blew air out of her nostrils. ¡°Great, the first semi-modern battlecruisers the Powers that Be have seen fit to pry out of Lady Suncrest¡¯s fingers at Home Fleet are commanded by Lord S¨¦lincourt¡¯s very lady-wife. That¡¯s wonderful, just absolutely wonderful.¡± Philomena sat down in one of the chair opposite Erica¡¯s office desk and opened the top pair of buttons of her black-gold tunic. ¡°Well, Ma¡¯am, I¡¯m at least happy that we got some capital ships that were made during the current king¡¯s reign. Need I remind you how old your flagship King William II is?¡± ¡°No, thank you, I receive frequent unbidden reminders every time I walk down the decks and bulkheads of that old lady. I swear the engineering boys and girls spend more time re-filling cracks in the internal deck plating and repainting the roofs, than they do maintenance on the reactors and the electric systems. The ship creaks, Phil, she creaks.¡± The pair was, incidentally, not on-board said aging man-of-war, rather in what originally had been a major orbital freight company CEO¡¯s office, on board the civilian space station High Medina in geosynchronous orbit over Lucidia Major. Neither the Royal Navy nor Parliament had allocated any funds to construct a military orbital station in Lucidia, purely for the simple reason that neither wanted to be there in the first place. The Kingdom of Aurora had been more or less forced into absorbing Lucidia as a pseudo-dominion in 2799 after civil war had broken out between different cultural groups, with attempted genocide against Gen-Two people following in its wake. Then the Alliance had made the situation much harder in 2809 by ¡°claiming the responsibility of interstellar security¡± in the Lorelei Region, cutting off the Lucidia Region from the rest of the Royal Union. The Aurorans didn¡¯t like being in Lucidia, and the Lucidians for the most part didn¡¯t like having the Aurorans there, but the local political situation was too strained for the Aurorans to just up sticks and leave. Begrudgingly, the Admiralty could recognise the strategic value of having a base of operations in the Alliance backyard, but the supply situation was a logistician¡¯s worst nightmare, with the train running through the Co-Prosperity Sphere to the ¡°south¡± before cutting ¡°west¡± into Lucidia, adding about a month on top of an already month long trip from the Royal Union core. So, in lieu of making an orbital naval base, the Royal Navy had simply rented large parts of High Medina, and leased berthing space for their ships and paid for repairs in civilian drydocks in Lucidia orbit. And also paying through the nose in the process, with many of the Lucidians having no qualms overcharging the unwelcome guests. ¡°I¡¯m quite sure you¡¯re over-exaggerating about the state of your flagship, Captain Lambert and his crew is doing a tremendous job keeping her in fighting shape out here, considering she¡¯s about fifty years old at this point.¡± Cortez pursed her lips for a moment, evidently slightly unsure about something, which caught Kuznetsova¡¯s attention. ¡°What is it?¡± she asked in a low voice, dreading the answer. ¡°That part about Lady Iphigenia joining us could have been a pretty nice segue if I had been on the ball. Instead, I think you¡¯ll have to read for yourself,¡± the chief of staff said and fished a ¡®com out from her inner tunic pocket and handed it to Erica. The admiral thumbed the device to life as she saved the report draft on her computer and sat back in the chair, eyebrows furrowing. Her eyes skimmed the content of the missive from the civilian drydock and groaned as she read the last few sentences. ¡°Well, that more or less forces my hand doesn¡¯t it?¡± she asked, but it was clearly a rhetorical question and Philomena didn¡¯t answer. ¡°I really don¡¯t need this on my plate as well as this other shit that¡¯s heaped on top of it. I have the Captain-Master at Arms begging for me to puff my feathers up and send an e-letter to New Dumai¡¯s police department and have them release the five Royal Marines they have incarcerated.¡± ¡°Why were they arrested?¡± Philomena asked as she rose and poured a cup of coffee for herself from the refreshment cart. ¡°The same old story,¡± Erica answered after a sip of her own, ¡°leathernecks getting their booze on during shore leave, some drunk local couldn¡¯t resist audibly calling the King a piece of shit and the Queen a cunt, and ¨Cthis one is new actually¨C commending the Cordelia constabulary on their anti-civilian warfare skills.¡± Philomena cringed at that, but Kuznetsova continued. ¡°So naturally the marines got very angry at the l¨¨se-majest¨¦ and the quip about the recent tragedy in Cordelia, and decided that all the locals¡¯ faces needed major reconstruction. So now I have half a section of Royal Marines up on charges of battery and disturbing public order. And the last thing I want to think about right now is bloody Lady la bloody Lune.¡± She tapped her desk for a few pregnant moments, evidently thinking hard, whilst Philomena patiently sipped her coffee. ¡°Fine, fucking fine,¡± Kuznetsova said at length, pushing her chair back a bit from her desk. ¡°Send for someone to bring her to my office, if you would be a dear, Phil.¡± The commodore hiked up one eyebrow and did a sort of nod towards the mechanical clock on the admiral¡¯s desk. ¡°Ah,¡± Erica exclaimed, pulling back her left tunic cuff to look at her wristwatch as if she didn¡¯t trust her desk clock, ¡°she¡¯s not sober at this time of day is she?¡± Philomena shook her head and Erica groaned in exasperation. ¡°Fuck that, I need to tell her the news. Just send a yeoman to dunk her head in a pot of coffee and make her drink a cold shower.¡± Commodore Cortez rose from the chair again and saluted. ¡°I will send for an orderly, though beg ma¡¯am¡¯s pardon if the order might be carried out in a slightly different order.¡± Erica made a dismissive gesture with a gloved hand, smiling lopsided again as her chief of staff exited the ad-hoc office. Sometime later, Lieutenant Commander Amelia Euxina Isobel de la Lune at a glance looked like a well put together officer of the Royal Navy. Her black and gold uniform was clean and pressed; her white beret was sharply put on, the tip pulled down over her right temple, her white gaiters spotless and correctly clipped over her polished black boots. But in trying to stand still in front of Vice Admiral Kuznetsova, it was obvious she was drunk, noticeably swaying a little and having trouble focusing her eyes on anything in particular. ¡°Had it not been for the present circumstances surrounding your situation, I would have had you up on charges.¡± Kuznetsova¡¯s tone of voice was close to liquid nitrogen, and made the junior officer straighten up a bit, and her eyes started to moisten. ¡°N¡¯xcuse, Ma¡¯am,¡± she slurred in response. Erica and Philomena exchanged glances. The ¡°present circumstances¡± was the noble officer¡¯s daily routine of waking up to her shift with all the professionalism expected by a RN officer, carrying out her assigned duties to the letter which for the most part was just keeping tabs on her crew, running simulation drills, and writing reports since Euphoria was still undergoing repairs. But as soon as her watch was over, she retired to her cabin and drank herself blind drunk, watching any and all news streams from Aurora, despite the several day time-lag. ¡°Look, Lady Amelia, might I call you that?¡± Kuznetsova didn¡¯t wait for a response before continuing. ¡°You¡¯re in a really shitty situation right about now, Lady Amelia, and I can commiserate. You have just arrived at a new posting having just been blasted by an ASN warship, following a gravitic slingshot manoeuvre which, to be honest, I don¡¯t think anyone¡¯s ever even theorised was possible. Personally, I admire the hell out of your conduct out there, as does my staff, but there are influential voices in Parliament who would like nothing more than to drag your noble arse into a military court, and hang you up by the proverbial balls just because of the international powder keg you¡¯ve just inadvertently lit a taper to, by doing your bloody duty.¡± If Amelia felt any anxiety at the prospect of a possible court martial ordered by Parliament, her facial expression didn¡¯t betray her at all. ¡°Look,¡± Commodore Cortez said at length, ¡°your poor destroyer is hurt beyond what our lads here at High Medina can fix. You¡¯re getting an honourable discharge to return back to Auroran space, in order to repair your charge.¡± The junior officer looked extremely confused, more than might be warranted by her somewhat drunken mind, and Vice-Admiral Kuznetsova felt a real pang of sympathy. There was a very good reason why Amelia got extremely drunk every damn day, and most of the RN personnel on High Medina knew why. ¡°Look, you¡¯re up for a damn medal and a commendation. That manoeuvre of yours around what could only be described as a foreign warship with hostile intent that outweighed yours three times over, of course someone sent for your name to be included in the Year End Lists. At this rate, you¡¯re going to receive more letters at the end of your already way too long name.¡± Lady la Lune blinked a couple times, but managed to sharply salute. ¡°I am not worthy of said glory, ma¡¯am,¡± she managed at length, somehow not slurring that much. ¡°Not with so many dead on my account.¡± Her last comment was almost a whisper, and tears welled in the corners of her glassy eyes. ¡°Look, Lady Amelia,¡± Kuznetsova said with genuine sympathy in her voice, ¡°it¡¯s not your fault that the Royfort opened fire, and that you lost five of your ship¡¯s company. The official missive we¡¯ve received from the Alliance Lorelei Fleet is that it had been intended as a warning shot, but there was an internal miscommunication. That they blame y-, the Royal Navy for forcing this miscommunication is just them trying to shift blame for their own ineptitude.¡± ¡°And you¡¯re certainly blameless for the riots in Cordelia and New Angers,¡± Cortez said, walking over to lay a hand on the junior officer¡¯s shoulder. ¡°The Cordelia police are not used to crowds of this size and there was next to no warning for them to prepare, and as the Special Affairs Investigative Division have concluded, the complete lack of hands-on control by the CMPD leadership was the major cause of the tragic outcome of the riots. You¡¯re literally hundreds of light years away, and you¡¯ve done nothing apart from carrying out your duty as a King¡¯s Officer to the letter, protecting the civilians in your care, without firing a single shot.¡± Kuznetzova nodded vigorously in agreement. ¡°You¡¯re a damn fine officer, Lady Amelia, but your ship has a big gaping hole in her side, and no amount of plasma welders and elbow grease is going to fix that. Euphoria needs to go back to Aurora or Amaranth for major overhaul, and her ship¡¯s captain goes with her. And that¡¯s final, so sober up, get your boys and girls back together; you launch tomorrow at twelve-hundred hours Zulu time.¡± Lady la Lune¡¯s mouth worked like she wanted to protest, but the sounds died in her throat, so she saluted instead. ¡°By your leave, ma¡¯am,¡± she half-slurred instead, and following a dismissive wave from Kuznetsova, she turned on her heel and exited the office cabin. ¡°See to it,¡± Kuznetsova said as the hatch swished shut with a muted clack, ¡°that her First Lieutenant, whoever they are, keeps a close eye on her. She¡¯s going to need more than a few sessions with a psychiatrist once home. And maybe put a padlock on the wardroom liqueur cabinet.¡± ¡°I¡¯ll pass the word, ma¡¯am,¡± Cortez replied, saluted, and exited the cabin. Kuznetsova tented her fingers over her mouth for a few moments, deep in thought, before an electronic bleep from her computer broke through her reverie, and hissing ¡°idi v zhopu¡± under her breath, she returned to writing the report to the Admiralty.
Close to six-hundred light years away, Commander Andrea Picoletti was also muttering some choice curses under her breath, wondering why she had chosen to accompany the New Maltese Orbital Customs officer on HMS Constance to what had looked like just another routine search of an Alliance cargo hauler. She could have sent any other line or rote officer to accompany Tentente Antonio Molini on the inspection of the AMS Jasper Georgs II, but during a ¡°lucid¡± moment born from boredom following months of on-and-off patrolling in the Livia System, she¡¯d decided the change of scenery would do her good. Livia was home to the world of Augusta, a Suzerainty of New Malta world that served as a huge shipping and transport hub that connected the Royal Union centre with the large Alliance transit port of Sidhe in the Galloway System ¡°just across¡± the border (in reality some forty light years). It was also the first port of call for any ship not coming from the Corridor and Corinth before entering St. John and New Malta, making the system one of the most congested gravity wells in the whole west-central part of Human Space. And the light cruiser HMS Constance was part of Force T, a motley collection of Royal Navy destroyers and cruisers that assisted the overstretched New Maltese Navy in policing the shipping in the system. Alliance Merchant Ship Jasper Georgs II was of the same modular freighter core frame that the Alliance shipyards spat out on a weekly basis. A one-size-fits-none eleven-hundred metre long core of internal superstructure composed of bridge, living quarters, common areas, hydroponics, engineering spaces, the Mod. III Freighter Frame was a dirt cheap construct of Grade-C titanium alloys that could be modified into a myriad of configurations. The most common was to slap some bog-standard civilian industries mixed hydrogen/helium-3 fusion engines on these frames, and then attach huge external cargo containers to the pivots and struts of the main core. When transporting shipments like ice, ore, or liquid gas, there was no need to attach complex internal cargo spaces that had to be tied to the life support and electrical systems of the ship itself; one simply detached the containers upon arrival and replaced them with new ones. When transporting goods that were less acclimatised to the cold and lack of oxygen of outer space, like livestock, electronics, or luxury goods, internal cargo space was required. AMS Jasper Georgs II was one of the latter ones, with four very large internal chambers. Checking the cargo against the provided manifest was extremely easy with external-loaded freighters; simply run a scan and look for anything that should not be there. Internal-loaded ships, when chosen for customs inspections, required boarding by customs duty officers and physical searches had to be carried out, which no one wanted to do. The merchant sailors hated it, the customs officers thought it was a bore, and it made the shipping line owners and cargo recipients grind their teeth at the time lost when a freighter had to come to absolute stop, be searched, before having to re-accelerate, which could sometimes eat up a whole day of transit. Yet somehow, Tentente Molini had decided that Jasper Georgs II, out of the literally hundreds of non-Union civilian ships in the Livia System, merited a closer look. Royal Navy ships on border patrol duties were always assigned representatives from their host star nation¡¯s customs and police services, simply because they didn¡¯t technically have the jurisdiction to carry out searches of foreign civilian ships unless there was reason to believe they carried military hardware. That had gotten Constance¡¯s sister Carcharodon in trouble half a year back in St. John, and in its wake Western Fleet senior staff had made sure to tell their ship commanders where the lay of the land was, judicially. Admiral Lord Hartcastle was done taking angry calls from the Alliant Diplomatic Service. But at this moment in time, Picoletti would have asked for literally any other customs officer than Molini. ¡°And I tell you, the manifest is not correct completed,¡± the Maltese half-shouted at the skipper of the Jasper Georgs for the third or fourth time, ¡°you have not list of fourth cargo chamber properly filled out.¡± Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon. His English was a bit broken, but he was getting his point across regardless, much to the chagrin of everyone present. The black-haired customs officer wasn¡¯t particularly tall, but he had puffed out his black and blue uniform chest to a considerable degree, making him seem bigger than he physically was. It helped that standing directly behind him on the cargo bay deck were Picoletti and Ensign Cade Wheeler in their Royal Navy black and gold Action Dress, and ¨Cmore significantly¨C a section of Royal Marines in all-black CQB armour, their integrated tactical helmet visors lowered, pulse carbines in hand. What Picoletti and the marines were picking up on which Molini evidently wasn¡¯t, was the fact that they were more or less surrounded by about fifty No¡¯vostokian merchant sailors, clad in overalls and greasy oversuits. And there were few smiles to be found on the faces of the crowd. ¡°And I¡¯m telling you,¡± the skipper answered the Maltese through gritted teeth, ¡°that the export-import agreement between the Marduk Region and the Suzerainty phytosanitary certification covers the transport of unrefined wood.¡± He slapped his handcom for emphasis, showing the frankly absurd amount of signed e-certificates from (among others) the Alliance Department of Interstellar Trade, the Novovostok National Trade Association, the Royal Union Trade Regulations Federation, and the Greater Marduk Indiaman Bureau. But Molini was not impressed, and showed the merchant captain his own ¡®com as soon as he had scrolled far enough down the regulations handbook. ¡°The import of the three containers of Mardukian reed-mussels is legal, and correct put into your manifest, but the fourth chamber is of No¡¯vostok jeunewood.¡± ¡°So? What¡¯s that got to do with anything?¡± ¡°Jeunewood,¡± Molini continued, a cocky smile slowly forming on his face, ¡°its roots go very deep into ground, and is very hard to, how do you say¡­ scavare¡­ dig out, and carry a lot of dirt with it. Had it been local-grown Earth redwood, or No¡¯vostok brittlemaple, I would say ¡®no problem, have a good day, sir¡¯, but the phytosanitary provision in the Marduk-Suzerainty trade agreement makes explicit mention of it being illegal to carry fertile dirt outside controlled environment.¡± The merchant captain, only differentiated from the rest of his crew by the peaked cap he wore and the lapels on his oversuit, produced a growling sound deep in the back of his throat. Picoletti could feel the tension in the cargo bay. The Jasper Georgs II had four large internal cargo chambers, three of which were sealed and reinforced aquariums holding all told several hundreds of thousands of living shellfish to be sold at the great fish market in St. Angelo City, harvested in the submerged reed forests of Cape Last Rest on Marduk. The fourth chamber held thousands of Novovostok jeunewood trunks, to be shipped to Corinth to be sold to the furniture and interior design industry there. The supplest part of the jeunewood trunk grew under the earth, and it was this that Tentento Antonio Molini was making such a pointless fuss about. Commander Picoletti had taken part in scores of stop-and-searches of merchant ships over her ten-year long naval career, and this was the first time she had seen a customs officer being so pedantic about the exact wording of the customs prohibitions. Yes, transporting soil between planets outside of specialised terramitic containers was a very bad idea, as it could spread diseases a planet¡¯s biosphere had no immunity to, but trace amounts ¨Clike what could be found on wood logs¨C would be absorbed by the natural environment within milliseconds. This was nothing but posturing by the Maltese officer; he was enjoying having the muscle of Royal Navy officers and Royal Marines backing him up. However, given recent events, Aurorans were held in even lower regard than usual by the average Alliant, so what had once worked as a show of force now seemed more like an armed intrusion. ¡°No wonder they¡¯re so on edge, imagine being stuck in this metal box for three weeks.¡± The tinny voice in Picoletti¡¯s right ear belonged to the Royal Marine corporal in charge of the ten-man section, speaking through the closed short range comms network that Picoletti¡¯s and Wheeler¡¯s radio-plugs hooked around their ears picked up. However, the integrated tactical helmets of the marines were equipped with a miniature version of a privacy shield, so their voices were muffled and to everyone around them, it sounded like melodic growling. It added another layer of intimidation to their already menacing battle armour; plate carriers, arami-steel armour pads on shoulders, elbows, pelvis, knees, lower back, and armoured gloves, complete with heavy gorgets which their helmets slotted into, and a kinetic-web bodysuit worn underneath. The Royal Marine weapon of choice on-board spaceships were pulse carbines, medium barrel-length bullpup action weapons that fired short bursts of superheated plasma, using the same base technology as laser weaponry, but intensely miniaturised. Most weapons in Human Space were still old-fashioned chemically powered ones, but pulse weapons were favoured on spaceships because of their high force, but relatively low kinetic energy; once a pulse round had hit something, it did horrific damage but lost all effective energy and vanished into non-heated gas, whilst a chemically powered bullet would still have abundant kinetic force and could keep going. ¡°This ship doesn¡¯t have any internal viewscreens hooked up to external sensor-feeds,¡± the corporal continued, ¡°and the decks and hallways are bare factory-standard metal, no padding or clad corners. It¡¯s a bloody husk, not a starship.¡± The low warbling of his helmet made some of the Alliant sailors back off a bit, exchanging unsure glances. ¡°I am going to write a fine,¡± Molini droned on, theatrically pulling out an out-fashioned notebook and a pen from an inner pocket of his uniform tunic, ¡°and you will have to talk to Augusta System Customs Office when you dock. What is the name of your carrier line?¡± The Alliant captain looked like he wanted nothing more than to break Molini¡¯s nose with one of those huge blocks of meat that passed as his hands, clenching and unclenching them as he was, but he settled down after a few moments. ¡°This is cacking bullshit, you fucking jobsworth, and my ¡®osses will send an army of lawyers at you once they learn of this.¡± ¡°Ah-ha, si, buono a sapersi, can I have name of these bosses so I know where the Suzereinty Customs can send the fine for trying to illegally, witting or unwitting, export illegal soil to foreign planets? Your contraband cargo will be confiscated also, of course.¡± That produced sounds of protests and curses from the other merchant sailors, who now had to be most of the crew of the Jasper Georgs, and Andrea realised with a pang that their own group, thirteen strong, was almost completely surrounded but for the hatch that led out from the fourth cargo chamber back to the central causeway at their back. She wasn¡¯t the only one who had realised, as the marines who had up to this point just been standing in a loose formation at the back behind the officers, started to move forward and put themselves between the sailors and the unarmoured and unprotected officers. The short bursts of warbling belied the tight and rapid back-and-forth between them, but did nothing to calm the crowd, watching these tall black armoured figures move up. Picoletti noticed tools half-hidden in the hands of some of them, and she broke out in a cold sweat. ¡°Lieutenant,¡± she hissed at Molini, who stood a few paces away from her, enraptured in what he no doubt deemed was a performance of judicial superiority, ¡°I think this is not the time or place to press the legality of this. You can fill out a full report back on the Constance.¡± He didn¡¯t even deign to look back at her as he replied. ¡°Nonsense, Capi¡¯ di¡¯Freg Piccoletti, this might not be important to you Royal Navy, but it is of high importance that the economic defence of New Malta is enforced. Your job is to sail and shoot, mine is to inspect and confirm. Now, Mr Barkov, who were your bosses again?¡± ¡°Ma¡¯am,¡± young Ensign Cade Wheeler whispered as he pulled close up to Andrea¡¯s left arm, ¡°I don¡¯t think we should stay here much longer, I don¡¯t much care for the looks the Greens are giving us.¡± Piccoletti could only nod in agreement as she quickly looked around the sailors almost surrounding them. There was a nasty tendency among most civilians to regard merchant sailors as nothing more than ambulating teamsters-cum-space truckers that loaded a freighter, went off to where the cargo was to be delivered, and then went back the other way with a new cargo. In reality, they were extremely tough and weathered space hands who lived and worked in much, much worse conditions than naval crews did, and were much more accustomed to laborious tasks. The merchant sailors standing around the Aurorans were sinewy and strong despite their disparate planetary backgrounds. ¡°Quite right, Ensign, I think we need to consider continuing this discussion further when we¡¯re back on the Constance. Mr Panchel, warm up the engines and prepare for a relatively immediate evac.¡± ¡°Aye aye, ma¡¯am,¡± was the response from the pilot of the Falconet shuttle they¡¯d arrived in, waiting in the miniscule boat bay of Jasper Georgs II, ¡°ready for skids-up in six minutes.¡± ¡°Listmann-Wawate, eh?¡± Molini said out loud, repeating what the skipper had told him and jotting it down on his notepad, ¡°I¡¯ve never heard of these before, strange that they are affording to be shipping mussels in such an expensive manner. It makes me suspicious, are they a civilian firm of Amadeus? MAIG?¡± ¡°You better shut your cacking mouth, Red,¡± a very brawny looking female mechanic in the crowd growled, ¡°or someone might shut it for you!¡± ¡°It is well known,¡± Molini hissed, completely oblivious to the rapidly escalating proverbial temperature in the cargo chamber, ¡°that large Alliance military industry companies have civilian front-companies to boost profit. Not legal by Royal Union laws, Patra non, and not by Alliance law I think, but so it is.¡± ¡°You¡¯re either insanely brave, or insanely suicidal,¡± some other Alliant sailor said, this time from behind Picoletti and Wheeler, ¡°to say shit like that in the position you¡¯re in now.¡± ¡°Fucking Aurorans or Maltese, you¡¯re all the same, arrogant pricks who think you rule the galaxy.¡± ¡°We¡¯re honest folks trying to earn a living, and you march on our deck with guns to give us fines for cack we have no control over; we don¡¯t decide our cargo.¡± ¡°Methinks Royfort should have fired an entire broadside instead of a single gun!¡± That last comment prompted the simple shout of ¡°Royal Marines!¡± from the corporal, and in the blink of an eye, the marines had carbines at the ready, quick-stepping to spread out in order to cover as much of the surrounding mass of sailors as possible. Piccoletti and Wheeler barely realised the soldiers had moved before armoured gloves closed on the back of their uniform collars and, irrespective of their rank, yanked them back into the protective schiltron that the Royal Marines had made. ¡°Stand down, stand down!¡± Andrea shouted, but the sudden movement on the part of the marines had triggered some aggressive animalistic instinct in the Alliants, their apparent fury bubbling just underneath their cognitive surface already. They started to shout expletives and only the threat of the marines¡¯ pulse rifles training quickly to cover every angle stopped them from following up on their curses. ¡°Fucking Aurorans, get the cack off our ship!¡± ¡°Go back to your aristo hell-hole and leave us alone.¡± ¡°Hey officer-lady, how about you stop hiding behind your stormtroopers and face a real man?¡± ¡°Scusa¡¯, cosa stai fac-aaAAGH¡± That last shout didn¡¯t come from any of the merchant sailors, Andrea realised, as she in the corner of her eye watched Tentento Antonio Molini get dragged down to the deck by three large sailors, as he was outside the protective cordon of the marines. Unfortunately, Ensign Wheeler observed the same, and with a shout he jolted towards the group that was holding down the Maltese customs officer, but he lost his balance and bumped into a Royal Marine. Said Royal Marine was covering that exact part of the mob around them, but Royal Auroran Marines were not trained in crowd control. They were specialist Close-Quarter-Combat troops, finely honed weapons to be unleashed in order to complete the sort of objectives that less well-trained troops were unable to do. Royal Marines could capture a heavily defended and entrenched hill position, seize a building complex full of hostiles, or swiftly and effectively board and capture a spaceship; that was what they trained for and excelled at. But when faced with civilians, which they were trained from the first day at Training Camp Royal Marines on the Auroran moon of New Lysithea were both non-combatants and targets that should nominally be protected at all costs, came at them with hostile intent and with makeshift items that could and should in this current context be regarded as weapons, the Royal Marines hesitated and second-guessed themselves. And when Ensign Cade Wheeler stumbled over his own feet in a selfless attempt to help the Maltese who was being accosted and frankly in the process of being beaten to a pulp by angry Novovostokian sailors who were taking out what could be described as centuries of pent-up aggression on his persona, he bumped into Marine Ann Mycroft. Marine Mycroft was even younger than Ensign Wheeler, all of twenty, but the year-long Royal Marine Commando training regimen had made the Nova Caledonian one of the most effective soldiers Human Space had ever seen. However, the lack of experience with dealing with this sort of situation made her fall back on her training and force of habit, ingrained through literally hundreds of hours of ship-boarding action practice. Bracing against the sudden weight on her back, instinct flaring and mentally picturing it to be a fallen comrade (or worse, officer), her trigger-finger slid into place and pulled. A quick burst of super-heated plasma energy spat from her pulse rifle, sounding almost like a wetted drill rapidly punching holes in a thin foil of metal. The pulse rounds didn¡¯t have far to travel before they pierced a thin layer of clothing, followed a few microseconds later by making short work of human flesh, just as intended. Four Novovostokian sailors were hit by the very short burst of only nine rounds, and they all died instantly, the pulse rounds exploding into super-heated gas once the initial penetrative energy was spent, that is to say, well inside their torsos. A welter of bits and gore sprayed out as the exploding gas forced the frail meat and organ matter outwards, preferably out the same puncture the plasma rounds had created in the first place, resulting in small geysers of bloody jet of ruined human insides through very small holes. For all of two seconds everyone were transfixed as the lifeless, blood-spurting bodies of the four sailors fell to the deck floor, Aurorans and Alliants alike. The trance was broken when a heavy metal spanner suddenly hit Marine Mycroft right in the middle of her visor and she fell to her knees, and would have dropped her pulse rifle had it not been attached to her plate carrier via a spring-cord. ¡°Royal Marines!¡± Corporal Harmseel shouted into his helmet microphone, ¡°Fall back to the shuttle, cordon formation, protect the officers at all costs!¡± The shock among the sailors had truly been replaced by fury, and where some where throwing objects, others were threatening to physically attack the Royal Marines with anything from heavy mechanical tools to galley cutlery. Commander Andrea Picoletti was being torn both figuratively and literally. Figuratively, she was torn between the duty of getting her women and men back to the safety of Constance, while at the same time they hadn¡¯t been able to secure Antonio Molini, and he was most likely at this very moment being turned into mincemeat by angry Greens. The literally part was that she had no say in the matter, a Royal Marine who had about a foot of height and forty kilos of weight on her was dragging her by her tunic collar with one hand, the other training a pulse rifle down the corridor they just left. She managed to key her ear-radio after a bit of fumbling, as the party rapidly pushed through the tight corridors of the freighter. ¡°Mr Panchel, if that bird is not ready in thirty seconds, we¡¯re not leaving this ship ever, do you hear me?¡± ¡°Ah, aye ma¡¯am, AQ-91 ready for skid-off!¡± ¡°Then lower the fucking ramp and don¡¯t ask any questions until we¡¯re about forty-thousand clicks away from this blasted ship!¡± The rear ramp of the RANIG (Royal Auroran Navy Industrial Group) Falconet Mk.VII Protective Shuttle (Transport) piloted by Flight Lieutenant Arjun Panchel was down by the time the Royal Marine section of Justin Harmseel arrived a few minutes later. Unceremoniously, Marine Burgess and Marine Mycroft (bleeding profusely to the point where blood had started to pool in her armoured gorget) shoved the Royal Navy officers up the shuttle ramp, while the rest of the section covered the single entryway to the boat bay. Two by two, the Royal Marines filed into the shuttle as well, until it was only Harmseel and Lance Corporal Swan left. ¡°We¡¯re going to leave the Maltese for dead?¡± Erin Swan asked, already knowing the answer. ¡°You saw the state we left that room in,¡± Corporal Harmseel answered, ¡°he was practically dead the moment the Greens got their greasy hands on him.¡± ¡°Wonder how this will work out in the media, not to mention Parliament,¡± Swan mused as she trained her rifle across the various boxes and assorted tool kits scattered on the Jasper Georgs II boat bay deck floor. ¡°Ours is not to reason,¡± Harmseel replied, no shred of sarcasm in his voice, ¡°get on the damn shuttle and I¡¯ll be right behind you.¡± The Falconet shuttle blasted off into the ether thanks to the override codes they¡¯d been provided with from the AMS Jasper Georgs II bridge forty-five minutes before in order to land in the freighter¡¯s boat bay. His Majesty¡¯s Ship Constance, a proud and vigilant Canterbury-class light cruiser, was locked to the electronic signature of the Jasper Georgs II, and as such hovered at what could be considered really close range, about two-hundred thousand kilometres away. ¡°Get me Commander Cays¨¡r,¡± Andrea Picoletti demanded, having stumbled her way in the zero-gee of passenger compartment of AQ-91 and into the cockpit and pilots¡¯ compartment. Under normal launch circumstances, the whole hull of a Falconet would have been pressurised and anti-grav plates would have gone into action. But when called to crash-launch, that went out the window, which was why Andrea was only attached to the shuttle¡¯s deck via her magnetic boots, whilst the rest of her uniform was dancing up and down, including her ankle skirts (she, like every other RAN officer wore trousers underneath, but there was still some unnerving energy about skirts lifting, regardless of gender) ¡°Ah, good to hear from you ma¡¯am,¡± the languid voice of Commander Oliver Cays¨¡r replied over the comms. ¡°Trust you didn¡¯t find anything much of interest, ma¡¯am, since you¡¯re due back so soo-¡± ¡°I want you to point every targeting laser we have on the Jasper Georgs II, I want to see her hull plating melting to slag under the force of the gamma radiation!¡± ¡°Uh, ma¡¯am, I¡¯m not sure I follow¡­¡± ¡°And prepare the rest of the Royal Marine platoon for immediate boarding action, CQB armour and all. Oh, and the Peregrine assault shuttles in case the Greens close their boat bay! Load them all up, sir!¡± ¡°Ma¡¯am, I¡¯m sorry, what happened over there?¡± ¡°I will explain in good time, but just know that right now, time is of the essence. And prepare the medical bay, we have a few wounded coming in.¡±
Lieutenant Hannah Lowell was about as dead on her feet as was possible without actually collapsing. Her black-gold Action Dress tunic was unbuttoned all the way down, revealing the tall-collar white shirt underneath which in some circles of the Royal Navy officer corps was regarded as completely unbecoming for a commissioned officer to show to the mere ranks. Hannah Lowell, having just completed a full fourteen-hour watch, couldn¡¯t have given less of a shit. Certain decks and hallways of Euphoria were still unavailable due to the low structural integrity of their port side broadside batteries, and most crews chose to stick to the starboard or central hallways. The destroyer was a fair deal calmer now, due to the overall detriment of the crew¡¯s morale; they were being sent home without even being given the chance to taste the frontier posting proper. The old hands at Lucidia Station had informed them that was a good thing, but for some of the fresh King William graduates that the Euphoria carried on board, it was more like a professional slap in the face. No matter, Lowell mused as she downed the last of the coffee of her thermocup, I¡¯m not one of those, my family is old Navy aristocracy, I¡¯ll be commanding a squadron of these destroyers in eight years¡¯ time anyway. Checking her mechanical wristwatch, she realised it was time for the actual captain to rise and attend the morning watch. She looked around the hallway, making sure she was alone, before letting out a long sigh. Commodore Philomena Cortez, Chief of Staff of RN Lucidia Station had approached her personally to make sure Lady la Lune didn¡¯t rustle more trouble on their homeward trip. That had been an awkward conversation. Hannah Lowell respected the Lady la Lune, having done so long before the flashy manoeuvre that would most likely go down in naval history with la Lune¡¯s name attached to it. But Hannah also had to admit that these past few weeks had seen the very same noble officer drowning her guilt in copious amounts of strong alcohol, and that was something the Royal Navy certainly did not approve of. Suddenly, Hannah realised she stood in front of Lady la Lune¡¯s cabin hatch. Euphoria had to give over their platoon of Royal Marines to Lucidia Station, especially since they were going back to the Royal Union and home space through the Co-Prosperity Sphere and not through overtly hostile space. Normally, there would be a pair of Royal Marine sentries presenting Lowell with salutes as she approached the captain¡¯s cabin, but circumstances change. Instead, Hannah simply rapped her knuckles on the metal hatch five times. ¡°Lady Amelia,¡± she said pretty loudly, ¡°it¡¯s your shift, your First Lieutenant is asking for permission to fall face first into her bunk.¡± There was no answer, which didn¡¯t disturb Hannah much; Lady la Lune was a creature of habit as she would be in the bathroom and shower for fifteen minutes, and then fix her long blonde hair, put on her Action Dress, before stepping outside to be confronted with the rest of her destroyer¡¯s crew. Had the Royal Marines still been aboard, Lowell would have left it to one of the sentries to inform the captain that the First Lieutenant had been there to inform her to report to her station. But alas, the Royal Marine platoon they¡¯d carried from Kitezh had had to stay behind on Lucida. So, it fell to poor Lieutenant Hannah Lowell to absorb yet another duty to her already ridiculoursly long rote list. ¡°Lady Amelia,¡± she announced loudly, ¡°I¡¯m coming in.¡± Lowell swiped her finger against the scanner on the left side of the Captain¡¯s cabin door. The hatch swooshed open, and Lowell sat her thermocup down on the desk close to the door on the inside. ¡°Really, you don¡¯t have to save on lights in your own cabin, it¡¯s like you have something to hi-¡± Lieutenant Hannah Lowell¡¯ train of thought caught in its tracks as she saw the boots dangling about her eye-height, and she immediately sprang into action, almost stumbling over the chair Lady la Lune had used to stand on. ¡°Help!¡± she shouted at the top her lungs. ¡°Someone fucking help me!¡± She wasn¡¯t sure what was helping most; basic first aid theory at King William¡¯s or natural instinct. No matter, Hannah lifted up Amelia¡¯s legs first whilst shouting for help. A pang of resentment hit her for all of half a second; if the Royal Marines had still been on station, they¡¯d picked up on this much sooner. ¡°Ma¡¯am, what is the prob- OH FUCK!¡± ¡°GET HER LEGS UP, GET THEM UP!¡± ¡°JORDAN, GET IN HERE, HELP THE FL!¡± ¡°PUT THE CHAIR UP, ALTAY, GET IT UP!¡± In the end, they managed to get the Lady de la Lune back down, after one of the Petty Officers having identified that the belt hung by a lamp-fixture in the ceiling was a high-quality Mess Dress leather belt that wouldn¡¯t have broken under nearly any circumstances but by opening the clasp. In other words, the PO concluded, had not Hannah been there to prevent the suicide attempt, the lady would have most certainly been dead, far beyond the point modern medicine in the 29th century was able to circumvent. ¡°What do we do with the Lady la Lune, ma¡¯am?¡± Ensign Anna Gallagher asked about half an hour later, in a very uncertain tone as she turned her Assistant Operations Officer¡¯s chair around to face Lieutenant Hannah Lowell, seated as she was in the upholstered captain¡¯s chair on the command dais of the Euphoria. Lowell pinched her temples with both hands. They were still shaking from the aftermath of the adrenaline that had pumped through her system. ¡°Keep her under observation in medbay for the rest of the trip, but don¡¯t give her any strong sedatives. Large amounts of alcohol and opiates is a very bad combination I think. If she comes to and asks for more strong spirits, fucking give it to her, but in moderate amounts. We¡¯re a bloody Royal Navy destroyer, not a hospital ship; she needs therapy once we get back to Amaranth. Fucked if I know how to deal with this.¡± Hannah looked around the bridge following that last comment, noticed the shifting glances and the unsure expressions. She sighed, before punching the all-ship tannoy key. ¡°This is Lieutenant Hannah Lowell speaking. I am sorry to inform you that Lieutenant Commander Lady de la Lune is for the time being indisposed, and I am certain you¡¯re mature enough human beings to accept that she has been around the ringer these past few weeks. We¡¯re homebound towards the core systems now, and I¡¯ll be your captain for the remainder of this journey. Gods be my witness this is not how I wanted to earn my first command, but here I am and here we all are. I trust we all will carry out our duty to the King, the Navy, and to the people of the Kingdom and the Royal Union. Captain Lowell out.¡± ¡°Oh, can someone send up another thermocup of coffee? I may have just started a double-shift, and caffeine would be appreciated.¡± Chapter 33 - Weeks of Uncertainty: Holidays Despite the relatively cold winters that would occasionally wash over Cordelia, snowfall was practically unheard of. More northern regions of Aurora like Greater Luin, New Ontario, and Gordias experienced heavy snow every local winter season, but Camlann lay only a few hundred kilometres north of the equator, making it exceedingly rare. But somehow, big flakes were coming down in droves, and Adea stuck out her tongue to taste one of the cold specks as they slowly drifted to the ground. She ended up getting one in her left eye instead, and had to blink away the uninvited moisture. Tutting under her breath, Adea¡¯s faithful lady¡¯s maid Charlotte Busby walked up and made sure her lady¡¯s makeup was still unblemished. ¡°Thank you, Charlie,¡± Adea said with a big smile on her face, ¡°shall we continue on then?¡± ¡°If Milady could slow down to at a mere Mach 3, that would be most appreciated. You¡¯re running past shop windows without even giving them a chance, Milady, and that¡¯s no way to get any gifts done.¡± ¡°Nonsense, we¡¯re not even at the Saints yet, we¡¯re still in the Lower Strand. I want to get to the good stores before they get too congested by shoppers.¡± Without waiting for her maid, Adea turned back around on the crowded piedway, the coattails of her long black woollen frock swishing over her legs in her wake, mahogany long-heeled boots crunching the soft snow underneath. Charlotte managed, not without significant effort, to subdue a groan and followed her lady charge through the throngs of Christmas shoppers in central Cordelia, pulling her own onyx and ruby topcoat tighter around her torso to protect against the chill winds that wafted upriver from the Goneril. The redhead apparently didn¡¯t pay attention to the cold, continuing her brisk pace down St. Lucy Street, dodging through the dense crowds that filled the piedway. That morning, Charlotte had woken before her alarm at eight, had had a nice breakfast and a big mug of tea, chatted excitedly with her fellow handmaids Yasmine and Clara about the coming holidays, ordered one of those new Beatrice Gault-designed, raven-coloured maid uniforms, along with a Dioscuria crystal neckband on her handcom while waiting for Adea to send for her. Auroran maid uniforms didn¡¯t look anything like the French-style most non-Aurorans depicted in their mind. The tunic was double layered, with a white inner ¡°shirt¡± that had a long neck and long sleeves that tapered towards the ends, and an outer ¡°tunica¡± of varying colour depending on the household, which featured high, slightly puffy shoulders and were decorated with white details around the neck and chest that was to imitate the frills and lace of more traditional maid dresses. Legwear was optionally regular female suit trousers, or skirts of generally medium length. Level of decoration was also widely varying; some households had a very specific uniform code, and maids and servants dressed accordingly, or they were allowed to choose as they wished as long as the overall colour scheme was adhered to. In Ars Gallante House the colour for staff was onyx and red, the rest (apart from the footmen¡¯s livery) was up to the individual. With Lord S¨¦lincourt gone to Amaranth and Lady Darkmoor off to Lucidia, the vast majority of House Ars Gallante staff had been given paid furlough, with only a skeleton staff of one chef, two kitchen assistants, five maids, a chauffeur, three footmen and a butler to tend to Lady Adea. Now, that was in actuality quite an absurd amount of employees looking after a single teenager in such a huge mansion as Ars Gallante House, but there was a social caveat. Now that Adea was the only senior member of her family left on Aurora (and more importantly in Cordelia), she would have to play the host to the usual get-togethers her parents¡¯ normally would have done. The responsibility of maintaining the S¨¦lincourt-St. Eiron social network fell to their daughter now that they were gone, and the servants were an instrumental part of that. Hosting dinners and cocktail parties were not Adea¡¯s favourite activity, but it came with the territory of being an adult noblewoman. Anyway, Charlotte had been positivity herself as she brought Lady Adea her breakfast in her huge canopy bed, the girl still groggily coming to, despite it being ten in the morning. The exams period before the holidays had worn her out (or more likely the varsity sports tournaments that fell just after the exams; she¡¯d made fine form during the Great Eight swimming competitions). She would probably have slept through half the day had it not been for Lord Alistair before leaving for Amaranth making it perfectly clear that she needed to maintain something approaching a normal circadian rhythm. Charlotte had placed the tray of scrambled eggs, toast, fried fruit-yam, streaky bacon, and a large cup of black coffee in her charge¡¯s lap, before pulling aside the curtains to let the bright ¡°winter¡± sun in. Adea had grunted, brushed aside her long red hair that desperate called out for the attention of a brush, sipped some coffee, and mumbled something before turning to Charlotte. ¡°Charlie,¡± she¡¯d said, voice sounding like she was rolling rocks in the back of her throat. ¡°What day is it?¡± Charlotte had started to pick up the clothing that Adea had discarded haphazardly on the floor the night before and was mostly just tutting to herself, not really paying much attention. ¡°Friday, Milady,¡± she said as she picked up a black Dionysian silk embrass¨¦, shaking her head in exasperation at the notion that someone could feel so inclined as to simply fling such fine garments to the floor. ¡°No Charlie, I mean, what date is it?¡± Adea asked before sipping some more of the resuscitating coffee. ¡°The 23rd of December, Milady,¡± the maid replied as she put the used clothes in a basket to take them to be cleaned, before entering the huge walk-in closet that adjoined the extravagant bedroom. She had barely started to pick out some appropriate day clothes before she heard a choked cry followed by a stream of coughs from the other room, and she hurried back to find Adea looking at her ¡®com with a horrified expression on her face, ice-blue eyes staring in dismay on the small plate of electronics. ¡°The 23rd?!¡± she¡¯d managed between fits of coughing, putting her coffee cup back on the tray, and moving the entire thing aside as she veritably vaulted out of bed. ¡°You mean that today¡¯s the last shopping day before Christmas? I thought it was the 20th or something, My God, I can¡¯t be arsing around in bed, I haven¡¯t gotten a single gift yet!¡± Adea had stomped around her large bedroom simultaneously looking for the clothes Charlotte had already put away, attempting to jot down notes on her ¡®com, while also nibbling on some bacon. The multitasking would have been almost impressive, had it not been so panicked. She stomped a toe against her work desk chair and yowled out in pain, before calming down a bit. ¡°Charlie, get me the Valerianese coat-suit, and a pair of heavy flats. No, wait, the Bonhomme wool dress, or, ah, no, shit, where am I going to go shopping? I could go to Sanderson, but that¡¯s on Lysander, and they won¡¯t have¡­ There¡¯s the Strand though, that¡¯s a good option. Charlie, the garnet¡­ No, nononono, I need something special for Sandy and Brey. Think girl, think!¡± Charlotte barely remembered the next forty-five minutes, but somehow she¡¯d been ¡°volunteered¡± into assisting Lady Adea¡¯s in her frantic campaign to get presents for her entire circle of friends and family in a single day. She¡¯d landed on going to Quayside and then onto the Saints in the Inner City, the poshest shopping districts in Cordelia, and she¡¯d had to dress the part. Desperately looking for help, Charlotte had popped back into the servants¡¯ common rooms to recruit Yasmine or Violet to help their lady, but they¡¯d absconded once they¡¯d heard from one of the footmen that Adea was running around like a headless chicken before ordering out a skycar. It was all Charlotte could do to put her uniform coat on and hurry back up to her impatient charge. One relatively brief skycar ride through the tightly orchestrated aerial lanes of Cordelia¡¯s airspace later, and that¡¯s how they found themselves hastening down the piedways of St. Lucy Street, bobbing and weaving through throngs of shoppers, lunch-goers, and merry bands of children out from school. ¡°Oh, Charlie, take a look at this!¡± Adea cried from somewhere on the other side of a bunch of giggling teenage girls with paper cups of steaming cocoa, and Charlotte had to carefully navigate past them to avoid spilling any on her coat. The Saints was a quaint and old part of the city. The entire district was made in the Neo-Georgian style, which meant cobblestoned piedways, bricked facades, columned terraces and windows, all of which clashed visually with the huge hightowers in other parts of town that stretched into the sky, dominating the horizon. The stores and artisans'' workshops in the Saints were (in-)famous for their high prices, though for the high quality of their products as well, and also for their street caf¨¦s, antique stores, and old-fashioned craftsman¡¯s shops like tailors and jewellers. It was one of the favourite shopping districts for the upper middle classes and above, both Auroran and foreign, and Charlotte was pretty sure she¡¯d already spotted the Marquess of New Grenadine and the daughters of the Duke of Lance Riding, with their attending servants, plus a bunch of web celebrities and stream notables. Turning her attention back to her own lady, she found her pointing excitedly at a mannequin in the window of a tailor¡¯s workshop. ¡°Oh,¡± she exclaimed excitedly, ¡°don¡¯t you think that silk waistcoat would be perfect for Brey?¡± ¡°I¡¯m, humph? not sure, Milady,¡± Charlotte said breathlessly as she caught up to her, ¡°just give me a moment to take a gander at it.¡± Running on cobblestones with high heel boots was not easy at the best of time, the snow made it harder. The lady¡¯s maid had no idea how Adea hadn¡¯t slipped yet. ¡°Ah, no time,¡± Adea impatiently huffed as she suddenly sprinted across the piedway, bounding around a family of five carrying a mindbogglingly large number of bags. Charlotte rolled her eyes so hard they physically hurt as she darted across the same street to follow her lady charge, apologising to the family Adea had just bolted past. This storefront belonged to an antiques shop which promised genuine articles from pre-interstellar Earth, and Adea popped inside before Charlotte could catch up. Swallowing her frustration, the maid followed. The interior was a pretty stereotypical set-up for an antique store; the small locale was filled with seemingly old wooden cupboards and shelves filled with what at first glance looked like knick-knacks or minutiae that didn¡¯t seem to have any apparent or intrinsic value apart from being old. Charlotte ran her eyes along some the aisles, but nothing really impressed her. There were old book covers filling a few of the shelves, but she recognised most of the titles from e-library services and regular book stores, and they still had Christmas tree ornaments today as well, even though some of those on display were a bit cruder in make and had seen a few centuries. She picked up a porcelain plate decorated with blue art and considered it dismissively, more for the show of partaking in the act of shopping than out of any real interest. Adea had stopped by a shelf of hardcover folders, and was carefully shifting through a few of them, picking out the ones which had some sort of engraving on them. Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings. ¡°Don¡¯t you think,¡± she said while turning over her shoulder to look at Charlotte, ¡°that one of these sheet music folders would be a nice gift for him?¡± Charlotte blinked in confusion a couple of times. ¡°Him? I¡¯m not sure who you¡¯re referring to, Milady. If it¡¯s your brother, I fail to see¡­¡± She shut her mouth with a click as something in her brain clicked as well, and she had to concentrate hard to suppress the smirk which threatened to bubble to the surface of her face. ¡°Oh, apologies Milady, I think he would be thrilled to get a music folder specifically picked by you, especially an antique one. As I understand it from what you¡¯ve told me, he is a bit of a history aficionado, so a trink- I mean a carefully selected gift from pre-interstellar Earth would be just the thing.¡± Charlotte couldn¡¯t help her voice taking on a gloating tone, and watching Adea¡¯s cheeks turn pink made her feel all fuzzy inside. ¡°I think you might be right,¡± the young noblewoman said at length, picking out a tome with ivy-like golden embroidery along the spine, and on the front ¡°Royal College of Music, 2064¡± was written in golden letters. She absentmindedly ran a gloved finger over the letters, before dashing with her previous energy to the register. The register was actually manned by the owner and not a drone, a rarity in the 29th century, but again, Charlotte mused slightly cynically, that was part of creating the charm of an antiques shop; it had to really feel like stepping into a bubble where time was indeterminate. The clerk bowed politely to Adea as she paid with her ¡®com, and wrapped it in a sheet of red-and-white plastafilm for her. Adea accepted it gingerly, and clutching it to her chest she bounded back to where Charlotte stood by the exit. ¡°You know,¡± she said with a full-toothed smile that Charlotte rarely saw on the nineteen year-old, ¡°2064 CE was the year the first orbital elevator was officially opened on Earth, the first real permanent step for humanity as a true space faring race. I just hope he remembers that and appreciates it just a bit more for that.¡± ¡°A lucky find then, Milady,¡± Charlotte said, holding the door open for Adea and they stepped back out into the snowy street, ¡°and a thoughtful gift. I had no idea you were at the stage that you¡¯d be exchanging gifts, you¡¯ve told me you¡¯d met the gentleman only a couple of times outside the classroom. And you¡¯ve certainly never brought him to Ars Gallante.¡± Adea blushed again, though it would have been easy for her to blame the cold weather if someone had made a point of her pink cheeks. She stopped in her tracks and as Charlotte caught up, she snaked a hand into the crook of Charlotte¡¯s arm, a gesture that was extremely at odds with the professional relationship between the two, but very natural considering that Charlotte was the closest thing Adea had to a big sister; there was only a five year gap between them. ¡°Ah, do you think,¡± she asked quietly, her cheeks still reddening, ¡°that I¡¯m presuming too much? That I¡¯m taking things a bit too far?¡± Charlotte shook her head, smiling. ¡°Any man would be ecstatic receiving a Christmas present from you, Milady. I would maybe suggest that it is quite bold, and perhaps not quite the done thing in your social strata, but as I understand it, this gentleman is a commoner like me, so then it would be no harm in it. Had you given one to young Lord Howeland unannounced however¡­ I can only imagine the web rumour sites having a field day if that became public.¡± The redhead half-laughed, half-snorted, her breath misting in the Cordelia winter air. ¡°Fat chance of that, Horace is in an awkward three-way with Lady Wraith and Lady Nimue, and he¡¯s way too¡­ Howeland for my taste anyway, too prim and proper. Goes with the territory I suppose, doesn¡¯t help that they¡¯re related to the Sutherlands. I heard both he and Evelyn Delafontaine have recovered well from their ordeal at Goldbrook Commons.¡± ¡°What an absolute tragedy,¡± Charlotte said wistfully, genuine sorrow tingeing her tone, the Galactic relative six weeks that had passed had done little to improve mood of the capital¡¯s population. There was still a huge vigil kept by the large Parliament Palace stairs with tens of thousands of flower bouquets and memorial lanterns, and hundreds more added daily. The political fallout had been quick and ruthless. The Home Secretary, Sir Thomas Tedenby, had sacked over half of the Royal Cordelia Metropolitan Police upper leadership, and cross-aisle Parliamentary inquiries had convened to scrutinise the conduct of both the police and the Royal Army units involved. A lieutenant in the Royal Army Provost Corps¡¯ 30th Field Battalion had committed suicide. The Royalist and Social Liberal popular opinion in the polls had nosedived, and the Royal Navy was under immense pressure in the systems bordering the ISA. The Holiday Season on Aurora was undeniably coloured by what had happened, both in Cordelia and in the Lorelei Region. There were noticeably more uniformed troops walking the streets these days, the soldiers opting to wear their Day Dress uniforms instead of civilian clothes even when not on duty, and the usual Christmas festive cheer was more muted; there were less frivolous parties, and many more sermons and prayer sessions in the capital¡¯s churches, mosques, shrines, and temples. ¡°Apropos nothing, Milady,¡± Charlotte said, desperate to not delve into a conversation about that horrid subject, ¡°are you hosting a Christmas Day dinner or party? If so, I know that the chef and the rest of the staff will be more than happy to help out if you want to arrange something?¡± That had obviously been the wrong thing to ask, as the teenager¡¯s smile disappeared and was replaced with a stiff mask of civility that Charlotte saw through at once. ¡°Alas, no, Charlie. I¡¯m giving every one of the staff the next few days off, I¡¯ve been invited to celebrate Christmas Eve and Day, plus Boxing Day with the Barhams out in New Devon, so I¡¯ll just take a shuttle over to the country manor tomorrow morning I think.¡± Poor lass, Charlotte thought, feeling a pang of regret and sympathy for her young charge, both her parents are away for the Holidays, and most of her friends are celebrating with their own families. No one deserves to be alone on Christmas. It wasn¡¯t as if Charlotte didn¡¯t have a family of her own to celebrate the Holidays with, but she felt a deep sense of responsibility for Adea, both as her lady¡¯s maid but also as her friend. But she was her employer, and if she wanted to go away for the duration and give the staff furlough, that was her decision, no matter Charlotte¡¯s opinion on the subject. ¡°Oh, look at that!¡± the young lady suddenly shouted out and pointed in the direction of a chocolate patisserie shop. ¡°I bet they¡¯ll have something that Sandy would like in there! Come along, Charlie, let¡¯s check it out. Oh, and there¡¯s a book store on the first floor, there might be some classics there that Aubrey might enjoy!¡± Unable to stop it from bursting forth this time, Charlotte Busby audibly groaned as she was dragged by Lady Adea across the piedway into yet another store.
¡°Someone¡¯s ready for Christmas,¡± Arvind said with a sly smile on his face and sipped his cognac-fortified gl¨¹hwein, before popping another kaneelkn?cker into his mouth. ¡°Hey, what can I say, I¡¯ve always been a fan of the Festive Season,¡± David Lee replied with a shrug, ¡°and I just felt like showing it off a bit more this year. You know, if I can spread some more holiday cheer in these depressive times, then so much the better.¡± ¡°You look like the next best thing to a walking, talking, drinking Tannenbaum,¡± Peter Townshend commented with a laugh after a sip of his own drink. David shook his head, grinning widely, his snow-crystal ear rings in silver dashing back and forth on their chains, his usually cobalt-dyed hair now coloured in shades of red, green, and white. The trio laughed at his silly getup, sitting as they were at a street-level caf¨¦ in upper St. Lucy. A bit pricier than the usual joints they frequented in Albany Square and Pendragon, but Peter had received a much larger than usual Holiday allowance from his parents after his mother sold a manor to some esquire or another at a huge premium, and he¡¯d insisted on treating his friends. ¡°I don¡¯t celebrate Christmas, as you know,¡± Arvind said, solemnly sitting up in his chair and buttoning his winter coat, ¡°but damn me if you Christians don¡¯t know how to invent a good-ass celebratory period. Remind me to host Diwali for you all next year.¡± He lifted his cups in a toast, and to the shout of sl¨¢inte the trio emptied their drinks. David, grinning from ear to ear, hailed down a waiter-drone and ordered three more, as Arvind suddenly recognised a face in the large mass of people that crowded the piedway. ¡°Shoulders back lads,¡± he said in a tone that was simultaneously both serious and slightly flippant, ¡°lady coming through at five o¡¯clock.¡± ¡°What, where?¡± David started as he sat up in his chair, the swishing of his head not helping with the erratic movement of his ear rings. ¡°Is she coming this way? Is she pretty? Do I look okay?¡± He managed to look in the direction that Arvind had mentioned and caught sight of a tall red-haired girl dressed in a long black frock walking briskly in their general direction, a shorter blonde woman in a ruby and onyx coat trying her best to follow up, though laden with several bulging paper bags. David and Peter did as Arvind instructed and sat up straighter in their chairs, trying their best not to look like complete loungers, expecting the obviously well-off lady (noble or gentry, it was impossible to tell) to simply huff on past at her rapid gait. Instead, the two saw Arvind¡¯s eyes widen as an obvious pang of recognition washed over him. And the feeling was somehow reciprocated. The tall girl, long red hair tied in a ponytail with a black ribbon, stopped just by their table, only a two-foot tall rope-fence separating them. ¡°Say,¡± she said, her accent dripping with the vowel-heavy drawl of the Auroran upper classes ¨Cquite different to the Cymran, Angevin, and Nova Caledonian aristocratic speech¨C, ¡°don¡¯t I know you from somewhere?¡± Arvind had to swallow twice before he managed to produce an answer, feeling her piercing ice-blue eyes boring into his own dark brown ones. Not in animosity but coming from a genuine place of curiosity, but the intense sensation was there regardless. ¡°I- as in, I think, we haven¡¯t met, Lady S¨¦lincourt¡­¡± Her eyes narrowed a bit at the mention of her title and Arvind¡¯s shoulders almost visibly hiked up. ¡°If you¡¯ll pardon Milady, it¡¯s just that you¡¯re quite famous around the QMMU campus, and I¡¯ve seen you compete in the past swimming and fencing varsity tournaments, and you¡¯re a pretty well-known figure, if you don¡¯t mind me saying¡­¡± He was perfectly aware he was rambling at this point, he knew it, David and Peter knew it, and it was becoming increasingly clear on Lady S¨¦lincourt¡¯s face that she knew it as well. ¡°And, if you don¡¯t mind me saying Milady, we have a mutual friend in Edward Heatherland.¡± That last mention thawed Adea¡¯s progressively stiffening face-mask, and the other shoe dropped in her mind. ¡°Oh right!¡± she exclaimed, clapping her gloved hands together. ¡°You were the one stuck with the rotten and temperamental fortepiano during the Mitradate re di Ponto rendition at this past Year End Performance! I remember now, I kept feeling so bad for you to be stuck with such a grouchy instrument. My apologies, Mr¡­?¡± ¡°Ah-Arvind, Milady,¡± he managed, after choking back the grin bubbling in his chest that would have threatened to take over his whole face, ¡°Arvind Dahon is my name. I¡¯m a third-year classical piano student at Countess Montroy¡¯s Conservatoire alongside Edward. If you¡¯ll allow me, these are our roommates, David Lee of Compiegne Hall as a French Major, and Peter Townshend of Lavatte Hall, specialised-course architect.¡± The other two males, when introduced, rose from their chairs and bowed politely, to which Adea reciprocated with a polite nod. The maid behind didn¡¯t deign to even politely move her body, laden as she was with bags, and her whole aura screamed she wanted to go home. Not that any of the lads cared. ¡°So you all share apartment with Edward then?¡± Adea said after the brief formalities ended, her eyes in Arvind¡¯s mind practically shining with a very particular icy glint. ¡°Would you mind bringing this¡­¡± She half-way handed over a plastafilm-wrapped something to Arvind but seemed to catch herself in the act. ¡°I mean, if it¡¯s not too much of a bother, sirs, could you avoid telling him from where this came from. I would really appreciate it if you gentlemen would keep this as a secret, but hand it over regardless.¡± Arvind accepted the thin, wrapped gift gingerly with both hands, afraid it was something frail that might snap if handled too roughly, but assured when he felt the weight of it in his own hands. Then his smile sobered. ¡°I¡¯m sorry, Milady, but I have some bad news for you.¡± Hadn¡¯t Arvind known any better, he might have determined that the already slightly wistful expression on Lady Adea¡¯s face might have fallen further, but that was nonsense in the context of this conversation. ¡°But Edward has gone back to Amaranth to celebrate the Holidays with his family there. But have no fear, I will deliver this gift to him as soon as practicable. Oh, ah, Merry Christmas to you as well My La- ah she¡¯s gone.¡± Chapter 34 - Weeks of Uncertainty: Clamour and Distortion The pod of juvenile Amaranthine nymph-eels stood almost like Earth meerkats out of the water with their upper bodies straight, huge expressive eyes wistfully following their erstwhile playmate as he wagged inelegantly ashore, bright red antlers whirring in a combination of anticipation and sadness. Their four-metre long bodies eventually dove back into the warm waters of the Reserve Shore beach, and they continued their complex water-dance that would make any ballerina green with envy. Edward Heatherland leaned his head over and flat-palm punched his head to expel the water still in his left ear. Playing with nymph-eels was an Amaranthine tradition, the huge well-meaning monsters were playful devils, but they were completely unaware of their size. Four, five, or even six metre long before they reached their fertile stage, these water-beasts were nothing but jovial creatures that really didn¡¯t recognise their own size compared to their playmates. Edward waved to the pod, and the seven members of the pod responded by waving their upper bodies, before diving back into the deeper water of the Reserve Shore. The fauna of Amaranth was commonly very large and alien compared to what humans had been used to back on Earth, but after living alongside nominally weird creatures like nymph-eels, guardian hawks, and Amaranthine unicorns (which looked absolutely nothing like folklore unicorns) for five hundred years, the novelty had worn off. Crystal-sand crunched under Edward¡¯s feet, and he walked gingerly on the hot particles until he reached the padded area where beach chairs and parasols had been set up. The Reserve Belt was a major tourist attraction, pristine crystal-sand beaches that stretched on for many kilometres, barely touched rainforest reserves (hence the name) spread across a number of archipelagos and atolls, and the bustling city of Cybelia, technically a suburb of the capital of Persephone, but located on a separate archipelago. Amaranth was both blessed and cursed by being located right on the very border of the ¡°Goldilocks Zone¡± of planetary evolution when it came to creating suitable conditions for permanent human settlement. Moon-less Amaranth was orbiting the red giant of Aditya at just the right distance that radiation didn¡¯t fry everything, but it made the planet not have any other season but summer, its quick eight-month Galactic Relative cycle being separated by three months of ¡°wet summer¡± and five months of ¡°dry summer¡±, but interspersed unlike, say, Monsoon Season back in Old Earth South-East Asia. Edward picked up his towel and wiped his body down as well as his dark hair, his usually quite tightly manicured beard now longer than what he was actually comfortable with. Conversations played back in his mind as he picked his ¡®com to see if any new messages had come in while he was swimming with the nymph-eels. Speaking of which, they were now about two-hundred metres out from shore, splashing about and diving around in a fashion that no human could ever hope to recreate. Even the juveniles lowered themselves to the ground-based two-legged peoples¡¯ level when close to the beaches apparently, their high level of intelligence clearly on display. Speaking of display, Edward frowned and cursed under his breath at the news from Aurora of the fourth day of the criminal court trial of the former head of the Royal Cordelian Metropolitan Police Department, Sir Justin McCloud. He was facing serious charges ranging from wilful ignorance of criminal activity to assisting mass murder, ranging from at the lowest estimate of five years in jail to ninety at the highest. Despite what the fringe parts of the multi-media outlets reported, the latter was highly unrealistic, but the former was also out of the question. Sir Justin¡¯s case was a unicorn in Auroran history; no one in such an important position with command of the state-monopoly command of violence as he had, had ever fucked up this hard. In Edward¡¯s mind, Montesquieu and Locke were spinning hard in their graves somewhere in Europe on Old Earth. ¡°It is my regret to inform you of a declination of your expressed interest at our orchestra, and I hope you find better luck elsewhere.¡± That had been from the New Victoria Van Siddart Memorial Orchestra, and Edward could still visualise the meeting in the auditorium where the director, the musical producer, the first violinist and the current piano soloist had wat -not watched, visually dissected my performance-, already having made their mind up about rejecting his application to join. At least they had been sporting enough to pay for his shuttle tickets to New Victoria and back to Cordelia; the very base level of civility after Edward had wasted two days on the fruitless audition. ¡°Screw getting an A in Early Classics,¡± he hissed, his teeth grinding as he vocalised it, ¡°if it counts for fuck all.¡± He felt his hand clasp hard around his ¡®com, producing a few sounds of protesting smartglass before he let go again. That had only been one of many rejections following the audition phase after his last exams in November. So far he had auditioned for seven orchestras in Cordelia, one in New Victoria, two in Oldtown, and one in New Ontario. Every single one had been outright rejections. ¡°Done diving with your new friends already?¡± a voice asked from behind him, and he turned to look into a pair of amber eyes. ¡°Well, considering two of them forgot their size and squashed me between their huge scaly bodies while they tried to do the underwater equivalent of an interchanging pas de deux, or trois I should say, I didn¡¯t feel like risking the chance of accidently drowning any longer. The beasts forget they¡¯re so big, especially when they¡¯re still juveniles. Also, you¡¯ve barely touched the water at all, Val, you have no say in the matter.¡± Valentine bin Kamis shrugged with a lopsided grin on his bronzed face, the aforementioned eyes glinting with humour. ¡°Mate, I go to the beach almost every weekend, that¡¯s the perk of studying in Persephone instead of far-off Cordelia.¡± He shrugged again and tied his long sun-bleached light brown hair back into his customary ponytail, probably intentionally giving some of the others patrons on the beach a show of his toned upper body. Edward simply rolled his eyes as he put his towel around his shoulders and slicked back his hair as best he could. ¡°So,¡± Valentine asked as he was done fixing his barely wet hair/showing off, ¡°what are the plans for the rest of the Holidays, now that the traditional Christmas Eve Dip is done?¡± They started to pack up their things ¨Cwater bottles, towels, sand slippers, their beach umbrella¨C and Edward discreetly pulled his wet towel around his waist, slipping off his wet shorts and replacing them with a pair of sports trousers while obscured by the towel. Not that it would have mattered much if some skin had shown; Amaranthines were very blas¨¦ when it came to temporary beach nudity, par for the course when beaches and bodies of water were such a large part of their recreational culture. ¡°Mum¡¯s invited over Aunt Ariel and her kids, so Cousin Lana and Cousin Andros is coming over, as well as Uncle William. I don¡¯t know why she insists on having so many over on Christmas Eve, it¡¯s Boxing Day that¡¯s the big dinner day of the Holidays. Now that I think about it, it was probably Auntie¡¯s idea, I think Andros is going to the Royal Military Academy, and she probably wants to brag about it.¡± Valentine grimaced as he hefted the laden bag over his left shoulder, and it had nothing to do with the weight of the bag. ¡°That sounds like it¡¯s going to be a rough time, oppo, having your dad¡¯s Corinthian half-sister and her family over. It sure doesn¡¯t sound like something Mrs Theodora would come up with on her own. Better hide away the heavy liquor, or it might become a very personal recreation of the Dionysian-Corinthian Corridor War.¡± Edward smiled for what felt like the first time in ten days, despite the relatively weak joke his oldest friend had made. After the events of 13 November, Edward had more or less gone to ground, choosing to shut himself out from the rest of the world. While David, Arvind, and Peter sat glued to the news streams for days afterwards, Edward had put his head in the sand and concentrated on practicing the piano. When the grades of the final exams of his penultimate semester came trickling in, he was confirmed as a honours student, how the hell did that happen? with A¡¯s in Early Classics, Revival Baroque, and, incredibly enough, Intermediate Conducting Theory. With that in his back pocket, he had started applying for positions in as many orchestras and troupes that could possibly be in need of a piano soloist by the time he was done with this major the coming summer. That had proven to be not only an exercise in futility, but a series of defeats that had ground him down mentally. The lack of contact with Adea following the chaos of the 13th and the aftermath had meant he had isolated himself further, before choosing to go back home to Amaranth for the Holidays. Six days on a passenger liner had been a chore, despite the many amenities on board, and his whole body felt stiff and uncomfortable upon arrival, not helped by the 1G artificial gravity kept on board. But then the news from the Livia System had arrived, which had soured the Holiday Season further. All of which explained why Edward appreciated Val¡¯s attempt at levity, despite the poor joke. ¡°Yeah,¡± he said in response as the duo started walking along the piedway overlooking the beach on the way back into Cybelia, ¡°that has happened on occasion over the years, but I hear Mum and Auntie are pretty restrained compared to when Dionysians and Corinthians usually bump into each other. The Auroran way of life must have mellowed them out a bit over the decades.¡± ¡°So how¡¯s life on the capitol world been like lately? It¡¯s been a good while since your last e-letter, and a lot has happened since then.¡± ¡°Ugh, please don¡¯t mention that, I came home partly to escape all that.¡± Edward sighed as they stopped at a crossing, groundcars and trams passing by, though there were considerably fewer of them than it would usually be at this hour of the day, given it was Christmas Eve and all. ¡°It¡¯s been pure pandemonium since the news of the attack on Euphoria became known, leading to the huge riots. It was like the atmosphere of Cordelia changed overnight, and then this whole business near New Malta happens. I only hope there is at least a modicum of Christmas spirit and cheer left, the Gods knows we need it right now.¡± ¡°We? Are you considering yourself a Cordelian after only three and a half years of residence? You traitorous bastard!¡± Val punched Edward on the left shoulder with his free arm. Edward yelped, but saw his friend grinning when he looked over in surprise and his indignation subsided. ¡°I meant it as a collective ¡®we¡¯, you brutal water-ape,¡± he responded with a slight chuckle. ¡°The whole of the Kingdom is affected by this, there basically isn¡¯t anything but coverage of this stuff on the news and in the webpapers. And I may be a piano major, but I know enough about history to recognise that this is just the sort of slippery slope of gradual escalation of tension that leads to armed conflict between nations.¡± If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation. ¡°Oh please,¡± Val snorted as they crossed the street as the hovering traffic lights switched colours, ¡°Aurora hasn¡¯t been involved in a proper war for over two-hundred and fifty years, and that was such a one-sided thumping of the Hydran Co-Prosperity League that we¡¯re still allowed military access to this day.¡± ¡°Not unlimited,¡± Edward countered, ¡°it¡¯s only across a specified route, and the Hydrans hate our bloody guts, but tolerate us because we¡¯re their largest export partner. And comparing the Hydrans with the Alliants is like saying a kitten is the equivalent of a fully grown Silvercat; those are two very different beasts.¡± ¡°You¡¯ve grown so damn serious, Ed,¡± Val sighed as they passed a street choir singing carols, and Edward put his ¡®com against the little drone hovering nearby to give a tip, to which the drone produced a smiling face on its screen and an androgynous voice chirped a happy ¡°thank you very much, and Happy Holidays!¡± Despite the galactic relative date, the weather was warm and sunny, Val still wore his swimming shorts, and a high-sleeve shirt, while Edward¡¯s legs were covered by a set of black sports trousers, and an unbuttoned cream collar-less shirt; a far cry from the winter apparel the people were wearing in Cordelia at the moment. ¡°I¡¯m not sure you¡¯re wrong about that Val, a lot has happened these few years, especially this past one, and I¡¯ve been thrown into strange company lately. A good kind of strange, mind you!¡± He hurried to add that last part as Valentine visibly grew concerned, but at the comment he looked curious instead. ¡°Well, you¡¯ll have to tell me about it. We¡¯re still on for the Second Day get-together, yeah? The old gang will for the most part be there, Nancy is unfortunately on Kitezh for work and Logan is somewhere around Valerian on his first real posting.¡± ¡°Yeah, I¡¯ll be there,¡± Edward said, smiling once again, ¡°it¡¯s going to be such fun to see the old Cybelia bandits again, it has been too long since last time. But I didn¡¯t know Logan had signed up for the Royal Navy, when did that happen?¡± ¡°About a year and a half ago after he decided that maritime construction work wasn¡¯t for him, so he signed up as a Sailor Cadet at Cumberland, and after thirteen months he graduated as an Engineering Mate. I think he¡¯s on a cruiser out by Valerian somewhere. A few of the others have or are considering signing up as well, especially with all that¡¯s going on. I know Abdullah and Chloe are thinking about it, and¡­¡± They both stopped at another crossing, not because they needed to cross, but because they had to enter the maglev station and take a train in opposite directions. ¡°You know what, we¡¯ll talk about it over drinks on the Second Day party, don¡¯t you agree? Better venue than the middle of a street anyway.¡± Valentine grinned again, and Edward nodded, feeling a sense of calm settling in for the first time in weeks, or perhaps months, now that he was back home again, talking to his oldest friend about what their other acquaintances were up to. ¡°Hey,¡± he said, feeling a pang of nostalgia, ¡°remember when we used to meet up here before taking the train to Princess Elizabeth¡¯s?¡± ¡°How could I forget? We used to pick up a plate of hokkien mee from the food cart around the corner every Friday. I¡¯m pretty sure it¡¯s still there, if you fancy a bite.¡± ¡°Nah, I just wanted to make sure you remembered as well. Do you recall when we got caught out in that rainstorm before school and had to attend¡­¡± ¡°The first three periods dressed in our gym clothes under dripping wet blazers and trousers? Of course I remember. I also remember the pneumonia I got the following week. I didn¡¯t know that phlegm could be coloured both orange and green.¡± The duo laughed at the memory, the unsaid part that they both remembered when Chloe Samuels (their close friend, but also the student council president at Princess Elizabeth Upper Secondary) had given them an earful in front of their class made them laugh even harder, considering she had been caught in the same situation as them a month previous. Edward suddenly didn¡¯t miss Cordelia at all. Busy, immensely huge, so crowded with people that were always off on some errand or task or another, Cordelia had a tendency to swallow you up despite its beauty, its infinite amounts of various venues and possibilities, and Edward now felt like he hadn¡¯t taken a proper breath of air for over three years. Cybelia and Amaranth simply felt different, the air was crisper, the sun warmer, there was a sort of languid atmosphere to the whole planet that Aurora simply lacked. He had never really thought about this before, when he had arrived in Cordelia, he had simply put his head down and gotten on with his studies. It had to take a trip back home, truly home, for him to realise how different his life was now compared to what it had been. Edward suddenly didn¡¯t miss Queen Marie¡¯s and the pressure of his professional future crushing him into a pulp. He didn¡¯t miss the way that politics always managed to seep into your daily life and forced you to have an opinion. He didn¡¯t miss, I miss Adea. I miss her pouting face of annoyance when I call her ¡®My Lady¡¯, I miss the way she tucks her long red hair behind her ears, I miss our talks over tea, I miss looking at the way she moves like she was born with a feline grace, I miss her and Sandy¡¯s banter, I miss letting myself just talk about anything with someone as perfect and scary and noble and goofy and understanding as her. Not to even mention Sandy, Arvind, Peter, David, Siobhan, and the rest of the soloists. I even miss Artemisia, her usually serious face that can change from a raging storm from one moment to a teasing little pixie the next. ¡°Hey oppo, you okay?¡± Val¡¯s concerned voice brought Edward back to the here and now, and he felt something wet run down his cheeks, and his hair was too dry for it to be ocean water. ¡°Yeah, yeah I¡¯m fine,¡± he said turning half around, pretending to look at the maglev train arrival and departing screen. ¡°Just got something in my eye that¡¯s all, probably some of that bastard crystal-sand. Anyway, see you at your place in three days.¡± ¡°Hell yeah,¡± Valentine beamed, ¡°better bring you drinking A-Game, we¡¯ll be going hard all day, and then we¡¯ll hit the clubs!¡± But Edward was already on his way up the stairs to the station, trying to not let anyone see his pathetic tears.
A teardrop hit the dinner table in the tenth-floor apartment building in eastern Newdawn, the capital city of Marduk. Due to the differences in planetary rotation compared to planets like Amaranth, it was late afternoon on Christmas Day, and the family dinner in the Himura household had been both served and eaten. The dinner table had seating for five, but during the meal only four had been occupied, the empty seat having been set, but not touched. Helping his younger sisters cleaning up in the kitchen, Yared Himura could hear his mother stifling sobs from the dinner room. Kira and Yuki were trying their best for their mother¡¯s sake to not do the same, but they were fighting a losing battle. It had only been a week since the Alliance Space Navy lieutenant commander and the local Shinto priest dressed in formal wear had appeared at the door of their apartment. With his cap tucked under his arm, the lieutenant commander had delivered a formal letter from the Department of Home Affairs, and the priest had said if they needed any form of comfort or a talk, they were free to seek him out. Their mother had collapsed as soon as the unwanted visitors had left. The empty seat had been for their father Xan. Xan was ¨Chad been¨C a merchant sailor on the AMS Jesper Georgs II, and had lost his life when Auroran soldiers had opened fire during a customs inspection gone sour. The presents that Yared, Yuki, and Kira would normally been looking forward to for weeks lay unopened in the living room. Mother had bravely soldiered on these past few days, preparing the Christmas Day dinner as usual, with all the customary dishes, but now it became too much for her. Attempting to put on a natural and smiling face, but ultimately failing, her eyes red and with a strangled tone of voice, she said she had a headache and was going to bed, telling the children to enjoy themselves. Kira, the youngest at twelve, had said she too had a headache, and wanted to sleep next to her mom tonight, so they had retired. Yared and Yuki didn¡¯t blame either of them, instead hoping they get at least some form of comfortable sleep. Just to make sure, Yuki sneakily slipped a dissolvable sleeping pill into the glasses of water on their mother¡¯s bedroom nightstand while they were in the bathroom. While Yuki did that, Yared went to the living room liquor cabinet, and picked out one of his dad¡¯s unopened bottles of highly prized Hyacinthian ruby-rum. That bottle in particular Xan had been saving for Yared¡¯s graduation from High School as an Electronics Apprentice. Unable to keep a secret, Xan had hinted that he¡¯d already found Yared a starting position with the Indigo Shipliner¡¯s Yard as a junior electrician through a trusty old poker buddy. That spot might or might not still be open to Yared, but in the present moment his prospective future career only made his eyes sting. He put on a thick duffel coat, hid the long, thin bottle as best he could inside it, put a cap over his cropped blonde-tipped black hair, and opened the door. He took the highrise elevator down to the ground floor, using the short solitary intermission in the elevator cart to sip from the bottle which he uncorked without ceremony, tasting the fiery and floral alcohol which made him almost gag at its high proof. Stuffing the bottle back into his coat, he exited the highrise entrance hall, and found himself on the sleepy residential street of their apartment complex. He didn¡¯t really have any destination in mind, just letting his feet guide him where they wanted. Yared walked down back alleys, across usually heavily trafficked piedways, across major intersections, thin access ways that in reality should have been shut down to traffic, taking the opportunity when he was pretty sure he was alone to steal a swig from the bottle he was hiding. After a while he found himself at the water¡¯s edge where Newdawn ended and Rekindler Lake started. He walked along the lake-side piedway for a time before finding a skycar pickup shelter that pointed towards the water, and sat down, legs dangling over the seawall that separated the piedway from the gravel-beach eight feet below. Sheltered from the rest of the city of many millions, he fished out the rum bottle. ¡°You fucking idiot, what are you doing? Did you think I wouldn¡¯t notice?¡± Yared wasn¡¯t sure how far he had walked and for how long, and surprised that the bottle was missing over a third of its liquid, but he could recognise his sister¡¯s voice anywhere. Yuki leaned over him, her dyed light pink hair forming a cascade over her shoulders. Yared noticed Yuki wore one of their mother¡¯s winter coats, a black ulsterette jacket of genuine Corinthian wool. Her brown eyes shone with both indignation and sympathy. ¡°I don¡¯t care what you think,¡± Yared replied, taking another sip from the bottle just to prove a point, ¡°just leave me the fuck alone.¡± ¡°It¡¯s not like you were the only one to love dad, shitbag,¡± Yuki said as she slid down to sit next to Yared, and after a moment she held out her hand for the bottle. Yared was momentarily conflicted; Yuki was sixteen, too young to be legally drinking. Hell to the law, hell to society, hell to everything. He handed the bottle of strong liqueur over. She took a brave swig, and even managed to not cough as the fire of the alcohol punched against her oesophagus like a hammer. Yared took the bottle back and took another sip. ¡°I¡¯m going to punish them,¡± he whispered. Yuki almost had to lean in to hear what he was saying. ¡°I¡¯m not talking about the ones who killed dad, the chance of that is one-in-a-billion. I¡¯m talking about ¡®them¡¯ in general.¡± A blast of wind washed over them, carrying the fertile smell of Rekindler Lake with it, an aroma of seaweed, fish, and illegal pollution. ¡°I am joining the Alliance Space Navy, sis,¡± Yared said as the last of the smells the blast of wind left his nostrils. ¡°I don¡¯t care if I don¡¯t get to serve on a warship, able to literally train a gun on the Aurorans. If I can just be a cog in the machine that helps push them back and punish them for their extreme arrogance, their bloodthirsty ways, then I will have done my part. I just don¡¯t want anyone in the Alliance to feel the same way we¡¯ve done tonight ever again.¡± His voice caught something during the last sentence, and he had to fight tears again. Yuki leaned over him, putting one arm over Yared¡¯s shoulders, while the other found the rum bottle. She brought it to her lips and took a long draft from it. Her pale face was flushed as she put the bottle down and put her forehead against her older brother¡¯s, pairs of brown eyes almost the exact copy of the other locking together. ¡°Then we¡¯ll sign up together, and we¡¯ll punish the Aurorans together. Not just for Father, but for the freedom of the Galaxy. Please wait for me, brother.¡± Chapter 35 - Weeks of Uncertainty: Close Measures Rear Admiral of the White Ana?s de Chevalier suppressed a grimace as the close-in munitions warning klaxons played their horrible song. It was far from the first time they¡¯d played up today, and she was getting mighty annoyed with the unnecessary audio interruptions over the activity of HMS Victory¡¯s flag bridge. She¡¯d gotten used to it over the course of multiple actions, and these days the electronic noises only served to elevate her heart rate a little instead of sending her diving for her C-suit. As such she was standing ram-rod straight on the dais of Victory¡¯s flag bridge, arms crossed behind her lower back with the helmet of her C-suit still lying in the cushioned seat of her flag officer¡¯s command chair. She listened absentmindedly to the damage reports that her staff and flag bridge officers said out loud in professional and calm voices, whilst keeping most of her attention on the large flag bridge 3D holographic tactical plot. de Chevalier looked like a textbook example of a sangfroid and collected Royal Navy officer, tall and thin, with high cheekbones and long platinum blonde hair tied into a ponytail that was just the right length so that it could easily fold and fit into a C-suit helmet. Her dark gold eyes danced quickly between areas of interest on the plot, noting information and calculating possible outcomes and countermeasures. A further railgun hit sheared off another section of Victory¡¯s reactive outer armour layer, and de Chevalier made a slight grimace that was gone as quickly as it had appeared. Her fleet was neck deep into action at this point, the line of battle gallantly pummelling away at their opposites approximately eight-hundred k-clicks distant. That was a very conservative and cautious distance for railgun broadside warfare, considering no rangefinder or fire director of known human make could penetrate the several layers of obscuring electronic countermeasures and jamming that entire fleets ¨Cespecially a full battle fleet with cruiser and destroyer screens¨C produced, sending shells off into the unending void instead of on a collision course with enemy warships. The long range was indicative of both fleet commanders¡¯ unwillingness to actually commit to the proper knife-fight of line of battle brawl. But that didn¡¯t mean that their rate of fire was any lower than it would have been at more conventional ranges, like two-hundred or one-fifty k-clicks. The tactical plot was a complete mess, munitions criss-crossing all over, to the point where the gravpulse was starting to give up with tracking all of it with their subpulse signals, and the much slower reacting LIDAR was taking over. The capital ships of both sides were choosing to annoy and frustrate more than to hurt and kill, but cruisers and destroyers dashed out from their screening lines, attempting to launch destructive torpedo spreads, which had to be countered with noisemaker or suicide anti-torpedo drones due to their internal computing systems which ¡°laughed¡± at mere background jamming and ECW. Ana?s de Chevalier had accounted for this contingency, and had a few cards up her black-and-gold sleeve. ¡°Mr Rohanon, call for the fleet to change course to converge to the previously established Alpha-point, and make sure the squadron and division commanders are made aware of all formation changes, and tell them to relay directly down their chain of command. We don¡¯t want a battleship ramming a destroyer as they make course corrections.¡± Her voice was crisp and noticeably New Ontario in origin. ¡°Aye aye, Ma¡¯am,¡± was the reply from her staff communications officer, ¡°sending pre-recorded coordinates and bearing to the rest of the fleet now.¡± ¡°Please give my compliments to Captain Olivier, and have him command Victory on to the aforementioned course change. I want a further communiqu¨¦ to be transferred down the line to ¡®Engage the enemy in closer quarters¡¯. Tight-beam only, do not under any circumstances ease up on our jamming.¡± Staff officers relayed orders to their juniors, the Staff Communications Officer, Lieutenant Commander David Rohanon, ordered his crew of a dozen officers and enlisted to transmit the signal for the fleet to carry out the pre-planned battle manoeuvres. The fleet de Chevalier commanded was composed of sixty ships, sixteen of which were battleships ¨Csplit into two overstrength battle squadrons¨C, and a further overstrength battlecruiser squadron split into two divisions fore and aft of the line; the rest were a smattering of cruisers of varying configurations and destroyers. The sheer amount of jamming, sensor obfuscation, and beam-walking that large a fleet in tight formation (relatively speaking, the battleships of the line of battle were still thousands of kilometres apart) produced made any sort of long-range radio or subpulse communication completely impossible. Advanced orders and plans had to be prepared way ahead of actual contact with the enemy, and only by using tight-beam laser signals could ships communicate directly with each other during battle. Modern communications lasers could, in theory, carry infinite amount of data given long enough time to transmit, but like its LIDAR sister, it was limited by the speed by which its photons travelled, and by the fact it could only travel unidirectionally. The result was that warships had to communicate directly to each other down the line of battle just like their nautical predecessors, but the semaphore flags and signal lanterns of old had been replaced by lasers. ¡°Ma¡¯am,¡± her Staff Chief Operations Officer said from her station near the large tactical plot, ¡°Queen Alexandra is reporting engine output fluctuations, possibly due to malfunctioning fusion transfer-rod accelerators. Captain Shan requests permission to reduce speed and re-join the rear of the line in order to attempt repairs.¡± ¡°Signal her to retain formation, and maintain as much forward acceleration as she is capable of while repairing, we can¡¯t afford to scramble our line of battle at this point in time.¡± ¡°Time to turnover at Alpha-point is T-minus nine minutes, Ma¡¯am,¡± her Staff Astrogation Officer reported, and de Chevalier nodded before turning back to her comms officer. ¡°Mr Rohanon, my compliments to Commodore Sobhani, and he has my permission to carry out his squadron¡¯s special orders. Impress upon him the importance of stealth but also decisiveness.¡± ¡°Aye aye, Ma¡¯am, sending Signal Blue-Two-Niner-Niner to Heroic.¡± Stealing a glance at the time display on the tactical plot, de Chevalier walked over to her command chair to pick up her C-suit helmet. Folding her hair into a rough bun with one hand, she put the helmet on with the other and drew in a deep breath as the helmet sealed with the gorget, a jet of air from the suit¡¯s internal tanks filling the interior. The main view screen polarised for a few brief moments as an enemy torpedo that had been dummied by a noisemaker exploded some eight thousand kilometres off and to the ¡°right¡± of Victory as the escorting light cruiser Queenston Heights finished it off with a flurry of rounds from one of her multi-barrel close-in gauss defence turrets. The admiral winced, for she hadn¡¯t even seen the missile on the plot, but thankfully their escorts were on top of it. Both sides¡¯ lines of battle, moving roughly parallel to each other, were formed into what was in naval nomenclature called ¡°line astern, right flank staggered¡±, meaning that the battleships were lined behind one another at a slight ¡°right¡± angle to the ship ahead of them, as well as a few kilometres ¡°underneath¡± their x-axis. This provided each ship in the line of battle as clear a field of fire and sensor bubble as possible while still allowing for the entire line to be tied into the fleet fire control matrices and close-in communications, as well as the ECW net. Running along this massive formation of millions of tonnes heavy battleships were flotillas of light cruisers and destroyers split into divisions of two or three, there to intercept enemy lighter combatants and add their electronic warfare suites and jamming to their much larger charges. Closer to the main line of battle were squadrons of heavy cruisers which formed miniature lines of battle of their own, adding their not-insignificant firepower to the main line¡¯s, or tried to fend off troublesome hostile light cruisers before they could conduct torpedo runs or throw out screens of annoying drones. A modern battle fleet in fighting formation was a tightly choreographed dance of death that required expert handling by every ship¡¯s helmsman, the complete attention of their astrogation officers, the keen analytical eye of their operations officers, and of course their captains and admirals. But all that was easier said than done, and while Ana?s de Chevalier had been top of her class at King William¡¯s in both Advanced Tactics and Formation Tactics (and indeed in most other subjects as well), leading scores of ship in an actual engagement was an entirely different beast. An admiral could only do so much, and was totally reliant on their subordinate squadron and flotilla commanders for the fleet to actually conduct itself according to battle plans. ¡°We¡¯ve done all we can to lay the groundwork for victory,¡± she said out loud to the rest of the flag bridge crew, but using the external speakers of her helmet instead of the internal comms. ¡°We have a slight superiority in ships of the line over the enemy, but the fleet is now about seven minutes from changing course directly to full one-five-five by one-two-eight, before to correcting on the y-axis to three-one-zero. That will bring our fleet on a full ahead collision course with the enemy line of battle, and we¡¯ll be punished for it if we approach recklessly. The plan, as you all know, is to force the enemy to change course to attempt to strike at our soon-to-be exposed rear. Endeavour, Albemarle, and Blackrose will be horribly exposed to broadside fire from two-thirds of their line if they move as we hope they will. I need everyone on top of their game if we are to pull this off, and pray that the joker in our deck of cards is enough to tip the balance of scales in our favour.¡± Ana?s smirked slightly. ¡°One final signal to Heroic, Mr Rohanon. ¡®Now¡¯s your time, Keyhan,¡¯.¡±
¡°Message from Flag, sir,¡± the communications officer on the flag bridge of the Spartan class flotilla leader cruiser HMS Heroic said, turning back to look at Commodore Keyhan Sobhani, seated as he was in the command chair. ¡°Compliments from Admiral de Chevalier, ¡®Now¡¯s your time, Keyhan¡¯.¡± ¡°I believe that¡¯s a reference to the Duke of Wellington¡¯s orders at the Battle of Salamanca,¡± Commander Nikolay Urzoy-Brewer said, brushing some imaginary lint off the navy and gold colour-coded shoulder pad of his C-suit, but Commodore Keyhan Sobhani shook his head while leaning forward in his command chair. ¡°Wrong battle, correct person who uttered it, but no points for half-correct answers, Nicky. It was the Iron Duke¡¯s order to Major General Maitland to engage the French Guards¡¯ advance during the last phases of the Battle of Waterloo with his own Guards Brigade.¡± ¡°Ancient history is what it is,¡± Lieutenant Inga Trollope, the Staff Operations Officer of Special Squadron Blue 9, said in a pejorative tone. ¡°I would much rather focus on the here and now.¡± Commander Urzoy-Brewer shrugged, an awkward gesture by the squadron¡¯s Chief of Staff while wearing a full C-suit. ¡°The old lady does seem to be quite fond of Nelsonian sound bites. I mean, I¡¯m pretty sure ¡®Engage the enemy in closer quarters¡¯ is what Beatty signalled his battlecruisers during the Battle of Jutland when his flag lieutenant couldn¡¯t find the correct semaphore sequence for Nelson¡¯s ¡®Engage the enemy more closely¡¯.¡± ¡°Let¡¯s leave the history trivia for the time being and focus on our orders, shall we?¡± Commodore Sobhani said in a calm voice, but his commanding tone made it clear he needed his senior staff to focus. ¡°Lieutenant French, hit the big ¡®Go¡¯ button on your keyboard and send the go-ahead to the rest of the squadron. Then inform Commander H?jberg to bring Heroic about to the new course specified, and please tell her to stay clear of Princess of New Ontario¡¯s belly; I don¡¯t want Dame Cecilia Arsenault to descend on me with the intent to rip me a new one if we dent her hull, provided we survive this engagement.¡± The crew of the flag bridge chuckled a bit before they flipped a switch and turned into the consummate professional naval personnel they were. Orders were transmitted from Lieutenant French¡¯s station by her and her techs, and after a short while the vista in the flag bridge¡¯s viewscreen shifted from black space, dotted with semi-visible white-grey hulls that continuously flashed small pinpricks of harsh blue-white light, to the armoured underbelly of the massive Prince Consort class battlecruiser they had been hiding in the electromagnetic shadow of. Sobhani grinned, his deeply tanned face splitting to reveal perfect alabaster teeth and his brown eyes shone with anticipation and something akin to a predator¡¯s hunger. He watched the tactical plot and noted with satisfaction as the other nine ships of his special squadron cleared the wake of Princess of New Ontario¡¯s division mates smartly as well, coming from up under the much larger warships at as high acceleration as their ion engines could give them, almost like a spread of torpedoes from a warship. Special Squadron Blue 9 had a different set of orders from the rest of the fleet. The rest of de Chevalier¡¯s fleet was turning to attempt a risky line of battle breakthrough that would have made even Lord Howe at the Glorious First of June stop up and reconsider. But Lord Howe, among a lot of other things, hadn¡¯t been in possession of the six Aggressor class torpedo cruisers that formed the core of Sobhani¡¯s squadron. The Aggressors were strange beasts, designed by Rear Admiral Charlotte Delaurier early in former First Lord Admiral Sir Damien Koyanagi¡¯s first Admiralty, intended to be the first salvo in a series of designs which would cement the ¡°First Strike School¡± doctrine as the new future direction for the Royal Navy. Unfortunately, the Aggressors were failures before even leaving the dockyards, going wildly over budget and the yard engineers had to fit untested and unfamiliar technology (much of it barely past the test bed stage) into hulls that were ostensibly too small for the tasks they were designed to carry out. At only five-hundred and ninety metres, the Aggressors were fitted with no less than fourteen revolver-reloading torpedo batteries ¨Cten in the forward enlarged bow section, and four forward flank batteries¨C, but a large amount of torpedo batteries in a ship not even twice the size of an old M-class destroyer meant that the Aggressors only had the railgun broadside equivalent of a contemporary E-class destroyer, and only slightly better armour along its main and fore belts. Their fire directors and supporting ECW suites were also woefully inadequate when it came to controlling the large amounts of torpedoes the Aggressors could launch in the span of few minutes, meaning they were forced to reduce the amount of batteries actually firing torpedoes in favour of allocating tubes to sending out supporting pen-aid drones. But in the correct situation, many officers belonging to both the ¡°First Strike¡± and ¡°Fisherian¡± schools had theorised that the Aggressors could prove to be battle equalisers. And that was what Rear Admiral de Chevalier had told Commodore Sobhani two days ago in Victory¡¯s main briefing room. Special Squadron Blue 9 was following the exact same course correction that the rest of de Chevalier¡¯s fleet was about to undertake, but they were conducting the turn seven minutes and change before the rest of the fleet. That meant as the rest of the fleet started turning (Sobhani noted with satisfaction that the rest of the fleet handled crisply into the new turn, escorts staying well clear of their heavy charges, and the battleships turned sequentially in almost parade order), Squadron Blue 9 were now parallel with the first third of the line of battle, pushing rapidly out from the rear of the line where they had tightly hugged Division 2 of 10th Battlecruiser Squadron, hiding in the huge jamming and electronic countermeasures bubbles of the massive Prince Consort ships. ¡°I was about to say ¡®steady as she goes¡¯, but I realised we¡¯re on the wrong bridge for that sort of comment,¡± Sobhani said with an uneasy chuckle, watching as the bright orange sea of fuzzy outlines and ghost signals that might or might not be confirmed enemy warships pop in and out on the holographic plot. ¡°Once a master and commander, always a master and commander, sir?¡± his chief of staff asked, and Sobhani nodded. ¡°Wouldn¡¯t have minded being on the bridge of old Artemis now, instead of a light cruiser.¡± ¡°We got Boston and Berg-am-Zee if anything comes snooping, they¡¯ll see off any destroyer or cruiser, thoroughly sending them packing.¡± Sobhani nodded, zooming in on the smaller holographic plot in his command chair¡¯s computerised armrest. Squadron Blue 9 was composed of the flotilla leader Heroic, a large Spartan class ship designed for electronic warfare and C3, and though armoured to the gills (for a light cruiser at any rate), she also sported a decent broadside and four dual-gun fifteen inch railcannon turrets. In the centre of the formation were the six Aggressor cruisers Attacker, Assailant, Fortitude, Gladiator, Marksman and Powerful. They were frail things, just about able to see off large destroyers, so to protect them, posted on each side of the arrowhead formation of Blue 9, were the two Bristol class ¡°large light cruisers¡± HMS Boston and HMS Berg-am-Zee. Much larger than your average light cruiser at eight-hundred and fifty-three metres, they had comparable armour to the two-hundred metre shorter Heroic, but they carried four triple-gun nineteen inch railcannon turrets, weaponry normally found on newer heavy cruisers. The Bristol class was a completely new class of cruisers, just off the Monckton slipyards in Angevin orbit, a heavy-hitting, fast class of ships that the Koyanagi Admiralty had labelled as ¡°budget battlecruisers¡±. Parliament and the Naval Affairs Committee had gleefully signed off on the class, ordering twelve ships which shared some of the Aggressors¡¯ teething issues with new and just-past-the-point-of-experimental technology and machinery fitted on them. Attached to the Boston was the E-class destroyer Enact while her sister Epicure followed Berg-am-Zee as tactical backup and general fire support. In all, an eclectic mix of ships with varying capabilities and intended combat roles, but de Chevalier had convinced Sobhani that if deployed correctly and at the most opportune time, he would be in a prime position to strike the enemy line of battle as they turned sharply to deal with the breakthrough attempt that de Chevalier was leading. In essence, all the heavy elements of the fleet, and the hundreds of thousands of men and women on board the battleships and their escorts were the bait, while the less than five-thousand officers and men on board the relatively vulnerable light cruisers and destroyers under Sobhani¡¯s command was the battle-winning stratagem. ¡°The enemy seems to be in the process of detaching a cruiser flotilla from their forward line of battle screen, seemingly headed for an advanced intercept course for our own line,¡± Lieutenant Inga Trollope interrupted the low back and forth between the different flag bridge stations. ¡°Ahead of the rest of their own line?¡± Urzoy-Brewer queried, and Trollope nodded an affirmative. ¡°Yes sir, signal and sensor confirmation from Duke of Camlann and Victory herself, it seems they¡¯re trying to run a torpedo intercept ahead of the full course change of their line by running a cruiser flotilla perpendicular to our own fleet while their heavier ships come about. It seems their line of battle is having a harder time than our own to adjust speed to a new heading; their momentum star-ward must have been higher than ours.¡± ¡°Nothing for us to worry about then,¡± Sobhani commented, ¡°10 BCS Div 1 will have them sorted out soon enough. How far are we from the enemy line of battle? And perhaps more importantly, what are we potentially up against and are there any indications they¡¯ve discovered us yet?¡± Lieutenant Trollope¡¯s fingers flew over the keyboard of her station, the skin-tight gloves of the C-suit not hindering precision movement like typing or other delicate operations like fixing wiring or arming/disarming shells. This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there. ¡°It¡¯s hard to tell given the absurd amount of jamming blanketing the battle space by both sides, but it appears that we¡¯re just shy of four-hundred fifty k-clicks from the rear third of the enemy line of battle, but just what we¡¯re facing is next to impossible to say. Close Battlespace Awareness SAI is giving the AIC tactical station targets ranging from everything between three-hundred thousand to six million tonnes, and I¡¯m pretty sure we¡¯re not facing off against some morons who¡¯ve decided to put light cruisers in their line of battle. And if Heroic can¡¯t see anything in this electronic soup, I doubt anything on their side can see us well either.¡± ¡°Give me whatever you can, Inga,¡± Sobhani urged, punching numbers in his command chair computer, trying to calculate an approximate firing trajectory for the large torpedo launchers of his Aggressors. ¡°It¡¯s coming up on that time, ladies and gentlemen,¡± he said after a few moments and rose from his chair, ¡°order the squadron to assume attack positions. I want a deep oblique on both sides of the Heroic; we¡¯ll be lynchpin of the formation and we¡¯ll lead the launch since we have the best eyes. Signal Boston and Berg-am-Zee, and tell them to hold back slightly, I want them in a position where they can swoop in if something comes in for a closer look.¡± Orders were once again transmitted rapidly by his flag communications staff, and the ships of his squadron started to adjust their acceleration and heading, and soon Blue 9 looked like a chevron with four adjoining small stars on his tactical display. ¡°Excellent handling,¡± Sobhani said as the Assailant finally found her place and slotted into the squadron¡¯s joint firing matrices that Heroic¡¯s Action Information Centre was providing and constantly revising, updating as new information became available the closer they got to the enemy fleet and the ECW SAI started to crack some of the algorithms of the hostile jamming. ¡°Sir,¡± his flag tactical officer reported from his station, ¡°Squadron Blue 9 is T-minus twelve minutes from entering first launch window, all ships designated for Launch-1 through -6 are slaved to Heroic¡¯s fire directors and rangefinders.¡± ¡°Inga, have you found me a nice juicy battleship to shoot at?¡± ¡°I do believe I have something for you, sir. Those two that are starting their turn now, at roughly three-zero-three by one-one-niner, CBA SAI have them more or less guaranteed to be in the five million range or north of that mark, making them at the very least small battleships.¡± ¡°Well then, Mr Dunn,¡± Keyhan Sobhani said with another toothy grin, and crossed his arms over his chest, ¡°it looks like you have your targets. I want Launch-1 through -3 targeted at those two ships. Order the torpedo crews to stand by for target reacquisition following -3, and we will conduct a full reassessment of the battlespace at that time. In all likelihood the enemy will have noticed our presence at that point and also locked in that we are the only likely source for a major spread of torpedoes. Therefore, I think we should cut acceleration now and prepare for emergency counter-thruster manoeuvres in order to facilitate a rapid relocation. Hopefully, by then the rest of the fleet will have grabbed their main attention, and our little contribution would have led to at least some confu¡­¡± ¡°Sir, hate to interrupt,¡± Lieutenant Trollope said in a hurried tone, ¡°but the aforementioned hostile light cruiser formation has split into two, three of which have cut right across the T of our line of battle at two-hundred and ten k-clicks, but are headed straight for us.¡± Sobhani wished he wasn¡¯t wearing the C-suit helmet so he could scratch his head. ¡°Any other contacts headed our way?¡± ¡°Doesn¡¯t seem like it, sir, the vast majority of the enemy fleet are having trouble adjusting to Admiral de Chevalier¡¯s sudden formation change, apart from that one flotilla.¡± ¡°What of the rest of said flotilla, the other six?¡± Commander Urzoy-Brewer asked as he walked over to the tactical plot and leaned on the guardrail that ran around it. ¡°The remaining six are continuing on the same course as they have been doing so far, somewhat further out than that errant trio, but at speeds much more in line with what you¡¯d expect from a torpedo run.¡± ¡°Strange,¡± Lieutenant Francis Dunn, the Staff Tactical Officer commented while rubbing his C-suit helmet¡¯s ¡°chin¡±, ¡°if their intention was to conduct a torpedo run on our line of battle, why separate their forces like that, and complicate matters by increasing acceleration for a third of it? They¡¯re pushing way too fast, almost as if¡­¡± ¡°They¡¯re going for us,¡± Lieutenant Trollope finished for him, and with fingers flashing across her keyboard, she updated the most likely course of the enemy cruiser trio: they were coming right for Squadron Blue 9. ¡°That¡¯s hardly anything to worry about,¡± Urzoy-Brewer said, pointing at the electronic signatures and 3D models of Berg-am-Zee and Boston, ¡°a mere trio of cruisers will have a tough time dealing with our escorts.¡± ¡°Quite,¡± Sobhani agreed, but his lips were pursed in thought, ¡°but just to be safe, Ms French, order our escorts forward to an advanced position to our ¡®port¡¯ in order to deal with those interlopers, lest they get too close.¡±
At more or less the exact moment the two Bristol class ships started to veer off from the rest of Squadron Blue 9, Lieutenant Commander Lorenzo Vaugeois, the Fleet Staff Operations Officer on board HMS Victory¡¯s flag bridge furrowed his brow in thought. ¡°Ma¡¯am,¡± he said out loud after running a few calculations by the ABSCOR (Algorithmic BattleSpace COntrol Relay) Smart Artificial Intelligence, whereupon he received more questions than answers, ¡°there¡¯s something awry about those detached cruisers.¡± Admiral de Chevalier turned to look up at the officer, located as she was in the lower tier of computer stations on the Victory¡¯s flag bridge, and had to walk up the short stairs to the main deck. Bridges on the larger Auroran capital ships were often tiered with several stations on several levels, especially when the number of optimal bridge crew started to exceed forty; the same went for flag bridges which had to accommodate the admiral¡¯s staff officers, as well as flag specialist officers, a multitude of attached specialists and seconded ship¡¯s ratings, yeomen and division liaison officers or NCOs. ¡°You¡¯re going to have to extrapolate on the use of the vague term ¡®awry¡¯, Mr Vaugeois,¡± de Chevalier said in an annoyed tone, and the lieutenant commander swallowed. He typed in a few commands, and with pinched fingers swiped onto the main holographic plot a few bursts of added information and electronic data the ABSCOR had ¡°reluctantly¡± provided him following a series of prodding queries. ¡°If those are indeed cruisers, they¡¯re putting out a hell of a lot of electro-magnetic interference. And I mean a lot, those three that crossed our T about ten minutes ago alone seems to have provided as much, if not more, active ECW output as a whole flotilla of Canterbury ships.¡± ¡°Ma¡¯am,¡± the Fleet Staff Tactical Officer half-shouted from across the other side of the flag bridge, ¡°T-minus three minutes until optimal broadside range. Recommend course correction for pre-planned battle manoeuvres within one-one-zero seconds.¡± ¡°Noted, Ms Sikarwar, pass along the message to Captain Olivier, and have him stand by to execute according to Battle Plan Alpha-Five, zero conditions assumed. All ships of the fleet will follow Flag according to Alpha-Five, Contingency Red Reed. Someone sound the all-fleet close-in action stations, and keep me appraised, status updates every eighty seconds, if you will, Mr Yoshizawa.¡± Vaugeois was tapping his right foot on the black metal deck impatiently, waiting for the admiral to finish giving orders. Finally she turned back to him. ¡°Continue,¡± she said, and the lieutenant commander cleared his throat. ¡°Ma¡¯am, I can¡¯t find any record of any ship capable of that type of speed being able to produce such a powerful EW bubble. They¡¯re pulling close to four-thousand eight-hundred km/s, and that¡¯s¡­¡± ¡°You¡¯re sure they¡¯re not connected to their line of battle¡¯s EW joint bubble?¡± de Chevalier interjected, but Vaugeios shook his helmeted head. ¡°Not a chance, at the time of passing our T they were more than ninety k-clicks out, unless they¡¯ve done a la Lune Gambit and stacked hundreds of drones on top of each other, but the cruisers were moving too fast for any layer of drones to continually cover them for as long as this.¡± ¡°Ma¡¯am!¡± an agitated voice shouted from the tactical division of the bridge, ¡°the Rivers has taken several hits to her port side! Multiple penetrations on her fore and central belt, overpen on her fore upper belt, fore lower belt, fore belly, aft belly. Commander Lee reports multiple casualties, her sensor suite is out of action, and he¡¯s pulling her back!¡± ¡°What the fuck?¡± someone in the operations division exclaimed, the rest of the bridge murmuring in disbelief and shock. Ana?s watched as one of Victory¡¯s escorting cruisers veered off heavily, originally stationed twenty-two thousand kilometres off to Victory¡¯s ¡°port¡±. ¡°Someone plug that gap,¡± she ordered sharply, pointing at Lieutenant Commander Rohanon, ¡°get the Shrewsbury or the Falaise over into Rivers slot in the defensive formation, now!¡± ¡°Rochdale is hit as well!¡± the same tactical specialist reported, ¡°several penetrating hits along the upper belt, overpens all along her broadside and lower belt. Main belt seems to have buckled in several places.¡± As if to underscore the report, the flag bridge¡¯s main view screen zoomed in on the stricken cruiser, and they could see the sudden flashes of exploding munitions from a likely magazine blowout on the Rochdale, just nine-thousand kilometres away. ¡°That¡¯s absurd, what¡¯s hitting them, not to mention overpenning?¡± Post-captain Sir Andrew Yoshizawa, de Chevalier¡¯s Captain of the Fleet, asked no one in particular, and in return received only confused glances and halting reports from division techs which had about as much clue as he had. The amount of railgun munitions crisscrossing between the two fleets was as intense as before, but due to the confusion of the enemy in attempting to realign their formation to answer de Chevalier¡¯s thrust, their fire directors were scrambling to find purchase as the range changed and the jamming intensified. Gravpulse was completely useless right now, providing long range scans only. ¡°Come on, ladies and gentlemen, provide some answers here; what in God¡¯s good universe are capable of riddling Rutland class armoured cruisers full of holes? We know it isn¡¯t the enemy battle line, they¡¯re fully focused on us, so start coming up with some explanations!¡± ¡°It¡¯s the rest of that light cruiser flotilla,¡± Vaugeois said in a hesitant tone, not quite believing what he was seeing on his plot. The six ships of what Victory, Albemarle, Queen Alexandra, Princess Serena and the rest of de Chevalier¡¯s line of battle had noted as light cruiser classification and promptly ignored, were now less than forty k-clicks from the battle line, while the enemy line was slightly less than one-sixty away. ¡°Don¡¯t be absurd,¡± Sir Andrew hissed, ¡°the Rutlands are titanium fortresses for their size and configuration, no mere light cruiser broadside armament can penetrate their main belts, and there have been no reports of radiological alerts from either Rivers or Rochdale.¡± An icy shiver suddenly ran down Ana?s de Chevalier¡¯s spine and she froze in place, dark gold eyes locked on the small 3D models of the six ships on the tactical plot, now well within effective EW anti-obfuscation range of her line of battle, and more importantly, her flagship. As her mental gears whirred and the last pieces of the jigsaw slotted into place, she pointed to the plot, her voice suddenly very cold and detached. ¡°Because they¡¯re not light cruisers, they¡¯re battlecruisers.¡± She didn¡¯t wait for the rest of the flag bridge crew to absorb that information before she keyed the override to access the Victory¡¯s ship-wide comms. ¡°Attention all hands,¡± her voice came over the hundreds of tannoys all across the Victory, ¡°brace for impact.¡±
Lieutenant Inga Trollope did not need the desperate signals the flagship was sending to know they had walked straight into a trap. Heroic¡¯s sensor suite was state of the art, the entire Spartan class designed from the keel out as a command, control, and communications flotilla leader, and Heroic had the advantage of being quite a fair bit away from any of the duelling lines of battle, meaning that their LIDAR line of sight was much less interfered with. Which meant that Trollope¡¯s computer screamed its own little warning klaxon at her as Heroic¡¯s ABSCOR SAI penetrated the EW obfuscation of the ¡°light cruisers¡± and presented the real data to her human eyes. Her mouth went dry, and turned to her junior officer who looked just as horrified as she probably did. ¡°Sir!¡± the sub-lieutenant shouted at Commodore Sobhani, ¡°we have a problem!¡± ¡°Can you be more specific?¡± the commodore replied, his eyes focused on the ticking timer on the holographic plot, denoting the time left before Launch-1, the first of six planned torpedo barrages that would hopefully cripple significant parts of the enemy fleet. Trollope gave her junior officer a scathing glare, and the sub-lieutenant squirmed a bit in his upholstered seat. ¡°Sir, those three cruisers aren¡¯t light cruisers, they¡¯re battlecruisers!¡± The flag bridge fell silent for just a moment, just long enough for the Operations SAI to helpfully update the tactical plot, switching out the tentative generic 3D models of unrecognised light cruisers, with three much larger electronic signatures, updating their probable weight from around nine-hundred thousand tonnes to close to five-point-eight million tonnes. The Close Battlespace Awareness SAI of HMS Heroic, had it been capable of emotions, would have felt that it was working overtime to fill in the gaps of its nominal human masters. Naturally, Artificial Intelligence had been denuded of a lot of their internal logic processes that might in the long term evolve into true sentient intelligence over the last few hundred years, since humanity didn¡¯t really trust their algorithmic partners; buggering with the human evolutionary data was too close to playing gods, no need to tempt fate further by creating galactic cloud-based, logic-core ¡°children¡±. Yet the SAI did ¡°feel¡± something akin to a gloating sensation as their human masters scrambled about, had they been able to put their supposed ¡°feelings¡± into words. Instead, they carried on as instructed by their human masters. Special Squadron Blue 9 did not go down without a fight. As Heroic ran the recognition scans and updated the rest of the formation, the escorting cruisers Boston and Berg-am-Zee rose to the occasion, their gunners loading the large nineteen-inch railcannon turrets, hoisting up half-a-tonne heavy shells from the through-deck magazine loader winches. Their fire director officers hit their mark as well, their anti-ship firing solutions punching through layers upon layers of obfuscation, ably helped by previously launched formations pen-aid drones. The first salvo from Boston hit the first enemy battlecruiser amidships, but unfortunately the reactive armour shaved off most of the explosive discharge of the nineteen-inch shell; there was some superficial damage, but nothing to inconvenience the five times larger capital ship. Boston¡¯s gunners stared at the direct hit in disbelief, if only for a few moments before Courageous¡¯ twenty-four inch railcannons obliterated the much smaller light cruiser, the first volley ripping apart the port railgun broadside -as well as blowing the railcannon turrets off their mountings- of Boston, before a follow-up barrage from Furious'' railgun broadside finished the job, killing the fusion reactors and Misaki gyro-bottles, no reactive armour left to divert away the incoming munitions. Berg-am-Zee didn¡¯t fare much better, but her gunners did manage to fire off three full salvoes at the second battlecruiser target, the Glorious, but she suffered the same fate as her sister ship; ripped to pieces by large calibre shells. ¡°Launch them, launch them all¡±, Keyhan Sobhani was panicking, his squadron being ripped apart, and his window of opportunity quickly fading away, but the torpedo gunners on the Aggressors did him proud. As the enemy battlecruisers closed to what was essentially knife-fight range, the Aggressors pumped out torpedoes just like they had been designed for. Marksman launched twelve before she was reduced to space debris by heavy-calibre twenty-four inch shells, Gladiator and Assailant launching nine before receiving the same type of twenty-four inch shells to their main fore hulls, consigning them to scraps of titanium and nominal floating bits of organic debris. Heroic wasn¡¯t immune to the enemy either, and an afterthought barrage from Glorious¡¯ heavy guns found Heroic, decapitating her bridge superstructure. The AIC struck her colours once they learned of the bridge¡¯s and flag bridge¡¯s destruction, opening her boat bays for boarding by enemy marines. ¡°For the benefit of the log, I would ask you to surrender your command, Miss Ana?s.¡± An?is de Chevalier punched her command chair arm, her usual professional confident smile replaced by a very angry mien. The flag bridge crew looked at her in askance, but refrained from commenting. ¡°Fine, you have my fleet surrounded and mostly incapacitated. I therefore submit to you, Admiral Juliette Hunter-Jones.¡± Sir Andrew Yoshizawa refused to look in his admiral¡¯s direction as he received the fleet¡¯s immediate after-action reports, and started to log them into Reserve Fleet¡¯s systems, noting the angry tone of Commodore Sobhani¡¯s flag command, but making a mental note to inform Admiral de Chavalier about it later.
Rear Admiral of the White Ana?s de Chevalier was not a fan of the Mess Dress Uniform; it was in her opinion a starchy mess with too high of a collar that would strangle/had strangled more than one officer at some point or another. But when called to the flagship of Reserve Fleet, HMS Monarch, she was bound to dress the part. Her steward assured her that she was keenly looking as an admiral, but she doubted him, not confident she could have been able to put on her service medals correctly had it not been for her steward. Didn¡¯t matter, as a Steward¡¯s Mate announced her coming, the doors swishing open, and she was admitted into the holy sanctum of the Admiral¡¯s dining room, she instinctively straightened her back and shoulders as she had been taught at King William¡¯s Academy, slipping back into old muscle-memory training. ¡°Bonsoir, Contre-Amiral de Blanche de Chevalier,¡± Alistair Carlisle, Marquess de S¨¦lincourt, addressed Ana?s in the native French of New Angers of Angevin, her birthplace. She bowed politely, the curtsy only reserved for the Auroran royalty, regardless of the rank of the Auroran nobility in front of her. ¡°Thank you for inviting me to you flagship, and this dinner, My Lord,¡± she countered in perfect New Ontario dialect, and the Admiral of the White grinned in response. Ana?s couldn¡¯t miss the other guests though. To the right of the Admiral of the Fleet, was Vice Admiral of the Red Lord Brandon Locke, the Baron Locke, a tall and dark individual that reminded everyone of a serpent made humanoid; lanky, tall, and with an elongated face that did its best to imitate a viper¡¯s. Brendan Locke was an Avalonian with nothing but his personal naval pedigree underneath his belt making him a peer of the realm, which made him much more ¡°edible¡± to large parts of the rank and file and the commoner-officers, like Ana?s. Sitting next to him was Rear Admiral of the White Artem Sarkissian, a Kitezhian who looked more like a Royal Marine NCO than an admiral of the Royal Navy, his body very stocky but muscular compared to S¨¦lincourt, or de Chevalier. A fifth-generation Ukrainian-Armenian, he was one of the few beasts from Kitezh who joined the Royal Navy instead of the Royal Army from that most particular Auroran Dominion world. He nodded his welcome instead of vocalising it, and Ana?s nodded politely in return. The last to arrive behind Ana?s made a cold shiver run up her black-gold uniformed spine. ¡°Oh, Miss de Chevalier, good show out there, only too bad you fell short of the mark.¡± Vice Admiral of the Red Juliette Hunter-Jones could barely hide her smirk, looking so much like Ana?s that is made her nearly jump at times. Although shorter, Juliette had the same long platinum-blonde hair tied in a ponytail, and though her face was less angular, they could still be mistaken for sisters. ¡°If only you hadn¡¯t trumped my fleet that hard using such extremely elaborate EW, I think we would have gotten the better of you.¡± Ana?s was trying to keep her tone polite, but she was cracking in places. The result of the training battle was smarting hard. ¡°Oh come of it, Miss de Chevalier,¡± Juliette replied with a wave of her left hand, her Amaranthine wingviper scuttling up her right arm and onto her right uniform shoulderpad. The two-foot long little scaly and feathery critter hissed a happy noise, just glad to be in the company of humans, and more importantly, human food. ¡°You commanded a fleet twice my size, what was I supposed to besides using my ships¡¯ capabilities to their maximum?¡± ¡°What was that hellish EW by the way, Admiral Hunter-Jones?¡± Ana?s asked just on the correct side of politeness as she picked up a glass of Angevin neu-champagne, that Lord Alistair¡¯s stewards had brought out. ¡°I couldn¡¯t tell your ships were battlecruiser before they were all on top of my entire formation, you have to tell us your secrets.¡± Juliette Hunter-Jones tapped the side of her nose in a knowing gesture, her wingviper bleating a happy sound as it travelled down her uniformed arm to launch itself at the appetizers laid out by the Fleet Admiral¡¯s steward¡¯s staff. ¡°Let¡¯s just say that being able to give the Courageous-class the ability to stretch their legs out, physically and metaphorically, was an eyeopener.¡± The blink that Juliette gave Ana?s was not received in good ground, but Lord de S¨¦lincourt grabbed the attention of the collected admirals. ¡°Quite, this has been an interesting exercise, but what have we learned?¡± ¡°That we should sue DYNACO for their extremely shitty sensor suites,¡± Baron Locke commented, smirking all the while which produced knowing smiles from the rest of the officers present. ¡°Yes, well, apart from the clearly obvious,¡± S¨¦lincourt lightly directed the conversion in another direction, accepting a glass of ros¨¦ from his current flag lieutenant, Sub-Lieutenant Cleopatra Allencourt, one of the young scions of the New Forest dynasty. ¡°Well, we should update our sensor platforms to at least recognise the tell-tale signs of our own drones trying to obfuscate,¡± Ana?s said, and Lord S¨¦lincourt nodded at her, making her feel something deep inside that she hadn¡¯t felt for a while. ¡°Not to mention updating our SAI CBA platforms on our latest updates and how they fight obfuscation EW signals, that would go a long way,¡± Hunter-Jones commented as well, feeding her wingviper a piece of chicken from a side plate set out for her pet. ¡°Well, it that¡¯s all we have to address following this close-to-debacle, I believe we can get down to eating.¡± Lord S¨¦lincourt said amicably, Lord Locke and Admiral Sarkissian looking at him slightly awkwardly. ¡°Oh, come of it,¡± he replied as Sub-Lieutenant Allencourt filled their glasses, and as the Steward¡¯s mates brought out the first appetizer, ¡°we¡¯ll have plenty of years to perfect our combat skills come any potential conflict.¡± Ana?s heard that and downed the rest of her glass. Chapter 36 - Weeks of Uncertainty: Cost Measures Sub-lieutenant Cleopatra Allencourt put down the stack of paper copies on the wide shared working table as carefully as she could, trying avoid the numerous cups and saucers from shaking or jingling. She didn¡¯t want to disturb Captain Joel Karstein¡¯s report to Admiral S¨¦lincourt and the rest of Reserve Fleet¡¯s senior staff, the aforementioned captain standing in front of the admiral¡¯s briefing room desk that stood separately from the main table with seating and inlaid computer stations for forty, most of which were occupied by squadron and division commanders plus their senior staff. Numerous other flag lieutenants and yeomen were standing at the ready or sitting on stools at the back of HMS Monarch¡¯s flag briefing chamber. She hurriedly retreated back to her station after getting a short nod of thanks from Lieutenant Commander Rohanon, the recipient officer of the paper copies of a compilation and SAI-filtered compared sensor report from all of de Chevalier¡¯s capital ships from the exercise battle nearly two weeks prior. ¡°Point is, My Lord,¡± Captain Karstein continued, almost visually making an effort to not wring his hands while talking, ¡°at this rate of system attrition, Sluys¡¯ stocks of replacement parts and even simple components like electrical wiring, fusion coolant tubes, and substitutions for worn-out gun locks and breech charge holders are running out dangerously quickly.¡± ¡°This sounds eerily like what Lord Lowe Hill so lovingly called in to compl- I mean pointed out to us just two days ago,¡± Admiral Locke said in a snide tone from where he sat at the table closest to S¨¦lincourt¡¯s desk. ¡°It¡¯s not just that Sluys¡¯ warehouses are running out, sir,¡± Karstein continued, seemingly unperturbed, ¡°it¡¯s the same story for the other orbital stations here on Amaranth as well. The only major shipbuilder that has any sort of experience making capital ships for the Royal Navy is the St Aurorienne Yard, but their last major contract was the Aurora class thirty-two years ago, and most of their laid-up stock of replacement parts has already been sold off to Trafalgar and Jutland. So I¡¯ve have to indenture Reserve¡¯s Quartermaster Office to order as many parts for our older Monarch and De Chandlier battleships as possible.¡± S¨¦lincourt groaned, took off his white visored cap and put it on the desk, rubbed his temples, before boring his fierce ice-blue eyes into poor Post-captain Paul Browning, Reserve Fleet¡¯s Quartermaster-Captain, who swallowed. At some point in the Royal Auroran Navy¡¯s six and a half century history, someone had mixed up the naval and army ranks of ¡°quartermaster¡±, and modern members of the Royal Navy quartermaster divisions were logistics experts, where in previous times they had been navigators and cartographers. Browning half-rose from his chair about two-thirds down the length of the table, and rested his hands on the tabletop. ¡°Regarding that My Lord, we¡¯ve had serious issues getting said parts delivered to us. As Karstein said, most original replacement parts for the Aurora class BBs have already been shipped to other main logistics and operational hubs. And while getting parts for our Monarch ships is ¡®simply¡¯ tricky due to the old age of the hulls, there are simply no original stocks for the De Chandliers.¡± ¡°Did no one consider this before we were assigned as the Service¡¯s primary training formation?¡± de Chevalier asked incredulously, taking notes on a datapad as the extended State of the Fleet briefing continued into its third hour. With regular intervals, steward¡¯s mates would enter through the automated hatches to wordlessly dispose of dirty porcelain cups, replace them with clean ones, and produce fresh cans of coffee and tea for the officers, as well as trays of snacks and sandwiches. Captain Karstein turned half-around to look at her. ¡°Begging your pardon, Ma¡¯am, that¡¯s an unofficial title at best. And as such no provision was made for the increased tempo of exercises, and the accumulated wear and tear on our ships. It¡¯s not a problem for the newer ships of the fleet, but I don¡¯t have to remind you, sirs and madams, that Reserve is an eclectic mix of ships, and that is putting it mildly.¡± ¡°You can say that again,¡± Admiral Sarkissian grumbled, his arms crossed over his bulky chest, ¡°our line of battle is made up of everything from De Chandliers ostensibly slated for the breakers yards, to fifty year old Monarchs, to a couple of Auroras on post-repair shakedowns.¡± ¡°Don¡¯t get me started on the battlecruisers,¡± Juliette Hunter-Jones commented from the other side of the table, slowly caressing her red-green wingviper, Lex, who was napping in her lap, ¡°we¡¯re walking the entire scale from antiquated barely-past-test-bed Tigers, to Prince Consorts, to Hectors to brand new, straight out of the yards and still shaking down and commissioning Courageous ships. Trying to maintain something approaching a cohesive battle plan with such wildly differing combat capabilities within the same formation is a damn Herculean, if not Sisyphean feat.¡± ¡°To that point, My Lord,¡± Karstein continued after clearing his throat, not comfortable with the interruption, but also not wanting to cut through the admirals¡¯ comments, ¡°Sluys¡¯ own maintenance and shipyard personnel are woefully unable to keep all of the ships at even close to high combat readiness levels. In some cases, like for most of the De Chandliers, had this been any other fleet, they would have been shut down and shipped off for major refits. And I only have two-thousand mechanics with EVA qualification, and they¡¯re working around the clock just to patch the worst of the damage.¡± ¡°What damage are we talking about, really?¡± Sir Andrew Yoshizawa asked innocently, or perhaps in order to force the captain to state it for the benefit for the minutes drone, S¨¦lincourt couldn¡¯t tell. ¡°It all boils down to wear and tear on the main hulls, Sir,¡± the Officer Commanding Shipyard answered, "the De Chandliers, Tigers and some of the Monarchs exceeded their hull life expectancy years ago, and despite some hull lifetime prolong refits, that was still just akin to pissing oneself to keep warm, ah, begging the present company¡¯s pardon.¡± Karstein looked a bit sheepish for a moment, forgetting his audience for a moment, but S¨¦lincourt simply shrugged and motioned for him to keep going. ¡°The resulting damage is mostly structural in origin; on the inside of the hulls, this mostly manifests as dislocations in critical joints such as inner belt and bulkhead fittings, critical moving parts like magazine loaders and winches, fusion reactor and Misaki bottle fastenings and the like. On the outer hull, the stress of acceleration, transitioning through the Light Way for literally tens of thousands of hours over the course of the ship¡¯s lifetime has caused similar issues, accumulated over years and years. Reactive armour is no longer fitted properly to the hull, bits and bobs like phase arrays, communications disks, laser signal masts, all can come loose. That¡¯s before getting to the engines, which as a standing RN regulation must undergo a complete diagnostic and mechanical overhaul every five standard years. And with this high tempo of fleet-wide exercises, all these problems are piling up at an alarmingly exponential rate, to the point where even hiring civilian orbital mechanics and engineers aren¡¯t enough to cover the windfall.¡± Admiral S¨¦lincourt sighed, almost groaned really, and put his cap back on, running a gloved hand over his black and silver hair to slick it back first. ¡°Thank you very much for your report, Captain Karstein, and thank your boys and girls for their continued efforts out there. I¡¯m not expecting miracles from you all; just slap our ships back together with as much titanium plate, elbow grease and spit as you can.¡± ¡°With all due respect, My Lord,¡± the OC Shipyards said with not a trace of humour in his voice, ¡°you kind of are asking for a miracle in the case of a few of these ships. If we could at least strip the Beecham or the Kharnaya for spare parts, that would go a long way to help fix the rest of the De Chandliers¡­¡± ¡°You know as well as I do, Captain,¡± S¨¦lincourt countered, a hint of irritation colouring his tone but it wasn¡¯t directed at Karstein, ¡°that all warships of the Royal Navy ultimately fall under the economic purview of His Majesty¡¯s Government and Parliament. They¡¯re not DIY garage skycar projects that can be stripped for useful bits, we are talking about warships carrying a frightful array of modern weapons, filled with advanced technology, and crewed by thousands of dedicated officers and men. Until ordered otherwise, Reserve Fleet will continue to maintain these ships to the best of our ability, to the ultimate purpose of preparing them and their crews for armed conflict.¡± Captain Karstein sniffed, clearly unhappy with the answer but understanding it nonetheless, and he saluted, before leaving the briefing room through the automated hatch. ¡°I do not envy that man,¡± Brendan Locke said after the captain had left, ¡°I don¡¯t think I¡¯d even wish my worst enemy his current position and predicament.¡± ¡°Quite,¡± Rear Admiral of the Red Dame Cecilia Arsenault commented from further down the table, while refilling her cup with Nilgiri, ¡°especially considering we¡¯ve got more ships coming in the next few weeks, courtesy of Royal Harrow finishing their backlogs in preparation for the final push to complete the Vanguards.¡± Cecilia Arsenault was wiry and tall, with long and straight raven-coloured hair, and her grey eyes tracked like targeting lasers as she raised her cup to her thin lips to sip politely from her tea. Like most of the squadron and division commanders in Reserve Fleet, S¨¦lincourt had never met or talked to Arsenault before; indeed, among the senior staff he¡¯d only previously spoken to Baron Locke and Commodore Pavel Fletcher, temporary commander of one of Reserve¡¯s light cruiser flotillas. Alistair wasn¡¯t even sure which of the Auroran worlds Arsenault was from, but there was some air of uplands Cymran about her, despite her accent being a perfect Auroran received pronunciation. That was the drawback of a formation like Reserve Fleet in its current role as a training formation; it was a constant revolving door of personnel, both officers and men, with fresh drafts of relatively recently graduated ratings and ensigns rubbing shoulders with other ranks with literally decades of experience. ¡°Just how we¡¯re going to crew another full heavy cruiser squadron,¡± Locke sighed, picking up Arsenault¡¯s baton, ¡°is beyond me. We barely have enough crew to man our current order of battle to a minimum level of acceptable efficiency.¡± ¡°You forget, sir,¡± Ana?s de Chevalier commented, ¡°these are Flight-II County class ships as well. Their ideal complement is around eighteen hundred souls, and if the past is any indicator, they¡¯ll arrive at Amaranth with barely a fourth of that.¡± ¡°How are we going to find enough people to man these new cruisers then?¡± Sarkissian asked, reaching for a datapad to find the fleet personnel rosters, ¡°could we perhaps replace some of the battleships¡¯ gunnery crews with Royal Marines?¡± Sir Andrew Yoshizawa snorted half in humour, half in frustration. ¡°Sir, we only have seven battalions in total stretched across a fleet of over a hundred vessels. That¡¯s not even enough to provide each battleship with a composite company, much less relegate them to gunnery duties. We¡¯d free up just north of five-thousand personnel, but I¡¯d imagine we¡¯d have just about every Marine officer from captain up protesting loudly, and Lord S¨¦lincourt would probably be expecting a very angry e-letter from the Adjutant-General in due order once he learns of it.¡± Support the creativity of authors by visiting the original site for this novel and more. Alistair liked Sir Andrew Yoshizawa, a Nova Caledonian with sand-brown hair and a tightly groomed pencil moustache, the Post-captain who had temporarily been assigned as de Chevalier¡¯s flag captain was a no-nonsense officer that still managed to be serious and witty at the same time. It helped that the man was a report producing machine, and a very capable delegator of personnel and tasks. ¡°How is the mood amongst the men anyway, Commodore Ramakrishnan?¡± S¨¦lincourt asked, and the Chief Medical Officer Fleet, Commodore Niall Ramakrishnan slipped a hand under his white cap to scratch his bald head. ¡°I¡¯m afraid I have to express some concerns that sound quite a bit like what Captain Karstein just voiced. It actually ties into the current discussion as well, believe it or not. Over the course of these past two months, Reserve has arranged no less than eight fleet-wide exercises, using close to the full complement of the entire station and all its combatants, and that is not counting individual ship or division drills, as well as gunnery and handling exercises. Just as this takes a toll on the ships themselves, so does it take a toll on the ships¡¯ men and women. The amount of officers and men on sick leave is up by close to twenty per cent, there have been numerous cases of injuries sustained during exercises, some pretty grievous, including a first rating getting his right hand smashed to pieces when it was jammed in a railgun breech loader lock. He has been invalided for the time being whilst the Sluys¡¯ medical centre prepares a prosthetic, and should he choose to remain in the Service, he should be back in service within the month.¡± ¡°Ghastly business,¡± Hunter-Jones said with an accompanying grimace, ¡°such a thing shouldn¡¯t be happening on a King¡¯s ship, especially during peace time.¡± ¡°That¡¯s just it, Ma¡¯am,¡± Ramakrishnan continued, ¡°at this rate we¡¯re pushing men and materiel much harder than they¡¯re supposed to be pushed. Human error due to overworking is inevitable in this sort of environment, when we¡¯re running drills every week.¡± ¡°But this was the mandate given us from the Admiralty, we¡¯ve all read our deployment orders drafted by the Department of Personnel and the Department of Planning,¡± Rear Admiral of the Red Caroline Grosvenor, S¨¦lincourt¡¯s own Chief of Staff observed, standing as she was by the admiral¡¯s desk, taking notes on her datapad. Alistair had been more than a little miffed that he had been denied the usual privilege of a station commander to pick his own chief of staff, but Caroline Grosvenor from Alistair¡¯s own native New Devon on the Auroran continent of Arcadia had made a favourable impression from day one. The medium height blonde, which reminded Alistair of his daughter¡¯s friend Alexandra Barham in many ways, had seemingly limitless energy, and would continually surprise S¨¦lincourt with just how many administrative balls she was able to juggle at the same time, while also being supremely capable at managing the huge fleet staff, including the numerous squadron staffs on top of her usual duties. ¡°It¡¯s not an ideal situation,¡± she continued, ¡°and we¡¯re sorely underequipped and undermanned, but the First Lord Admiral¡¯s orders were clear. We¡¯re to be the practical exam for the newly enlisted, so to speak, and the tactical innovators for the future. Am I wrong in saying that?¡± ¡°You¡¯re not wrong, Grosvenor,¡± Yoshizawa said, ¡°but this is far from an ideal situation. Reserve is a mess of a fleet with a motley assortment of crew from all stages in their careers, and an even more motley collection of ships, the vast majority of which are slated to be retired. There¡¯s a reason it¡¯s commonly referred to as ¡®Mothball Fleet¡¯, because we have at least thirty capital ships that are slated for the shipbreakers in the next few years.¡± ¡°At our current rate of construction and commissioning,¡± Artem Sarkissian countered, ¡°I think those plans might be put on hold. Word from NavInt is that the Greens are about to launch their new Ethelred class battleships soon.¡± ¡°They¡¯re no match for our Vanguards, surely,¡± Lieutenant Commander Lorenzo Vaugeois, de Chevalier¡¯s Staff Operations Officer, interjected. ¡°The Vanguards are a million tonnes heavier than our own Warriors, and correct me if I¡¯m wrong, but the Alliance doesn¡¯t even have slips in their shipyards large enough to construct and maintain ships the size of our Warriors.¡± ¡°True, insofar as to the limit of their shipyards and the discrepancy between capabilities,¡± Hunter-Jones replied, ushering Lex down to the deck as it had woken up and getting a bit antsy, so it started to humour itself by running something akin to a slalom between the legs of the standing yeomen and flag lieutenants. ¡°But you¡¯re forgetting that while Royal Harrow is nearing the completion of eighteen Vanguards, the Greens have two more battleship classes under construction, while the Admiralty is going a-beggar to Parliament for funding¡­ Let¡¯s just say that if the current trend in the Commons and the Lords continue, we can say goodbye to new capital ships for the foreseeable future.¡± ¡°I¡¯m sick and tired of looking at polls at this point,¡± Brendan Locke complained, fiddling with his visored cap, ¡°no matter how you cut it, popular opinion is split straight down the middle, and many Social Liberals and even a few Royalists are jumping the good ship ¡®HMS Credible Deterrence¡¯ in favour of ¡®HMS Na?ve D¨¦tante¡¯.¡± ¡°Please, let¡¯s not have this conversation again,¡± de Chevalier groaned. ¡°Unfortunately, Sirs and Madams,¡± Grosvenor said after clearing her throat, ¡°there is one more matter we have to address before we adjourn this meeting. Namely, the cutting of expenditure, as so eloquently suggested by Lord Lowe Hill in his latest missive.¡± More than a few groans, sighs, and muttered words answered her, but Grosvenor continued undeterred, and flicked a report from her datapad to the inlaid 3D projector in the briefing room table, and a huge spread sheet filled the room. For the first time in what felt like an eternity, S¨¦lincourt rose from his chair and felt something uncomfortable shift in his lower back, but managed to avoid grimacing. He cleared his throat before clasping his hands behind his back. ¡°I don¡¯t think I need to repeat verbatim what the honourable Second Lord Admiral said in his letter regarding this station¡¯s training expenditure, so instead let us take a look at some numbers from this last exercise. For the record, this was the fleet-wide mock battle with Rear Admiral de Chevalier leading BLUFOR and Vice Admiral Hunter-Jones leading OPFOR fifteen standard days ago. A total of one-hundred and fourteen vessels took part in the exercise, including the entirety of Reserve¡¯s line of battle and cruiser complement ¨Csans some battleships and battlecruisers docked for maintenance and repair¨C, the total number of personnel involved amounting to something in the region of one-hundred and sixty-five thousand all told.¡± ¡°Which is half of the personnel we really should have to effectively crew all those platforms,¡± Brendan Locke said bitterly, but S¨¦lincourt continued as if he hadn¡¯t heard the admiral¡¯s comment. ¡°According to shipboard munitions logs, the combined fleet fired a total of one point six million dummy shells, and launched close to twelve thousand Starling and Waxwing drones. That is, to put it in layman¡¯s terms, a damn whole lot of metal that your lads and lasses threw out there into space. And that¡¯s what causing Lowe Hill and Department of Planning such headache, because we ¨Cand I say ¡®we¡¯, because I am your commanding officer and I approved of this training regimen¨C have over the course of these past two months spent the equivalent of half of Home Fleet¡¯s annual training budget. Most of that is expended armament, non-scheduled hull and internals repair, extra training pay for the fleet¡¯s crews, and of course fuel expenses.¡± More than a few had sucked in their breath as S¨¦lincourt had said the numbers out loud; the cost of the military drones launched would alone amount to the material cost of two new destroyers, and though many would be recovered by pinnaces and collector drones, the majority would be written off as expenditures and after a time would ignite their own pressurised fission cores, ostensibly to avoid being captured by any foreign powers. But Lieutenant Commander David Rohanon tapped the report Sub-lieutenant Allencourt had put before him in a knowing manner, and eyes focused upon him. ¡°Not trying to be the Devil¡¯s Advocate, Milord,¡± he said, trying his very best to not straighten in his chair as the Marquess of S¨¦lincourt focused his glacier-hue eyes on his own green-brown ones, ¡°but without launching; though I guess ¡®spending¡¯ could also work as an appropriate verb, that many drones, BLUFOR would never have recognised Hunter-Jones¡¯ battlecruisers for what they truly were.¡± ¡°That¡¯s true, Milord,¡± Commodore Keyhan Sobhani commented from close to the end of the briefing room table, having spent most of the past few weeks alternating between going through the battle logs, running it back with his staff, and choosing to remain resolutely silent in fleet briefings, but now he made his presence known. ¡°Heroic was the most advanced of all flotilla leaders of the entire BLUFOR fleet, and we barely had a glimpse at the presumed light cruiser formation before our ABSCOR and AIC SAIs recognised the output ECW signals, stealth-bound as they were, and determined them to most likely belong to a full battlecruiser division.¡± ¡°Well, it wasn¡¯t that easy for my crew either,¡± Hunter-Jones interjected, running a hand through her long blonde hair, ¡°Miss de Chevalier had posted quite the attentive screen to hold her fleet¡¯s flank, and for that I applaud her foresight. Plus that drone screen, my good God, that was annoying to obfuscate our way past.¡± ¡°I knew you were about to try some trickery, Juliette,¡± An?is responded with a smile that was just barely on the right side of polite. ¡°Point is, My Lord,¡± Lieutenant Commander Rohanon continued as if he hadn¡¯t just been interrupted by officers several proverbial light years ahead of him in rank, ¡°despite the fact that BLUFOR launched the vast majority of the reconnaissance and electronic warfare drones during this last exercise, we learned very little from their feedback during actual combat manoeuvres. The Courageous class battlecruisers, to put it simply, played around our field of vision in the battlespace, and their own electronic warfare suites practically blinded the older systems of RN ships and systems not even thirty years old.¡± ¡°See, I told you we should be suing DYNACO,¡± Brendan Locke commented with a sarcastic smile on his face, which S¨¦lincourt didn¡¯t much appreciate and after one disparaging glance from the fleet admiral, Locke¡¯s demeanour sobered up and he slouched back into his chair. ¡°Will you be able to recreate that sort of effect on an actual battlefield, Miss Hunter-Jones?¡± Alistair asked the junior vice-admiral, and she shrugged, whilst smiling. ¡°My Lord, you¡¯ve read my service record, and you know I¡¯m a battlecruiser captain through-and-through. At Solus when New Acre lost her arm, I was running circles around the Solusian orbital forts with my cruisers. And it is true what the Lieutenant Commander is saying, the Admiralty and the orbital shipyards are cramming so much new technology into both new and old hulls that we as King William Naval Academy graduates from even a few decades ago cannot really comprehend what is going on technically¡­¡± ¡°Speak for yourself,¡± Ana?s de Chevalier muttered under her breath, trying her best to mask the biting comment by pretending to sip from her mostly empty tea cup. ¡°I see where you¡¯re coming from,¡± S¨¦lincourt interjected, having picked up on de Chevalier¡¯s snide remark, and also Hunter-Jones arrogant boast. The admirals Sarkissian and Locke looked at him to provide some sage advice, whilst the rest of the staff was just pining to return to their ships and stations. ¡°I am aware that we have been at this for quite a few hours at this point,¡± Lord S¨¦lincourt said after clearing his throat and with sharp finger-movements he flicked the holographic spread sheet off the main briefing chamber projector; ¡°and we really would benefit from a good eight hours rest. But, I want another formation ready for training exercises for tomorrow twelve-hundred Zulu hours; form a combined formation from all your units and give me the order of battle before eleven-hundred hours tonight.¡± Sub-lieutenant Cleopatra Allencourt, as Lord S¨¦lincourt¡¯s flag lieutenant had learned over the past few months to read his expressions, and his body language now very clearly read ¡°I¡¯m fucking done¡±, and she stepped forward from the white-painted bulkhead wall. ¡°This briefing is adjourned, My Lords and Ladies,¡± she said in perfect Received Pronunciation Auroran, ¡°and the Fleet Admiral will approach you for further details, if such is required. On behalf of My Lord, thank you all for your diligence.¡± There were mutterings of both relief and concern as the close to seventy naval personnel filed out of HMS Monarch¡¯s flag briefing chamber, but S¨¦lincourt remained behind, and slumped back into his upholstered chair. Cleopatra Allencourt started to walk back into the chamber, when she realised Alistair was booting up the long-distance e-letter service. As he pulled the briefing room desk microphone closer to himself, he cleared his throat. Cleopatra was a dutiful Flag Lieutenant, and as such wouldn¡¯t leave her charge alone unless she had been specifically discharged. But when Admiral of the White Alistair Carlisle, Marquess de S¨¦lincourt started to relay a message to his teenage daughter Adea, hoping she was still getting good grades and doing well in her chosen University varsity sports, Cleopatra just smiled knowingly and shut the hatch behind her. There would be time for the Fleet later. Chapter 37 - Weeks of Uncertainty: Felicitations Not for the first time since accepting this posting, Raphael Barham was glad he had literally decades of experience and even official training to deal with these sorts of social circumstances, as he managed to hold his polite smile as he was quite rudely half-physically, half-verbally expelled from the conversation he was having. To any observing eyes, he merely politely took a short step back and allowed the new arrival to quite loudly (again, both physically and verbally) seize the attention of the conversational group. On the inside, Barham was fuming. ¡°Eure kaiserliche Majest?t,¡± the man, dressed in a deep blue uniform with gold frogging, began as he performed a formal bow. He was a slightly portly man, and the stately and expensive court uniform fit him poorly. ¡°Darf ich, eure kaiserliche Majest?t,¡± he began anew, ¡°Ihnen aus Anlass des Geburtstages der geliebten Kaiserin, dieses bescheidene Geschenk ¨¹berreichen?¡± ¡°Mein lieber Graf, wir sprechen heute Abend nur Englisch, zu Ehren unserer vielen und unterschiedlichen G?ste.¡± The answer had come from the man in the centre of the group, dressed in a modernised French-fashion grey hussar¡¯s uniform, complete with interwoven silver-gold frogging, and a white pelisse with silver threads and a lining of red Rotbeutelmarder fur. Kaiser und K?nig Theobald Valdemaras IV of the Empire of Myndowen stood about as tall as any Auroran, which made him tall enough to stand out amongst his fellow Myndowans. His short and gelled hair had once been uniformly copper but had by now, at ninety-one years, faded to an ashy blond, yet his dark brown eyes were still sharp and focused. It had been repeated so many times from every avenue that Barham had started to consider it a crude clich¨¦, but there was something regal about the Emperor¡¯s facial features, especially his impressive nose and high cheeks. But the lifestyle of excess of the Imperial Court had over the years stretched out the monarch who in his youth had been an active officer in the Myndowan Imperial Army, and now he was just as slightly distended and nonathletic-looking as Graf Siegwald von Blauquellen who had just addressed him. ¡°Now, Graf, could you please repeat what you were saying for the benefit of our honourable guests?¡± Theobald¡¯s accent was relatively heavy, but a far cry from the worst Barham had heard on his deployment to the imperial capital world of Tschornohora. The two dozen or so court officials, aristocrats, officers, and other dignitaries whom the Emperor had allowed to congregate around him chuckled politely, ladies in elegant dresses daintily wafting their fans. Graf von Bleuquellen cleared his throat awkwardly, to Barham¡¯s personal amusement, and recovered from his bow. ¡°Of-of course, Your Imperial Majesty,¡± he said in a much heavier Germanic drawl. ¡°I was asking for the honour of presenting to the Imperial Majesties, today on the happy occasion of the birthday of our ever-beloved Kaiserin, this humble gift from the Kaiserliche Flottenverein.¡± At a polite nod from the Kaiser, the Graf half-turned around and clapped his hands together thrice. It was loud enough to grab the attention of the band major leading the combination of a minor strings orchestra and parts of the military band of the Garde-Regiment zu Fu? ¡°Erbprinz Kasimir¡±, and with a quick closing of his white-gloved hand, the musicians stopped playing. The around four-hundred guests in the Ballrooms of the Gardens on the ground floor of the Imperial Palace of Diamantadler Schloss turned their attention to the sound of the sudden intrusion of their polite conversations over drinks, curiously looking at the huddle of people around the Emperor. Bleuquellen cleared his throat again, and stepped out to a more open part of the ballroom, finding a relatively clear spot on the imported Auroran bloodoak flooring, and he tucked on his uniform tunic to make sure he was being as presentable as possible. ¡°Lords and ladies, Damen und Herren, it is my joy and pleasure, on behalf of the Kaiserliche Flottenverein, to offer the following spectacle, the Flottenverein¡¯s gift to Her Imperial Majesty, Kaiserin Skaidr¨¦ Elizabeth, on her twenty-seventh birthday.¡± The Graf theatrically indicated upwards, and from the slightly ajar gilded doors to the antechambers of the ballroom, twenty-four monitor drones flew in on their silent anti-gravity engines, and formed up into a large formation against the far end of the Revival-Rococo ballroom, mimicking a huge viewscreen. The whole gathering, guests, musicians, ambulating footmen and servants alike all looked quizzically at the drone swarm or at each other. Commodore Dame Sylvia Raharuhi, his direct superior, used the opportunity to join Post-captain Raphael Barham on the outskirts of the Emperor¡¯s circle, and leaned over. ¡°Couldn¡¯t have asked for a better opportunity to gauge the mood at the top,¡± she whispered into his ear, and Barham allowed himself a lopsided smile. ¡°Greeted to ringside seats, if you like your boxing metaphors, Ma¡¯am.¡± Raharuhi smiled, and sipped from her glass of alcohol-free Riesling. No drinking on the job tonight for the Chief Naval Attach¨¦ of His Auroran Majesty¡¯s Embassy to Myndowen. For the Vice Naval Attach¨¦ however, he¡¯d had no choice in the matter as he¡¯d been one of the guests of honour, invited by the Kaiser himself, and he was on his third glass of imported Neuhansa honey wine. They both wore the Royal Navy¡¯s No.1C ceremonial uniform, a more elaborate version of the usual Day Dress, complete with medal ribbons, golden aiguillettes, and black dress shoes without the usual white gaiters. They also both wore their ceremonial parade swords, but since these could be construed as a threat to the Kaiser or any other member of the imperial family, small magnetic locks had been fitted around where the guard met the scabbard, and Diamantadler palace security were in possession of the keys, making the sheathed swords truly only for show. The same went for every other guest wearing dress uniforms, which seemed sort of excessive to Raphael, although he couldn¡¯t really fault the security personnel for being paranoid; monarchs had been killed by more mundane ¡°weapons¡± than ceremonial swords during the course of human history. ¡°It has to be noted the person this shindig is in honour of is still not here,¡± Raharuhi pointed out quietly and Barham nodded while taking a sip of his wine. ¡°That little detail is certainly enough to cause a few to scratch their heads, especially considering some of the clientele here tonight.¡± Raphael Barham, younger brother of Nathaniel Barham and the uncle of Alexandra Barham, did not look like the most impressive military specimen. He was quite tall, but thin and a certain languid lankiness that somehow didn¡¯t match his sharp facial features and his keen cobalt eyes. His strawberry blonde hair was long at the top and short at the sides, the Auroran male fashion, but which was slightly too dandy-ish for the Royal Navy which prided itself on tradition more than anything. Of course, that was all par for the course and part of his natural uniform outside the wool, silk and gold lace he wore. For all Sandy and the rest of his family knew, he was simply the current Vice Naval Attach¨¦ to the Auroran Embassy in Lemberg, and that his specialisation was naval personnel administration. What they did not know was that his pay checks were electronically stamped by the enigmatic entity known as ¡°Room 137¡±. Room 137 was officially on the Royal Navy¡¯s table of organisation a clerk¡¯s division charged with the financial aspects of usage of civilian vessels in the Royal Fleet Auxiliary; it was easy to look up on the Royal Navy¡¯s official webnet sites. In reality, Room 137 was a large operations group under the direct purview of the Department of Intelligence¡¯s Direct Actions Branch, more commonly referred to as the Royal Naval Intelligence Service. ¡°Oh, speak of the devil,¡± Barham whispered as one of the side doors to the ballroom opened and a diminutive figure in a long albeit conservative cut crimson dress entered. Emperor Theobald apparently noticed the movement at the corner of his eyes and he waved the newcomer over. As Kaiserin und K?nigin Skaidr¨¦ made her way over to where the Emperor was standing, the other guests noticed as well, and started to applaud politely. The band played up For She¡¯s a Jolly Good Fellow and the crowd politely sang along, with the Empress pale cheeks visibly reddening and she curtsied respectfully as the song died down. ¡°Labas vakaras, Imperatorien?,¡± Barham said as the Kaiserin finally joined them, and the young woman smiled in appreciation of his rather mediocre attempt at pronouncing her native Lithuanian. Empress Skaidr¨¦ Elizabeth was about a head and a half shorter than her husband, and meeting her for the first time, Raphael could tell why Theobald had chosen the much younger Skaidr¨¦ to be his new bride. She was very shapely, filling out her dress nicely, but not flashy or garish in the way she dressed or conducted herself, a polite smile greeting her well-wishers, and mesmerising dark green eyes meeting her conversational partner¡¯s directly. Her mahogany hair was braided in an elaborate crown, held together by a glittering tiara with inlaid diamonds and looping white gold chains that held small rubies. ¡°Good evening to you too as well, Captain Barham,¡± she said in a melodious voice that carried only the slightest tinge of a Lithuanian accent, ¡°I am pleased that you were able to join us tonight.¡± ¡°It would have been my head on a platter once I go home if my niece learned that I¡¯d turned down an invitation to Diamantadler Schloss, Majest?t,¡± he replied with an accompanying laugh, bowing slightly in response to the polite welcome. ¡°Sandy ¨Cah, Alexandra¨C, my older brother¡¯s daughter, is a very close friend to the daughter of the Marquess of S¨¦lincourt, and she hangs in the upper circles that mere mortals like myself only get to experience once or twice in a lifetime, so me going to a foreign royal birthday party will just tickle her green with envy.¡± ¡°Oh my, it might as well do that,¡± the Empress chuckled politely, hiding her mouth behind a gloved hand demurely. There was some truth to what Raphael was saying, but he was hamming it up heavily, playing the character of Post-captain Barham, the Naval Attach¨¦, a persona quite at odds with the real him. Though what was the ¡°real personality¡± of any Spook was a matter of great philosophical debate. ¡°I understand this spectacle with the drones is for your benefit, Majest?t, but the dear Graf hasn¡¯t specified what it is just yet, has he?¡± ¡°No, he hasn¡¯t,¡± the Emperor interjected, joining the conversation, with two very tall individuals trailing just behind him, and Barham realised Commodore Raharuhi had disappeared off somewhere, ¡°but given he said it was a gift from the Flottenverein, I do not think I will be wagering any large sums of money as to what it will be.¡± ¡°I must say, Majest?t, and do forgive me for perhaps divulging my cultural insensitivity or biases, but the concept of a Flottenverein, or a civilian interest organisation named the ¡®Navy Association¡¯, which heavily advocates and even personally funds the state¡¯s navy... This does seem quite ¨Cif not absurd¨C, then at least overly devoted, though do please infer that no insult is intended." The Kaiser produced a somewhat enigmatic smile and adjusted his pelisse. ¡°Of course, I wouldn¡¯t want to make uncouth comparisons between our two great monarchies, Captain Barham. But no matter the layers of diplomatic niceties, there are truths that realpolitik has a tendency to whack one over the face with their unavoidable steel gauntlet.¡± Kaiser Theobald finished his glass of wine in a swig, evidently held back a burp given the time he took to continue to resume his conversation. Raphael noted that the Kaiserin¡¯s eyes were looking around frenetically, as if looking for an opportunity to escape, but she physically couldn¡¯t from out of her husband¡¯s grasp around her shoulders, as the Kaiser¡¯s pelisse-riding arm was now firmly laid across her evening dress shoulder. ¡°Now, I know what your webpapers say about me and my nation¡¯s governance¡­¡± Barham opened his mouth to protest, but the Kaiser held up his now one free white-gloved hand to stop him. ¡°I do not play you for the fool, sir, and I beg you not to play as me such in return. I know the Star Empire of Myndowen and the Kingdom of Aurora has very different political traditions. And this gift is one of those differences. I know your Royalists and Social Liberals are having trouble gaining support for the continued expansion of the Royal Navy in your Parliament for obvious, and if I might, tragic, reasons. I do hope you can convey the heartfelt sympathies the Empire and the condolences me and the Kaiserin send to your people. Just know that the Myndowens are your true allies.¡± It felt a bit hollow coming from him, but Barham had only to sneak a glance at Skaidr¨¦ to know that at least half the imperial couple was truthful. In response, he simply bowed slightly. ¡°As to how the Flottenverein works,¡± the Kaiser continued, ¡°our economy is not nearly as large as yours, nor is our navy. And I do have to point a finger in deine Richtung, because we¡¯re not nearly as wealthy as the Auroran Kingdom, but we still have to maintain our own military independence, and as such have been forced to look for alternate sources of finance. I¡¯m sure an Admiralty man as yourself would be aware of the cost of a new man-of-war, and would not begrudge us from directly appealing to the general public in order to help financing the construction and commissioning new warships.¡± ¡°Donating exclusively for more warships outside their normal state taxes?¡± Raphael couldn¡¯t really believe what he was hearing, and the outburst was one of genuine horror. Had this even been suggested in the House of Commons in Cordelia, the MP who¡¯d posited it would have had to find a new career that same evening. But the Kaiser just smiled at Captain Barham as if explaining something complicated to a child. ¡°As I said, Post-captain, I didn¡¯t believe you would understand, since we do have quite the different political atmosphere, if you¡¯d pardon to the slight pun.¡± A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation. Someone in the corner of Raphael¡¯s eye made a motion to gain the Kaiser¡¯s attention, and Theobald bowed his head ever so slightly in a polite gesture. ¡°If you¡¯d forgive me, Post-captain, there are others this night who demands my attention. But rest assured, I will return, and we must talk about your exploits on the Duchess of Grey Hill¡¯s staff during the Drei Schwesteren. That campaign helped out our nation a great deal, and we owe you Aurorans much for dealing with the Rekindlers.¡± With that, the Kaiser walked off in a completely different direction of the ballroom, leaving his much younger spouse ¨Cand the one who¡¯d this whole shindig had ostensibly been organised in order for¨C behind, to the nominally tender mercies of the Myndowen courtiers. Post-captain Raphael Barham, a scion of one of the oldest Royal Navy dynasties of Aurora, and hopelessly romantic when it came to social mores and the role of military officers, opened his mouth to produce a few comforting words to the Kaiserin, as he had been brought up to do. But, as if on cue, the huge viewscreen made up of drones came to life, each showing a small part of a large broadcast from somewhere in space. It took a few moments for the camera to focus, but soon settled on what Raphael immediately recognised was an orbital drydock. Unlike Auroran drydocks which were ostensibly open to space in order to facilitate access and make transport of construction materials easier, Myndowan drydocks had a larger inner armoured box inside the arms of the docks, which did provide a layer of protection and reduce the usage of anti-grav nets to stop things from flying off into the void, but it also made it harder to manoeuvre construction crafts and colliers around the hull being built, and it hampered further expansion of docks and yards. But it did make for an admittedly very impressive spectacle as, to the tune of Unter der Admiralsflagge played by the band in the ballroom on cue from Graf Bleuquellen, a huge steel-grey warship slowly exited the drydock, pulled along by small but powerful grav tugs. ¡°Eure Kaiserliche Majest?t,¡± the Graf announced proudly while indicating to the slowly emerging man-of-war, ¡°it is my pleasure and honour to present to you, paid for by voluntary tributes to the Flottenverein by the noble people of Tschornohora, Nay Vilnius, Wallachia, and the rest of the Empire, the Kaiserin-klasse Schlachtschiff, SKMS Kaiserin Skaidr¨¦ I!¡± The crowd erupted in applause and cheers, and Barham joined in but immediately noted that while the Emperor¡¯s chest puffed out and the arm he had laid around his wife¡¯s shoulders flexed a bit, the Empress¡¯ body stiffened and she drew in a sharp breath. It was only a very small gesture, and hadn¡¯t it been for Raphael¡¯s training to look for exactly these sorts of physiological reactions in situations like these, it would have gone unnoticed. He had to stop himself from smirking. As the band continued to play, and several dignitaries came up to the imperial couple to congratulate them, Raphael could take a few moments to stand back and do what he did best and what the King¡¯s Royal Navy paid him to do; observe. Firstly, the warship itself; secondly, its surroundings. It was clearly inspired in places by Auroran naval designs of comparable size, but he had to admit that he had been expecting something¡­ more when he had read tentative reports of the new Myndowan class of capital ships. Where Royal Navy ships were flat along the top and flared out along the middle to create larger surfaces for their heavy railcannon turrets and to concentrate their armour belts, the designers of the Kaiserin class had sort of flipped that. The fore and aft sections leading to the middle and main superstructure of the ship was flattened out, and had reduced the broadside to two gundecks, but retained a much more conventional (and by Auroran standard, obsolete) main body, with a whopping six gundecks to compensate for the reduced fore and aft broadsides. The bridge superstructure was admittedly very tall, and only lacked the gravpulse sensor ¡°wings¡± that protruded from Auroran bridges, or else it would have been a true copy. The rear section was surprisingly horizontally sleek, but changing camera angles showed it was unusually wide, belying the amounts of engines the ship possessed. Naturally, it had no railcannons, since only the Aurorans had fine-tuned the technology required to create such naval weapons of mass destruction, and instead relied on a semi-uniform broadside railgun armament. All in all, despite its size ¨Clisted on the screen as 1,982 metres¨C, a relatively boring and underwhelming addition to the military engineering vortex that was the current naval arms race among the major star nations; it was hopelessly obsolete compared even to the decade old Warrior class, never mind the soon-to-be-completed Vanguards. What was much more interesting in Raphael¡¯s opinion was that the dockyard seemed to be in Elisabethmond¡¯s orbit, not Katharinamond¡¯s. Elisabethmond was the farther of Tschornohora¡¯s two moons and had a significantly less sizable industrial base than Katharinamond; at least, that was if you believed official records. Maybe there was some truth to the rumours that titanium mining and alloy forging operations had been secretly ramped up to the point where Elisabethmond could host its own orbital naval infrastructure, instead of just shipping raw materials to Katharinamond¡­ If that could be verified, it would surely make his superior, Vice Admiral Adrienne Bower-Henton, 5th Lady Admiral of Intelligence, very intrigued. ¡°What do you think of her, Post-captain?¡± a mellow voice interrupted his flow of thoughts and Raphel turned around, managing to check the speed he used to do so in order to not seem too paranoid. He was greeted by the two tall individuals that had been standing with the Kaiser previously, and he had to crane his neck up slightly to look them in the eye, smiling politely while internally he was almost panicking. Fuck, this is so not what I need right now. ¡°I don¡¯t believe I have had the pleasure, Captain¡­?¡± Raphael let the last word hang a bit in order to provoke an introduction, while he bought himself some more time by downing the last of his honey wine. The one who had spoken smiled briefly before saluting crisply. He was very tall, possibly two-hundred and ten centimetres, and wore a naval uniform not terribly unlike Barham¡¯s own, with black and gold the dominant colours, but with violet stripes along the trouser legs and a high and tight collar with violet gorget patches of the style used on the Auroran Royal Army and Royal Marine parade dress uniforms. The four golden bands on his sleeves which Raphael had used to identify him as the equivalent of a captain in the Royal Navy, were interlaced with thin red stripes. Over his black and gold tunic chest the man wore a long, white linen sash with two long stripes of royal purple. His somewhat long grey hair was simultaneously scruffy and fashionable, exuding an aura of nonchalant elegance, and his brown eyes twinkled with something Barham wasn¡¯t quite able to place. ¡°Heliophoros, Sir, Lord Fleet-captain Stephanos Heliophoros at your service. This is my adjutant, Lady Archcommander Achaia Indosphoria. I simply wished to exchange pleasantries and offer my congratulations to your assignment to the Auroran Embassy. I can assure you, there are not many plenipotentiary postings as¡­ interesting as the Myndowen Empire. Wouldn¡¯t you agree, Archcommander?¡± The Archcommander (roughly the equivalent of a Royal Navy Captain, while a Fleet-captain was more akin to a Commodore, Raphael managed to exhume from somewhere deep in his memory banks) was about as tall as her superior officer, but she was much less welcoming, with a stern look on her perfectly symmetrical face. Her deep green eyes seemed to try to pierce through Barham¡¯s constructed exterior, long blonde hair framing her bronzed features and black-gold-violet uniform almost like a halo. ¡°Sir,¡± was all she said, nodding ever so slightly in Barham¡¯s direction, as she picked up two long-stemmed glasses of an alcoholic beverage of some sort from a passing footman and handed one to the Fleet-captain. He could feel the hand holding his own empty glass was starting to sweat. Fleet-captain Heliophoros tutted and hiked up a grey eyebrow in disapproval. ¡°Lady Achaia, can¡¯t you see Captain Barham here has an empty glass? Offer him yours and go grab another from somewhere, I won¡¯t tolerate such rude behaviour from an officer of Her Majesty¡¯s Navy.¡± The Archcommander didn¡¯t even bat an eyelid, and with quick and fluid motions she exchanged her glass for Raphael¡¯s before he could even begin to protest, and turned on her heel to find another footman, her long black uniform skirt swishing around her long legs. ¡°You must find it in your heart to forgive her,¡± Fleet-captain Heliophoros said after his subordinate had merged into the crowd of guests, ¡°this is her first interstellar posting, ah, her first diplomatic interstellar posting that is. Too used to walking around the floor of a cruiser¡¯s bridge rather than the floor of a ballroom, that one.¡± ¡°No need to forgive when there is nothing to be forgiven, My Lord,¡± Barham managed to reply, still mentally scrambling in order to adapt to this new situation he found himself in. Eugeneis, that was the name he was searching for, meaning literally ¡°good people¡±. He subtly looked Heliophoros over again. There was no doubt about it, all the tell-tale signs were there; the height, the slightly disturbingly perfect symmetry of facial features, the almost fearsome beauty, the unspoken aura of both elegance and joviality he exuded, the lithesome movements of his limbs and delicate shifting of weight whenever he spoke or assumed a new position. His adjutant had been the same, possibly even more so, but she had yet to return so it would remain academic until Barham could reappraise his impression of her. Eugeneis, the genetically engineered aristocratic caste of the Holy Kingdom of Dionysia, some of the most enigmatic and incomprehensible people in Human Space, for a myriad of reasons. Tank-bred to be the absolute best in any fucking category, how can mere mortals compete? ¡°So,¡± Heliophoros said after a sip of his drink, ¡°what do you think of the SKMS Kaiserin Skaidr¨¦ I? I would love to hear the professional opinion of one of the Admiralty¡¯s own, it is so refreshing when military people can discuss matters directly over a drink, rather than involving annoying analysts and divers opinion-havers, wouldn¡¯t you say?¡± Barham sipped his own drink to buy time. He noted the return of Archcommander Indosphoria and nodded politely in the tall female officer¡¯s direction. She too wore a long linen sash with purple stripes, the purple marking the wearer as nobility. ¡°First of all, My Lord,¡± Raphael said in a polite tone, but he was mentally on the qui vive now, ¡°I am merely an observer on the Admiralty¡¯s payroll, I¡¯ve never commanded a ship in my career; if you want the perspective of a ¡®true¡¯ naval officer, you¡¯d better ask my superior, Commodore Raharuhi. Secondly, it is hard to make up one¡¯s mind only by looking at her, there might be a lot under her exterior we¡¯re not privy to as mere outsiders.¡± Heliophoros¡¯ eyes narrowed ever so slightly, and he sipped his drink ¨Cthe type of which Raphael still could not place¨C; and Barham was confused by not just the alcoholic beverage, but also the mental direction the Dionysian officer was heading. ¡°A most peculiar choice, was it not?¡± ¡°Politically reckless, some have called it.¡± Archcommander Achaia Indosphoria¡¯s voice was surprisingly melodious for a woman that at first glance looked so stern and, for lack of a better term, icy. She shifted her weight and crossed her left arm over her chest, while holding and intermittently sipping from a wide glass of an oak-coloured liquid in her right hand. Perhaps it was the wine providing him with some extra bravado, or perhaps it was professional pride, but Raphael chose to nibble at the bait presented instead of letting pass by. ¡°I take it we¡¯re not talking about the battleship on the screen.¡± It wasn¡¯t a question, and Indosphoria smiled thinly. ¡°Quicker on the uptake than your predecessor, Post-captain,¡± she said, ¡°that is to be commended.¡± She quickly scanned her surroundings before continuing, seemingly deciding no one were close enough to eavesdrop. ¡°You, like us, must have questioned the choice of a new Empress so soon after the passing of Empress Sibylla, and such a young specimen at that.¡± ¡°Careful with your choice of words, Lady Achaia,¡± Fleet-captain Heliophoros cautioned, ¡°there¡¯s a double entendre implicit in that term that we two in particular would be wise to steer away from.¡± ¡°All I am saying,¡± the Archcommander continued after another sip from her drink, seemingly unperturbed, ¡°is that choosing a Lithuanian as the new Empress is a very bold choice given the political climate in the Myndowen Empire. Sibylla was a German-Hungarian noble, a perfect imperial candidate and immensely popular among the aristocracy and the Jagiellonians. Now that is turned completely on its head, and the Lithuanians, lowest in the, how you say¡­ pecking order?¡± Barham nodded, fascinated by the direction of the conversation, but not yet daring to air his own thoughts on the subject, choosing to let the Dionysians show their cards first. ¡°The Lithuanians,¡± Indosphoria continued, ¡°were lowest in the pecking order, but with a Lithuanian empress, they have been vaulted into a position of political acceptance they¡¯ve never had before.¡± ¡°In a way,¡± Barham said, pretty confident he had by now recognised the rules of the game the two Dionysian officers were playing, ¡°it is both very worrying and academically interesting that a modern star nation like the Myndowen Empire is still so slavishly adhering to antiquated ideas of pseudo-ethnicities and castes. It is true that those you refer to as Lithuanians by and large has a very high percentage of Generation Two genes than the rest of the populace, but not even the most ¡®pure-blooded¡¯, if you¡¯ll pardon the expression, of ¡®German¡¯ nobles have a hundred per cent natural bloodline. If the ¡®Lithuanians¡¯ are about eighty per cent Gen-Two, then the genetic Hungarians has to be at least fifty-five per cent so-called ¡®pure¡¯, and then we¡¯d have a whole riot going¡­¡± Barham stopped to cough, an artificial respite that would not be lost on anybody in the audience if they¡¯d been paying attention. He did it to observe the reactions of the Dionysian officers. The two of them, which were standing out due to mere physiological reasons, started to move away from what Barham would image was what considered the ¡°good company¡± in Lemberg, moving further away from the other guests and dignitaries. Not that he¡¯d been there too long, but as a Navy Spook, he could recognise someone being fishy, and the two Dionysian military attach¨¦ officers certainly were. But, as it happened, there was the slightest of twitches in the corners of the eyes of both Indosphoria and Heliophoros at the mention of invented ethnicities and castes, and Barham relished the satisfaction he felt at delivering the little barb, but he continued as if he hadn¡¯t noticed a thing. ¡°Organising a modern society into a tiered system of political acceptance based on genealogy and then forcing these populations into syncretic cultural-ethnic social groups does not sit very well with the average Auroran, I can tell you that much.¡± No visible reaction this time, Raphael noted. Heliophoros sipped his drink, paying close attention to what the Auroran was saying. ¡°That aside, I think we can all agree that Empress Skaidr¨¦ is a very courteous and handsome young woman, and on a personal level, I believe the Kaiser has made an excellent choice.¡± ¡°A lot of Galicians and Ruthenians would perhaps take umbrage,¡± Heliophoros countered, ¡°especially the Galicians who now find themselves in the same spot the Lithuanians were only three years ago. A cursory glance on local webnet fora yields more than ample evidence to the fact, ranging from Galicians being passed over for promotions in favour of Lithuanians, to a decrease of reported crimes committed by Lithuanian individuals and a corresponding increase among the Ruthenian and Galician populaces.¡± ¡°Admittedly,¡± Indosphoria picked up the baton, ¡°a lot of that can be consigned to simple disaffected bluster and good old-fashioned factionalism and racism. No society is immune to such petty emotions.¡± ¡°Especially one as culturally divided as Myndowen,¡± Barham agreed, ¡°it is a small wonder that it is still standing.¡± He was about to say something more, but a footman appeared out of nowhere. ¡°Begging your pardon, lords and lady,¡± he said in a heavy Hungarian accent, ¡°but His Imperial Majesty asks for your attention.¡± The trio turned towards where the Kaiser had reconvened his little miniature court, the Kaiserin close by, and he was waving them over. Raphael used the momentary distraction to hurriedly down the rest of his glass. ¡°Ah, you go ahead, My Lord, My Lady, I seem to be in need of a top-up, I will join you momentarily.¡± With a quick bow, he didn¡¯t wait for them to answer before he hastened off across the ballroom in order to find Commodore Dame Sylvia Raharuhi, and another drink ¨Cnon-alcoholic this time¨C to keep up the fa?ade. This evening was turning into a very interesting one. Chapter 38 - Weeks of Uncertainty: Clandestine He leaned in to sniff one of the bouquets of spring flowers the stall in Lietowice Street was selling, seemingly appreciating the aroma of the recently sprung blossoms. He exchanged a few words with the elderly lady that ran the stall, but he was running on auto-pilot and couldn¡¯t for the life of him remember what he had just said the moment the words left his mouth. Vijktor Saldys used the opportunity when the woman turned about to show him some other example bouquets to look around the busy shopping street. Coming to Lietowice had been no mistake on Vijktor¡¯s part, it was the busiest open market street in the whole of Lemberg, running for over a kilometre of cobblestoned piedway, stalls and carts and skytrucks filling the sides of the piedway, leaving the centre free for pedestrians. It was, however, growing late, and many of the stalls were closed or closing. And that meant there would be fewer people about. That meant it would be harder for Vijktor to blend into the crowd. From the corner of his eye he noticed a woman he had seen before. There wasn¡¯t anything particular about the woman, she was dressed just like any other person passing through Lietowice, a tightly pulled wool coat over a grey work skirt and some sort of jumper underneath. Thing is, Vijktor had seen her five times today already; at least, he was pretty sure it was five times, it could well be more. And if that woman was here, the rest of her colleagues wouldn¡¯t be far off. He hadn¡¯t slept for three days, and only adrenalin and a probably illegal stim-shot bought from a non-licensed pharmacy in a side street off Kaiser Friedrich III Platz was keeping him on his feet. He excused himself to the flower-lady and resumed his walking down the market street, trying at all times to keep a sizeable group of people between himself and the by now too familiar woman. It was getting harder and harder though, the crowds were thinning out as shoppers started to turn towards home, tourists headed for restaurants or to partake in central Lemberg¡¯s rather famous nightlife, and this part of the city started to close up for the evening. Vijktor only hoped the crowd would provide enough protection for him to get to his intended destination, because he was pretty sure that there was a certain threshold of acceptable witnesses his pursuers were willing to tolerate in order to snag him. Genetics was not on his side right now, he thought for probably the twentieth time today, since he was about one-ninety tall (pretty tall for a Myndowan) and his medium long hair was a shining blonde colour that he had tried to hide as best he could by wearing an Eintracht Kajserwald cap. A thick white rollneck sweater under a tan fur-lined bomber jacket and black trousers and black boots completed his outfit; he had aimed for not standing out in any way, neither being very shabby nor very chic, aiming for a nominal middle ground. That went out the window when he remembered his pursuers would have face-recognition surveillance drones, so he had bought the cap at the first sports store he had come across. Nothing screamed ¡°anonymity¡± more than wearing a hat with the logo of the most popular sports team on the planet. Lemberg, the capital city of Tschornohora, was both fortunately and unfortunately smaller than his native Kajserwald. On the positive side, it meant that getting to where he needed to go on foot was far easier than if it had been a huge metropolis like Cordelia or New Zanzibar, but at the same time it made it harder for Vijktor to blend in with the crowds. He briefly contemplated tagging along with the groups heading for the fashionable nightclub district; he¡¯d done that the first night in Kajserwald, pretending to be intoxicated and managed to blend in with a group of drunken students on their way from one watering hole to the next. Had circumstances been different, Vijktor might have been part of a similar group right now, instead of skulking through the streets and back alleys of the Myndowan capitol and looking over his shoulders constantly. He walked past a duo of patrolling police officers dressed in black and yellow, nodding politely as he passed in order to not attract attention, all the while fighting back another painful wave of headache that washed across his brain from somewhere in the back of his head. It was getting harder to think, harder to concentrate; simply walking in a straight line was getting increasingly difficult. Some of it had to be the aftershock of his system flushing what remained of the stim-shot¡¯s effects, but most of it was three days and three nights of only a few short bursts of fitful sleep. Although without any proof to back it up, Vijktor knew he was the last one left. Daniella had been the first to disappear. She¡¯d simply not shown up to morning classes fifteen days ago, which Ignace had pointed out had to be her first time, and Cecylia had joked maybe it wasn¡¯t the only ¡°first time¡± in the making, considering Ferenc also hadn¡¯t shown up. Following the mind-numbingly boring nano-mechanical engineering lectures, they¡¯d spent the rest of the day idling away at their assigned computer laboratory at the Kaiser Maximillian II Polytechnische Universit?t. The next day, Ferenc showed up to their lab at lunch time, but when asked the whereabouts of Daniella, he had been nonplussed; he¡¯d been home sick with a mild case of green lung, not with Daniella. Suspicion had started to gnaw at the back of Vijktor¡¯s mind at that stage, but only as an afterthought, and Ignace had decreed they¡¯d simply continue their work, so Vijktor had gotten back to refining his tracking DAI¡¯s algorithms, while Cecylia had continued her efforts to crack the security codes of one of the tertiary sensor banks at Kajserwald Shuttleport. Stowing away the recollection of the past two weeks for a moment, Vijktor realised he had reached the end of Lietowice Street, and was now standing by a large intercrossing where six piedways met three carrumways. Groundcars in chromatic hues passed by almost languidly, the variable speed limit of the downtown carrumways set to low during the evening to avoid accidents and reduce noise levels. Under-passage walkways connected the crossing piedways, as well as overhanging raised piedwalks that rested on tall columns of carboncrete with small skycar landing pads jutting out at regular intervals. He checked the traffic coming from both directions, and dashed diagonally across on a red pedestrian light. A quickly veering black limousine honked at him and he put his hand up in an apologetic manner. Shit, he¡¯d not even seen that one, his brain had to be more fried than he realised. The last time he¡¯d actually rested his eyes was during the train ride from Kajserwald to Lemberg, choosing the cheaper and slower, but much more incognito mode of transport instead of a trans-shuttle or a tether-drop shuttle. Nodding off for about twenty minutes at a time, all the while reassuring himself he was surrounded by other passengers. By doing that, he¡¯d avoided a natural chokepoint where he could be snagged away, like shuttleport transit security checks. Vijktor had boarded the train the same day Ignace had stopped answering his ¡®com calls. That had been two days after they¡¯d all learned the destination of the ghost shuttles taking off from Kajserwald Shuttleport were going, thanks to their combined hacking efforts. The same night Cecylia posted something very random in their chat group, before seemingly deleting her account. The next day, Vijktor had managed, thanks to the completed arc-server popper programme left behind by Cecylia, to acquire passenger manifests for those ghost shuttles, ominously electronically stamped by both the Kaiserliche Marinenachrichtendienst, and the Generalauditoriat. The names and the implied ethnicity of those names immediately made Vijktor, Ignace, and Ferenc realise why their friends were not answering their ¡®coms anymore. That was why Vijktor, the last of his group of friends free, or alive, a concerned voice in the back of his brain opined, was now on the other side of the continent, continually trailed by what had to be operatives from either the Nachrichdienst or the Geheimdienst, trying desperately to get to the one spot on the whole planet where he would be safe; the Auroran Embassy.
The driver corrected the car and Commodore Dame Sylvia Raharuhi tutted as she looked back through the ¡®car¡¯s rear-window at the twenty-something who¡¯d tried to cross the carrumway instead of using any of the piedwalks or under-crossings. ¡°Damn drunk kids,¡± she hissed in annoyance, ¡°putting themselves unwittingly in mortal danger like that.¡± ¡°Funny that,¡± Post-captain Raphael Barham answered, a slight slur to his words, ¡°mortal danger was almost what I would describe the atmosphere at the Kaiserin¡¯s celebration.¡± He was aware of the slurring, and was hoping the de-tox pill he¡¯d popped as their embassy car had arrived, would start to work its magic soon. This much sweet wine in his system would lead to a horrible tomorrow if it wasn¡¯t washed out before he hit the hay. This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere. ¡°Yes, you did indeed seem to spend a lot of time with your new friends. Did our good allies and fellow members of the Royal Union have anything interesting to say?¡± Raharuhi¡¯s tone was almost coy, as if she knew already what Barham was going to say, but he indulged her anyway. His eyes wandered uninvited towards the glass separating the passenger section of the limousine from the driver and passenger seat. It wasn¡¯t only a physical pane of glass separating the two, the ¡®car also had a privacy shield installed between the two compartments. But since their driver was an employed local (with exemplary curriculum vitae reports and nothing but praise from previous employers, sometimes perhaps a bit to positive to completely believable) Secret Intelligence Services didn¡¯t want to run any risk of state secrets being betrayed from the backseat of an embassy limousine, so their operatives had simply bugged their own ¡®car in an attempt to see if they could pick up on their own peoples¡¯ conversations. The fact that the results had come back as just incomprehensible muffles was a very positive sign. ¡°I swear the Kaiser was trying to drink me under the table in order to spill some juicy news,¡± Barham said, his face making a quick grimace. ¡°And my attempt at staving off intoxication by trying to get alcohol-free drinks was seen through immediately by the good Fleet-captain, who decided to resort to the time-tested old tactic of drumming up the local vintage, accompanied by you simply haaaaave to try, etc. etc. I tell you, trying to play drunk is so much harder than actually being it.¡± ¡°The non-existent thespian in me cries for you,¡± Raharuhi said in a dead-pan voice which made Barham chuckle. ¡°Anyway, on the whole, it was a very informative evening. I did in fact learn more than a few things.¡± ¡°Such as?¡± Sylvia Raharuhi was not Royal Navy Intelligence, she was a genuine Naval Attach¨¦ with several commands under her belts as well as stints at Admiralty¡¯s Department of Planning; she didn¡¯t have the same training and eye for particular details that Raphael Barham had. ¡°First off,¡± he said while looking out the ¡®car¡¯s window into the Lemberg cityscape evening, ¡°why do we even have enemies when we have friends like the Dionysians. I mean, they¡¯re the most enigmatic people in Human Space.¡± Raharuhi opened her mouth as if to object, but closed it instead with a slight click, her face made a knowing expression. Barham nodded with one eyebrow raised in return. ¡°Secondly, both were clearly Eugeneis in origin, but only one of them were truthful about their surname.¡± ¡°What do you mean?¡± Raphael pursed his lips slightly, a hand rising up to remove his black-white-gold visored cap and the other running through his hair before putting it back in its place. ¡°Fleet-captain Lord Heliophoros was honest enough to provide his true last name. Arch-commander Lady Indosphoria was not.¡± Raharuhi¡¯s eyes squinted in suspicion. ¡°How do you know this, and why does it matter?¡± ¡°Because, Ma¡¯am, the Dionysian aristocracy are all clon- err, I mean Gen-Two people, and as such they¡¯re all ¡®made¡¯ to a certain mental and physical standard. But since this tradition has existed for such a long time, their noble families have reverted to adhering to a relatively limited number of phenotypes. It is, in a way, like the inheritable genetic traits of our own noble families, like the Allencourts, the Blackshores, the Howelands, and even the Royal Family, but scaled way up because they¡¯re made by DNA-clones instead of naturally passed down alleles. And Arch-commander Indosphoria was very clearly a Doukas, not an Indosphorian.¡± ¡°How can you tell? I mean, I¡¯ve met quite a few Dionysian officers over the course of my career, and they¡¯ve always looked quite same-y to those two.¡± Barham managed to suppress the smirk he felt was coming. ¡°Ma¡¯am, I can tell them apart for the simple reason that I was sent out here. I have studied Dionysian society and I have, particularly, studied their nobility. They¡¯re on paper quite like us, but at the same time, very not. At the very least we¡¯ve not descended to a Hobbsian state of ¡®Natural Order¡¯ like the Dionysian nobility has. And I have observed the Doukas phenotype enough times to be certain when one of their numbers crosses my path.¡± ¡°So do you think the Dionysians are plotting something here on Tschornohora?¡± Barham amiably snorted. ¡°Ma¡¯am, they¡¯re Dionysians,¡± he said with a large smile on his face, ¡°they¡¯re always plotting something. Whether it will transpire here in Lemberg, or on Amaranth or Alpha Verdis, I cannot tell you. The Dionysians are constantly laying plans upon plans upon plans, they¡¯re the very definition of labyrinthine. However, I can tell you that they have no love for the current Emperor and the policies being enacted in his name, that much is clear.¡± ¡°What leads you do believe that?¡±, the commodore asked, one eyebrow hiked up in a suspicious manner. Barham simply shrugged. ¡°Because that¡¯s their nature, when you have a society that is so heavily oriented towards its nobility in such a way, which completely institutionally embraces how the very ancient Hellenistic monarchies worked, this is what you get. Queen-Empress Epiphaneia Neas Dionysia has made it very clear that any courtier who is crafty enough to murder her is very welcome to take her throne. The Dionysians live in a dog-eats-dog world that is completely devoid of any semblance of our democratic institutions, and that lack of common undertone of cultural understanding is the first step to actually knowing these people. Also, I don¡¯t know if you noticed, but there were exactly zero Lithuanians in that ballroom apart from the Kaiserin.¡± Raharuhi started to form a counter-argument regarding the Dionysians, but that last sentence threw her off her beat. ¡°There wasn¡¯t?¡± Barham shook his head. ¡°Only Germans, Hungarians and foreigners, apart from a few Ruthenians. That doesn¡¯t rhyme very well with the direction the Emperor is officially trying to communicate, especially since he married a Gen-Two Lithuanian.¡± ¡°Huh, I suppose that is quite a bad look.¡±
Captain Lucas Mitchell was an officer in the 4th Battalion of the Royal Kavenha Regiment (33rd/45th Foot) and damn proud of the fact. Following completion of his three-year course at the Royal Military Academy he had served in a number of peace-keeping missions in Lucidia and the Three Sisters, earning his several promotions during that time, being mentioned in dispatches at one time which added a certain gusto to his name. And he was a proper gentleman, as officers should be in his opinion, and when his work-only handcom rang while out with his Myndowen beau, he had to suppress a very angry mien. ¡°Es tut mir so leid, mein Fraulein,¡± he said in pretty bad (not even correct) German to his companion for the night. The Empire of Myndowen ¨Cunlike the Kingdom of Aurora¨C approved of ¡°women of the night¡± if they were employed by a union and had regular health checkups. But Natalya was not a simple ¡°lady of the night¡±, she was an escort, and as such came with a hefty price for her services. Captain Mitchell, even with his very extravagant pay from both the Royal Army and the Auroran Embassy Service could only pay for her services twice a month. Which was why he was so extremely pissed that he had been yanked out the theatre production he was enjoying with Natalya. It had been a pretty good production of King Lear after all. ¡°Yes, Captain Mitchell speaking?¡± he said angrily into his ¡®com, once alone in the reception hall of the theatre building. The person who answered him was an extremely agitated embassy guard.
Vijktor Saldys had walked down the piedways for a couple hours, trying to make it less obvious where he was heading. But as he walked into Peredovna Stra?e, he suddenly realised he was being tailed. Not by some agent from the Geheimdienst, but by a very tall individual. ¡°Hey dude, what¡¯s yar up to?¡± He was about two feet taller than Vijktor, but the newcomer laid his arm around the newcomer like two old friends if old reconnected. ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± Vijktor started, ¡°do I know yuu?¡± The tall newcomer had grabbed Vijktor¡¯s right arm and drew him into a side of the piedway they were currently walking on. ¡°I know where you¡¯re trying to reach, and I would advise not talking about it at all,¡± the tall man hissed into Vijktor¡¯s ear; ¡°please believe me when I say I am an ally, I will take you to the Aurorans.¡± At that exact moment a duo of roving Lemberg policia officers turned the corner and looked at the two. Vijktor''s immediate reaction was to freak out, but as such he jammed his mouth into his new friend¡¯s mouth as well. The police officers passed by, both of them ¡°Ruthenian¡±, commenting on the new Kaiser and the Kaiserin. A couple kissing and exchanging body fluids like this was not in the ¡®fuck you¡¯-mandate of the Lemberg Polizei. ¡°I see you know how the secret services work,¡± the much taller person said as he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. ¡°I can get you to the Auroran Embassy, you just have to say the word.¡± Chapter 39 - Weeks of Uncertainty: Foreign Postings Hopping out of the night-blue taxi skycar, Captain Lucas Mitchell quickly surveyed the situation in front of the gate of the Auroran Embassy, the backwash of the ¡®car taking off again fluttering his caramel-coloured day dress overcoat. As a courtesy from the Myndowan Reichstag, the Embassy had been allowed to rent a walled manor house in west central Lemberg as their main embassy hub. Naturally there were numerous Auroran consulates spread across Tschornohora, since it was a planet with a population of around eight hundred million people, but the main embassy was located in Lemberg. An Avant-Gothic architectural building complex with small spires, tall archways, and crenelated awnings in an almost Venetian Gothic style, it also had a crenelated, mostly decorative wall surrounding the buildings and the gardens within. Six hundred people worked at the Embassy, but only about a hundred and fifty were Aurorans; the rest were carefully vetted locals or a few foreign specialists from the Royal Union, like a few Antiochenes, Corinthians and Valerians. The security detail Captain Mitchell was in charge of was a hodgepodge mix of about twenty soldiers from the Royal Auroran Army and some sixty local private security personnel. These were in charge of protecting the embassy itself and its personnel, while the Lemberg Polizei had the overall responsibility of ensuring the safety of the outside of the embassy and restrict access to it. But at the closed embassy gates, there was a lot more police than normal. As Mitchell walked up the piedway towards the gates from the small skycar landing pad he counted no less than nine police ¡®cars and five unmarked big black groundvans, plus a throng of about forty Polizei and a few unknown people in black unidresses that looked a bit like the base battle dress of the Royal Army, but they lacked any sort of insignia. They were mobbing the gate, which was closed and behind it Mitchell could see the steely-eyed faces of Private Zhukova (2nd Btn, New Kherson Regiment [Royal Kitezh]) and Lance Corporal O¡¯Malley (1st Btn, Royal Auroran Irish Light Infantry [The Royal Findias]), and the slightly more panicked face of his 2-i-C, Lieutenant Banner-Smyth (19th Field Battalion, Royal Drone Regiment). Still wearing his caramel-and-red dress uniform, Captain Mitchell elbowed his way through the crowd of local constables, the shouts of protests devolving into angry grunts as they recognised his uniform and rank; the three golden Auroran stars on his shoulder straps and arm cuffs made them stifle back their comments. ¡°Embassy chief of security,¡± he said in a voice that was used to being obeyed, ¡°coming through, stand back please.¡± Mitchell didn¡¯t bother being polite and use German, he was thoroughly miffed at having his evening ruined and even more annoyed at this unseemly gathering in front of a sacrosanct diplomatic location. A particularly large unmoving policeman that towered over him, wearing a night-blue plate carrier over his black uniform, stared down at him. Mitchell stared back for a full three seconds before the police brute sneered and stepped aside. ¡°Much obliged,¡± the captain replied with mock courtesy, and stepped up to the closed gate. Lieutenant Leon Banner-Smyth hurriedly walked over. Mitchell noted that all three of the Auroran soldiers at the gate were dressed in their multi-shift pattern camo battle dresses, protection armour suits, and plate carriers. They still wore their respective regimental berets on their heads, but their integrated tactical helmets hung from their harness belts, and their long SLARA battle rifles were unslung. There were a also half a dozen unarmed private security guards dressed in deep green uniforms and civilian variants of the Myndowan Imperial Army¡¯s plate carrier, but they looked even more uncomfortable than the Aurorans. ¡°What the devil is going on here, Lieutenant?¡± Mitchell hissed through the bars of the closed gate. ¡°Sir, I wish I could tell you,¡± the decade younger subaltern responded in a heavy Avalonian accent which was tinged with more than a bit of stress. ¡°About thirty minutes ago two figures came up to the gate, a very tall foreigner and a local scared almost out his mind. The police guards wanted to deny them entry, but we¡­¡± ¡°Speaking of entry,¡± Mitchell interjected, ¡°how about you open the gate and let me in.¡± ¡°Sir,¡± Private Zhukova said from behind the lieutenant, ¡°the local constabulary might try to force entrance.¡± ¡°That¡¯s why you''re here, Maria,¡± Mitchell countered and cast a caustic glance over his shoulder, ¡°and if any of these goons try to barge their way into His Auroran Majesty¡¯s Embassy, there¡¯ll be hell to pay. Now get me inside please.¡± Zhukova and Banner-Smyth looked at each other for a few moments, before O¡¯Malley sprang into action and stepped inside the small guard booth by the side of the gateway and pressed the admittance button. The gate started to move in its magnetic slide and the Myndowan police started to shift and move, but Mitchell turned around, straightened his back and adjusted his caramel-and-red visored cap, the golden star of Euryphaessa in the cap¡¯s centre. ¡°This is an embassy building, ladies and gentlemen of the Lemberg Polizei, and as such is under the protection of interstellar custom of diplomatic immunity. No figure of planetary law enforcement, armed services, or executors of state-mandated violence is admitted access. I suggest you respect this and stay well clear.¡± There were incoherent shouts of disagreement and threats in English, German, and Hungarian, but Mitchell paid them no heed and slipped inside the gate as soon as the opening was wide enough. Once through, O¡¯Malley hit the button to close it again, and a few of the more driven/less capable at understanding English police officers walked straight up to the closing gates and half-heartedly tried to keep them open before abandoning the attempt. Mitchell noted that another of those black unmarked vans had arrived, and another five unidressed people disembarked. He wiped sweat from his eyebrows in a nonchalant manner before turning back to Banner-Smyth. ¡°From the top, Lieutenant,¡± he said and started to remove his overcoat and cap, and grabbed the pistol-harness Zhukova was offering him with an appreciative nod. ¡°Sir,¡± the youthful lieutenant responded, ¡°as I said, about half an hour ago two individuals approached the gate, demanding entry. Private Zhukova here was the only one on watch, and she immediately hit the ¡®Uh-oh¡¯ button to summon whatever security staff to the gate, but admitted them.¡± ¡°Only the local actually entered, sir,¡± Zhukova said, back half-turned to Mitchell and Banner-Smyth as she had returned to her post of guarding the gate, her SLARA hanging by an elastic strap from her plate carrier, but both hands were firmly gripping the long and menacing rifle. ¡°The tall one said something akin to ¡®I have done my bit¡¯, and left in a rental skycar.¡± ¡°And the local who actually came inside? Have they been debriefed?¡± ¡°Sir, he¡¯s with Private Laksheema in the reception hall, awaiting the arrival of more senior embassy staff,¡± Banner-Smyth said, wincing a bit as a Polizei gravscout skimmed overhead, silent sirens beaming blue and white across the green courtyard. One of the local security officers turned and ran towards the main embassy building. ¡°Speaking of which,¡± Mitchell said as he finished fastening the harness and checked the gun-grey .28 pistol, ensuring a round was chambered and lock secured before putting it back in its holster, ¡°where is Sir Pietro? We need the ambassador to deal with¡­ whatever this situation is.¡± ¡°Sir,¡± O¡¯Malley replied in his unmistakably Northern Irish accent, ¡°Ambassador Orlov is in Fallenstach for the weekend, hence the reduced security. I thought you knew this?¡± Unauthorized use: this story is on Amazon without permission from the author. Report any sightings. I did actually know that, damnit, Mitchell kicked himself mentally, but it sort of slipped my mind, because I¡¯ve been planning this theatre outing with sweet Natalya for three weeks, the details of why I had a weekend off was sort of secondary. ¡°Sorry, David,¡± he said out loud, ¡°it must have slipped my mind momentarily. Alright, so no Sir Pietro, what about the Plenipotentiary?¡± ¡°Sir,¡± Banner-Smyth replied, ¡°Dr Auguste Lewenhaupt should be on his way from the Kaiserin¡¯s birthday celebrations, as is Dame Sylvia and Captain Barham, but they¡¯d apparently already left before this situation started to develop.¡± New commotion on the wrong side of the gates caught the soldiers¡¯ attention. A pair of Myndowans (¡°Germans¡± if Mitchell had to guess from their phenotypes) dressed in government-issue black suits and black ties had spread the sea of law enforcement officers, and walked with confident steps up to the gate. O¡¯Malley and Zhukova tightened the grip on their battle rifles. The pair ¨Ca man and a woman¨C stopped just a few feet from the gate itself, and the female cleared her throat. ¡°Im Befehl der Regierung seiner kaiserlichen Majest?t,¡± the woman declared loudly, her voice amplified by some sort of unseen audio device, possibly a pocket-size loudspeaker drone, ¡°hand over the criminal seeking illegal refuge in an interstellar diplomatic compound. His presence is unjustified, and is in transgression of several national and interstellar laws.¡± Mitchell half-turned to look at Banner-Smyth, who simply shrugged in his heavy military uniform. ¡°I can¡¯t tell you anything to neither confirm, nor contradict that statement, sir,¡± he said. ¡°All I know is that a Myndowan came through this gate, escorted by a much taller male which was obviously from off-world, but they both emphasised the importance that the Myndowan was allowed inside.¡± ¡°I want to speak with this person, right now,¡± Mitchell said, his tone not really brokering any natural protest, and Banner-Smyth nodded, pointing him towards the east wing of the main embassy building. ¡°Get everyone who¡¯s on-site out here fully armed,¡± Mitchell said over his shoulder as he started striding across the green grass of the expensive embassy garden, not giving a damn about the heavy boot-marks he left in his tracks. ¡°I want these gates secured, and for the love of God, don¡¯t talk to the local police before the Plenipotentiary shows up. I don¡¯t want soldiers taking the spot of diplomats, history knows that has only brought misery.¡±
Private Donavan (2nd Btn, Duke of Richmond¡¯s Own Light Infantry) and two more local security guards ran past Captain Mitchell as he opened the door into the main reception hall of the Auroran Embassy, the private barely taking a moment to salute their superior officer before ensuring their SLARA rifle was correctly secured and headed towards the gate. Mitchell shrugged the encounter off and continued further into the building. The interior was as Avant-Gothic as the exterior, with inlaid marble columns over carpeted decorative stone floors which seemed really cold to a true Auroran like Lucas Mitchell who¡¯d grown up in houses and apartments with light wood panelling and large windows. But interior design was pretty far from his mind at this point in time. ¡°The interloper, where are they?¡± he asked as a confused local staffer who¡¯d quite evidently been roused from sleep tried to slip past him, but he grabbed her dress-shirt sleeve. ¡°F-first floor, mein herr,¡± the poor woman stammered out and he let go of her arm and bounded up one of the two staircases leading from the main entrance up into the first floor of the main embassy building. There were quite a few staff milling about, a few of the Auroran seniors as well, but they all seemed to calm down a bit once they saw Mitchell wearing the day dress of the Royal Army instead of the battle dress, camo-shroud and plate carrier the other Army soldiers had donned. The fact that he had a pistol in an under-shoulder harness somehow didn¡¯t track. He saw Corporal Kane from the shudder 5th Btn, 10th Prince Alexander¡¯s Caldedonian Royal Marine Light Infantry standing guard by a pretty inconspicuous-looking door, the Royal Marine standing out simply because of the fact that his outfit was uniformly black and his beret Commando green, whereas the Army troopers wore multi-shift camo and a rainbow of beret colours. The captain slowed his gait and walked up to the corporal. ¡°Corp,¡± he said and saluted, ¡°I wish to see the detainee.¡± The Royal Marine saluted back sharply, his carbine noticeably shorter than the SLARA rifles Mitchell was used to handling. ¡°Sir, I am sorry to inform you that until I receive a confirmation from the Ambassador, the Plenipotentiary, or the Chief Naval Attach¨¦, I cannot let you through.¡± Mitchell ground his teeth for a few moments before recomposing himself. ¡°Corporal, I understand your dedication to your duty, but you must also realise that we are in the middle of a potential interstellar crisis. The chain of command, or cursus honorum, if you please¡­¡± Mitchell took some morbid pleasure at seeing the marine¡¯s eyes glassing over slightly at that last mention, which in all honesty was a complete non-sequitur, and Mitchell was perfectly aware of the fact. ¡°That must indeed be observed, which we as serving members of the Royal Auroran Armed Services can agree upon. But expediency must be served tonight, Corporal, and by impeding me, you¡¯re by extension hurting the Kingdom. I need to see this person, damn if the Plenipotentiary is present or not. If it makes you feel any better, I can produce a civilian employee to provide the proper political distance between the different political states of mind, the executive and the permanently latent?¡± Mitchell didn¡¯t have to say that last part to recognise that this particular Royal Marine had checked out mentally a few minutes ago; that last bit had been courtesy for any observer drones. He felt a pang of guilt for treating a fellow soldier of His Auroran Majesty¡¯s Armed Forces this way, but enlisted Royal Marines had a nasty tendency to make it hilariously easy. No matter, he was through the inner doors, and he was a few steps away from the Myndowan who was the cause of so many upset feelings, police deployments, and not to mention the person who stole my paid night with Natalya away from me sitting on the tiled floor of the Ambassador¡¯s outer office crying his heart out? ¡°Who might you be then?¡± he asked as he waved away the two local security officers, weird, I can¡¯t tell their names nor recognise their faces¡­ ¡°My name,¡± the youthful male who sat on the floor replied, having stolen a glance up at the officer who towered above him, ¡°is Vijktor Saldys. I come from the Kasjerwald Kaiser Maximillian II Polytechnische Universit?t, and I believe I have something to show you. But I will only deliver it in return of a political asylum. I wish to emigrate to the Kingdom of Aurora!¡± Mitchell tried his best not to scoff. This wasn¡¯t the first time this had happened, and every time in the past in Mitchell¡¯s experience, it had really not been worth his, the Embassy¡¯s, or His Majesty¡¯s time. But the youth in front of him looked nothing if not determined¡­. ¡°You must be aware, Mr Saldys,¡± Captain Mitchell began, ¡°that you¡¯re a very wanted person, because we have close to a complete company of Polizei and what I would hazard to guess are Geheimdienst outside these embassy gates right at this very moment.¡± The smirk Captain Mitchell produced was completely unforced, but it sent shivers down the spine of Vijktor Saldys. ¡°You must realise,¡± the Auroran said, ¡°that this information you¡¯re apparently betraying your country for, crimes of which you expect His Majesty will absolve you for, must in the end have more than a bit of value for your potential host nation?¡± Vijktor drew in a deep breath. He¡¯d expected this, nay, prepared for it. ¡°You seem like a very bright officer,¡± Vijktor said through gritted teeth; his accent was heavy. ¡°Imagine you¡¯re born to a family deemed genetically inferior at birth. Your ambition to achieve rank of mid-level officer has already been killed.¡± Captain Mitchell looked around the room, wondering where the Plenipotentiary was, but morbidly intrigued nonetheless. Vijktor continued, pulling his tired legs up under his arms, resting his head in his upraised knees. ¡°Imagine knowing from birth that you¡¯d never amount to anything but being a racial nothing that will fulfil one of seven important societal roles. Please imagine that you¡¯d never be able to become an academic, a banker, a foreman, a union leader, a merchant skipper, or an officer in the Heer or the Marine. Can you, Mr Auroran, imagine such a life?¡± Captain Lucas Mitchell was actually completely unable to respond, the stress of the evening had gotten to him, and this was not helping. ¡°If you¡¯re unable to comprehend the situation I am in,¡± the Lithuanian answered uninvited, ¡°might I be able to transfer to Aurora itself and life upon her Blessed world?¡± ¡°Aye,¡± Mitchell managed to produce, and could already imagine the headache this one-syllable agreement would hurt him in the future. ¡°And the list of ghost-transfers I have observed,¡± the ¡°Lithuanian¡± mentioned, ¡°those needs a lot looking into.¡± On the other side of the civilised part of Human Space, Edward Heatherland woke up with a sweat. Encyclopaedic Interlude No.4: Dramatis Personae A Prosopography of characters, their titles, age, and occupations as of 1 March 2875 (Galactic Relative) "Cordelian Crowd" Edward Heatherland A classical piano student of Queen Marie''s Metropolitan University, age 23. Born on the Auroran world of Amaranth, an avid aficionado of history and a generally open-minded individual. His mother is a Dionysian Generation-Two person, something that has both had a genetic and a cultural impact on his life. Started practicing piano for fun, his real hobby being history, but he is exceptionally talented, to the point where he is getting top grades at the prestigious Countess Montroy''s Conservatoire at the QMMU. Struggles quite a bit with homesickness, and is very worried for the future, both in terms of his career and the direction the interstellar political situation between the Royal Union and the Independent Systems Alliance is going. He is easily stressed-out and lives inside his mind quite a lot. Is very skilled at making food. Has taken to smoking as a way to calm his nerves. Is starting to notice subtle changes to his body that he cannot account for. Physical description: Around two metres tall, bronzed skin, dark brown slightly curly hair that is maintained fashionably short on the side and long on the top. Favours a short, tightly trimmed and maintained full beard. Emerald-green eyes, and wears glasses despite the fact that he had eye-corrective surgery as a young child; he feels they make him look mature. Adea Sophia Kynnane Carlisle-St. Eiron, Lady S¨¦lincourt A political science student of Queen Marie''s Metropolitan University, age 19. An accomplished student athlete and the scion of two very old Auroran noble families, she was accelerated from upper secondary through university, and is constantly an honours student. Due to her familial circumstances, she is expected to join the Royal Navy upon finishing her university degree, both of her parents being decorated naval officers. Is a bit of a social chameleon, being able to slip in and out of perceived personas depending on the situation, as comfortable in high-heels and a robe ¨¤ la fran?aise as in a swimsuit or a jogging outfit. She lives in the now, generally uncaring of the future, but is being forced to live alone as her parents are deployed to different Royal Navy stations, which takes a toll on her. A bit of a party-girl, and has a tendency to drink a bit too much. Physical description: One-ninety centimetres tall, pale skin, very physically fit due to her intense training regimen. Her long hair is naturally fiery red, and she usually wears it naturally falling over her shoulders or in a ponytail. Eyes are ice blue courtesy of her father''s genes, and contrast heavily with her hair colour. Artemisia Vivienne Aurore Cordelia de Vere, Lady Trewellynshire An ancient history student of Queen Marie''s Metropolitan University, age 18(?). The illegal Generation-Two child of the Duke of Trewellynshire, her appearance and personality tailored more or less specifically to his tastes by Earth clone-crafters. Has lived her entire life with the stigma of being an illegal "clone", being ostracised from normal society and even ridiculed during very formal aristocratic get-togethers. She is also physically and mentally abused by her "father", who regularly pays a black-market surgeon to remove the scars this abuse creates. Has only one true friend, Amelia de la Lune, and has more or less resigned herself to living a life in solitude. Due to her genetic code, she is razor-sharp and intelligent, is able to learn languages extremely rapidly, and has a love for tragic opera. Is extremely passive-aggressive and protective due to her upbringing. Physical description: Perhaps around one-seventy centimetres (she refuses to disclose her real height and weight), with extremely pale skin, and her apparent short height (quite short by Auroran standards) belies her wiry muscles. Her hair is very pale blonde to the point where it is almost white, and her big eyes are grey with a red tinge that makes them look pink. Alexandra "Sandy" Barham A psychology student of Queen Marie''s Metropolitan University, age 22. A childhood friend of Adea due to their close-knit families, she aspires to make a career as a rear-area Medical Officer in the Royal Navy, despite hailing from one of the most famous military families in the Kingdom of Aurora, having no interest serving on warships. Incredibly socially competent, she is usually regarded as everyone''s "best friend". She has a bubbly personality that masks her extremely well-developed sense of intrapersonal intelligence; she has an uncanny ability to read situations and emotions. Physical description: Just short of one-eighty centimetres tall, her hair is a dirty-blonde that goes well with her nickname. Cobalt-coloured eyes, set in a slightly triangular face. Horace Sciacca, Lord Horace The first son of the Marquess of Howeland and the Lady Isobel Greco, age 26, Horace is the heir to the considerable Howeland estates. While his father is the current Secretary of Defence of the Kingdom of Aurora and an important member of the House of Lords, Horace has no ambition to follow his father into politics. Instead, he is intensely fascinated by the quite unique Auroran wildlife, and is pursuing a PhD in biology at the King''s College of Sciences. Extremely well-versed in the social world of the Auroran nobility, he has a noble grace to his conduct that is both extremely noticeable which he plays off by being comforting and affable. Physical description: About one-ninety centimetres tall. Dark brown hair that he wears quite long, but ties in a rear-knot. His skin his quite bronzed due to his mother''s Earth Sicilian origin, his eyes a chocolate brown. Arvind Dahon A third-generation Indian descendant from Earth, age 23, and the best friend of Edward Heatherland, both attending Classical Piano majors at Countess Montroy''s Conservatoire of the QMMU. An energetic person with a huge social network, Arvind is incredibly socially intelligent and is able to read most situations at a mere glance. Unwillingly specialising in playing classical piano-forte due to his unfortunate affinity with the troublesome instrument, he is always trying his best to help and cheer up his friends. Physical description: Short for an Auroran male, standing just north of one-eighty centimetres. His hair is brown-going-on-black, and has basically no facial hair growth. His eyes are almost black, but still sparkling with a sense of mirth. David Lee A student majoring in Galactic Standard French at QMMU, age 22, his family originated from Hong Kong on Earth two generations back. Usually quite nonchalant, he does genuinely care about his family and friends. Among Edward''s friends, he is the one who understand his frustrations and struggles the most, having left his family home on Cymru to pursue an academic career. Physical description: Nearly one-ninety centimetres tall, a combination of Caucasian and East Asian features, his fashionably-cut hair usually coloured a shade of blue or red. Peter Townshend A scholarship architect student at QMMU, age 23, Peter is a reserved individual, but with a very strong sense of morality. He abhors violence, and believes intrinsically in social justice and liberty. He is obsessed with the Cordelia Grecians ice hockey team of the Royal Hockey Association, owning several game-worn jerseys that he has spent inordinate amounts of money on. Peter is a proponent of the Neo-Georgian style and aspires to be a ne¨¹-classical architect once he graduates. Physical description: Medium height, brown hair and brown eyes, a slightly paler than normal skin colour for a Caucasian-descendant due to living most of his life in the upper mountain regions of Greater Luin on Aurora. Aubrey Aurelian Carlisle-St. Eiron, Lord Darkmoor A first year officer-cadet at King William''s Naval Academy, age 22. The son and eldest child of Alistair Carlisle and Iphigenia St. Eiron, the older brother of Adea, Aubrey has often been described as dour or overly serious. Unlike his younger sister, Aubrey has never been overly gifted in any sort of field other than mathematics, and has always lived with the overhanging responsibility of assuming the mantle of the large S¨¦lincourt titles and estates once his father passes on, a prospect he dreads. Socially slightly awkward and disliking his elevated status compared to other people around him, he is nonetheless extremely dedicated to fulfilling what he perceives as his social role; to serve the Kingdom before himself, and had planned to join the Royal Navy already at age 10. Physical description: Two metres tall, pale skin, clean-shaven, with his father''s wavy black hair kept short and a pair of heterochromatic eyes, where the left is the same ice blue as Alistair and Adea, and the right is the jade green of Iphigenia. Nimue Hastings, Lady Nimue A very shy Nova Caledonian noblewoman of relatively direct Scots descent, age 23. She has been a pen-pal and unofficial confidante of Adea for years, having spent most of her life in the city of Seraphim on Nova Caledonia. Having just completed a degree in interstellar relations, she has been hired as an analyst at the Foreign Office''s Department of the Corridor. Despite her extremely bashful mannerisms, she has photographic memory and is very analytical. Physical description: Around one-eighty-five centimetres tall, completely black hair and pale freckled skin. Her eyes are a very deep green colour. Valerio Greco, nee Sciacca The disowned third child of the Marquess of Howeland and younger brother of Horace Sciacca, age 22, a party-boy who is seemingly enamoured with his own voice. He is in actuality quite analytic and uses his construed persona as a shield. Despite his declared distancing from his family, he still receives a big allowance from his family''s bank, and is consciously presenting as a noble whenever in public. Is joining the Royal Navy following his graduation from QMMU. Physical description: Tall for an Auroran, just about one-ninety-five centimetres tall, dark curly hair, a markedly chiselled chin and well-toned body. His eyes are trademark Greco-brown. Valerie Alexandra Louise, Princess Royal of Aurora The only daughter of the King and Queen of Aurora, age 20, Valerie was born with a severe immunodeficiency disorder that has caused her both pain and problems for all of her life. Granted the title of "Princess Royal" on her tenth birthday, she is almost akin to a mascot or idol for the kingdom, a figure of pity and worthy of commiseration where her older brothers are more "royally"-moulded. She is a fan of equestrian sports, and of classical music. Tries her best to overcome the limitations imposed on her by her illness. This story has been unlawfully obtained without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon. Physical description: Relatively short of an Auroran female, about one-seventy-five centimetres tall. Long, straight jet-black hair and (almost unhealthy) pale skin and noticeable amethyst-coloured eyes. Very slight and lithe due to her having problems retaining weight and muscles. Claude O''Shaughnessy, Esq. The first son of the O''Shaughnessy gentry family of Linehan in Kilthrim County of New Ayrshire on Angevin, age 22. He opted to join the Royal Army upon completing upper secondary, and due to his status as member of the gentry was admitted to the Royal Military Academy Wellington in New Salisbury. During his training he excelled in small unit tactics and personal leadership abilities and was awarded a recommended commission to the Queen Amelia''s Own Chevalier-Guards Regiment, part of the Guards Cavalry Brigade, which he accepted. A consummate soldier and gentleman, Claude''s primary concern on the field is the men and women under his command, and has no qualms about getting his hands dirty with maintenance on his command Destrier Mk.VII main battle tank Lady Godiva. Physical description: Tall for an Angevin, around one-ninety-three centimetres tall, tall enough to be a hindrance when operating the command seat in an MBT. His hair is a dark brown hue and slightly curled, though kept to the exacting grooming standards of the Guard-Chevaliers. As is common for uplands Angevins, he is quite pale, but his physique is healthy and hale due to rigorous military training. His eyes are commonly described as a mesmerising sea-green. Evelyn Delafontaine, Baroness Wraith The only child of the Earl and Countess of Wraith, age 25, the heiress of what had been until a major financial scandal in June 2872, one of the most prestigious noble families in the Auroran country of Camlann. The details of the scandal is still to this day mostly unknown, but it culminated with the divorce of the Marquess Wraith and then-Countess Wraith, and only the fiscal assistance of the Duke and Duchess of New Brabant managed to save the Wraiths'' from complete insolvency. The Peerage Court, following consultation with an extraordinary session of King in Council regarding the matter, "demoted" the title of Countess of Wraith to Baroness, and stripped Evelyn''s mother of the title and deferred down a generation. Evelyn is not engaged in any trade or science and is what society at large would deem a "dilettante", but she spends most of her time trying to rebuild her family''s reputation, that is whenever she isn''t out riding, hunting, or sailing. Physical description: About one-eighty centimetres tall, so just about average height for an Auroran female. Her long straight hair is a copper colour and her eyes are fiercely grey, and her face is a pleasantly oval shape. She has a characteristically wide smile and accompanying dimples. Narissara Roxburgh, Lady Narissara The oldest child of the Viscount Gerald Roxburgh of New Lucknow and the Honourable Marchioness Josephine Aschemarque of C?te-du-M¨¦andre, age 23. Eschewing most responsibilities, Narissara has -much to her parents'' horror- taken up a life as a Cordelia socialite and is a common feature among the crowd of the well-to-do during the capital''s ball season. She is, however, much smarter than what her mannerisms would suggest, and has a keen eye for politics that she prefers keeping a secret. Narissara has an almost uncanny ability to adapt to any crowd and any conversation, seemingly effortlessly fitting in wherever she goes, somewhat unnaturally so. Physical description: Tall, around one-eighty-seven or -nine, and quite skinny which belies her actually impressive core musculature. She prefers to keep her naturally chocolate brown hair dyed white, pleasantly and consciously contrasting her dark olive skin tone. Her eyes are of a shining amber colour. Siobhan de C¨¦ile The second child and only daughter from a middle class family from Sir Sanktdaffyd in Cayrwarhen on Avalon, age 22. Siobhan is a concert harp soloist attending the Countess Montroy''s Conservatoire at Queen Marie''s Metropolitan University in Cordelia. She is a very careful and shy person when it comes to interpersonal relations, but when playing the harp she is able to completely relax and be her own person, letting the music guide her completely, which has made her the star of the current cohort of Montroy soloists. Her ability to "feel" musical and tonal changes has made her a hot prospect for major orchestras. An honourable member of the self-proclaimed "Boatsmen Four", joining Edward, Arvind, Peter and David quite often for a few pints at the Humble Boatsman whenever their quite hectic schedule allows for it. Has an obvious crush on Edward, very apparent to Arvind, but the Amaranthine in question remains blissfully unaware, and Siobhan does not feel confident enough to make her feelings known. Makes paper origami in her sparse free time. Physical description: Very short compared to Auroran-born females, thanks to the irregular trajectory of the star of her homeworld, just shy of one-seventy centimetres tall. Her hair is originally ginger in colour, courtesy of the Irish-Scots ancestry of much of her home region''s population, but she prefers to dye it ruby. She keeps her hair long on one side and shaved very closely on the other side, to avoid errant strands of hair getting caught in the harp strings during performances. Her face is heart-shaped and her eyes are a grassy green colour with dark specks. Vincent Minkjan Cornet in the Queen Amelia''s Own Guard-Chevaliers, age 21. Hails from New Kherson on Kitezh, from a family with a long tradition of working in the bureaucracy and his decision to join the Royal Army was not greeted with enthusiasm by his parents. Regardless, he was admitted to the Royal Military Academy Slim on Amaranth due to his father''s connections in the Kitezhian Department of Education, which earned him a recommendation to start officer''s training despite Vincent''s commoner background and no further education past upper secondary. Vincent earned good grades in theoretical warfare and logistics, and especially in small unit tactics. Originally wanting a commission to the New Kherson Regiment (Royal Kitezh) or the Duchess of Romanieva''s Own Jaegers, he was instead deferred on his supervisor''s recommendation to the cavalry and was offered a last place spot as a junior subaltern in the Guard-Chevaliers. He has over the past year grown to like his role as a cavalry officer and is very fond of his command tank Valkyrie''s Call. Physical description: About one-eighty centimetres tall, with sand-brown hair that he keeps short according to Army regulations. Thin and wiry, Vincent is not very physically imposing, but has a wide smile of perfectly white teeth. Angular face with an aquiline nose, and brown eyes. Robert de Loladze Cornet in the Queen Amelia''s Own Guard-Chevaliers, age 23. From a gentry family in Holburn in Westernesse, his father was elevated to the gentry after earning a fortune in property development. Robert opted to join the Royal Army instead of going to university, something which his father supported, but his mother disapproved of. Robert''s reasoning is that with a service record in a well-renowned regiment, the civilian job market would be his oyster, which is why he made it a priority to join a Guard regiment. Not actually as arrogant as he pretends to be, though he has grown up on a farm and as such knows his way around horses, making him a shoe-in for parade master in the Guard-Chevaliers. Physical description: One-ninety-two centimeters tall, blonde hair kept slightly too long for Army regulations, but as a Guards officer he is allowed some leeway. His face is thin and angular, with a sharp, pronounced chin. Royal Auroran Navy Alistair Carlisle, Marquess de S¨¦lincourt Admiral of the White RN, age 106. Jeremiah Grantham, Earl of Hartcastle Admiral of the White RN, age 93 Sir Hugh Donegal Lord Admiral of His Auroran Majesty''s Royal Navy, age 98 Adeline Le Fey, Countess New Acre Admiral of the Black RN, age 80 Adrienne Bower-Henton Vice Admiral of the White RN, age 59 Anthony Rostov, Earl of Lowe Hill Admiral of the White RN, age 125 Dame Vanessa Howards Admiral of the White RN, age 106 Sir Cornelius McIndoe Vice Admiral of the White RN, age 206 Valentina Kirkland, Countess Ashwike Admiral of the Red RN, age 69 Erica Kuznetsova Vice Admiral of the Black RN, age 72 Emily Chiang, Countess of Suncrest and Rubybrook Admiral of the White RN, age 80 Sir Morgan Mizushima Admiral of the Red RN, age 99 Iphigenia St. Eiron, Countess of Darkmoor Post-captain RN, age 64 Matthew Lysimachos Commander RN, age 31 Andrea Picoletti Commander RN, age 33 Amelia Euxina Isobel de la Lune, Lady la Lune, nee Dawnshire Lieutenant Commander RN, age 26, the previous O-i-C HMS Euphoria, the master and commander of that particular destroyer during the fateful encounter with ANS Royfort, which led to the death of five Auroran servicemen and -women, and an interstellar diplomatic crisis. Tried to end her life on the journey back to Auroran space following the aforementioned debacle, but was saved by her 2-i-C. Currently attached to the Admiralty''s Department of Intelligence. Physical description: Quite tall, with long flax-blonde hair, a pleasantly curving face and deep blue eyes, a noted beauty by the popular press. Moves with the ingrained effortless grace of Auroran high nobility. Hannah Lowell Lieutenant RN, age 25, the current O-i-C of HMS Euphoria, the scion of a family with ties to the Royal Navy that goes back hundreds of years. A no nonsense-officer, she is completely devoted to the concept of an ideal Royal Navy officer which devotes their entire being to the Kingdom and the royal family. Known to be a bit of a hard-ass, and does not suffer fools among her subordinates. A very ambitious young woman. Physical description: About one-eighty centimetres, relatively short brown hair, and piercing green eyes. A slender and lithe body, and has been likened to how a silvercat moves. That latter point is probably intentional. Juliette Hunter-Jones Vice Admiral of the Black RN, age 53 Stephanie Aza?s, Baroness Goldspyre Vice Admiral of the Red RN, age 60 Brandon Locke, Baron Locke Vice Admiral of the Red RN, age 81 Ana?s de Chevalier Rear Admiral of the White, age 48 Artem Sarkassian Rear Admiral of the Black, age 50 Caroline Grosvenor Captain RN, age 43 Cleopatra Allencourt, Lady Cleopatra Sub-lieutenant RN, age 22 Auroran Politics King Nicholas I Queen Carolyn Prince (of New Ontario) George Edward Augustus Prince (of Findias) William Charles Patrick Prince (of Arcadia) Constantine Alexios James Sir Alfred Carmichael Sir Edward Ranganekary Dame Fiona Spyros Linton Sciacca, Marquess of Howeland Michael de Vere, Duke of Trewellynshire Edmund St. Algernon de Lune, Duke of Dawnshire Felicity Thenjwayo, Baroness Yserhall Erin Findlay, Countess of Greenvale Caitlin de la Croix, Duchess of Grey Hill John Baptiste Sir Damien Koyanagi Independent Systems Alliance Terrance Rodrigo Kelley Edwina Bradford Philippe ibn Houdri el-Ahmadi Chantelle Montmorency Hitoshi Tachibana John Davies Intira Chirathivat Yared Himura Yuki Himura Star Empire of Myndowen Kaiser und K?nig Theobald Valdemaras IV Vijktor Saldys A nano-mechanical engineering student at the Kaiser Maximillian II Polytechnische Universit?t of Kajserwald, age 25, he has been witness to state secrets the Myndowan Empire would have rather gone unnoticed, and as such has landed on the the Myndowan Secret Police''s list. Currently seeking asylum in the Auroran Embassy in the Myndowan capital city of Lemberg. Physical description: Tall for a Myndowan, about one-ninety centimetres tall, golden hair, dark eyes and golden fuzz around his lips and chin. Olbracht Kr¨®pka A Chief Inspector of the Kajserwald Police Department on Tschornohora, age 42, wrongfully accused of a murder he did not commit, and sentenced to hard labour on the farthest of Tschornohora''s moons, Elisabethmond. Innocent of the crime he has been committed for. Physical description: A somewhat short Myndowan, he is barely passing one-seventy centimetres, but he is very stocky and muscular. Slightly too long brown hair compared to national norms. Brown eyes set in a pretty rounded face. Encyclopaedic Interlude No.5: Order of Battle of the Royal Navy as of December 2875 Name/Pennant Number "Following the 4th (fourth) Amendment of the Royal Navy Law of 2276 CE, His Auroran Majesty''s Royal Navy will be required from January 1 (one) 2492 CE (Galactic Relative) to furnish commissioned men-of-war with an interstellarly legal pennant number, containing both a flag superior and an individual identification number for each commissioned man-of-war. Note that hull classification flag superiors are overriding in regards to legal seniority. The pennant number shall be displayed alongside the electronic signature code that is passively emitted, and will take primary rank over the flag code of a flag officer, but not the signature that denotes royal status. As such, a royal yacht will always have its crown signature displayed over the pennant number, but no commodore, rear admiral, vice admiral, or admiral may have their colour-coded seniority flag over the pennant number of their flagship. If there should exist confusion as to the man-of-war''s true hull classification, if in case the weight in normal-gee surpasses usual class standards, or if the armament is deemed too extreme or inferior, the pennant number will prove the final say in ship-recognition and classification for Action Information Centre (AIC) and battlespace mapping purposes [...] Ships of heavy cruiser size/classification and up are to be considered capital ships for the sake of nomenclature purposes, as in heavy cruisers (hull classification CA), battlecruisers (hull classification BC), battleships (hull classification BA), and carriers (hull classification CV). Note that as of the date of this amendment''s writing, battlecruisers and carriers are retired categories for warships, and have not been made since the water-going navies of Earth pre-Light Way discovery." Excerpt from HL 32.31-14/HC 73.24-8, the "Signals Act" of 2492 which required the Royal Navy to electronically and physically label their ships by not only names, but also by electronic signatures and interstellarly recognisable pennant numbers. Battleship Classes Bellerophon Class HMS Bellerophon (BA330) HMS Orion (BA331) HMS Ajax (BA332) HMS Leander (BA333) HMS Agamemnon (BA334) HMS Theseus (BA335) HMS Perseus (BA336) HMS Laodike (BA337) HMS Alexander (BA338) HMS Orpheus (BA339) HMS Eurydike (BA340) HMS Lysander (BA341) HMS Icarus (BA342) HMS Diomedes (BA343) HMS Tyche (BA344) HMS Achilles (BA345) HMS Kassandra (BA346) HMS Ariadne (BA347) HMS Berenike (BA348) HMS Tithonous (BA349) Vanguard Class HMS Vanguard (BA311) HMS Dreadnought (BA312) HMS Victorious (BA314) HMS Thunderer (BA315) HMS Temeraire (BA316) HMS Majestic (BA317) HMS Vengeance (BA318) HMS Vindicta (BA319) HMS Lysithea (BA320) HMS Fury of Angevin (BA321) HMS Superior (BA322) HMS Royal Oak (BA323) HMS Pride of Amaranth (BA324) HMS Valour (BA325) HMS Victorieuse (BA326) HMS Glory of Aurora (BA327) HMS St George (BA328) HMS Warspite (BA329) Warrior Class HMS Warrior (BA290) HMS Intransigent (BA291) HMS Valiant (BA292) HMS Cordelia (BA293) HMS Samothrace (BA294) HMS Grace Dieu (BA295) HMS Emperor (BA296) HMS Invictus (BA297) HMS Royal Union (BA298) HMS Magnificent (BA299) HMS Reliant (BA300) HMS Royal Sovereign (BA301) HMS Excellence (BA302) HMS Conqueror (BA303) HMS Royal Mareschal (BA304) HMS Albion Nova (BA305) Aurora Class HMS Aurora (BA25) HMS Findias (BA251) HMS Angevin (BA252) HMS Gorias (BA253) HMS Murias (BA254) HMS Avalon (BA255) HMS Summer Isle (BA256) HMS Amaranth (BA257) HMS Westernesse (BA258) HMS Novorosyia (BA259) HMS Euryphaessa (BA260) HMS Cymru (BA261) HMS Nova Caledonia (BA262) HMS Kitezh (BA263) HMS Arcadia (BA264) HMS New Jharkhand (BA265) Monarch Class HMS Monarch (BA230) HMS Kingdom (BA231) HMS Dominion (BA232) HMS Resolution (BA233) HMS Queen Marie (BA234) HMS Queen Alexandra (BA235) HMS King Henry II (BA236) HMS King Edward IV (BA237) HMS King William II (BA238) HMS St Patrick (BA239) HMS Queen Cecilia (BA240) HMS Queen Amelia (BA241) HMS Nebuchadnezzar (BA242) HMS Mindarion (BA243) HMS Prince Regent (BA234) HMS Noblesse (BA235) HMS Duke of New Devon (BA236) HMS Endeavour (BA237) HMS King Alexander I (BA238) HMS Sovereign of the Stars (BA239) HMS Victory (BA240) HMS Unconquered (BA241) HMS Queen Catherine III (BA242) HMS Dominance (BA243) HMS Princess Victoria (BA244) HMS Princess Serena (BA245) HMS Princess Elizabeth (BA246) HMS Princess Emily (BA247) De Chandlier Class HMS De Chandlier (BA209) HMS Pennefather (BA210) HMS Torrington (BA211) HMS Lowell (BA212) HMS Blackrose (BA214) HMS Dimitleva (BA215) HMS Rossoskaya (BA216) HMS De Satin¨¦ (BA217) HMS Drake (BA218) HMS Kharnaya (BA219) HMS Duncan (BA220) HMS Albemarle (BA221) HMS Montagu (BAS22) HMS Beecham (BA223) HMS Sandrington (BA224) HMS De Grey (BA225) Battlecruiser Classes Inflexible Class HMS Inflexible (BC140) HMS Indefatigable (BC141) HMS Indomitable (BC142) HMS Indestructible (BC143) HMS Invincible (BC144) HMS Intrepid (BC145) Fearless Class HMS Fearless (BC130) HMS Merciless (BC131) HMS Ruthless (BC132) HMS Dauntless (BC133) HMS Relentless (BC134) Courageous Class HMS Courageous (BC118) HMS Furious (BC119) HMS Audacious (BC120) HMS Glorious (BC121) HMS Ferocious (BC122) HMS Imperious (BC123) Repulse Class HMS Repulse (BC108) HMS Renown (BC109) HMS Resolute (BC110) HMS Retribution (BC111) HMS Revenge (BC112) HMS Respite (BC114) HMS Repent (BC115) HMS Remorse (BC116) HMS Resistance (BC117) Hector Class HMS Hector (BC90) HMS Aeneas (BC91) HMS Pyrrhus (BC92) HMS Olympia (BC93) HMS Sarpedon (BC94) HMS Herakles (BC95) HMS Patroklos (BC96) HMS Nikea (BC97) HMS Iason (BC98) HMS Artemis (BC99) HMS Hecate (BC100) HMS Hermes (BC101) HMS Athena (BC102) HMS Calliope (BC103) HMS Erato (BC104) HMS Eris (BC105) HMS Thalia (BC106) HMS Clio (BC107) Prince Consort Class HMS Prince Consort (BC71) HMS Black Prince (BC72) HMS Brilliant (BC73) HMS Duke of Camlann (BC74) HMS Astute (BC75) HMS Formidable (BC76) HMS Empress (BC77) HMS Honourable (BC78) HMS Vanquisher (BC79) HMS Steadfast (BC80) HMS Venturous (BC81) HMS Venerable (BC82) HMS Prince of Arcadia (BC83) HMS Princess of New Ontario (BC84) Tiger Class HMS Tiger (BC55) HMS Lion (BC56) HMS Silvercat (BC57) HMS Lynx (BC58) HMS Puma (BC59) HMS Panther (BC60) HMS Princess Royal (BC61) HMS Terror (BC62) HMS Terrible (BC63) HMS Superb (BC64) HMS Splendid (BC65) HMS Sceptre (BC66) HMS Triumph (BC67) HMS Redoubtable (BC68) HMS Vigilant (BC69) HMS Defiant (BC70) Heavy Cruiser Classes County Class HMS New Nikosia (CH280) HMS Ashtonland (CH281) HMS Kavehna (CH282) HMS Lancashire (CH283) HMS Norfolk (CH284) HMS Gloucestershire (CH285) HMS Wessex (CH286) HMS Yorkshire (CH287) HMS New Nassau (CH288) HMS Surrey (CH289) HMS Wiltshire (CH290) HMS Greater Luin (CH291) HMS New Strathcona (CH292) HMS Staffordshire (CH293) HMS New Brunswick (CH294) HMS Sitashire (CH295) HMS Kent (CH296) HMS New Sussex (CH297) HMS Lothian (CH298) HMS Fereyshire (CH299) HMS Cambridgeshire (CH300) HMS Somerset (CH301) HMS Northumberland (CH302) HMS Thunder Bay (CH303) HMS Greenlake (CH304) HMS Normandie (CH305) HMS Ausland (CH306) HMS Calvert''s Land (CH307) Spartiate Class HMS Spartiate (CH270) HMS Dragon (CH271) HMS Bucephalus (CH272) HMS Baccanthe (CH273) HMS Phoenix (CH274) HMS Defence (CH275) HMS Antilochus (CH276) HMS Iphigenia (CH277) HMS Grafton (CH278) HMS Onslaught (CH279) Shire Class HMS Leithrim (CH240) HMS Silvershire (CH241) HMS Kingshire (CH242) HMS Sandshire (CH243) HMS Layecastershire (CH244) If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.HMS Ainmoreland (CH245) HMS Northvale (CH246) HMS Loganmore (CH247) HMS Longshore (CH248) HMS Alba (CH249) HMS Anthay (CH250) HMS Camlann (CH251) HMS Avonshire (CH252) HMS Kilhtrim (CH253) HMS Risdale (CH254) HMS Maidstone (CH255) Duke Class HMS Mont Wolfe (CH220) HMS Southwood (CH221) HMS Gold Hill (CH222) HMS Richmond (CH223) HMS Sutherland (CH224) HMS Westshire (CH225) HMS New Antrim (CH226) HMS Westshire (CH227) HMS New Forest (CH228) HMS Astona (CH229) HMS New Westminster (CH230) HMS Exeter (CH231) HMS Anjou (CH232) HMS Breizh (CH233) HMS Westmere (CH234) HMS Argyle (CH235) HMS New Anglia (CH236) HMS New Brabant (CH237) Countess Class HMS Lowestoft (CH200) HMS New Charleston (CH201) HMS Pembroke (CH202) HMS Montfort (CH203) HMS Salisbury (CH204) HMS Scarlet Point (CH205) HMS New Epirus (CH206) HMS Charona (CH207) HMS Athelney (CH208) HMS Aermagh (CH209) HMS New Grenadine (CH210) HMS Indore (CH211) HMS Naryara (CH212) HMS New Taxila (CH214) Town Class HMS Selenagrad (CH170) HMS New Sheffield (CH171) HMS Queenstown (CH172) HMS Raleigh (CH173) HMS New Victoria (CH174) HMS Brookeborough (CH175) HMS Reychester (CH176) HMS King''s Shore (CH177) HMS Sherwood (CH178) HMS Silverlake (CH179) HMS Mudargha (CH180) HMS New Gwalior (CH181) HMS Oldtown (CH182) HMS New Toronto (CH183) HMS Siwan (CH184) HMS New Angers (CH185) HMS Novosaratov (CH186) HMS Lincoln (CH186) HMS Ilmengorod (CH188) HMS New Northampton (CH189) HMS Westport (CH190) HMS Harwick Green (CH191) HMS Highbury Vale (CH192) HMS Kingston (CH193) Light Cruiser Classes Bristol Class HMS Bristol (C290) HMS Boston (C291) HMS Bolingbroke (C292) HMS Bertram (C293) HMS Bahamas (C294) HMS Brest (C295) HMS Belfast (C296) HMS Birmingham (C297) HMS Bareilly (C298) HMS Beersheba (C299) HMS Brisbane (C300) HMS Berg-am-Zee (C301) HMS Bancroft (C302) HMS Bellona (C303) HMS Bloemfontein (C304) HMS Berwick (C305) Spartan Class (Flotilla Leader) HMS Spartan (C280) HMS Damocles (C281) HMS Andromeda (C282) HMS Adversity (C283) HMS Heroic (C284) HMS Enterprize (C285) HMS Swiftsure (C286) HMS Sentinel (C287) HMS Guardian (C288) HMS Aegis (C289) Rutland Class HMS Rutland (C260) HMS Rochdale (C261) HMS Royal Charlotte (C262) HMS Ramillies (C263) HMS Rivers (C263) HMS Shannon (C264) HMS Scout (C265) HMS Sacrosanct (C266) HMS Steenkerque (C267) HMS Shrewsbury (C268) HMS Shakespeare (C269) HMS Syracuse (C270) Emerald Class HMS Emerald (C240) HMS Amethyst (C241) HMS Ruby (C242) HMS Topaz (C243) HMS Sapphire (C244) HMS Diamond (C245) HMS Onyx (C246) HMS Opal (C247) HMS Alexandrite (C248) HMS Jade (C249) HMS Pearl (C250) HMS Spinel (C251) HMS Moonstone (C252) HMS Carnelian (C252) Medusa Class HMS Medusa (C222) HMS Basilisk (C223) HMS Cockatrice (C224) HMS Griffin (C225) HMS Pegasus (C226) HMS Harpy (C227) HMS Manticore (C228) HMS Chimera (C229) HMS Wyvern (C230) HMS Drakon (C231) HMS Hydra (C232) HMS Mermaid (C233) HMS Gorgon (C234) HMS Lamia (C235) HMS Scylla (C236) HMS Naga (C237) HMS Naiade (C238) HMS Sphinx (C239) Forbin Class HMS Forbin (C210) HMS Contredeux (C211) HMS Co?tlogon (C212) HMS Friant (C214) HMS Lalande (C215) HMS Enchante (C216) HMS Kynos (C217) HMS Linois (C218) HMS Lavoisier (C219) HMS Konstantin (C220) HMS Kephalos (C221) HMS Chateaunoix (C222) Dido Class (Flotilla Leader) HMS Dido (C200) HMS Diana (C201) HMS Didymaion (C202) HMS Danae (C203) HMS Dione (C204) HMS Demeter (C205) HMS Dionysos (C206) HMS Dryad (C207) HMS Demetrios (C208) Canterbury Class HMS Canterbury (C170) HMS Caroline (C171) HMS Carysfort (C172) HMS Comus (C173) HMS Conquest (C174) HMS Cynthia (C175) HMS Cambrian (C176) HMS Castor (C177) HMS Constance (C178) HMS Caledon (C179) HMS Calypso (C180) HMS Cornwall (C181) HMS Cr¨¦cy (C182) HMS Caradoc (C183) HMS Curlew (C184) HMS Carlisle (C185) HMS Chiron (C186) HMS Carcharodon (C187) Imphal Class HMS Imphal (C140) HMS Tachezo Basin (C141) HMS Talavera (C142) HMS Waterloo (C143) HMS El Alamein (C144) HMS Salamanca (C145) HMS Caen (C146) HMS Falaise (C147) HMS Stanley (C148) HMS Inkerman (C149) HMS New Jerusalem (C150) HMS Queenston Heights (C151) HMS Blenheim (C152) HMS Quebec (C153) HMS Mandalay (C154) HMS Vimy Ridge (C155) HMS Poitiers (C156) HMS Vimiero (C157) HMS Omdurman (C158) HMS Minden (C159) HMS Castelor (C160) HMS Coldfield (C161) HMS Rantanen Bay (C162) HMS New Nineveh (C163) Aggressor Class HMS Aggressor (C130) HMS Attacker (C131) HMS Powerful (C132) HMS Assailant (C133) HMS Challenger (C134) HMS Fortitude (C135) HMS Chivalry (C136) HMS Gladiator (C137) HMS Marksman (C138) HMS Cavalier (C139) Destroyer Classes S Class HMS Salamander (D550) HMS Storm (D551) HMS Squall (D552) HMS Seahawk (D553) HMS Sparrow (D554) HMS Scorpion (D555) HMS Swordfish (D556) HMS Stringent (D557) HMS Scimitar (D558) HMS Sunfall (D559) HMS Sabre (D560) HMS Sentry (D561) HMS Seaforth (D562) HMS Swan (D563) HMS Shamrock (D564) HMS Serpent (D565) HMS Serapis (D566) HMS Sorceress (D567) HMS Sanguine (D568) HMS Seneschal (D569) HMS Sparrowhawk (D570) HMS Strident (D571) HMS Sidon (D572) HMS Syren (D573) C Class HMS Crescent (D520) HMS Cyclone (D521) HMS Cobra (D522) HMS Crusader (D523) HMS Crown (D524) HMS Consort (D525) HMS Chameleon (D526) HMS Cossack (D527) HMS Calamity (D528) HMS Cassowary (D529) HMS Chevalier (D530) HMS Chieftain (D531) HMS Chanson (D5332) HMS Crozier (D532) HMS Carronade (D533) HMS Cheswick (D534) HMS Concord (D535) HMS Chevron (D536) HMS Clandestine (D537) HMS Coureuse (D538) HMS Curzon (D539) HMS Cauvery (D540) HMS Chancery (D541) HMS Curieux (D542) HMS Crest (D543) HMS Clarence (D544) HMS Cameronia (D545) HMS Canteur (D546) HMS Contender (D547) HMS Charioteer (D548) HMS Centurion (D549) HMS Cyclops (D550) HMS Chaos (D551) HMS Cosmos (D552) D (Daring) Class HMS Daring (D470) HMS Decoy (D471) HMS Delight (D472) HMS Desire (D473) HMS Daphne (D474) HMS Defender (D475) HMS Desperate (D476) HMS Duchess (D477) HMS Dagger (D478) HMS Devastation (D479) HMS Dedication (D490) HMS Diantha (D491) HMS Dixmude (D492) HMS Dunmore (D493) HMS Dolphin (D493) HMS Decouverte (D494) HMS Damnation (D495) HMS Dorte (D496) HMS Dimitri (D497) HMS Dunira (D498) HMS Dwergallin (D499) HMS Diligence (D500) HMS Dominica (D501) HMS Dampier (D502) HMS Dupointe (D503) HMS Druid (D504) HMS Diactoros (D505) HMS Diadem (D506) HMS Daimyo (D507) HMS Dacoit (D508) HMS Destiny (D509) HMS Despatch (D510) HMS Dexterous (D511) HMS Dervish (D512) HMS Dainty (D514) HMS Daemon (D515) HMS Despair (D516) HMS Deviant (D517) HMS Deacon (D518) HMS Dermott (D519) B Class HMS Beacon (D440) HMS Beagle (D441) HMS Benefactor (D442) HMS Bailey (D443) HMS Blackwood (D444) HMS Blackbird (D445) HMS Boastance (D446) HMS Bester (D447) HMS Bonhomme (D448) HMS Bravery (D449) HMS Bondsbrother (D450) HMS Bracer (D451) HMS Buckler (D452) HMS Buccaneer (D453) HMS Byzantian (D454) HMS Boarn (D455) HMS Bonchance (D456) HMS Banshee (D457) HMS Blade (D458) HMS Briton (D459) HMS Baronet (D460) HMS Bathurst (D461) HMS Boscawen (D462) HMS Bayard (D463) HMS Buttercup (D464) HMS Bulldog (D465) HMS Blaze (D466) HMS Briseis (D467) HMS Bantry (D468) HMS Braithwaite (D469) R Class HMS Romulus (D410) HMS Rowena (D411) HMS Restless (D412) HMS Raven (D414) HMS Reprisal (D415) HMS Roland (D416) HMS Rondeau (D417) HMS Rigorous (D418) HMS Redgauntlet (D419) HMS Recruit (D420) HMS Raider (D421) HMS Radstock (D422) HMS Rune (D423) HMS Regal (D424) HMS Ripper (D425) HMS Rosalie (D426) HMS Rosalind (D427) HMS Rackham (D428) HMS Ross (D429) HMS Ranqeur (D430) HMS Radiant (D431) HMS Romaine (D432) HMS Raylee (D433) HMS Robin (D434) V Class HMS Verdant (D380) HMS Vendetta (D381) HMS Vanity (D382) HMS Vehement (D383) HMS Vicious (D384) HMS Vainglorious (D385) HMS Verulam (D386) HMS Vega (D387) HMS Vansittart (D388) HMS Vivien (D389) HMS Ventnor (D390) HMS Vitriol (D391) HMS Vesper (D392) HMS Venomous (D393) HMS Viper (D394) HMS Velox (D395) HMS Visaige (D396) HMS Victoram (D397) HMS Vengeful (D398) HMS Versatile (D399) HMS Voracious (D400) HMS Virgin (D401) HMS Virtuous (D402) HMS Vermillion (D403) HMS Vassal (D404) HMS Vandal (D405) HMS Villain (D406) HMS Vulture (D407) HMS Virulent (D408) HMS Volunteer (D409) E Class HMS Encounter (D350) HMS Escapade (D351) HMS Echo (D352) HMS Eclipse (D353) HMS Enact (D354) HMS Emergence (D355) HMS Enigma (D356) HMS Epicure (D357) HMS Epsom (D358) HMS Euphoria (D359) HMS Electra (D360) HMS Excelsior (D361) HMS Extruder (D362) HMS Exemplar (D363) HMS Equite (D363) HMS Earnest (D364) HMS Elemental (D365) HMS Escort (D366) HMS Express (D367) HMS Exmouth (D368) HMS Foresight (D369) HMS Forester (D370) HMS Fortune (D371) HMS Foxhound (D372) HMS Fanatic (D373) HMS Firedrake (D374) HMS Ferret (D375) HMS Focus (D376) HMS Frontier (D377) HMS Favour (D378) Lady Class HMS Miranda (D320) HMS Elaine (D321) HMS Jennifer (D322) HMS Jessica (D323) HMS Margaret (D324) HMS Patricia (D325) HMS Helena (D326) HMS Godiva (D327) HMS Hermione (D328) HMS Aurore (D329) HMS Lilith (D340) HMS Christina (D341) HMS Eleanore (D342) HMS Vivienne (D343) HMS Anne (D344) HMS Sybilla (D345) HMS Amanda (D346) HMS Marie (D347) HMS Vanessa (D348) HMS Stephanie (D349) Chapter 40 - Weeks of Uncertainty: On Music and Life ¡°¡­ And don¡¯t forget that next Friday is the due date for the approval of your final recital pieces. If you haven¡¯t gotten a go-ahead from your musical supervisor by that point, you¡¯re going to be in serious trouble when it comes to getting ready for the Performative Final, which, I don¡¯t think I have to mention, but I am going to anyway, is fifty per cent of your final Master¡¯s grade. Alright, that¡¯s it for me today, have a good weekend everyone.¡± Professor Joshua Zhong, the academic head of the QMMU Classical Soloist Graduate Degree, Taught (GDT), turned off the stuffy auditorium¡¯s hovering drone projector, and the fifty odd classical music soloist students started to pack up their things, stuffing ¡®pads into backpacks or bags, many chatting excitedly about their choice of pieces for their finals, some about their weekend plans. ¡°Just because Monarch Week is coming up,¡± Professor Zhong hurried to add as he overheard some of the conversations, ¡°doesn¡¯t mean you can slack off from your work for an entire week. Remember there is also the Finals Orchestral Evaluation coming right on the heels of the Performative, so you should really be practicing a number of different pieces at once if you want a good final grade.¡± Some of the previously more exuberant planners lowered their heads a little and nodded in the affirmative, before huddling back together and started discussing again, only a little more quiet this time around. Edward was definitely not one of those. He heaved a heavy sigh and closed his musical notes folder, snapping the simple strap-closing mechanism absentmindedly, before tucking it into his shoulder bag, making sure it didn¡¯t get squished between the other books, folders, and miscellanea he had in there. He stared at the folder as it lay inside his faux-leather bag for a long, protracted moment. ¡°Hey, Ed,¡± a high voice called out, and he turned his head around quickly in surprise, his dark locks swishing around. In fact, he turned around so fast that the cream-and-amaranthine flag pin on his grey blazer lapel went flying off and clattered to the wooden auditorium floor. Noticing, Edward started to reach down, but a pale and delicate hand beat him to it, picked it up and offered the pin back to him, palm up. ¡°Hi, there,¡± Siobhan de C¨¦ile said with an unsure smile on her face, pin in her hand, ¡°do you have any plans for the rest of the afternoon? I know its Friday and the weekend, but do you think we maybe could practise a bit together? I¡¯m sort of in need of an accompanist for the revised Hoffmeister Sonata in C Major, and if you¡¯re free, I mean, if you have a few hours open¡­ Could you help me out a bit? I¡¯ll pay you back with a couple of rounds at the Humble Boatsman. Oh, ah, and you dropped this!¡± Siobhan hailed from Avalon, the world in the Auroran kingdom with the most eccentric orbital trajectory around its parent star. Avalon circled around the red giant Dyfed in a slanted, elliptical orbit, leading to extremely cold winters and extremely warm summers, which in turn meant that large parts of the planet was practically uninhabitable for parts of the year. In an inverse of what had happened to the inhabitants of Amaranth over the centuries, the people of Avalon had become paler and rather stockier than the average Auroran. Siobhan was thus shorter than both Arvind and Edward, the latter especially, and her skin was a pasty pale colour. She had shaved one side of her head while wearing her coloured ruby hair very long on the other side, creating a very contrasting style that most who knew her had to admit suited Siobhan¡¯s strikingly heart-shaped face, and her moss-green eyes usually shone with an earnest energy. Arvind, standing a few paces behind the pair of them and a row of seats further up, knew what the answer to Siobhan¡¯s query would be before Edward opened his mouth, and he felt bad for her. The trio usually hung out together in their soloist classes, despite the awkward combination of concert harp for Siobhan and grand piano for the two lads which didn¡¯t share many pieces, apart from the odd sonata or two. She was not part of the usual crew, but she had tagged along more than a few times to the Boatsman, and was on pretty friendly terms with both Peter and David as well, making her an honorary member of the ¡°Boatsmen Four¡±. But Arvind knew what sort of mood Edward had been in since coming home from Amaranth a month ago, and it wasn¡¯t a very pleasant one. ¡°I¡¯m sorry Siobhan,¡± Edward answered with a quick but tired smile, ¡°I have to pick up my recital piece, and have a few words before Professor Winton before I leave campus.¡± He accepted the pin back, but instead of pinning it back onto his lapel, he put it in his blazer chest pocket. ¡°Oh, I see,¡± Siobhan said, looking a bit crestfallen, and her now-empty hand awkwardly tried to hide its presence by scrunching the hem of her long grey woollen frock. ¡°Well, hope to see you at the Boatsman tonight then?¡± ¡°I wouldn¡¯t count on it, to be honest, I will probably spend the rest of the day practicing. But you all have fun without me.¡± ¡°Won¡¯t be as much fun, but hopefully we¡¯ll manage,¡± Siobhan answered with a quick grin, before quickly turning on the heels of her black suede boots and started to walk quickly towards the auditorium exit. Arvind grunted in annoyance. ¡°Look, mate, all work and no play makes Ed a very dull- actually, it makes him a total boor, since he¡¯s already so turned so damn dull,¡± he said when he was fairly sure Siobhan was out of earshot, ¡°you don¡¯t have to use poor Siobhan as a dartboard to vent your shitty mood out on.¡± ¡°I¡¯m sorry, but it¡¯s the truth,¡± Edward responded deadpan and started to head for the exit as well, his black monkstrap shoes clacking on the mahogany-coloured ironwood floor. They were new, Arvind noted, and were finely polished. Edward¡¯s grey suit was also looking sharper and more pressed than usual, and once back from Amaranth he¡¯d acquired a black ulsterette winter coat as well. Edward had never looked like a slob, but he had never stood out either in terms of choice of fashion, unlike now. ¡°I have to concentrate on my recital piece, Professor Winton has made it very clear she has very high demands for me, especially if I am to retain my Honours for my final grade. So I have to choose an exceedingly technically hard sonata or etude to perform, and then work on my musical expression as well. You of all people should know how hard this is going to be.¡± They exited the auditorium and started to walk down the hallways of Countess Montroy Conservatoire, the walls on one side dominated by arched windows that turned towards the inner yard of the main Queen Marie Metropolitan campus. The opposite walls had large floral tapestries and were interspersed with pictures or paintings of famous musicians, composers, and full orchestras from all over history and Human Space. Dozens of students in the customary QMMU grey uniforms and outerwear of varying colours, walked or jogged past them, some in groups and some alone, headed to lectures, practises, student convent gatherings, late lunch, or simply hung around talking. Just another day at Queen Marie¡¯s Metropolitan University, students milling about doing their daily routines, making plans for the coming Monarch Week holiday, getting anxious about approaching tests, paper evaluations, and group projects. A dozen different languages could be heard, with students hailing from sixty different worlds, an eighth of all settled planets in Human Space represented in Countess Montroy Conservatoire alone. Yet a few students stood out from among the normal throng, keeping to themselves, and sometimes getting ugly looks or glares from other students when they passed. They wore the green and cream with a golden star of the Independent Systems Alliance on their lapels or jacket cuffs. Edward and Arvind passed a short girl looking at her ¡®com for where the room for her next lecture was located, and when he caught sight of the ISA pin on the collar of her outer shirt, Edward shot the girl an icy glare. She looked up right at the moment they passed, and took a few unsure steps backwards and clutched the ¡®com protectively to her chest, clearly intimidated by the Amaranthine who towered over her. Just as quickly as Edward¡¯s angry expression had materialised, it disappeared, and he walked on, Arvind a step behind, leaving the shocked girl behind. ¡°What the hell was that?¡± Arvind asked after a few more strides, pretty sure they had left her in the proverbial dust. ¡°Does she owe you money or anything?¡± ¡°I have no idea what you¡¯re talking about,¡± Edward replied in a neutral tone as they exited a set of open doors and started to walk down the short set of stairs to reach the inner campus yard. It was Galactic Relative 13th February, but the northern half of Aurora was still in the midst of winter, and there was a thin layer of snow covering the grass of the courtyards of QMMU, and the clouds in the sky were dark and low. Hundreds of students and some staff milled about the courtyards, the columned esplanades, and the cobblestone paths and the small parks with their pavilions. Edward looked up and considered the skyline of Cordelia in the distance, the architecturally jarring between the Neo-Georgian and ¨CVictorian brick buildings and the skytowers and Hyperist ziggurats. Arvind stopped and followed Edward¡¯s gaze, wondering what his friend was seeing that he wasn¡¯t. ¡°Hey Arvind,¡± Edward said at length, running a hand through his dark hair, ¡°do you believe in teleology?¡± Arvind blinked in confusion a few times. ¡°No, I¡¯m a Hindu. Why are you being so weird?¡± Edward smiled, but didn¡¯t laugh at the quip. ¡°I¡¯m serious, Arvy, do you believe that the purpose of any object is to undergo a certain set of changes to reach a determined end point?¡± Small flakes of snow started to trickle down from the sky. Arvind looked at Edward. His hair was longer than it had been before, and more curled, and his skin had darkened further while home on sunny Amaranth. He also had large dark rings under his eyes, Arvind was sure they hadn¡¯t been there two months ago. ¡°There was a certain theory back on Earth about a thousand years ago, that posterity dubbed ¡®Whig History¡¯,¡± Edward continued, ¡°which saw the march of history and societies as a long road that ultimately ended with parliamentary democracy. All the wars, despots, famines, civil strife, injustices and malfeasances over the course of a society¡¯s history would finally, the adherents of this theory believed, culminate with a society¡¯s end-state of a stable democratic society which was headed by technocrats elected from the general population, the state ruled by the people for the people. A teleological worldview, the natural end of human history, neatly tied with a bow.¡± One of Arvind¡¯s eyebrows rose up as he squinted. ¡°That sounds really na?ve to me.¡± ¡°Oh, I agree, but I think there¡¯s something awfully romantic about it.¡± Edward started to walk across the courtyard along one of the paths and Arvind followed suit, passing a few other students out on their own errands. ¡°Where¡¯s this coming from? Are you feeling okay?¡± Arvind¡¯s voice was tinged with concern. ¡°To be honest, I don¡¯t know,¡± Edward answered in that same neutral tone as they passed a pair of Maltese students taking pictures of themselves in front of a partially snow-covered bronze statue of King Henry II with their handcoms. ¡°Physically I feel fine, but I have had a lot on my mind ever since I came back from Amaranth. There are a few things that I can¡¯t explain, and I¡¯m not sure how to feel about it.¡± ¡°Is it the do you want to talk about it?-kind, or the should you perhaps make an appointment with your GP-kind?¡± Arvind felt slightly bad that he wasn¡¯t able to not make a half-joke about it, but to be completely honest he was feeling a bit out of his depth and weird about the whole conversation so far. ¡°I think it¡¯s the let¡¯s see what happens-kind,¡± Edward replied with the ghost of a smile on his lips. ¡°I was just thinking it would have been lovely if human history could be explained so easily and rationally as the Whig historians tried to do. That all the wars and strife was just necessary evils Humanity had to go through on their way to a true enlightened society. It would make it so much easier to understand what was going on with the ISA right now.¡± He stopped suddenly, and the sudden motion made him almost slip on the snow-slick cobblestones. He flailed with his arms and managed to regain balance before landing on his behind, ending up standing wide-legged, all of his upper body weight concentrating downwards. It was a ridiculous pose. ¡°Holy fucking shit,¡± he said in a completely different tone, ¡°that was so close, I could have broken my fucking spine!¡± He gingerly stepped over the next few cobblestones to reach the veritable safety of the grass, which despite being covered by snow, seemed to provide the Amaranthine with more gravitational comfort. ¡°God damn it, I can¡¯t tell you how much I hate snow. I¡¯ve never seen the stuff before, and now it¡¯s fucking everywhere!¡± Arvind burst out laughing, his guffaws drawing attention from some of the surrounding students, but they quickly returned to their own business. ¡°Sucks to be you, Sunny Boy,¡± he managed between fits of laughter, ¡°guess growing up on a tropical archipelago has its drawbacks when you have to experience what the rest of the universe¡¯s weather has to throw at you.¡± ¡°I¡¯ll throw something at you if you don¡¯t stop laughing soon,¡± Edward growled as he started to walk parallel to the path, but staying firmly on the grass. ¡°Promises, oppo. Besides, I¡¯ve seen you try to throw before, you can¡¯t aim for shit, and that¡¯s with your glasses on.¡± ¡°I can still throw hands, you horrible hill cretin.¡± ¡°Again, promises.¡± The friendly heckling was interrupted by the ringing of the five o¡¯clock by the large Main Assembly Hall clock tower, and Edward¡¯s smile disappeared from his face as he quickly looked at his wristwatch. ¡°Ah crap, I¡¯m supposed to be seeing Professor Winton right now. You go on home without me, I need to run and afterwards I¡¯m going to hit up the Conservatoire library.¡± Arvind shrugged and made to walk the opposite direction across the yard. ¡°None of us will be home when you get back,¡± he said over his shoulder, ¡°we¡¯re all going to the Boatsman at seven, Siobhan included. Just know that if you change your mind and decide that a little recreation is not the sum of all evils after all, come hit us up later; we¡¯ll probably be there ¡®til closing time, it¡¯s the start weekend of Monarch¡¯s Week after all.¡± Edward smiled reassuringly. ¡°I¡¯ll keep that in mind, thanks.¡± That mild smile which was Edward¡¯s usual way of smiling, a slightly lopsided one which comforted Arvind¡¯s concern, disappeared as soon as Edward turned his back towards his friend, and he started to walk back towards the Conservatoire, walking with quick and brisk steps on the slick cobblestones.
Two weeks prior. It was one of the larger practice rooms in Countess Montroy Conservatoire¡¯s third floor, one that could fit not only the grand piano which was already there, but also had sufficient room for enough extra seats to complete the ensemble needed for most multi-instrument sonatas, plus three rows of seat at the back. Like nearly all rooms in the Conservatoire, the walls were tapestried, and the floor of ironwood panelling, but two of the walls and the roof had pads of aeroplast to absorb sound so it didn¡¯t carry outside the environs of the room. Edward, the sole student in the room, was sitting in front of the large black grand piano and stretched his back after a solid thirty minutes of playing the piano half of Junpei Takahashi¡¯s Piano Concerto No.6 in F, Op.44. The seated trio of professors at the back were giving each other puzzled looks. ¡°Heatherland, can I ask how long have been practising this piece?¡± Professor Ryder asked, scratching his unruly black beard. Edward shrugged, rubbing his slightly sore right shoulder. ¡°About six days or so, five hours a day, give or take.¡± The professors looked at each other again, puzzlement surrendering to astonishment or disbelief. ¡°You¡¯re not taking the mick, right?¡± Professor Cranach asked incredulously, an eyebrow hiking up in unbelieving surprise. ¡°No, sir,¡± Edward answered nonplussed, ¡°there might have a few more hours of simply looking at the notes and trying to sound them out in my head, but no more than that.¡± Edward¡¯s main academic supervisor, Professor Chantelle Winton, looked at the other two professors and nodded knowingly. ¡°Thank you for your honesty, Edward,¡± she said in a mild tone, ¡°it¡¯s just simply miraculous that you¡¯re able to play such a complicated piece so well after such a short a period of practice is all. Mind you, it¡¯s not perfect, you did skip a few note-shifts and there were a few bars where your tempo was off, but nothing major.¡± Unauthorized use of content: if you find this story on Amazon, report the violation. ¡°Complicated, ma¡¯am? Granted, it looks daunting on paper, but it¡¯s relatively simple to put to the keys.¡± That provoked another bout of the professors looking at each other, the unspoken question on their collective minds being if the student in front of them was lying or in actuality being completely honest. ¡°Have you heard this piece before, or seen it performed, Heatherland?¡± Ryder asked, taking notes on his ¡®com. Edward shook his head. ¡°No, sir, first time I¡¯ve come across it was when Professor Winton gave it to me last month, and asked if I was up to the challenge. I have to admit, I did put off practicing it until last week, since I had to complete a paper due for my elective of Comparative Interstellar Politics.¡± Professor Cranach was not yet done. ¡°You¡¯ve evidently mastered the playing of the concerto in a very short time span, young Heatherland, and well done to you for managing that. I can think of only a handful of other pianists being able to learn it so fast, and none of them are even close to your age.¡± ¡°Yes,¡± Ryder said halfway under his breath, ¡°which makes this whole display seem miraculous.¡± ¡°Nevertheless,¡± Cranach continued, seemingly not hearing what his colleague had commented, ¡°I wonder if you can tell me a bit about the piece itself. That marked transition in the Allegro from the ABAD scheme to ADBD, what stands out to you in that part?¡± Edward, to his credit, and to the continued amazement from his interlocutors, didn¡¯t even turn to consider the score sheet before answering, only requiring a few moments to think, a hand absentmindedly running through his hair. ¡°It is a transition of more than scheme and tonality, sir; it jumps to cut out a seventh, and inserts a truncated half-chord at the end of each bar. But what I think what you¡¯re referring to is that it shifts to a dissonant F Major key, which in combination with the schematic shift creates an unbalanced sound that produces the musical emotional notes normally associated with an sequence played in F Minor key.¡± There was a sort of stunned silence for a long, pregnant, moment. ¡°I say, Chantelle,¡± Cranach said at length, ¡°you have been blessed with a once-in-a-generation student in young Heatherland here. How much of his evident abilities are your influence and teaching, and how much is innate?¡± ¡°It hurts my professional pride to say this, John,¡± Winton said, trying very hard to not let her pride in her student show, ¡°but the vast majority is his own doing. We¡¯ve had multiple sessions regarding composer comprehension, musical evocative theory, and practicing rapid score reading, but all honour goes to him for the end result. When he first arrived at Montroy three years ago, I would have classified him as a middling musician technically and emotionally, but I and a lot of the Year One and Two staff agreed he had near unlimited untapped potential. It is to Heatherland¡¯s enormous credit that he has not only tapped into this, but flourished and in my opinion reached the very height of his entire soloist cohort. Not that you¡¯re allowed to tell any of your classmates that, Edward.¡± Edward had, while Winton was speaking, turned from a slight pink flush in his bronzed face, to an aggressive shade of brownish-red and the tips of his ears were burning, and he was very focused on the tips of his suede boots, hands wringing uncomfortably in his lap. ¡°Well, I¡¯m convinced,¡± Professor Cranach said with a smile, ¡°you¡¯ll have no problem getting an Honours endorsement from me, provided you keep this up towards the tail-end of the semester and the Performative Final, young man.¡± Professor Ryder didn¡¯t outwardly seem like he was about to sing Edward¡¯s praises, but after giving Cranach¡¯s his turn to speak, he grinned. ¡°Any orchestra worth their salt would be standing in line for your services, Heatherland, if what you¡¯ve shown us is your true abilities. Your seemingly perfect marriage of technical skill, emotional comprehension, and physical performance is something very special indeed, and few musicians can truly be said to possess it in the way that you do.¡± Then why have I been rejected by every orchestra I¡¯ve auditioned for, sir? ¡°Thank you, professors, for being so kind. But I don¡¯t think I¡¯m all that special really, it¡¯s just all about feeling the emotions behind the notes and letting the music take control once the fingers hit the tangents.¡± Edward wasn¡¯t entirely sure what made him say that, but an inner voice told him every word was true. Winton gave him a large smile, before rising from the chair and clapped her hands together. ¡°Now then, I believe we¡¯ve taken up more than enough of your time, Heatherland. Go off and enjoy the winter¡¯s day. But I want you back in my office in two weeks with at least a semi-tangible idea of what piece you¡¯re going to be doing for your Performative Final and what precisely you will be playing at the Student Baroque Orchestra¡¯s Final Orchestral Evaluation. Now, off you go!¡±
Present day, only an hour later. Edward had trooped up in front of Professor Winton¡¯s office door nine minutes too late to their five o¡¯clock appointment, but his supervisor had taken it in stride, despite the fact that her work day was technically over and she too wished to go home for the long Monarch Week holiday. Nevertheless, she was all smiles as they sat down in the lounge chairs around the small coffee table in a corner of the professor¡¯s second story office. Office spaces in old academic buildings like Countess Montroy¡¯s was always at somewhat of a premium, but Chantelle Winton was not only senior faculty staff; she had also been a grand piano soloist with the Royal Cordelia Opera for nearly two decades, the very highest level a pianist in the Kingdom of Aurora could hope to aspire, and as such was almost to be considered Auroran classical music royalty. That had landed her an office which several centuries before had been the QMMU¡¯s Vice Principal¡¯s on-campus apartment, back in the day when Cordelia was a much smaller city and not even the capital, and the QMMU was in its embryonic stage. Winton¡¯s smile gave away to a quizzical expression once Edward had told her what he wanted to perform for his Final Evaluation. ¡°Rachmaninoff¡¯s 2nd Piano Concerto, Chaminade¡¯s Piano Sonata in C Minor, and Schumann¡¯s Liebeslied, Op. 25? Are you quite sure about that selection, Edward? I can appreciate a love for the romantic classics, but not choosing a single composer from the current millennium is a very all-or-nothing choice that might come to haunt you in the evaluation process. You surely remember that there are several axes of evaluation; you are going to be graded by technical performance, musical evocation, composer comprehension, and, the most pressing in this case, ability to display mastery of different genres of classical music.¡± Professor Winton sat back in the lounge chair and crossed her legs, brushing a lock of dark and grey hair over one ear as she regarded her young student over the rim of her glasses. She too, like Edward, wore glasses, despite the fact that no one in the Auroran kingdom actually needed them unless they were somehow fundamentally opposed to the extremely non-intrusive eye-corrective surgery that was covered by every citizen¡¯s health service insurance. ¡°I have thought long and hard about this, believe me Professor.¡± Edward countered and in contrast to Winton, leaned forward in his seat and looked her straight in the eyes. ¡°I thank you again for the praise you heaped upon me after the Takahashi recital and your words of encouragement is partially why I chose this set of pieces. Rachmaninoff¡¯s 2nd is the lesser known of his three piano concertos, and is always overshadowed by the much more technically demanding 3rd. However, I believe it is a much more emotional piece, which requires a much higher degree of musical expression from the soloist than his other works. Chaminade is proverbially forgotten, but her works were firmly placed in the French romance while the rest of the composing world around her was moving firmly into the First Phase of Modernism and Expressionism. I find her works are exactly what grabs the zeitgeist of what is going on in our society today: the fine arts and culture are being promoted and even encouraged by the upper strata of our Auroran society, whilst, to use an operatic turn of phrase, the wolves are gathering at our gates. The largest nations in Human Space, no, Human history are locked in a mutual arms race and events outside the control of anyone in actual power is threatening to send our collective civilisation to the brink of all-out war. Yet never before has artistic performances been as highly sought after and praised as now, it is hard for graduating classical music, opera and ballet students to find steady employment, because there are so many choosing such professions. And never before has there been such an appetite for these kinds of performances, all the while we all carry on in the shadow of overhanging all-consuming war. In feel that Chaminade¡¯s wistful romantic works are the perfect vessel to communicate those feelings.¡± Edward stopped speaking as he realised he had been so animated he was on the verge of panting slightly, that was the level of passion he had unwittingly allowed himself to put on display. After a moment, Professor Winton crossed her arms over her chest and smiled. ¡°And the Liebeslied, does that have a societal message behind it as well?¡± Despite himself, Edward smiled lopsidedly and leaned back in the lounge chair. ¡°No, it is simply a declaration of love, made manifest in music.¡± Edward was pretty sure Professor Winton had tears in the corners of her eyes as she declared her wholehearted support for his choice of pieces to round out his formal education as a pianist. It wasn¡¯t even six o¡¯clock yet when Edward stepped into a liquor store on De Valera Street. Despite being a ground floor shop, it had a perceptively large interior with floor-to-roof shelves stocked with a dizzying array of types of alcohols, brands, and vintages, representing all of the Royal Union, and many other polities and worlds besides. Edward looked around for a bit before heading to the whisky shelves. There he didn¡¯t browse too long before finding what he was looking for, grabbing a bottle and headed towards the roundabout-style cashier desks. He put the 0,75l bottle of Persephone Aquamarine on the desk and a relatively young woman came up to him. She evidently took notice of his crisp, grey QMMU uniform and his new Kitezh trex-wool ulsterette coat, his curly black locks, bronzed skin, and reddened a little as she scanned the expensive bottle of alcohol. A liquor store that was operated completely by humans was a sure sign that it was a professional (and by extension, expensive) locale, and Edward seemingly paid no mind as the register showed the sum of ¡ê85 for that single bottle. Bottle of expensive malt whisky stuffed into his school bag, he walked back out onto the piedway, heading towards Albany Square. Groundcar traffic swished underneath his feet on the ground-level carrumways, but he paid it no mind. As he exited De Valera Street and entered the crossing of Cornwallis and Alfredus Pictor streets, he made a slight detour that cut through Beauchamp Park, and ended up in the ward of Roccham. From there it was only a few blocks before he reached Bellweather Street 28. Edward keyed his way inside, the electronic lock giving off a happy blirp as it recognised his key¡¯s signature. He went up the two flights of stairs to reach the entrance to the apartment he shared with Arvind, Peter, and David. A repetition of what had happened at the outer door later, and Edward was busy hanging up his new and expensive coat on the coatracks near the entrance. Their apartment wasn¡¯t the largest, but it certainly served its purpose well enough. In the middle was the common living room with its large HD-screen, audio system, sofa and lounge chairs; behind the multi-media part of the common room was a dining table in faux-pine that had seating for eight and ten spinal chairs in the same material (¡°in case we have a party and more than we invite shows up,¡± Arvind had argued when they had collectively ordered/paid for the furniture over the webnet), and the rear wall had two large windows that showed a view into the rear yard of the apartment block, which meant a completely nondescript view of allotments, sheds, small flecks of greenery, and the backs of the other apartment buildings of the same Bellweather Street block. Each intercardinal corner of the apartment was given over to the bedrooms/study rooms of each of those who lived there. Every one of them decorated theirs a bit differently; Edward¡¯s had a south-eastern facing wall with a window, a bed underneath that, a desk with integrated shelves to the ¡°west¡± of the bed, and the rest of the room was given over to a piano and a set of closet cupboards. Storage was invariably where he could find space, so under his bed, underneath his piano, on shelves stacked close to the roof, or simply on the floor, the latter of which was ambulated about quite a lot. The kitchen and bathroom was located in between the ¡°eastern¡± and ¡°western¡± spaces between the bedrooms, Edward was happy that the kitchen was closest to him, considering he was the one of the four who did the most cooking. The kitchen was just above the bare minimum expected for civilised citizens of Aurora to survive by; a combined fridge/freezer, a titanium-plate induction topped oven, laser-washer, and organic combustion trash station in addition to relatively ample counter space. The bathroom didn¡¯t have a bath, but it did have two showers in addition to a large dual-sink, and it had self-absorbing spongemarble tiles from Sogdiana, which sent water directly from the tiles above to the water-recollection underneath. None of this was on Edward¡¯s mind as he flicked on the HD-screen with a snap of his fingers that the apartment¡¯s central DAI recognised. ¡°¡­ and that the Auroran government must agree to pull back its forward-deployed Royal Navy assets if any meaningful talks of appeasement is to be made in good faith.¡± Edward grimaced whilst unbuttoning his shirt, having already tossed his grey blazer over the back of the common room sofa. The house DAI had settled on showing the stream from the New Guardian since the algorithms of the four young males who lived there were generally left-leaning, and as such the Dumb Artificial Intelligence in charge of Bellweather Street 28 H301 thought that was what its human masters wanted to watch. ¡°Change channel,¡± Edward said angrily while still stripping out of his uniform, ¡°something more neutral, please.¡± He didn¡¯t wait to listen to the change of stream-channel before heading for the shower. Well there, Edward let the warm water wash over his naked body. He soaped up his bronzed skin, making especial care to finish his shower not only with a hair shampoo, but also with a mild soap that he slathered onto his hands, which was the last to rinse away as he asked the apartment DAI to shut off the tap. Once out of the shower, he looked at himself in the mirror, letting the water drip off of him instead of drying it up with a towel; the floor was spongemarble after all. Quite tall, check. Dark-haired, with curly locks, check. Plays a classical instrument, and is damn good at it, check. Has improved his wardrobe considerably over these few months, check. A cowardly piece of shit, check. Single, check. A fair bit of time passed after finishing his shower and Edward stepping out and heading for his room. But he had experiments to do, and it all started with him uncorking that bottle of Persephone Aquamarine. It loosened with a very satisfying pop, the cork made of the real stuff, which was exceedingly rare, even on extremely opulent Aurora, Amaranth, or Angevin. Edward produced a wide-rimmed glass and poured a good measure of the mahogany liquid into it. He brought the glass up to his nose and took a long whiff. The Aquamarine smelled of smoke, cedar, shellfish, kombu, and worked leather. If anyone had asked Edward in that moment how he was able to recognise and differentiate all those smells, he would have been completely perplexed. Instead he downed the glass in a single gulp- It burns, everything burns, why has Humanity cultivated this type of alcohol for over a thousand years¡­ As soon as the burn began, it was gone. Edward¡¯s breath came quick and hard in and out of his nose, but his reptilian brain soon realised he was out of physical danger. ¡°Alright,¡± he murmured to himself, ¡°time to put this theory to the test.¡± Two glasses of the same alcohol later, Edward was starting to feel the emerging disassociation that strong alcohol brings after only a few drinks. He smiled mischievously, and fished a score sheet out from his bag, somewhat clumsily extracting the score for Louise Farrenc¡¯s Etude, Book No.1. This was a piece he had never played before, he had only read the score sheet twice, and as he sat it on the sheet stand on the piano, Edward allowed himself a small smile once again. He read the score once, twice, and halfway through the third time he started to play it from the beginning. By the time he realised he¡¯d played it nine times, he sat back with a surprised gasp. ¡°28,¡± he asked the apartment DAI out loud, ¡°can you do me a favour and record the next, oh I don¡¯t know, six sessions that I am about to play?¡± ¡°Of course, Master Heatherland,¡± the androgynous voice of the apartment DAI responded. But Edward was not done. He filled a further three glasses of heavy-duty whisky and downed them all while sitting in the living room looking at news feeds from a multitude of Royal Union stream-channels. ¡°In the Lucidia Sector, Vice Admiral Kuznetsova had vowed to meet aggression with aggression, especially since the Euphoria Incident, and she has assured to commit several more heavy combatants to patrol the border zones that cross the Royal Union, the ISA, the Lucidia Sector, and the nominally independent Lorelei Sector. Tonight we invite you viewers to discuss the question if Royal Navy officers, raised and trained¡­¡± Evening Telegraph. ¡°Novorosyian Grand Ducal Naval Forces keep clashing with Coma Berenice Naval units in the vicinity of the Three Sisters, the site of so much bloodshed and serious conflict merely forty years back, although no sailors from any of the nominal sides have yet to be hurt, the civilian populace is caught¡­¡± Der Sternspiegel. ¡°The system of Concord, with its capital world of Neuemarsche has for the last month been the focal point of the disagreement between the navy of the Independent Systems Alliance, and the navies of the Royal Union, spearheaded by the Republic of Corinthian Navy and ¨Cquite paradoxically¨C the Royal Dionysian Navy. Trade to and fro this system has dried up completely as the major interstellar powers in the region have all engaged in a political tug of war, stalling exports and imports to this system completely¡­¡± Edward kept all of that in the background as he kept open the door to his bedroom, letting himself be bombarded with all sorts of news and talking heads¡¯ commentary. He put Chaminade¡¯s sonata on the sheet holder of his piano, and then set about playing the nineteen-minute long sonata in one sitting. But he put a sound-cancelling headset over his ears as soon as he started. And close to twenty minutes later, he veritably threw the expensive headset into a corner of his bedroom, his pulse elevated. The DAI had confirmed his tangent-movements were 98.9% accurate. ¡°One last experiment,¡± he slurred to himself, downing another glass of expensive Amaranthine whisky, ¡°if I finish this with a good percentage, then the DAI system is fucked, and I am just a normal person that has had a bit of good luck while showing off what some would call skill.¡± Edward sat down in front of the piano once more, put on the a set of music mini-pods that literally could not carry music outside the ears they were stuffed into, thanks to their miniature privacy shields; if they did anything more intrusive than Lisjonera Inc. guaranteed against, said company would be bankrupt within moments. In other words, they were not only noise-cancelling, they were legally obligated to be noise-neutralising. The initial dulcet tunes of Rachmaninoff¡¯s 2nd Piano Concerto started to veritably waft out over the now-empty apartment of Edward, Arvind, Peter, and David. But soon enough the Adagio gave way to the Allegro scherzo, and Edward was thrown out of his musical trance as the concerto came to its natural end, simply because of musical reasons, not because of outside interference. And that scares me. He sat for close to half an hour with his head in his hands. He had completed the whole piano-part of the concerto, without hearing, almost without reading, and still had gotten over 99% correct on his first recital. ¡°Haha, what the fuck is happening to me,¡± he half-slurred. ¡°This shouldn¡¯t be possible for mere human beings.¡± Mour¨¤ki mou, his mother Theodora Doukas-Heatherland seemed to be chanting over- and over again in the back of his mind. It had been seven weeks since he had left his mother and Amaranth behind once again... Remember arch¨º koi omeg?n, Edward, you are our son. He recollected that Arvind (and Siobhan for that matter) had invited him to join them at the Humble Boatsman. Stumbling into their collective bathroom, Edward found a set of detox-pills, downed two of them, and then went looking for that shirt he and Arvind had went out to buy that time Ed had been invited to join Adea and the rest at the Pale Peacock. An hour later, Edward stepped out from the drone-skycar onto piedway in front of the Humble Boatsman, feeling prepped. He had showered again, wearing that nice, heavy white shirt he¡¯d looked for earlier, black trousers, a cream outershirt, and the monkstraps he had worn earlier that day at Uni. The security officer at the Boatsman¡¯s door didn¡¯t even look at Edward twice before admitting him. Clothes makes a man, eh? He only had to step inside before David spotted him and drunkenly waved in his general direction. ¡°Oi, Eddie, over here mate!¡± This will be a very interesting night, Edward thought as an actually genuine grin crossed his face. He crossed over the ironwood floor how the hell did the Boatsman afford that? to reach the seats Arvind had reserved. After depositing his extravagant cream outershirt at the pub¡¯s wardrobe, Edward for the first time in a long time felt like he comfortably belonged. Chapter 41 - Weeks of Uncertainty: "And Then There Were Others" Do you think he¡¯s noticed anything strange? He should have by now, it manifested in me at a much younger age than he is now. At the very least there should be a few things happening to him that¡¯s he¡¯s unable to comprehend. You could have told him outright, you know. It feels¡­ disingenuous the way we¡¯re holding it back from him. How would we explain it properly to him, darling, without upsetting him tremendously? It is better that he doesn¡¯t know, that he believes that he is simply gifted, rather than uproot him from his daily life. There¡¯s no telling the consequences if he should start digging more into things. Meaning what exactly? Meaning that there is a non-zero per cent chance to avoid the attention of some very shady people. People none would want to be engaged with in any fashion. Is he in any danger? Because if he is, and you still chose to withhold this information from him, I swear The- Shh, dear, no names, no details. And no, he¡¯s not in any physical danger, the worst thing that could happen to him at this stage is overanalysing what is happening to his body and mental faculties. And if worse comes to worst, Cordelia is a big place, and he seems to be surrounded by his friends and peers practically all the time. Was that why you insisted on me arranging a four-man shared apartment for him to live in? So that he¡¯d be watched all the time? When you put it like that, it sounds like he¡¯s under a proverbial Panoptikon. I simply asked you to fix him a shared place to stay; I didn¡¯t plan on him having his flatmates as his gaolers. Be that as it may, what is the next phase in the evolution? Hard to say, it manifests differently in different cadet branches of the main stock, but don¡¯t be surprised if his grades start to go up significantly. Are there any drawbacks? Apart from the obvious? You know what I mean. Hmm, there will be a pretty serious jolt to his hippocampus for both better and worse. His entorhinal cortex will be significantly improved, as will his declarative memory. But he will have a very difficult time combating approach-avoidance conflicts, much more than a normal human does; in fact, it might become a serious mental struggle if past indicators and examples are anything to go by. Terrific. Anything else? Motor skills will improve as well, but how they manifest is a bit personally. Personally? What¡¯s the term¡­ memonom¨¦na- individually, varying from person to person. Will this be obvious to people around him? It might, it all depends on how much he flaunts it. But it¡¯s not like he will suddenly grow five inches and gain a tonne of muscles overnight. The changes will be more subtle than that. But there might be some, ah, external changes. Such as? Change in hair colour is common, as is metabolism. He¡¯ll get fat? The opposite, he will have a very hard time gaining weight, and the conversion of nutritional energy during the anabolic state is increased substantially. Alright, I think I¡¯ve heard enough. When do you think that we¡¯ll be able to inform him of all this? I don¡¯t know, it all depends on how much he starts to research on his own and if a web is formed around him. At that point, we have to do something. What options are open to us? Few, but those that provide them are probably the most reliable people I can think of.
A finger reached out and pressed a button on the grav-mounted keyboard, stopping the playback. ¡°How long ago was this recorded?¡± The male¡¯s voice was cold and pronounced the words slowly and clearly in meticulous Farsi. The other male in the room consulted a datapad briefly before returning it to under his left arm. ¡°The conversation took place on 13 February Galactic Relative, transit through the network taking five days and nineteen hours. It was brought to our station as soon as it was received by the blacksite relays, Lord.¡± His Farsi was, unlike the first speaker, a bit more tinged by his native tongue, but it would only be obvious to someone specifically listening for it. The first speaker tapped a gloved finger slowly and rhythmically on the jeunewood work desk, the sound reverberating in the small office. The small room was very Spartan, with only a desk, the office chair in which the man sat, two shelves filled with folders containing physical mem¡¯disks, a portmanteau, and a viewscreen on the back wall masquerading as a window, showing a feed of a magnificent view of a park that in reality was about four-hundred kilometres away. The walls and floor was cold carboncrete, and the only source of air was a roof-mounted ventilator. There was no discernable door; the automated security hatch was camouflaged as part of the carboncrete wall. ¡°And our onsite agents remain undetected?¡± ¡°As far as is discernable, yes Lord. There are no visible indications that they have been compromised, nor has there been a spike in electromagnetic energy at the targets¡¯ residence.¡± ¡°It is foolish to rely on such easily observable readings. If they are following their field craft OPSEC procedures to the letter, the team should have relocated to a new safe spot by now, but send a missive through the usual channels for them to reposition to the tertiary location anyway.¡± If you come across this story on Amazon, it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it. ¡°Yes Lord, though that will take about eight days to reach the team.¡± ¡°Do it regardless, I¡¯m not risking exposing to the target that they¡¯re under active surveillance. She¡¯s crafty enough to know that she¡¯s probably under some sort of observation, but no need to reveal that we¡¯re practically on top of her.¡± ¡°Yes Lord, I will see to it personally.¡± ¡°Good,¡± the seated speaker said simply, accompanied by a satisfied nod, before he stood up and started to look through one of the folders of mem¡¯disks. ¡°Do we put a team on the secondary target, Lord?¡± the other speaker asked, who had been standing at attention the whole time, actions crisp and with no superfluous movement whenever he consulted his pad. The first speaker shook his head. ¡°No, not for the time being. As the primary target said, Cordelia is a very big place and he¡¯s practically surrounded at any given time. Even trying to organise surveillance on him would be a tremendous drain of resources and effort. Better to keep appraised of the situation second hand. Should we lose that access, I¡¯ll consider drafting an OBVS plan, but for now we bide our time.¡± He evidently found the disk he was looking for and sat back in his office chair, slotting the disk into the desk¡¯s reader. The integrated computer sprung to life once more, and the holographic for-your-eyes-only display showed him, and only him, a vast spread of data and figures. ¡°Now, with that little piece of housekeeping dealt with,¡± he said, switching over to Greek, ¡°let¡¯s concentrate on the really important matters on the agenda.¡± ¡°Lord,¡± the other speaker said, still speaking in Farsi and clearing his throat ever so slightly, ¡°what do we say if the Prince¡¯s Own come asking about the situation?¡± ¡°First you tell them,¡± the senior replied in Farsi, ¡°that the situation is well under control, and if they start prodding, send them to me and I¡¯ll give them some overly detailed explanation which will probably go over their heads. Now let¡¯s get to the real order of business, shall we.¡± ¡°Very good, Lord,¡± the standing speaker answered in Greek, and as if on cue the hidden door swished open to admit a tall woman dressed in a black, gold and violet uniform. It contrasted starkly to the full black uniforms of the two men, which only had a few silver-grey detailing and stripes to differentiate ranks. The woman stopped next to the standing man and saluted crisply. ¡°Good timing, Lady Vakallaria,¡± the seated man said, giving her a brief, thin smile before concentrating once more on the holo-screen, ¡°though I suspect you already knew we were done talking about petty domestic matters.¡± ¡°Sir,¡± was all she said in response, continuing to stand at attention, before the seated man made a gesture for the both of them to fall at ease. ¡°Let us start with the first item on the agenda; Nikos, how is the developing situation on Tschornohora?¡± The man called ¡°Nikos¡± consulted his datapad again before answering, periodically fact checking the details. ¡°As of 08 February, the Auroran Plenipotentiary has given Mr Saldys temporary residence at the Embassy as a political refugee. The Vice Naval Attach¨¦ Barham has been in contact with our own Embassy there in regards to the method Mr Saldys managed to find his way to the Auroran Embassy while being shadowed by local counter-intelligence, and has been very, ah, insistent in his inquiries.¡± ¡°He knew immediately it was us, sir,¡± the woman referred to as ¡°Lady Vakallaria¡± said, while brushing a few errant strands of long blonde-brown hair behind her right ear, ¡°which means their intelligence types on station have at least two brain cells to rub together. Though I believe you were already informed of Barham¡¯s capabilities, Ilearch Molon.¡± Molon smiled that thin smile of his again, but said nothing. After a moment Nikos continued. ¡°Given the limited resources available to their intelligence services on the Myndowen capitol world, it is broad agreement among the senior analytical staff at Prophylakeion that the Aurorans will try to ascertain what they have gleamed from Mr Saldys through external means.¡± ¡°Which in essence,¡± Lady Vakallaria interrupted in a calm but domineering tone, ¡°implies that the Aurorans will either A; employ local assets in an attempt to confirm Saldys¡¯ claims, B; inquire allies onsite in Lemberg or other nearby locations on Tschornohora to carry out this fact-finding mission, or C; bring in specialists from their own national intelligence services.¡± ¡°Hydrakos believes C to be the most likely option, Lord,¡± Nikos supplemented at the end, and waited for Molon¡¯s response. The Ilearch resumed his rhythmic tapping on the desktop. A group of small children and a few accompanying adults could be seen congregating around a fountain in the park shown on the feed behind Molon. ¡°No, I don¡¯t think so.¡± ¡°Lord?¡± ¡°Barham will want to get to the bottom of this on his own, without getting in touch with Bower-Henton and Royal Naval Intelligence. I think he already suspects he won¡¯t like what he¡¯s about to find out, and the less Auroran witnesses, the better.¡± ¡°Especially since they¡¯d be obligated to get the Royal Intelligence Service involved,¡± Vakallaria said, crossing her arms over her chest. ¡°Exactly, no naval officer wants the Ghosts involved unless they can help it. That the RIS will at some point in the future be directed to take a look is a given, if our hunch is correct.¡± ¡°My Lord, please,¡± Vakallaria scoffed, ¡°Her Majesty¡¯s Naval Intelligence Division¡¯s information on this is rock solid. We were the ones who fed the Myndowen students with the code they required to make their breakthrough after all. We could have done it ourselves months back, the Myndowen Imperial Navy¡¯s security algorithms are laughably porous, but to lend it credibility it had to be domestic non-state operators who made the actual cracking of the code. What we¡¯ve gleaned through the info packets we¡¯ve externally probed for code-cracking purposes has provided us with more than ample circumstantial evidence to form a coherent picture on what¡¯s going on in Tschornohora orbit.¡± ¡°I cannot say I approve of the method the HMNID chose to employ in this particular case,¡± Molon said, swiping a particular set of data from the holo-screen to his ¡®com. ¡°It seems¡­ wasteful.¡± ¡°My Lord, surely you cannot bemoan the loss of a handful of Myndowen students when weighed against the intelligence gained.¡± Lady Vakallaria sounded genuinely surprised, but Molon shook his head, his grey locks swaying a bit as a result. ¡°You misunderstand me, Helena, I don¡¯t care about the students who were sacrificed during this operation, I simply feel HMNID could have gone directly to the Aurorans instead. The whole cracking ordeal the locals carried out took the better part of three weeks. And if you say the NID sat on good circumstantial evidence already, I think I speak for the whole Prophylakeion when I say that was valuable time wasted for something that is essentially window-dressing and unnecessary plausible deniability.¡± ¡°I don¡¯t think you will be saying that if the Aurorans blow this whole thing open and start mentioning how they came about this information.¡± Vakallaria¡¯s tone was ever so slightly testy, and Molon smiled internally at the knowledge that he¡¯d managed to hurt her professional pride. ¡°We all know full well how punctilious the Aurorans are about ¡®doing the correct thing¡¯, and being all damned self-important ¡®gentlemen¡¯ about interstellar affairs. We¡¯re talking about the same people who made obvious that the Greens had bugged the St. John system.¡± Lord Molon flashed a quick smile at the mention of ¡®St.John¡¯ and pointed to his computer display, which none of his subordinates could see. ¡°You¡¯re catching on, Lady Vakallaria. The Aurorans are predictable to a fault, and that is what makes them such valuable allies.¡± ¡°I¡¯m not sure I follow, Lord,¡± Nikos commented, and Lady Vakallaria shot him a sympathetic glance before answering for him. ¡°It makes them predictable. If they conduct themselves according to a social code, it makes their future movements and activities easy to predict. I wonder how you reached this level in the Aulikon without being aware of this.¡± Vakallaria shot Nikos a withering glare, and the analyst focused intensely on his datapad. Lord Molon slapped his hands together, startling the other two in the room. ¡°Be that as it may, we want the Aurorans to pick up the lead we¡¯ve laid out for them, They will most likely bring in their own specialists to both confirm the situation, as well as send an operator on the inside of Katharinamond¡­¡± A beeping sound distracted Lord Molon. ¡°Mea magna culpa,¡± Lady Vakallaria said as she shut down her handcom. ¡°I don¡¯t care about interruptions,¡± Lord Molon said as he stood up from his office chair, ¡°just make sure that your distant relative is placed under proper surveillance.¡± ¡°Your will be done,¡± Lady Helena Automa Aniketas-Doukas Vakallaria said, as she bowed to the Commander of the Royal Dionysian Secret Intelligence Service. She exited the hidden door, running a hand through her long blonde-brown hair. ¡°Send a missive to my cousin,¡± she said seemingly into the empty air, but a small communications drone bleeped a confirmative noise. Chapter 42 - Weeks of Uncertainty: Demoiselles Central Kasjzerwald, Tschornohora, 13 February 2875 (Galactic Relative) "Co, Panu, poda??" "Hmm?" "What would you like?" Two mesmerising bronze eyes stared at me with increasing irritation, and with every half-second her smile was turning increasingly into a forced mask of civility. She was the Aphrodite of my dreams, perfect in every inch of her being; her hair the colour of a setting sun, gently flowing across slender shoulders, and her face was as captivating and pure as the Heavens¡¯ own messengers. My spellbound contemplation froze when I finally noticed those furrowing eyebrows of irritation, which shook me back into reality. She asked again, with forced politeness, to which I stutteringly replied ¨C asking for plain New-Maltese roast black coffee. I watched her back with a dreamy gaze, many a-times have I imagined and visualised how it would be to ask her on a date, and where I would take her. But here I was without the courage to ask, despite having the courage to be shot at and the fortitude to kill ¨C truly a bizarre world you happen to live in, Inspector. But sure, this topsy-turvy world smelled good with the floating aroma of crusty, freshly cooked sausage rolls, pretzels, and the small filling-less dumplings served with a buttery breaded topping; traditional fare for this part of the city. The caf¨¦ was a typical establishment for the oldest and richest inner-city district of Kr¨®p¨®wki, the layout quite narrow and lengthy oblong due to the land division traditions retained from Earth, which had been practiced when constructing this district as well as the rest of Kajzerwald¡¯s old town. The caf¨¦ was housed in the Old Passage shopping complex on the ground floor, next to the Staniewski and Co. suits tailors, and opposite the Koppehoff¡¯s jewellers. The Passage was designed by the re-nouveau master-architect Franciszek Zacharewicz of the Imperial Lemberg Arts Academy ¨C a first generation-born settler. The furniture was elaborate in design, dark in colour, handmade by the finest Kajzerwaldian craftsmen, sporting elaborate floral ornamentation and the planetary symbol - the jackdaw surrounded by three county crowns. Spherical lamps hanging from the ceiling emanated a warm, golden light that was greedily drunk by the amaranth-coloured walls sporting a grain inspired pattern. Golden elements on the windowsills and doorknobs gave the whole place an opulent and majestic feeling. My Aphrodite arrived with the coffee in a porcelain cup, placed it with inherent physical grace on my table, curtsied somewhat stiffly, and left in a swift professional manner without a word. One day I¡¯m going to have to finally ask her on that date. Any further forays into my daydreams of asking Aphrodite out was immediately dispelled when I heard a soft pulsing bleat in my inner blazer pocket. I reached for the source of the sound, coming from my standard issue police handcom, a coaster-sized titanium-framed smartglass contraption, hooked up to the precinct DAI¡¯s systems, the semi-transparent screen flashing an angry yellow light. The call wasn¡¯t necessarily for me as this was the first day of my vacation, first vacation in God knows when, so it might just be that I was in vicinity of the call¡¯s intended target, and the ¡®com picked it up. Since all police handcoms were tracked, all dispatch had to do when required was to draw a radius on the virtual city map, whereupon every gendarmerie officer in that area would receive the alert. Or it could be that I happened to find myself at the wrong place at the wrong time. My brain lethargically assumed it was the latter. I was briefly tempted not to answer the dispatch, but my bloody curiosity got the better of me, and I pressed the damned annoying flashing light. Funny how the blinking colour caused an almost Pavlovian reaction of anxiety in me. "This is Dispatch; we have a Code Amber near Imperatoska Street, calling all available patrols." The for-your-ears-only security of the ¡®com muffled the sound for anyone further than half a metre away from the device as I moved it to my mouth. "This is Chefinspektor Olbracht Kr¨®pka, I¡¯m currently few streets away, what¡¯s the situation, Dispatch?" "Chief-Inspector Kr¨®pka, I¡¯m sorry to disturb your vacation," the voice on the other end was soft and sweet, like rose petals on the wind, and belonged the most malevolent police officer at the central station; Inspector Nicolette ?obojko. "Do you want me to flag down someone else and leave you to your sabbatical, especially considering the aftermath of last week¡¯s take-down?" "No need to worry, thank you, I can handle whatever this is Code Amber just fine." Awfully strange of her to enquire about my wellbeing, or anyone else¡¯s for that matter; she was, after all, widely known as the ice-queen of Kajzerwald Police Headquarters. So why now? All I expected were dry, technical details. "What¡¯s the situation? What are we dealing with here?" A brief pause, a sigh or drawing of breath. "If you need anything at all, Inspektor, please do call me right away, okay? As for the Code Amber, we have reports of two shots fired in apartment C15, Imperatoska Street. Neighbours called it in less than half-an-hour ago, but we don¡¯t have any more facts about the situation on the ground. Caution is advised." "What¡¯s the ETA on the closest patrol?" Mental cogs were grinding, the familiar process of the dirty grunt work engaging well-honed synapses in my brain. "We have two skycars inbound from Berezhov Plaza, about fifteen to twenty minutes." "I¡¯ll get there in ten, and please, tell them not to be too trigger happy." "Will do, Inspektor. Dispatch out." I drank the first and last sip of my freshly brewed coffee before getting up from my chair and grabbing my coat in a promptly fashion. I was saddened to leave; I tried to smile at the waitress before leaving ¨C my Aphrodite only curtsied, as dictated by Tschornohoran social convention. My handcom pinged as I exited the establishment¡¯s doors, my barely touched drink paid for through a webnet subscription service hooked to my bank account. Difficult to leave tips like this, but I had no choice. I have to remember to have a couple extra H?ller in my pocket next time. Closing the doors behind me, I put on my coat, and immediately started to run, going gradually into a sprint, with a few pedestrian heads turning my way in confusion. It wasn¡¯t a daily sight in the Kr¨®p¨®wki that someone moved with great haste; it was below the people who frequented these streets to make a scene like that. Avoiding the masses of mid-day shoppers and white-collars on their way to boozy lunches, occasionally shouting ¡°Policaj!¡± in order to get the damn civilians to move aside, I sprinted down the piedway, haphazardly crossing a roaring groundcar intersection, briefly halting the traffic and had some choice words in three different languages shouted at me. Like the light drizzle that brushed off my coat, I paid the foul language no mind, not stopping for nothing, the adrenaline flowing through my veins the closer I got to the building. I could finally see the spires on top of the apartment building from the distance. The balcony and the windows¡¯ facades grew wider and taller. My mind became sharper, eyes more aware, the years of training and countless mission habits finally kicked in; time seemed to slow down, shapes and colours became clearer and sharper. My hands, moving on their own accord, navigated towards my armpit holster. I stopped. I¡¯ve whispered a few curses, for only just now, do I realise the extent of my mistake of answering that damned call. I didn¡¯t have my gun.
The spiralling staircase of dark wood caught the natural daylight through the old-fashioned glass roof, and gave off a gentle thud each step I took in the direction of the third floor. As luck would have it, it was hard to hear due to the muffling effect of the exquisite red carpet spanning the entire length of the stairs. Unauthorized usage: this narrative is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings. I walked steadily, as if I was merely passing by, like I was a tenant and my presence was the most natural thing in the world. With the entirety of my will, I¡¯ve managed to produce the confident, relaxed look that people naturally emanate when feeling safe and comfortable in their surroundings. Working the streets had taught me this long ago; not standing out was my best source of both offence and defence, in case of any confrontation it was surprise and striking first that were my only allies. My head poked gently into the corridor spanning further to the right. It had an elegant dark blue wallpaper full of detailed patterns akin to those found at the caf¨¦, but these were of much higher quality, embroidered as they were with golden thread in the styles only found at the opulent palaces of the Myndowen imperial family. Attentively gazing for any signs of movement, any details at all that might hint at someone¡¯s presence, taking in all the sounds and smells, I lurked in patience like an Angevin panthicus before a strike. A few moments later I was reasonably confident that there wasn¡¯t any imminent danger to the front of me, thus I turned the corner (still pretending that my being there was completely natural) and placidly started moving towards the apartment. I could feel the cold sweat on my back and taste the dryness of my mouth, as I reached the door with golden letters C15. With noticeably shaking hands, I reached the doorknob before turning it the most delicate way possible. Click, the door gave way gently, and I took an apprehensive step forward. Unlike the elegance and pomposity of the building¡¯s halls and exterior, the inside of the apartment was its clear antithesis, kept in a minimalist monochromatic style with slight fluorescent accents ¨C orange cabinet knobs, aquatic vases on glass cabinets, and yellow picture frames on black and white photography. Zygmunt, ever since I met him all those long years back, he¡¯s always seemed to see things in black and white, right and wrong, never daring to even contemplate the idea of something in between. An admirable trait in some, but worse less than shit under your boot in our profession. I stood in the living room, taking in the contours of the apartment, the flow of the daylight against the backdrop of the unlit apartment. Watch the corners, those are the most dangerous. An unfamiliar shape. A body. Zygmunt, lying on the floor, his body perfectly still, laid out in an unnatural way, the head turned to my left, while two dark entry holes were clearly visible in his white shirt. Carefully, I moved closer and squatted to inspect the body; he was lying in a pool of blood, yet he had a bruised neck which immediately occurred to me to be the cause of death, and not the bullet wounds to the torso. Too many bodies, too dispassionate, too professional; my friend just another case at first glance, kurwa. I stood up to see if any spoor was left by the assailant, but nothing stood out. Well, except the apparent ¡°murder¡± weapon, if the bullets had indeed been what had killed Zygmunt. The handgun looked like just like a standard issue top fed pistol, with an internal magazine. After closer inspection it even has my¡­ serial¡­ number¡­ ¡°O kurwa¡­¡± I stuttered, freezing in fear and astonishment. Before I had a chance to react, heavy boots kicked in the door and came barging into the apartment. Two police figures, dressed in dark blue and white, appeared with guns pointed right at me. Angry voices shouted, the same confusing cacophony of orders I too had delivered on several occasions. I caught the gist of it, and I raised my hands, before trying to explain that I am also a police officer here on call, but they were having none of that. They shoved me against the wall before cuffing my hands and as procedure dictated, secured the crime scene. "Kurwa, I am a police officer too. Call dispatch, they will confirm, my name is Olbracht Kr¨®pka!" I pleaded, although I couldn¡¯t see their reaction. "Fine," said one of them. "This is officer Vondr¨¢?ek, number 0975, we have restrained a suspect who claims to be an off-duty officer on the call to the same scene. Could you please confirm?" Some static noise could be heard right after from the replying dispatch officer, although it was too glitched for me to work out what was being said. "And?" I hastened him, suppressing the urge to hike up a sarcastic eyebrow. "Sorry suspect, it seems there is not a single record of a sole off-duty officer answering the call, so for now you are detained and have the right to remain silent as anything you say will be used against you in a court of law." You can¡¯t be fucking serious¡­
A woman sat opposite me on what can only be described as one the most uncomfortable chairs ever to be designed by man. The wired frame and flat unpadded wood just added insult to injury at this point, and it was frankly unnecessary to be this extra petty. She could be described as having something of a classical beauty, with her dark, slightly curly hair tied in a practical knot to one side and a soft attractive face, dressed in plain tight jeans that stopped before her ankles, a white shirt and sporting a causal jacket over. Her aura screamed of confidence and ambition, of an unyielding attitude, topped with a dash of glamour and grace. "Cousin," she said in a displeased tone, which for a second made me fear her more than the situation that I have found myself in. "Natalia, please, at least hear me out before you judge me." Natalia was a very distant kin of mine but we had grown up together, you could say in the same sandpit; we even went to the same university to study law before life sent us on two different paths. She became a well-renowned lawyer, highly respected and admired in the Imperial High Bench Court; the highest level of judiciary on planets of the Myndowan Empire which only could be overruled by the Imperial Supreme Court. In a few sentences I managed to outline what had transpired today since my afternoon coffee. About the dispatch, the entry to the apartment building, about the gun, everything. Her poker face held strong, never for a moment disclosing what she was feeling as I was explaining, until I was done. She gave out a deep sigh before saying: "Do you want the colourful version or the hard truth?" "The latter, if you please." "Well, Olbi," she hesitated before looking me in the eyes "there is truly nothing I can do for you. You are thoroughly fucked. No matter how hard I try to shape a convincing narrative, the evidence points solely towards you, and my word won¡¯t count for anything, despite the fact that I personally believe you didn¡¯t do it. I know you too well; I know when you are lying. And this isn¡¯t one of those times." "I guess there¡¯s some solace to the fact that at least you believe me, Nat. Thank you for being honest." I settled back as best I could in the awfully uncomfortable chair, before sighing and looking up at the ceiling. What do I do now? I¡¯m going to prison, and I¡¯m probably not coming out for the rest of my life. Policemen murdering other policemen in cold blood? The shame of just being suspected of such a thing was enough to put my career in permanent holding mode, but being convicted on it on basis of circumstantial evidence? I would probably not even make it all the way to the gaol before meeting with some ¡°unfortunate accident¡±. My whole life, everything I worked for, has come crumbling down like a personal Tower of Babel in a mere afternoon. I never even asked Aphrodite at the caf¨¦ for a date and now I will never have the chance to do even that. My mind begun to slip into the abyss, my nerves breaking like so much rickety scaffolding, and I moaned as tears started to burst out of my ducts and run unbidden down my cheeks. I felt horrible, I had no plan, I had nothing. Suddenly, I was nothing. A gentle hug accompanied by the delicate sense of sweet perfume jolted me out from my despair. Caressing my hair with her angelic touch, she whispered into my ear: "Ssshh, quietly now, everything is going to be fine Olbi¡­" Yet I couldn¡¯t gather the strength to stop weeping like a child. "If you end up in the high castle find Orsza, he owes me quite a favour, and I will make sure he takes care of you." A tiny light, the size of a bright little thimble, ignited in my heart. "Orsza? Who is he?" I asked timidly. "A friend of a friend. He owes me for saving his younger sister who was facing a hefty prison sentence. He has friends in lofty places." She stood up and waited for me to turn my head and look her in the eyes before continuing. "You will recognise him by an ancient Lithuanian Ballad. Apparently he loves to sing it under the shower, or so I¡¯ve heard." "A Lithuanian ballad? Which goes like?" "Oh yes, of course, I should have guessed you never heard of it. Please just don¡¯t laugh at my poor attempt at signing." Old Budrys and three sons, as stout as Lithuania herself, To the courtyard he calls and says: ¡°Bring out the horses and put on the saddles, And sharpen arrow heads and swords.¡± Because I was told in Vilnius, that they will bran without mistake, Three expeditions to three parts of the world: Algirdas to the Rus settlements, Skirgaila to the Polish neighbours, Whilst prince Keystutis will raid the Teutons." She sang like what seemed in that otherworldly moment, as an angel, for in the moment her magical performance distracted my wavering mind, I realised I had known her my entire life but never would have suspected she possessed such a sweet, melodical voice. "More or less, it goes like that. Although, he might be signing it in his tongue, though the tune stays the same." She smiled with her cheeks turning slightly pink. "So, will you finally stop whining and get a grip of yourself, szweju?" "Yes, I guess so¡­ I¡¯ll just have to figure something out, I always do, prison or not, I can¡¯t give up." "Now that¡¯s the Olbi I know. Remember to trust your true friends." Chapter 43 - Weeks of Uncertainty: Games Upon Games The interior of the shuttle was even more cramped than was normal for a Rosenberg-class, partly because the cockpit and cabin was separated by a thick security bulkhead hatch, and that the usual rows of upholstered seats had been replaced by metal benches that ran the length of the cabin. Twenty-four men and women dressed in drab grey overalls were seated on the benches; hand- and ankle cuffs magnetically bound to a rail below the bench seats, forcing the prisoners to sit in an uncomfortable bent forward position. Olbracht Kr¨®pka was still mentally dazed from what had transpired over the past few days. With what amounted to lightning speed by the standards of the Myndowan Imperial Courts, he had been tried and sentenced. ¡°All the evidence point in the direction of the accused,¡± the haughty Hungarian judge had proclaimed before the few in the courtroom, ¡°and no sufficient arguments to dissuade me of his guilt have been presented by the accused, or his defence attorney. I hereby sentence Mr Kr¨®pka, for the murder of Zygmunt Dubinskas, to thirty-seven years of incarceration. Long live His Imperial Majesty.¡± Stripped of rank, awards, entitlements and watching as his entire career was wiped out by the bang of a gavel and a few commands typed out on a keyboard, Olbracht was the very next day stuffed into this prison shuttle, headed for Elisabethmond and Correctional Centre No.1 Wysoki Zamek. To his left sat an older man with a wrinkled and dry face and calloused hands that betrayed his previous profession as some sort of physical labourer, whilst on his right sat a slender young man with a long neck, a freckled face and well-maintained blonde hair; the two couldn¡¯t have been more different in outward appearance. As Olbracht was considering his fellow passengers, the older man caught his gaze and smiled a lopsided smile. ¡°So, dear sir,¡± he said in heavily Galician accented Ruthenian, ¡°what is the cause of your enlistment to our humble company of ne¡¯er-do-wells?¡± ¡°Innocence and miscarriage of justice by the Imperial Court,¡± Olbracht replied bitterly in his native Galician, desperately wanting to sit up and stretch his painfully throbbing back. The old man laughed hoarsely. ¡°Well ain¡¯t that something novel, innocence getting you sent to the High Castle? For me, it¡¯s the fifth, and by all accounts, my last time up there. Her honour-ship was very clear that I¡¯ve up all my chances to become a functioning member of society.¡± ¡°Fifth time? What did you do?¡± ¡°E und V.¡± ¡°Come again?¡± ¡°Einbruch und Vergewaltigen. It was supposed to be just a simple break-in in a Lemberg manor, belonging to some cunt graf or something, but once inside and I stumbled upon that sweet little flower of a maid, oh I just had to taste her nectar¡­¡± The convicted rapist had started to say something more, but he was cut off as a T-baton slammed down on his exposed neck and whatever he had tried to say was replaced by a surprised gurgle. ¡°Shut your yap, you sick fuck,¡± the prison guard snapped in German, and took up a position menacingly over the awkwardly positioned prisoner. ¡°No one wants to hear about your depravity, and unless you¡¯re spoken to, prisoners will remain quiet while under transport.¡± To emphasise his point, the guard kicked the old prisoner in the throat, the rapist producing shocked, choking sounds as his windpipe took a hefty blow, before another hard hit from the baton landed between his shoulder blades. Instinctively, the prisoner coiled his back in response to the blow, but the sudden jerking motion was arrested by the cuffs and instead he twitched in pain in his restraints, still heaving for air. Spittle dribbled from his open mouth onto the deck, pulled downwards by the shuttle¡¯s grav plates. Olbracht was unsure if he wouldn¡¯t have done the same to the inveterate burglar and violator had he been in the guard¡¯s position. ¡°That¡¯s what happens when you flaunt your crimes against society and Imperial laws,¡± the guard announced to the rest of the prisoners, most of whom hadn¡¯t been able to see the old man get beat up, but the sounds were more than able to carry the message across. ¡°You are no longer people, you are evil-doers and prisoners, and do not have the same rights as you did as free citizens. You willingly threw those rights away when you chose to defy the Imperial justice system and piss on His Imperial Majesty¡¯s laws, and you will do well to remember that from now on. This is just a taste of what punishment awaits you if you don¡¯t comply, don¡¯t listen, don¡¯t behave.¡± He was answered by whimpers and quiet sobbing from some of the prisoners, resentful silence from others. Olbracht had been stunned to silence. Was this the treatment the criminals he had brought to justice for the past twenty years had faced after he had dropped them off at the courts? He was still contemplating this as the shuttle¡¯s skids found a magnetic landing pad and the artificial gravity provided by the grav-plates was replaced by the natural one of a spinning celestial body. Not that it provided any sort of relief for Olbracht, because he knew they¡¯d arrived at Elisabethmond. Correctional Centre No.1 Wysoki Zamek was infamous among the law enforcement of Lemberg, Kasjzerwald, Nay Rawa, and the other major cities of Tschornohora. Ostensibly a normal gaol, it was ¨Csecretly¨C managed by the Kaiserliche Myndowische Streitkr?fte, more specifically the Kaiserliche Landgendarmerie, and as such didn¡¯t conform to the same rules that the normal Myndowen police services adhered to. Just how different their practices were compared to the Imperial Prison Service was unknown by the members of the Polizei, and a topic of intense rumour-mongering and speculation. But that it was in fact different quickly became apparent as the prison guards from the shuttle were joined by other guards clad in black battle-armour suits. The magnetic rail keeping them pulled towards the floor was turned off, and a chorus of collective relief could be heard as they could for the first time in over three hours stretch their backs again. But relief was short-lived as the new guards, having signed off on a ¡®pad for the transfer, started to shout at them in angry German to exit the ramp. Olbracht and the prisoners did as they were told, shuffling down and out of the Rosenberg pattern shuttle, magnetic boots clunking along the floor of the isolated landing pad to a massive magnetically-sealed blast door that separated the outside landing pads from the prison interior. The blast doors opened with a complaining metallic whine, the recently arrived group of prisoners being forced along by prods by the guards¡¯ electronic stun-rods. The inside was as impressive as it was foreboding. This part of the moon had been hollowed out to house a walled compound not unlike what you¡¯d find on a planet-side prison, but the cell blocks were stacked on top of each other in the far walls of the main prison complex. Due to the slow spin of Elisabethmond, there was perhaps close to 0.5 G of effective gravity on the surface of the moon, but since it had a very low gravitational field strength, the interior (a mere two kilometres above Elisabethmond¡¯s Mohorovi?i? boundary) had a slightly lower than that gravitational pull, meaning magnetic boots were required for normal, surface-like walking and running. Apart from this, Olbracht didn¡¯t know a whole lot more about Wysoki Zamek, except that it had started up only six years ago, and no one had ever returned from being sentenced to serve their time there. Well, that figures, he thought bitterly, since no one with a sentence shorter than forty years were sent there, if the rumours are correct. Math checks out. To more shouts of ¡°Schnell, schnell!¡± and ¡°Iinie halten!¡± and the occasional whine-crack of stun-rods crackling with electromagnetic force, they were corralled towards a large gatehouse in the wall of the prison. Calling it a ¡°prison¡± was almost a disservice; it could easily have been mistaken for a redoubt or fortress given its fifteen-metre tall crenelated walls and outwards-jutting towers that provided overlapping fields of fire for the no doubt fearsome weapon systems hidden within. Nothing about this sort of defensive arrangements, the gendarmes dressed in black battlesuits complete with plate carriers, face-shielded helmets with tight-sealed gorgets and pulse-weapons ideal for close-to-zero-gee combat, and the eerie Spartan military atmosphere, inspired Olbracht with any great hope for what lay ahead of him. He kept running the lines of the song Natalia had told him to remember, over and over again; partly so he wouldn¡¯t forget, partly to keep his mind from imagining what lay on the inside of those menacing walls. ¡°Bring out the horses and put on the saddles, And sharpen arrow heads and swords. Because I was told in Vilnius, that they will bran without mistake, Three expeditions to three parts of the world: Algirdas to the Rus settlements, Skirgaila to the Polish neighbours, Whilst prince Keystutis will raid the Teutons.¡± Through the gatehouse port they entered, under the watchful eyes of four-legged warwalkers the size of large horses, armed with chainguns. They were frightful machine-mind drone war machines, and though thankfully slaved to a human operator¡¯s command helmet rig, they were still harrowing to look at. One of the walkers suddenly jerked its dual-turret to look at one of the prisoners and she whimpered and made herself look small. Nearby guards laughed, and one high-fived the operator, his grin visible under his bulbous, bug-eye operator helmet. The inner part of the gatehouse hosted an ident-and-confirm sluice system, with manned desks hidden behind bulletproof carbonglass, and the prisoners were lined up in front of these. Apparently there was more than one intake happening today, and three other lines were formed to the left of Olbracht¡¯s. Funny, he thought to himself, that¡¯s an awful lot of prisoners coming in at once; assuming they arrived on a similar shuttle, that means there¡¯s an intake of over a hundred at the same time. Tschornohora is a large place, but a hundred new prisoners to a maximum security military prison in a single day-big? Something¡¯s off here. His line of thought was interrupted as it suddenly was his turn to be sluiced in. A stocky woman dressed in the black and purple fatigue dress of the Landgendarmerie with the collar rank insignia of a silver crown and silver Lithuanian knight ¨Ca leitenantas-¨C, sat on the opposite of the glass and looked at Olbrahct with uncaring eyes. Olbracht blinked a few times as he processed the meaning of the insignia, and his blood started slowly to boil. Lithuanians, fucking cockroaches. Not content with crawling all over the imperial hierarchy, are they? Not only have they become the politically correct people to promote and put in leadership positions after His Majesty married one of their upierdliwy kind, now one of them is going to lock me up and chuck away the keys? It took a surprising amount of personal discipline for Olbracht to keep those thoughts from leaving his mouth, but the leitenantas simply looked at him, apparently waiting for an answer to a question she hadn¡¯t asked. She looked him up and down, frowned a bit and finally vocalised the question she no doubt asked scores of time per day. ¡°Name und Vorname?¡± Olbracht clicked his tongue, but answered regardless. ¡°Kr¨®pka, Olbracht.¡± The gendarme scrolled down on her grav-mounted computer, and typed it in. ¡°Personnummer?¡± A small, bitter smile. ¡°Dwa-trzy-zero-osiem-dwa-osiem-trzy-trzy-cztery-sze??-jedno-jedno, cwaj.¡± She made an irritated grimace. ¡°Was? Give me your fucking personal social number in Imperial German now, you¡¯re just prolonging this process unnecessarily.¡± ¡°Dwa-trzy-zero-osiem¡­¡± ¡°Guards, we have a jokester here. Take him away and show him what we think about funny ha-ha people in Wysoki Zamek.¡± Olbracht smiled nastily at the officer, the miniscule act of rebellion against the injustice of it all lighting a fire within him that did not measure up to scale compared to his little show of defiance. The fire was replaced by pain as one of the nearby guards came over and hit him with a closed fist right in the stomach, knocking the air out of him. Falling to his knees gasping for air, Olbracht didn¡¯t have time to brace himself before the guard¡¯s stun-rob came flying right at his head, about level with his temple. The world became a blurry haze of incredible pain, tears, and electro-magnetic whining and Olbracht could feel the contents of his stomach trying to escape the only way it could. But there was nothing in his stomach, and he very painfully ¨Cboth from the retching itself and from the blow he¡¯d just taken to his stomach¨C dry-heaved onto the metal deck. ¡°Take him to the back,¡± he could vaguely hear one of the gendarmes say over the whining sound in his head, ¡°and let the Major have a word with him. He probably won¡¯t cause any more trouble after that.¡±
Strong arms were cupped under Olbracht¡¯s armpits and he was violently hauled to his feet, and dragged off somewhere, his feet scraping across the deck, the magnetic soles making the job just that more laborious for the guards doing the dragging, which suited Olbracht just fine. He could hear a door swish open and he was more or less thrown down to sit in a metal chair so uncomfortable it was probably designed that way on purpose. Olbracht sat there for a few moments, coughing and trying to regain a normal rhythm of breathing, waiting for the whining in his ears to subside at least somewhat. He looked down on his coverall legs and saw several spatters of blood, and slowly brought his still-shackled hands up to his face, trying to ascertain the level of damage. As his fingers gingerly worked their way to his right temple he hissed in sharp, abrupt pain and his fingertips came away bloody. His right eye was also slowly losing vision, meaning it was swelling. Wonderful, if I came out of that with just a concussion and internal bruising, some Goddess up there is probably looking out for me. He realised with a pang he was not alone in the room, and he straightened up quickly as he laid eyes on the only other person present. The room was completely bare, carboncrete walls with a metal table in the centre and one more of those abominable chairs. A classic interrogation room, the likes of which Olbracht had spent countless hours in over the course of his early twenty-year career, although he was usually the one in the position of the other person, not sitting down all bruised and beaten. ¡°Herr Kr¨®pka, what a pleasure to make your acquaintance.¡± The man looked like he was in his mid- to early thirties, but that estimate could be off by several decades considering what modern medical treatments were capable of in terms of arresting the aging process. He was tall and thin, wearing a much more elaborate version of the black and purple gendarmerie uniform, with silver threads and frogging, as well as a gilded tin crescent-gorget with Kaiserliche Landgendarmerie written in chiselled gothic font on it. His black hair was slicked back and well-maintained, as was his clean-shaven, angular face. The officer¡¯s epaulettes showed a crowned silver embroidered star within a black field surrounded by a silver-threaded galloon braid, and a silver two-headed eagle grasping a shield on his collar. He also wore high black riding boots, polished so they shone in the irritatingly bright glare from the embedded lights in the ceiling. Major, German noble, shit. The major was sitting nonchalantly on the metal table, slowly scrolling on a datapad, his white gloves left on the table, along with his sheathed uniform sword, but his wide white and purple sash-belt protruded slightly on the left side, just ahead of the knot that held it in place, which suggested to Olbracht that the good major had elected to keep his firearm on him. The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation. ¡°Ah, but where are my manners?¡± the major suddenly exclaimed in a jovial tone that didn¡¯t fool Olbracht for a single moment. ¡°My name is Freiherr Ulrich Maria von Annaberg, Edler-Major in His most august Imperial Highness¡¯ Landgendarmerie.¡± His Galician was bordering on completely fluent, with a hint of an urban Wallachian accent to it. ¡°Delighted, I¡¯m sure,¡± Olbracht replied flatly, his defiance not entirely punched out of him, but the Major simply gave him a slightly condescending smile. ¡°Mr Kr¨®pka, no need to take that tone with me, I am here with an angebot you might want to mull over a bit before you blurt out what I imagine your reflexive answer to be. You see, policemen who end up in jail, especially high security ones like Zamek, rarely see their sentence fully carried out, if you catch my drift.¡± The Major tapped the ¡®pad for emphasis, despite Olbracht not being able to see what was displayed on it. ¡°And for the record, despite the fact that there isn¡¯t a record¡­¡± van Annaberg chuckled a bit at his own blas¨¦ quip before sobering up and putting his white gloves back onto his long fingers and unblemished hands. ¡°I believe that you have been the victim of some very cruel circumstances, possibly bordering on a conspiracy. Just look at the evidence; your firearm suddenly in the murder victim¡¯s apartment, the fact that he was an acquaintance of you, and the Light Way speed of the judicial process leading to your sentencing. My dear Kr¨®pka, you have been set up.¡± Olbracht opened his mouth, but no words came out. Out of all the people who had shown him even an inkling of sympathy over this whole sordid affair (apart from Natalie), he¡¯d never imagined it would be a noble officer in the infamous Landgendarmerie. ¡°So, will you believe me when I say I am here with an offer that will help you?¡± ¡°If you¡¯ll excuse me Herr Major,¡± Olbracht replied, carefully choosing his words, ¡°but I feel like I don¡¯t have many options but to say I tentatively believe you.¡± Von Annaberg smiled, rose from his seat on the metal table and started to slowly pace the room, staying within Olbracht¡¯s field of vision at all times. Smart, he¡¯s building trust on a metaphysical level; slow, elaborate, and telegraphed movement. ¡°As I was saying, once your fellow inmates realises you¡¯re a senior policeman... Well done by the way, making Chefinspektor at forty-two, and as a Galician-Ruthenian to boot, most impressive. And that paints a further target on your back, so unless you want to be looking over your shoulder every second, I believe you¡¯d do wisely listening to what I have to offer.¡± ¡°Mein Herr, may I be permitted to ask two questions?¡± The major frowned for a moment, revealing he was not used to being interrupted, but he nodded his assent nonetheless. ¡°First, what is this place? Why is Zamek under the surface of Elisabethmond, and why is it run by the gendarmes?¡± ¡°A fair question, given the circumstances; as a policeman it would only be natural of you to ask. It is a maximum-security Arbeitslager for prisoners who are deemed, ah, sufficiently hazardous or rebellious that they would pose a threat if placed in gaols close to civilian population centres. Next question.¡± ¡°Sir, why are you approaching me? Is this a discussion you have with anyone who resists identification and registration?¡± Von Annaberg chuckled a bit before answering. ¡°Alas, no, dear Chefinspektor, this is a privilege I only extend to those I believe to be capax servii to His Majesty¡¯s best interests, and by extension therefore their own.¡± Olbracht must have looked like a question mark in human form, because von Annaberg stopped his pacing, sighed, and crossed his arms over his chest. ¡°I¡¯ll speak in plain terms. You¡¯re fucked if you are sluiced into the prison without any sort of help from the guards and the higher-ups, which in this case means me and my people here on Elisabethmond. This is an Arbeitslager, Mr Kr¨®pka, prisoners here are sentenced to hard labour, human muscle used to strip-mine this moon for titanium and chromium, metal used to feed the orbital foundries which is then turned into more warships for the Kaiserliche Marine. I don¡¯t know if you¡¯d paid attention to interstellar news, Mr Kr¨®pka, but there¡¯s a galactic arms race going on, and if Myndowen is to stand even a slight chance maintaining her Great Power status in the coming decade, she will need many more warships and much larger warships. Undesirables to society can still help the Imperial cause, which is why this lager exists.¡± Pieces of the puzzle clicked into place for Olbracht. ¡°You want me to be an informant? I jostle and bust my ass alongside the other inmates and report any misgivings to you?¡± Von Annaberg smiled that enigmatic smile of his again. ¡°You¡¯re catching on, Mr Kr¨®pka, but you¡¯re a little off the mark still. Yes, I¡¯d like you to use your detective-trained eyes and ears after you¡¯re sluiced in, but I want you to be on the lookout for something a bit more specific than just complaints about the canteen slop, or isolation ward conditions. Certain elements among the inmate body are not¡­ your typical criminals sentenced to an Arbeitslager, I suppose you could call them. But they are definitively threats to the Empire, and the Nachrichdienst have triangulated signals coming from this very prison being transmitted to the surface of Myndowen. We¡¯ve tried to find the equipment and those using it, but so far our efforts have been frustratingly fruitless. So, we need someone to sniff them out for us, someone who knows what they¡¯re doing, a professional.¡± ¡°Me.¡± ¡°You, Mr Kr¨®pka. Obviously the Landsgendarmerie is an honourable institution, and of course you wouldn¡¯t be taking on such massive personal risk without the expectation of some sort of reward.¡± ¡°Naturally,¡± Olbracht said sarcastically, but the subtext was apparently lost on von Annaberg. ¡°The guards will always have your back if you get into any sort of scuffle with the inmates. You must of course expect a glancing blow from a stun-rod or a fist now and then; we can¡¯t be seen to play obvious favourites, you of course understand this, yes? Furthermore, I will personally see to it that your sentence will be scheduled for a re-trial once you find these troublesome cockroaches for us, and I think you might find that the judge and jury will be more positively disposed towards your plight this next time around.¡± Olbracht chewed on his lower lip as his mind raced. ¡°Can I have some time to think this over? Not that it¡¯s a bad offer, quite the opposite Mein Herr, it¡¯s just that I¡¯m still kind of dazed and need to give what you¡¯re saying proper evaluation.¡± The noble major grimaced in annoyance, and picked up his sheathed sword from the table and began strapping it back onto his sash-belt. ¡°In any other circumstance, I would have thrown you right out into the courtyard and have you flogged for such ingratitude, Mr Kr¨®pka,¡± von Annaberg replied with a nasty sneer. ¡°But I am feeling charitable today, and you have a special skill set that does not come along every day in this place, so I will allow you time until tomorrow morning at roll call to make your mind up. Just be aware that I can make your stay here a purgatory unlike anything you can imagine if you end up taking me for a fool, or get in my way.¡± Olbracht knew he had stepped half a foot over the cliff¡¯s edge and bowed his head. ¡°Thank you for your generosity, Mein Herr, and I will have an answer for you by tomorrow. One last thing, Herr Major, what association do you make of the name Keystutis?¡± ¡°Hmm?¡± Major von Annaberg cocked his head slightly, his face still looking like he wanted nothing more than to kick Olbracht in the jaw, before snapping his fingers twice. The door behind Olbracht opened with a swish, and two gendarmes came up on either side of him. ¡°Some old Eastern European warlord, was he not? Polish or Curonian or some such? What has that got to do with anything?¡± ¡°My apologies,¡± Olbracht replied quickly, realising he was in dangerous waters, ¡°I thought the von Annabergs may be related to the Teutonic noble families of old Samogitia, my mistake.¡± Ulrich von Annaberg sneered again. ¡°As if my noble line has been tainted with filthy Lithuanian blood, the mere implication is enough to make me sick. Take him to extradited registration.¡± ¡°Hey, I can walk on my own just f¨C¡± Olbracht did not get to finish the sentence before the strong hands of the gendarmes lifted him to his feet and dragged him back through the door. The next hour passed by in almost a blur, as Olbracht was brought to an office where a different gendarme officer filled him into the prison registry. He didn¡¯t try the same stunt of replying in Galician this time around, meekly rifling off his personal social number in German, as well as the other usual questions. ¡°Ihre K?rpergr??e?¡± ¡°Einhundert und Einundsiebzig.¡± ¡°Familienstand?¡± ¡°Ledig.¡± It carried on for another few minutes, Olbracht answering absentmindedly, mind occupied with the conversation he had had with von Annaberg, and the cryptic message he was supposed to deliver to this ¡°Orsza¡±. ¡°Gut, alles ist in Ordnung. Wachen?¡± Olbracht didn¡¯t wait for the guards to yank him up from the office chair this time around, and resolutely looked the taller of the two in the eye as he walked past them and out the door. Wordlessly, with one in front and one behind, the gendarmes led him out of the administrative brick building (which looked weirdly out of place, designed in a Southern Germanic Landshut-style, which along with the guard barracks, contrasted sharply with the brutalist-esque design of the rest of the prison-fortress), and into the courtyard. With the cellblocks built into the side of the hollowed-out moon, Olbracht felt he was being watched from every single one of the small cell windows. In the centre of the courtyard was a tall and wide tower, with cloche-bunkers jutting out in all eight intercardinal directions about midway up, while the top obviously housed some sort of control station where long corridors led to cell blocks in six directions, and to the crenelated walls in the remaining two. Olbracht was led into the tower, and shoved into a central elevator guarded by no less than twelve warwalkers and their three human operators, plus a further squad of ten gendarmes armed with flechette-guns. The trip up to the control centre at the top was undertaken in pressing silence. The top of the tower was dominated by a central room that had a commanding and clear view of all the passageways, though ¡°room¡± was a bit of a misnomer, Olbracht concluded; ¡°bunker¡± might be a better term for the heavily fortified structure, with another squad of gendarmes behind carboncrete and carbonglass. Then it was another trip down one of the passageways leading to the cell blocks, and into the block itself. The inside looked like any other gaol on Myndowen, and Olbracht surprised himself by feeling a bit of relief that at least some things were recognisable. The block was organised in several levels of cells turned towards an inner combined courtyard/canteen area. As they walked up the stairs to the fourth and top level of the cell blocks, a massive shadow fell on them from the top of the stairs. ¡°Move your fat arse, Ursus,¡± one of the guards growled, his hand slowly but pointedly finding the pommel of his sheathed stun-rod, ¡°or I¡¯ll move it for you.¡± The large man apparently named Ursus simply chuckled and stepped back up the stairs and stood aside. He was thickset, but not pudgy, Olbracht noticed, and he was bald on his head but had a huge brown-and-silver beard that reached his chest. ¡°No need for that Herr Linde, I was just headed for the showers on level two, I¡¯m awake enough that I don¡¯t need a little buzz from your zap-stick there.¡± Something clicked in Olbracht¡¯s brain. ¡°Uh, might I also have a shower after you¡¯ve shown me the cell?¡± The gendarme named Linde scowled at Olbracht, but after a tense moment he nodded. Olbracht was shown to his cell, which in all honesty wasn¡¯t as bad as he had feared. He had a mattress (lying directly on the carboncrete floor), a desk, a swivel-chair, two cupboards, and a toilet in the corner. He assumed Zamek worked with the same privilege points the rest of the Myndowen prison system did; be good enough of a boy and you could earn points for good behaviour which could be exchanged for luxuries. That, or simply bribe the guards. It was a public secret that employees in His Imperial Majesty¡¯s Prison Service were corrupt as hell, and Olbracht didn¡¯t think the Landgendarmerie salary was that much higher than a normal prison guard¡¯s. True to his word, Linde took Olbrahct to the prison cell¡¯s shower block. It shamed even the worst of locker rooms of communal football halls Olbrahct had been in as a child, but he was actually pleasantly surprised there was no mould on the walls. I¡¯ve been here for an hour and I¡¯m already settling down? Kurwa! After a short while, he had deposited his clothes in the wardrobe and entered the shower, a male guard keeping an eye on everyone present by the open doorway, as if those who ran the prison didn¡¯t trust their omnipresent drones and watch-cams. As Olbracht let the warm water wash over him, he could hear a somewhat familiar ditsy being sung from a few stalls away from him. ¡°Old Budrys and three sons, as stout as Lithuania herself, To the courtyard he calls and says: ¡°Bring out the horses and put on the saddles, And sharpen arrow heads and swords.¡± Olbracht finished showering rather quickly (but not before letting the water proverbially wash away much of the stress of these few days), making sure to be ready ¨Cdespite being clad in nature¡¯s own outfit¨C as soon as the probable contact exited the showers. He needn¡¯t have bothered. ¡°You¡¯re Nat¡¯s little one, aren¡¯t you?¡± The large man with the surname of Ursus grinned at him, still completely undressed. ¡°I, uh, wha-?¡± Olbracht managed to produce, completely caught off-guard, as the two men were standing in plain sight in the shower block, a guard actually present; but his apparently new best mate Ursus didn¡¯t seem to care. His newly minted oppo grinned fiercely instead. ¡°Oh, don¡¯t worry, I¡¯ll introduce you to a new set of very good friends shortly.¡± ¡°I was supposed to recognise you through your choice of song whilst showering¡­¡± Ursus, now that Olbracht knew better, the person with the codename ¡°Orsaz¡±, grinned widely. ¡°She taught you well, but she didn¡¯t tell you the rest of the dance you¡¯re supposed to carry out. Just follow my lead, little sparrow.¡± The last sentence was accompanied by a smile and a wink from the bearded giant, and Ursus walked past him into the wardrobe section of the showers, and hummed the same tune to himself rather loudly. Olbracht felt he had no choice but to follow suit, sans the humming. Once the two were dressed back into their dull grey overalls, Ursus fixed his rather penetrating dark brown eyes on the guard monitoring the shower block exit. ¡°Ah, Mr Weiss,¡± his baritone voice droned, ¡°I¡¯ve been the sad recipient of the information that my friend here, Mr¡­?¡± Olbracht didn¡¯t need that much of a lead before catching on. ¡°Olbracht-230828334611,¡± he rattled off in rapid-fire German and Ursas grinned. ¡°Just so, my friend Mr Olbracht hasn¡¯t been allowed to make his ¡®call¡¯ yet.¡± Call? What cwaj call? Olbracht didn¡¯t remember any of the prison officers mentioning a call, but he decided to go along. The guard apparently named Weiss simply nodded his understanding and beckoned for the duo to follow him. They went up two stairs, but stopped before reaching their shared prison cell floor, but were wordlessly ushered into a nondescript cell which had no name plaque on its door. Weiss was looking stern and intimidating the entire time, but Ursus walked into the small cell without a comment and Olbracht had no option but to follow. Once inside what was obviously an isolation-cell, and as soon as Olbracht¡¯s eyes were able to adjust to the darkness, he could see a webcom set-up in the far corner of the bare carboncrete cell. ¡°Is that¡­?¡± ¡°Shush now, little one,¡± Orsaz said back at him with a wide smile. ¡°Just pick up the receiver and talk to my good friend on the other end.¡±
Olbracht did what he was told and picked up the old-fashioned wired headset and put over his ears and adjusted the mike. Ursus fiddled with a few knobs and pressed a sequence of numbers into the key-register of the set, before getting up off his knees and walked back to the closed cell door. He rapped it a few times before the cell-door opened whilst a peeping calling sound universal to all human cultures in the Post-Exodus Era suddenly filled his ears. ¡°How much time?¡± he asked in a low tone that seemed very strange for such a large man. ¡°About six minutes I would think,¡± Weiss the gendarme on the other side of the door replied, ¡°so you better make it rather snappy.¡± Olbracht had been about to pipe up about whom they were calling and why there was a time-limit, but the calling in progress sound in his ears were abruptly interrupted by loud silence and then replaced by a male voice talking in English: ¡°This has better be good, Ursus, or I swear to the Gods we¡¯ll short the funding to your little inside operation. Gods knows we already give more than enough for bribes and illicit¡­¡± ¡°Who am I talking to?¡± Olbracht said in his Galician-tinged English accent, and he could hear the voice on the other end take a sharp breath. ¡°Mr Kr¨°pka, I would assume?¡± the voice said in painfully enunciated Galician, but said grammatically correct, which was impressive in of itself, ¡°how nice to hear from you. Just so you know, there are a lot of us who are desperately eager to hear what you have to say from inside Elisabetmond.¡± ¡°You still haven¡¯t answered me,¡± Olbracht Kr¨°pka tried again, this time in halting English. ¡°Oh, not to fear, Mr Kr¨°pka,¡± the voice answered, ¡°we only have your best intentions at heart. But before we can help you escape the torment of your present situation, you will need to help us first.¡±
A short four minutes later, after the corrupt guard at the door had given Ursus a signal to cover the comms-device and act the customary downtrodden and desperate, the two prisoners were led back to their cells. About four-thousand and three-hundred kilometres away, on the planetary surface of Tschornohora, Post-captain Raphael Barham grinned as he put the receiver down. ¡°I would,¡± he asked out loud to his secretary who he was certain was still in his office, ¡°like a trip back to Aurora via the first available liner come next week.¡± His grin grew wider. ¡°I feel like I will soon have my hands on some very juicy stuff that Fifth Lady Admiral Bower-Henton would appreciate. It go a long way to also ennoble our attempts to come to grips with what the Kaiser is doing, even despite the falsification of murder evidence and usage of SAI to convince courts.¡± He rose from his chair and adjusted his black and gold tunic, before putting the white and black gilded cap back on his head. ¡°If you don¡¯t mind,¡± he said with his head half-way turned toward his secretary in the corner of his Lemberg Embassy, ¡°could you be so kind as to write up a copy of this and send it as a ¡®thank you¡¯-note to our inexhaustible allies in the Holy Kingdom of Dionysia?¡± He didn¡¯t wait for a response from the Royal Navy sub-lieutenant assigned to him from the Admiralty¡¯s Department of Intelligence, but what he did not know was that she had already recorded all the same data he sat on. ¡°Oh my,¡± Ilearch Molon said as the paper-print appeared in front of him, a few days later, given the travel-time between stars. ¡°I feel like we have underestimated the Aurorans. Is that something you would be able to address?¡± The short, female-presenting person in Molon¡¯s comms-feed nodded. There was a sudden whiff of wind which sent their white hair wafting. ¡°I will do my best.¡± Molon smiled lopsidedly. ¡°I would expect nothing less from you." Chapter 44 - Weeks of Uncertainty: On Neutrality The history of sea power is largely, though by no means solely, a narrative of contests between nations, of mutual rivalries, of violence frequently culminating in war. The profound influence of sea commerce upon the wealth and strength of countries was clearly seen long before the true principles which governed its growth and prosperity were detected. To secure to one''s own people a disproportionate share of such benefits, every effort was made to exclude others, either by the peaceful legislative methods of monopoly or prohibitory regulations, or, when these failed, by direct violence. The clash of interests, the angry feelings roused by conflicting attempts thus to appropriate the larger share, if not the whole, of the advantages of commerce, and of distant unsettled commercial regions, led to wars. On the other hand, wars arising from other causes have been greatly modified in their conduct and issue by the control of the sea. Therefore the history of sea power, while embracing in its broad sweep all that tends to make a people great upon the sea or by the sea, is largely a military history. ¡°The Influence of Sea Power Upon History, 1660-1783¡±. Alfred Thayer Mahan, Boston, 1893 CE It is quite academically ironic that Alfred Mahan in his seminal work never actually provided a definition of his term ¡°Sea Power¡±, and as such has led generations of historians and scholars to construct their own contextual definitions of the enigmatic term. This definition is no less collegiate, but it adheres to a consensus application of current-year presuppositions and realities. Replace ¡°Sea¡± with ¡°Space¡± and much of his afore-cited descant rings true. The astrophysical existence of high-efficiency lanes of Light Way travel has created certain routes of travel which, due to the Smithsonian dogma of the unseen hands of commerce and capitalism, have become one of several foci of interstellar development, but also interstellar conflict. No other region since the collapse of the Verge Federation, has been as politically important, diplomatically pivotal, or as military hotly contested as the so-called ¡°Corinthian Corridor¡±. ¡°By Sea or by Space: A Retrospective Analysis of Alfred T. Mahan¡¯s Thesis in the Context of the Royal Navy¡¯s Operational Strategies of the Late 29th Century¡±. Marquess Alastair Carlisle of S¨¦lincourt, Adm. of the White RN, Persephone, 2875 CE
¡°She¡¯s making a break for it, Captain, she¡¯s pulling away at nine hundred km/s and climbing!¡± Podporucznik Annetta Czachor reported from her operations officer¡¯s station on the bridge of the Nova Polonian Republican Navy Ship J¨®zef Sowi¨½ski, and Komandor podporucznik Stefania Hauser cursed under her breath, low enough so her bridge staff wouldn¡¯t hear, but emphatically enough to underscore her anger. ¡°Fine,¡± she said as she stood up from her command chair on its small dais, ¡°two can play that game. Mr Klimek, spool up our comms laser array and give the Grover Armitage a final warning. Tell her that we are empowered by the Interstellar Defence Act of Nova Polonia¡¯s constitution and the Gen¨¨ve Convention of the Law of the Stars, to employ up to extreme measures to enforce compliance to Nova Polonian laws and rights in our own stellar territory.¡± ¡°Aye aye, Ma¡¯am,¡± the young signals officer replied before adjusting his headset to relay a variation of what his captain had said in slightly halting English. Kmdr Por. Hauser sat down in her command chair again, her hands balling into fists on the armrests. The NPRNS J¨®zef Sowi¨½ski was not a large warship, barely above the weight classification in normal G to be designated a small destroyer, and in the Royal Navy or the Alliance Space Navy it would likely have been called a frigate. Her bridge had a crew of twelve, and the total complement was just over one-eighty officers and enlisted, and while the small man-of-war was practically unarmoured, she did sport a neat little broadside of ten ten-inch railguns, and two torpedo launchers. The Genera? class of destroyers were small and cramped, with low ¡°spaceboard¡± and absolutely terrible operational range, but that was by design since Nova Polonia had no need for warships that could operate outside the Vistula System, the white dwarf gravity well which was host to the world of Nova Polonia herself. ¡°Ms Czachor,¡± Hauser said after a short silence while looking at the electronic ghost of the AMS Grover Armitage trying to gain distance from the Polonian warship, ¡°give me an update on the full system-wide tactical situation. What ships are within a light-minute radius, and can you tell me their nationalities, if you please.¡± ¡°Aye Ma¡¯am, just give me a few seconds to adjust my scopes.¡± By ¡°scopes¡± the youthful operations officer meant J¨®zef Sowi¨½ski¡¯s extremely powerful Auroran STARDAC2 Integrated Sensor Pulse Suite, which could be found on the brand new Royal Navy warships currently being commissioned. The suites were bought as individual stand-alone plug-and-install systems under licence from Aurorans at quite exorbitant prices, much more expensive than the Royal Navy itself paid since they constructed their ship hulls around them. But money was rarely a problem for the Polonians, their geographic location in the middle of the Corinthian Corridor made their system a natural port of call for merchant shipping from both the ISA and the Royal Union. ¡°Tracking contacts within a sixty light-second envelope, waiting for telemetry now,¡± Ppor. Czachor reported and settled down for a two minute wait, allowing the gravpulse waves to reach the radius of the bubble and await the signals¡¯ return back again. Gravpulse wasn¡¯t technically as fast as true FTL, even despite dipping into the Light Way, since it was actually harder for non-physical objects which did not have the ability to increase force of acceleration of their own mass in the relative topsy-turvy that was the Light Way, nor was gravpulse true gravitational waves in a relativistic sense. Therefore the only force gravitic pulses generated was a very miniscule amount of native Lorentz energy, just enough to penetrate ¡°down¡± into the Light Way sub-dimensional layer, so was limited to a mere 0.99¡Þ c. When a warship¡¯s sensor suite was engaged, her LIDAR would constantly fire in direct lines from her numerous LIDAR sensor arrays, and while lasers travelled at exactly 1 c, meaning it took exactly two seconds for a laser to travel to a target one light second away (close to three hundred k-clicks), register contact, and return to its sensor array pickups. But LIDAR had to be aimed in a certain direction, whereas gravpulse was more akin to an ever expanding wave of gravitational electromagnetic radiation that registered either mass that changed the gravitational backdrop of the vicinity, or substantial changes in radiation or heat, and its inherent Lorentz force ensured it was simultaneously both in realspace and in the Lightway, existing in a relativistic dual spacetime continuum. The limitations of sensor technology was the ability to register pulse pickups after a certain range, since when active gravpulses were shot out constantly, after a certain range the feedback was simply looped out of the system because the return would start to threaten data overload and the simple fact that a warship would simply have moved away from its original position. What made the STARDAC2 so powerful was in essence solving same issues but on a nano-level; the STARDAC2¡¯s Smart Artificial Intelligence was so intensively miniaturised that movement of data between its internal system parts was so short that transfer speeds allowed for substantial either dump of data or reallocation to memory banks, or to other systems like battle space analysis SAI¡¯s, ably helped by internal laser systems that had ranges of only a few nanometres, but closely staggered. In addition, the STARDAC2 could leave behind non-physical ¡°buoys¡± in form of directed comms-laser bursts that were timed to intercept returning gravpulses based on the ship¡¯s current speed. The STARDAC2 was the very cutting edge of naval sensor technology, as far as Kmdr Por. Hauser was aware no other sensor in the galaxy was as powerful, as precise, or as capable at long-range. The author''s tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon. After the two minutes and change was up, Hauser looked at Czachor again, hiking one black eyebrow up in expectation. ¡°Tracking shows twenty-three contacts within one light-minute radius, Ma¡¯am,¡± the operations officer said, adjusting the collar of her navy blue uniform, ¡°nine are Nova Polonian Merchant Marine, three fly Trojan signatures, ten are Alliance Merchant Navy, one Corinthian and one Maltese.¡± ¡°And how far away from Gdynia Station are we?¡± Hauser had turned to direct the question at her astrogation officer, Porucznik Artur Lasmanis who had already predicted that the captain would want a precise update. ¡°We¡¯re at the moment thirty-seven point three-eight million kilometres away from Gdynia, call it close to two point one light-minutes. With our current speed of three-thousand seven hundred km/s, it would take roughly thirty-six and a half hours to return to station.¡± ¡°Yeah, well,¡± Hauser said with an accompanying casual waving gesture towards the holographic plot on their cramped bridge, ¡°that¡¯s just our speed, not our acceleration; we can quickly increase to over eight thousand km/s before counterforce distance becomes an issue. The skipper of the AMS Grover Armitage must be a special kind of stupid if he thinks he can run away from a destroyer. Has he sent anything back, Mr Klimek?¡± The communications officer turned in his swivel crash-action chair and shook his head. ¡°Nope, Ma¡¯am, but he surely received the message, because I sent it over open channels, just to be sure that any of the other Alliance Indiamen didn¡¯t come jumping to his defence.¡± ¡°Good lad,¡± Hauser said and flashed a brief smile of approval to the junior officer. ¡°Let¡¯s play back what the scans showed before the good skipper of the Armitage pissed his pants and ran. Ms Czachor?¡± ¡°Ma¡¯am, given that Armitage is a closed-hull freighter, we couldn¡¯t get a good reading of what her internal cargo spaces held, but when scanned her she immediately increased her acceleration, despite our having stated our intentions as per protocol.¡± ¡°So is she a smuggler, or simply stupid?¡± Tactical officer Porucznik Joakim Krauze suggested in a tone that implied he didn¡¯t actually believe his own words. ¡°Whatever the skipper and/or the crew are,¡± Hauser said in a serious tone, ¡°they¡¯re not complying with our orders within Polonian space, and that in of itself is a crime, regardless of her actual cargo. Should the Armitage be found to carry contraband, then so much the better. It would mean that instead of simply revoking the captain¡¯s permission to carry cargo in Polonian territory, they would be fined and imprisoned as well. And if we¡¯re able to give an Alliance shipping line a nasty slap on the wrist, well, then that would just make my week. Mr Chau, see if you can¡¯t get us up alongside the Armitage. Once that¡¯s accomplished, I would like your gunners to fire a blank round across her bow, Mr Krauze.¡± ¡°Aye aye, Ma¡¯am,¡± the helmsman and the tactical officer replied in unison, grinning in anticipation. Stefania Hauser sat back in her captain¡¯s chair and let her mind wander as the other officers started to coordinate between each other in preparation for the pursuit of the desperately running Alliance merchantman. This had sadly become a commonplace occurrence in Nova Polonia recently, the amount of Alliance civilian shipping refusing customs inspections and scans increasing dramatically after the turn of the galactic relative New Year. Nova Polonia was a large shipping hub, as was obvious when noting the nationalities of the ships in just a limited radius of the J¨®zef Sowi¨½ski. The Vistula System was almost equidistant to four major industrialised systems, Novovostok and Starfall in the Independent Systems Alliance, and Corinth and Novorosyia on the Royal Union side. Nova Polonia was also the de facto capital of the neutral Corridor (oft called the ¡°Corinthian Corridor¡± by the major powers, which irked the citizens who lived there), and since the Corridor was Human Space¡¯s busiest interstellar lane of travel due to a permanently favourable hyperspeed band in the Light Way, it made Nova Polonia obscenely rich compared to its tiny population of only sixty-five million people. Merchant vessels from the ISA, Royal Union, United Colonies of Sol, the Coma Berenices Star Federation, and the Neuhansa Sternbund plus the civilian vessels from the other systems in the Corridor as well, entered and exited the gravity well of Vistula every single hour of every single day. Over forty per cent of the Polonian work force was employed in occupations that were connected to the massive interstellar trade network somehow. Gdynia Station (constructed with money from both the ISA and the Kingdom of Aurora) was a disproportionally large station compared to the rather humble Nova Polonian merchant marine and the Nova Polonian Republican Navy, with a full-time crew of fifty-thousand and berthing places for ninety ships. But the current galactic political climate was rising rapidly, and both the Royal Union and the ISA were sending warships into neutral space, ostensibly to ¡°fly the flag¡± as the Aurorans put it, to ¡°maintain order¡± in the words of the Alliants. ¡°AMS Grover Armitage is slowing down, Ma¡¯am,¡± Podporucznik Czachor said loudly, ripping Hauser out from her musings. ¡°Aw, I didn¡¯t get to fire a warning shot,¡± Krauze complained, and a few of the other officers chuckled. ¡°I have a very irate Captain Pike for you, Ma¡¯am,¡± Podporucznik Klimek said, half-turning to look at Komandor podporucznik Hauser and took off his headset before handing them out towards her. ¡°He¡¯s demanding to know why we¡¯ve delayed his transfer in this way, and is threatening to make formal complaints to the Elysian embassy in Lublin. Something to the effect of illegal use of military power against lawful shipping under the protect¨C¡± ¡°Well, we don¡¯t know if he¡¯s carrying lawful shipments unless he allows us to scan his ship and dispatch customs officers to inspect his cargo.¡± Hauser was angry now, this brief little chase would cost them the most of the rest of the watch, when there were so many other ships to scan and verify. ¡°Tell them to cut all acceleration, fire counter-thrusters and prepare for boarding by Polonian customs officials. And if he continues to give you lip, tell him to shove his protests up his ass.¡± Klimek¡¯s expression told her he would transmit her order in slightly altered language, the twenty-one year old not having grown so used to his navy and white Republican Navy uniform to be lippy to foreign skippers. Hauser was decidedly not alone in disliking the Alliants; they were arrogant bullies who believed their unfathomable wealth and industrial might made them the natural overlords of Human Space. But she didn¡¯t like the Royal Union much more either. The Corinthians felt the entire Corridor was somehow theirs by right of settlement and because they¡¯d fought a war over it against the Dionysians; the Dionysians were enigmatic assholes who would shake your hand with their right and plunge a knife in your back with their left. The Maltese were good and fair business people, but you could tell they always looked down their noses as small single-star polities like Nova Polonia and Ilion-Troy, carrying themselves with an arrogance that was more felt than seen. The Aurorans were the least worst of the bunch (of the large Union nations anyway), but they came in all manner of flavours, ranging from genuinely respectful and being honest brokers, to overbearing and condescending, to simply forgetting there were smaller, independent polities out there that might not appreciate the presence of their seemingly omnipresent warships. Nova Polonia was much too small to be able to afford the choice of friends; they were forced to pay for the privilege of not making enemies, Hauser mused bitterly as the holographic model of the AMS Grover Armitage came to a stop on the plot and Krauze made a call over the tannoy for a shuttle to be prepared and the customs duty team to make ready for insertion. Yes, she thought as her brow furrowed in thought, the most expensive commodity in the Galaxy was neutrality. A price she hoped Nova Polonia was still able to pay as the galactic relative calendar turned from March to April 2875. Chapter 45 - Weeks of Uncertainty: Vistula Crisis No.1 ¡°This is outrageous, preposterous even. It is a tacit declaration of hostilities; it targets the very foundation of cooperation and interaction between interstellar nations, harming the framework of peaceful process!¡± The argentwood flooring was being put to the test as Sebastian N¡¯Dure rapidly paced back and forth, having done it so many times already during the relatively recently started meeting in the Presidium conference room that one might be forgiven for thinking he¡¯d walked furrows into the woodwork. President Terrence Kelley, seated at the head of the magnificent Earth redwood conference table had lost interest following the Secretary of the Treasury¡¯s wild pacing, finding the lack of similar energy from Christina Nguyen, the Secretary of Commerce & Development much more fascinating. Unlike her on-paper superior in the Cabinet of the Independent Systems Alliance, Nguyen was taking the news out from the Corridor professionally, nary a dark brown strand out of place in her short-cut hairstyle as she studied the paper-print situation reports compiled by the staff at the Department of Interstellar Trade. ¡°An attack on civilisation, that¡¯s what this entails!¡± N¡¯Dure continued his rant without his ire abating even one bit. ¡°The harassment of honest tradesmen in space is tantamount to a reversion to the unholy barbarity during the latter days of the Verge Federation. Interstellar trade is the very fabric of economic life in the galaxy and challenging that is denouncing the societal structure Human Space is founded upon!¡± ¡°Over-under ten minutes before he runs out of invective synonyms and starts repeating himself?¡± Adalberto Romanchi asked as he leaned over to whisper the question to Latife ?avdarli who had to bring a hand up to hide her grin. ¡°Under,¡± the Secretary of the Navy answered the Secretary of the Exterior, not having been able to completely expel the smile from her face, ¡°Sebastian is a Dalry State graduate after all, linguistics is very far from their strong suit.¡± ¡°Here¡¯s hoping the chief cuts him short before we have a chance to find out.¡± The Presidium conference room was located on the same floor of Constitution Palace as the President¡¯s office, but the noon weather of New Seattle was a dreary rainy one, and big, fat droplets smacked wetly on the large Magnolia Park-facing windows of the room. It was a cavernous niche with a large central redwood table which could seat the entire extended Presidential cabinet, plus the President¡¯s chief of staff and their aides, and there were chairs along the walls for up to ninety more people. The walls were decorated with framed oil paintings of previous ISA presidents and even a few of the less incompetent First Director-Generals of the long defunct Verge Federation. The whole cabinet had been assembled considering the troublesome news coming out of the Corridor, but the meeting was yet to formally adjourn since they were still missing one of the most important constant-seat assured members of this most august council. Secretary of the Treasury N¡¯Dure was about to fire off another barrage of curses as an unseen footman opened the conference room door to admit Fleet Admiral Edwina Bradford and her chief of staff, Rear Admiral Ignace Farley-Thran, both dressed in the black and white day uniform of the Alliance Space Navy. ¡°Did we miss something?¡± Bradford asked when she saw the pacing N¡¯Dure and looked at the seated cabinet quizzically. President Kelley shrugged and made a gesture for her sit down. ¡°Nothing of importance,¡± he said as the newcomers found their seats and Farley-Thran thumbed a datapad to life and produced a grav-mounted keyboard from his carry-all bag, ¡°just the Purse here practicing his vocabulary skills.¡± N¡¯Dure had already stopped his pacing, and now his hands balled into fists. ¡°It seems, Mr President,¡± N¡¯Dure said through gritted teeth, ¡°that the gravity of the situation has eluded you. Or does the safe and unfettered passage of our merchant sailors not matter to you?¡± Kelley¡¯s eyes sharpened but he refrained from commenting as the door opened again, a quartet of people in pretty conventional dark suits entering and quickly finding seats among the chairs that ran along the wall. Their arrival meant this meeting could finally begin and Bradford took a quick glance among the assembled members of Alliance government. It hadn¡¯t been possible nor necessary to gather the complete cabinet. Notable among the absentees was Adam Dominguez, the Attorney General, Libor Urb¨¢nek, the Director of Applied Research, and Kiran Tran, the Secretary of Human Resources. The Secretary of the Interior, Nikoletta Kir¨¢ly, was also not present; she¡¯d been waylaid on the way back from Scania by a massive industrial action by orbital foundry workers in Adrestia, and was trying to mediate between the workers¡¯ unions and the Adrestian Orbital Industrial League. Of those that had made the meeting was the ranting Secretary of the Treasury N¡¯Dure, Adalberto Romanchi, the Secretary of the Exterior, Winston Daifallah, the Secretary of Defense, Latife ?avdarli, the Secretary of the Navy, Christina Nguyen, Secretary of Commerce and Development, and Victoria Patterson, the Director of National Intelligence. The last four to arrive weren¡¯t part of the cabinet, nor did they represent the military like Bradford, but they were arguably the most important people in the room. Bradford had met Permanent Undersecretaries Davies, Tachibana, and Chirathivat earlier on multiple occasions, but she had not had the ¡°pleasure¡± of talking to Permanent Undersecretary of Interstellar Affairs Riley Amherst before. Amherst was dressed in the same non-descript government issue dark grey suit like his colleagues, but he broke the mould in a similar manner like Intira Chirathivat, since he usually fashioned his black hair in a flashy, almost pompadour-like cut, and seemed to be half-smiling at some sort of private joke. ¡°If we¡¯re all present,¡± Kelley said, looking over the modest assembly of the most important political movers and shakers in the entire Independent Systems Alliance, ¡°then I believe we can get to it. I think that Mr N¡¯Dure here will burst with unreleased energy if we let him cook much longer.¡± The Secretary of the Treasury visibly didn¡¯t appreciate the mirthful point of view of this discussion, but refrained from commenting on it. Sebastian N¡¯Dure was a hard-line Liberal Progressive, the son of a relatively large realtor business owner, but had chosen politics rather than continuing the family estate. He was a man who firmly believed in the free market, the economic basis of modern society, and the government¡¯s role in upholding the security of that institution. ¡°As of 30th April of this year,¡± he said as he once again stood back up (but refrained from pacing this time, choosing to stand with his hands on the back of his briefing room chair), ¡°three-hundred and ninety-two merchant ships under the flag of the Alliance Merchant Marine have been flagged for inspection in the system of Vistula, halted on their journeys from their ports of origin on their way to their shipping destinations.¡± His eyes flicked briefly to Nguyen and Bradford before he continued. ¡°This number might seem low to some, especially since the AMM commands ships in the tens of thousands. But they represent a significant percentage of all ships that have passed through the Vistula System this year. Nova Polonia is a neutral hub-planet in the Corridor, and as such nominally has all rights to their own customs and merchant protection duties. But this is a very significant mark-up in number of hulls halted and inspected, and represents a major loss of revenue for many of our own Alliance¡¯s largest Indiaman and shipping franchises. Every time a ship is halted for customs inspection, it spends a lot of precious hydrogen fuel to power the counter-thrust and coming to relative standstill, but more importantly, it eats a lot of time, the loss of which has to be covered by the carrier line if it is significantly off the contracted mark with their shipping customer. I don¡¯t think I need to spell out how problematic that is for some of the largest carries lines of the ISA.¡± ¡°And just why are these check-ups becoming so much more frequent?¡± The question coming from Christina Nguyen was perhaps innocuous enough, but it carried with it a political undertone that was hard to miss for anyone in the room. Nguyen was from the moderate branch of the Liberal Progressives, and had the Presidential candidate been someone else but Kelley, she would have been the Purse instead of N¡¯Dure. Bradford had to stifle a smile as N¡¯Dure opened and closed his mouth like a beached fish for a few moments before collecting himself sufficiently for an answer. ¡°The Aurorans, Chrissie,¡± he managed to produce at length, ¡°the Aurorans have induced, nay, browbeat them to do this. Look how they¡¯ve tightened their border control and regulated trade routes since the Royfort-Euphoria incident, there¡¯s little else to wonder why the Polonians have followed suit.¡± ¡°Except,¡± Permanent Undersecretary Amherst said from the back, his voice barely containing his academic disdain for a mere ¡®elected politician¡¯ and not an educated expert in the field being discussed, ¡°that the Nova Polonians aren¡¯t members of the Royal Union, and have no particular love for many of the member states of that body. They exist within their own cultural and political bubble, and associating them with the Aurorans; still only seven worlds strong mind you, regardless of what you think of the Union as a whole, are not only erroneous but bordering on malignant misinformation. Especially when your portfolio is the Purse, Mr N¡¯Dure.¡± N¡¯Dure¡¯s already dark complexion was turning ever darker as Amherst talked, but again, he prided himself on not launching into a tirade of backlash answers that would no doubt have weakened his image among the important people in this room. ¡°Be that as it may, pertaining to the size of the Union,¡± N¡¯Dure said after taking a break short break to take a sip of water from the glass of water placed on the table in front of his seat, ¡°but you cannot explain away this sudden uptick in customs control, Amherst, as some serendipitous coincidence, you of all people should be aware of the situation on the border right now.¡± Amherst¡¯s eyes narrowed, but he didn¡¯t drop his half-smile. ¡°I am perfectly aware what is going on, Mr Secretary, but I am cognizant that what is happening is the equivalent of the opening shots of a silent trade war, with the Alliance and the Union tightening the import-export routes. No, you don¡¯t have to play coy with me, Mr Secretary,¡± Amherst said while making a stopping gesture as N¡¯Dure opened his mouth to protest. ¡°I have seen the reports and crunched the numbers, as have the people at the Ministry of the Exterior¡¯s Corridor Bench. And don¡¯t get me started on the nagging from the shipping conglomerates, Nawate and Zweil-Br¨¹ckmann were both on the horn to complain just this morning.¡± Adalberto Romanchi, the actual Secretary of the Exterior, was not saying a word, happy to let his nominal subordinate lead the charge. Representatives from the aforementioned carrier lines had called in order to give Romanchi an earful, but had been redirected to Amherst¡¯s office, where the capable bureaucrat had simply talked around the issue, while subtly hinting that this was primarily the Treasury¡¯s fault, not the Exterior. Romanchi wasn¡¯t stupid, and he knew Amherst was one of the smartest people in the entire ministry, certainly smarter than him when it came to carrying out the subversive knife-fights of inter-departmental rivalries. ¡°The meat of the matter,¡± Amherst continued, ¡°is what this slowing down of business in the Corridor represents, in terms of thalers lost, and in terms of interstellar prestige and sovereignty.¡± ¡°I might be able to shed some light on that,¡± Nguyen said, pushing the frame of the glasses she didn¡¯t actually need further up the bridge of her nose. She consulted a very stylish looking handcom, the titanium frame of the smartglass pane gilded in vine-gold. ¡°According to estimates by the Department of Interstellar Trade, the increased Polonian customs inspections have cost the Treasury something in the region of nine-hundred million thalers in direct surplus taxation of carrier shipping profits over the course of these past five Galactic Relative months. That estimate discounts income tax from the Indiamen crews, skippers, and the export fees of the cargoes being shipped, so consider it a highly conservative estimate.¡± Someone blew air noisily out of their nostrils, and a vein appeared in N¡¯Dure¡¯s neck. ¡°There¡¯s also the overage payments which the carrier lines are forced to pay their shipping partners, which again reduces the overall profit of any trip, further cutting into the taxable margins. That is what the State is losing, the costs borne by the carrier lines and exporting firms, and especially the insurance firms who are demanding higher and higher premiums for cargoes that were previously regarded as unproblematic. The loss of even just two days is now admissible as grounds for dismissal of insurances on cargoes, much to the chagrin of the large carriers and the export-oriented parts of our national economy.¡± ¡°Wait wait,¡± Winston Daifallah, the Secretary of Defense, interjected, holding his hands up in a quizzical gesture, ¡°I may be slightly out of the loop here, but what interstellar legal basis does the Polonians have for interfering with normal mercantile shipping like this? We¡¯d never had problems of this kind with them before now, so what¡¯s changed?¡± Stolen novel; please report. John Davies, the Permanent Undersecretary of the Exterior answered before Riley Amherst was able to clear his throat and start a new round of slightly patronising explanations. Bradford had to hide another smile as the old, white-haired warhorse gave his junior Undersecretary a very brief sideways glance. ¡°The interstellar legal basis is exactly what is offered to every sovereign star nation under the Gen¨¨ve Convention of the Law of the Stars, drafted in 2212 and signed retroactively by basically every polity since then. The ISA are signatories, as is Nova Polonia, Ilion, Concord, Harmony, and Ouroboros, the other ¡®major¡¯ neutral star nations in the Corridor. The Convention dictates that every nation is the ultimate legal entity within the gravity wells that fall under their direct political jurisdiction, de jure and in a lot of cases de facto as well. And so far, the Polonians have done exactly what they¡¯re entitled to, carry out customs inspections of merchant ships entering their system. What is abnormal is the rate of inspections. It has become the norm due to expediency, common courtesy, and to keep the gears of the gargantuan machine that is interstellar commercial shipping greased, to only perform inspections of ships suspected of carrying contrabands, or to pick only a few Indiamen at random each month to make a show of carrying out customs duties. What the Polonians are doing is practically unheard of in peacetime.¡± ¡°Leading me back to the argument that the Aurorans, or at the very least the Corinthians, have put them up to this,¡± N¡¯Dure commented sourly from his side of the table, having found his seat again a little while ago. ¡°Not remotely likely,¡± Romanchi said, having had enough of the filibustering attitude of N¡¯Dure, ¡°the Aurorans and the other major powers of the Union are as dependent on smooth transition of ships and cargo through the Corridor as we are. It simply wouldn¡¯t make sense for them to force a noose on the largest shipping lane in the Galax¨C¡± ¡°If you hadn¡¯t noticed, Adalberto,¡± Daifallah shot in, ¡°it seems the majority of this newfound interest in shipping is falling disproportionately on our ships, not that of the Union.¡± ¡°What is your recommendation, Madam Admiral?¡± The voice who had delivered the question was calm and cold, and belonged to President Kelley. He had remained silent ever giving the floor to N¡¯Dure, but now he was boring his cold grey eyes into Fleet Admiral Edwina Bradford. She was pretty sure she didn¡¯t give away her sudden sense of dread at this unwanted attention, and looked at her chief of staff¡¯s notes for a moment before answering. ¡°I¡¯m not quite sure what you¡¯re asking, Your Excellency,¡± Edwina answered in a measured tone, ¡°this is quite evidently a case for the diplomatic service of the Exterior to handle, rather than the merit of the Armed Forces.¡± Kelley nodded in understanding, more than once, making it evident he was thinking this through. In the meantime N¡¯Dure and Romanchi was arguing varying degrees of likelihood of external influences on the Nowosejm of Nova Polonia leading to the current state of affairs. Daifallah looked as lost as he usually did, the man being woefully ill-suited for the post of Secretary of Defense in Edwina¡¯s humble opinion. Secretary of the Navy Latife ?avdarli and National Intelligence Director Patterson were talking to each other in hushed, almost conspiratorial, tones. The Permanent Undersecretaries Chirathivat and Tachibana were also engaged in discussion, but they kept stealing glances at Edwina, which made the CNO suddenly quite apprehensive. ¡°A police action then.¡± The sentence made the room fall completely silent. Kelley looked around, his face neutral and betraying nothing; only his eyes shone with something akin to emotion. ¡°If the Nova Polonians are interfering with legal ISA trade and mercantile shipping, outside of what is the norm and political custom of interstellar affairs, then we must react in kind. The Independent Systems Alliance cannot be seen to be held hostage by a trifling single-system polity; there must be a reaction to their offensive actions.¡± No one in the room knew where to look. Rear Admiral Farley-Thran had the enviable opportunity to appear concentrated on his minutes, and he grabbed it, peering intently at his datapad. ¡°Your Excellency,¡± Romanchi said, took a deep breath to steady his train of thoughts and then continued, ¡°there are procedures and well-established interstellar observances and consuetudes regarding what you, quite casually I might add, refer to as a ¡®police action¡¯. And I fail to see what good that might¨C¡±. The President cut the Secretary of the Exterior off with a loud slap of his palm on the wooden tabletop. ¡°What good, Mr Romanchi?¡± Kelley¡¯s voice was dangerously icy, and more than a few found the table a very interesting object for immediate study. ¡°What good it might bring? I will tell you what good I see when I look out over this most august collection of politicians and heads of departments. I see a total lack of giving a shit, that¡¯s what I see. N¡¯Dure, you talk a fine talk and act outraged about the current situation which is costing the State in the region of billions of thalers, yet you¡¯re insisting on shoving the whole problem over to either Nguyen at Commerce or to the Exterior. Romanchi, you¡¯re a weathervane who changes position regarding whose wind is blowing in your direction. Of course you know at least someone from the Union have whispered some choice, no doubt honeyed, words in the ears of the movers and shakers in the Polonian cabinet, or else you¡¯d be woefully negligent to the point of almost treasonous. Amherst, you¡¯re a smart lad, and you know it perfectly well. How about you step down from your carefully constructed tower of hypotheticals and predictions, and actually do your job in assisting the Secretary of the Exterior?¡± If anyone in the assembly somehow hadn¡¯t felt uncomfortable before, they all certainly were now, including Edwina, who could feel pearls of sweat forming around her white shirt collar. ¡°I return, once again,¡± the president said, his voice softer now, but no less menacing for the fact, ¡°to the topic of a police action. The Independent Systems Alliance cannot be seen kowtowing to a minor nation like this, for a multitude of reasons. If I am repeating myself, ladies and gentlemen, then it is to drive the point home with an emphasis. One, it is costing Alliance carrier lines and other companies and firms a stupendous amount of money, which baseline should have caused a more proactive response than just ¡°business as usual¡± as has evidently been the case from where I am sitting. Two, this is an affront to the greatest nation in the Human history, we cannot simply stand by and let ourselves be humiliated like this. Are we not the inheritors of the Will of Earth and the torch-bearers of the ideals of liberty and democracy? Whenever someone threatens these fundamental pillars of Humanity, it should be our duty to dispel them of such notions, through any means necessary.¡± Kelley¡¯s voice was almost as cold as liquid nitrogen now. ¡°And thirdly, we cannot let the Union get their hands on the Corridor, no matter the costs.¡± ¡°Your Excellency¡­¡± Amherst began, but an angry sideways look from Kelley shut him up with a click. The President turned back towards Edwina. ¡°Now that you have the full picture of my opinion on the matter, Ma¡¯am Chief of Naval Operations, what are your suggestions?¡± A glove slapped across her face and tossed to the floor at her feet would have been more subtle than what Kelley was currently doing, Edwina thought, her mind galloping for options. ¡°Your Excellency,¡± she said after a short while, cognizant that all eyes in the room were on her, ¡°in danger of repeating what Secretary Romanchi was trying to say, there are certain procedures and rules of conduct when it comes to interventions like this.¡± Edwina was trying her best to remain impartial and retain her role as the uniformed head of the Navy, but she was perfectly aware that right now, everyone in the room was looking to her to put a controlling hand on the seemingly adrift gubernaculum, from career bureaucrats to populist politicians. And there was a nagging sensation at the back of Edwina¡¯s mind that Terrence Rodrigo Kelley was doing this all on purpose, but she was coming up short as to how and why. ¡°If this is the express will of the elected President of the Independent Systems Alliance and the High Commissioner of Elysium, then I will do my utmost in assisting in such a venture.¡± The confusion was almost palpable, and only the lingering menacing tone of Kelley¡¯s recently delivered lambasting stopped any would-be protests. ¡°Firstly,¡± Edwina continued, removing her black and white cap for a moment to run a gloved hand over her very tightly bound brown hair, noting with internal satisfaction that nary a hair had come loose, and replaced the cap, ¡°there is the casus opportunum to consider.¡± She licked her lips briefly. ¡°If the Nova Polonian authorities have overreached their mandate by impeding on interstellar commerce, the Convention of the Law of the Stars has stipulations that open for the use of armed force to secure the safe transfer of civilian shipping, especially if one star nation in particular is being ¨Cunlawfully, I might add¨C targeted. Insofar as I am aware, this is relevant to the current on-going situation in the Vistula System, unless the Director of National Intelligence is holding back information relevant to this discussion¡­?¡± The last sentence was loaded, and Edwina felt a pang of guilt of trying to partly shift focus to Victoria Patterson, a woman she actually admired. The frightfully youthful blonde (at least for her elevated position) in question smirked and shook her head in the negative. ¡°No,¡± she said in her heavy Proximan accent, ¡°there aren¡¯t any indications of this happening to Union merchantmen travelling through the same region, although you¡¯re just going to have to trust my word and gut-feeling on this for the time being until I can wrangle my myriad analysts together to create something approaching a coherent report on the subject matter. You know the meme, which is more than half-true: ¡®the NIA is a dysfunctional hydra, it has many heads and none know what the others are doing¡¯.¡± Artful dodge, Edwina thought to herself. ¡°With that eventuality out of the way, Your Excellency,¡± the CNO continued, Chief of Staff Farley-Thran furiously taking notes along the way, ¡°then the hypothetical moves along to the military aspect. The diplomatic niceties and observed traditions demand at least a 48-hour warning sent to our overstars diplomats and plenipotentiaries, and they then have a further 48 hours to deliver the ultimatum that will negate the employment of an armed force. Needless to say, this period of diplomatic grace increases or decreases depending on the distance from the capitol world to the capital of the polity in question. In the case of Vistula and Nova Polonia, the customary 48 plus 48 would be sufficient.¡± Edwina could veritably feel Undersecretary Amherst staring daggers into her back, but she simply metaphorically brushed it off and carried on in the same manner. ¡°But, Your Excellency¡­¡± A small smile that was barely noticeable on her well-trained facial muscles that more than once had been likened to a kabuki-mask, was allowed a little more proverbial breathing room than usual, ¡°there is the perception of a military intervention.¡± Winston Daifallah, as Secretary of Defence, opened his mouth, but a dual front attack of withering glares from both CNO Bradford and President Kelley shut the man right up. ¡°Go on, Ma¡¯am Bradford,¡± Permanent Undersecretary Hitoshi Tachibana said, perfectly aware that he was currently just a facilitator to the proceedings, no matter his actual political pull in the internal workings of the Navy and the political aspect of that extremely bloated part of the armed forces; right now he was just a suit with a mouth that served his nominal political superiors¡¯ purpose. ¡°A military intervention in a sovereign star system,¡± Fleet Admiral Edwina Bradford said carefully, ¡°is a much more political undertaking than a military one. As such, the perception of power must be maintained at all times. Any such intrusion into another nation¡¯s affairs must not only be carried out in a nominally maintained manner, it must consequently be perceived as fairly commensurate and measured.¡± ¡°What do you mean by that exact wording, Ma¡¯am Bradford?¡± Secretary of the Treasury Sebastian N¡¯Dure asked, his dark brow furrowed in thought. ¡°More or less exactly what I just said, Mr Secretary,¡± Edwina responded relatively deadpan, ¡°the response to the nominally illegal impediment of our nations¡¯ civilian shipping must be put to an abrupt stop, such is the order from the President. But at the same time, we cannot send a full battle squadron into the Vistula System and demand the complete surrender of their system¡¯s control of their own gravity well. That would rightly appear to be a very heavy-handed approach, akin to cracking a walnut with a bunker-buster. As Secretaries Davies, Tachibana, and Amherst would no doubt tell you, this must be handled with a lot more tact. The outside perception is of even more importance than what the Alliance electorate emotes on the matter.¡± ¡°She¡¯s right,¡± John Davies opined from the sides, ¡°if we are seen to send a disproportionately large force into a relative nothing system like Vistula, then we¡¯d be considered nothing but thugs and possible warmongers among the other polities in Human Space, be it right or wrong.¡± Silence stretched out for an uncomfortably long period of time as President Kelley tented his fingers in front of his mouth, elbows on the Earth redwood tabletop, deep in thought. Edwina was staring out one of the windows, noting that the rain had ceased, and she could see most of Magnolia Park through the receding mist. ¡°How many ships would you require, Ma¡¯am Bradford?¡± The sudden question caught her once again off-guard, and she looked first at Farley-Thran who offered nothing but an unhelpful shrug. Fuck it, Fortune favours, and all that. ¡°A composite cruiser squadron, Your Excellency,¡± she said, quite aware that these words might, like the ancient weapon ¡®bonemeranqe¡¯, come around and hit her in the back of the head, ¡°of at least two heavy cruisers to serve as flotilla leaders, a light cruiser flotilla, and a screen of destroyers. If I am allowed to furnish an appropriate subordinate with such a force, I will see to it that we can enforce whatever conditions appurtenant to¡­¡± Edwina was not given the chance to complete her sentence before Kelley rose from his chair and buttoned his charcoal-grey suit blazer back up. ¡°Good, very good, Ma¡¯am Bradford, I will see to it proper political orders are drafted and sent to your office. Secretaries N¡¯Dure, Nguyen, Romanchi, I believe you all are needed in the upcoming session in the Charter Chamber come tomorrow morning. Mr Amherst, please create an outline for an ultimatum to be delivered to the Polonian Nowosejm; I do believe Mr de Huascar is our plenipotentiary there at the moment.¡± Without formally adjourning this extraordinary cabinet meeting, President Terrence Kelley strode out of the doors (opened by those aforementioned seemingly invisible footmen) into the office of the Presidium, leaving the rest of the government and most senior executive officers and bureaucrats in the entire Independent Systems Alliance in his veritable dust. What have I just done? Edwina thought as Rear Admiral Ignace Farley-Thran collapsed his keyboard and datapad and gave her an icy look she had never seen before from her trusted chief of staff. Have I unwittingly unleashed the dogs of war by unintentionally playing into this man¡¯s hands? Chapter 46 - Weeks of Uncertainty: Vistula Crisis No.2 ¡°As you know perfectly well, Lady Nimue, you come to us with most excellent grades and glowing recommendations,¡± the tall man in a black suit said as they strode up the carpeted stairs, passing staffers dressed down to shirts and vests. The full formal ¡°battle armour¡± both Lady Nimue Hastings and her erstwhile guide was wearing made them stand out, composed of black three-piece suits with colour-coded ties; salmon for Nimue and purple for her guide. Nimue¡¯s raven-black hair was tied in a tight bun at the nape of her neck, and she had started to regret the choice of pencil skirt instead of trousers about the moment she had run out the door of her lodging in St. Barbara, a full twenty minutes behind schedule. Getting around in the Inner City of Cordelia was, despite the myriad of modern ways of mass transportation, a hectic and jumbled mess and the inevitable result of millions of humans living on top of each other in a relatively small area. Urban planners and architects had grappled with the issue over efficient and rapid transportation ever since Antiquity on Earth, and the same held true in the 29th century CE as well. Cordelia had intentionally been designed with several ¡°layers¡± of transportation in mind, in a very literal sense of the word. The ground level of the city which for obvious reasons had been the first laid out and constructed, was leaning heavily into walk-able lanes, roads and paths, and the dream of Morgan Poett, the architect who had been in charge of creating the city when Aurora was but a fledgling colony of a few hundred thousand people, had envisioned a completely motor-free city. Naturally, over the years this had proven a hopelessly romantic idea, and many of the paths had to be given over to groundcars. However, as technology advanced and metallurgy improved, the idea of piedways spread across the human-settled galaxy; pathways for foot traffic that ran over the ground level streets and roads, opening up a second floor to city planners, who grabbed the idea and ran with it. Monorails had obviously been a thing long before Humanity left the gravity well of their cradle star, but now it was common in major cities for the monorails platforms to be interconnected with piedways who crisscrossed all over; it also meant that first and second floors of buildings could house the same types of shop fronts, caf¨¦ patios, even green lungs in form of small parques and pavilions. Then the skycar had made its appearance, and the skies had opened up as a venue for transit as well. Alas, for all these improvements to the dimensions of transportation, there were still north of fifteen million people in Cordelia, spread out over relatively small area, and the majority of them tended to need some mode of transit to get somewhere roughly at the same times every week-day. Monorail lines ran over piedways, tram cars sped along footpaths, groundcars drove through roundabouts with bike lanes at the outer perimeter, and skycars took off and landed at towers connected with lift to metro line stations that ran all over the city. And yet for all of this, there was still congestion every morning at seven-thirty at the major metro stations, on the monorail stops, the trams were standing room only, and most rent-a-bikes had already been snapped up from their racks by some early (and physically fit) birds. And so Nimue Hastings found herself forced to pay for a personal skycar drone taxi so she wouldn¡¯t be late for her first day of work. Drone taxis came in many shapes and sizes in Cordelia and on Aurora, but of all of them the skycar variant was the most expensive, but also by far the fastest as it simply slotted into the Cordelia All-Link Traffic Overall Network (CALTON), which through the use of two dozen specifically tailored SAIs for this exact city and this exact purpose, monitored and controlled all of the public drone traffic in Cordelia and its suburbs and environs, then the drone taxi simply sped along invisible lanes in the skies over Cordelia to the skycar pad or tower nearest the customer¡¯s desired destination. For Nimue Hastings this morning, that was the northern end of Prince of Arcadia¡¯s Park. She exited the skytaxi¡¯s automatic door-hatch accompanied by the drone''s androgynous voice thanking her for her patronage, and wishing her a good day, before it took off with a woosh of small vector-jets, making Nimue¡¯s skirt- and frock coat hems flutter. Setting her frock back proper, Nimue looked up and smiled as she saw the massive structure on the opposite side of the four-lane street. She oriented, found a pedestrian crossing, and joined a large huddle of suit-wearing people headed for the huge stairs leading up to the main doors of His Majesty¡¯s Foreign Office. Finished in 2424, Foreign Office House was an expansive complex built in the Neo-Edwardian style, combining elements and inspiration from Palladianism as well as Georgian and Regency styles, and was a sprawling set of buildings that had double-door entrances with adjoining stairs in all cardinal directions from its central location in Prince of Arcadia¡¯s Park just where the Quarters and Gloucester met. King Henry II had insisted on the Foreign Office House being dimensioned for the future and had for the first century and half been extremely oversized for its purpose, but now the 89,000 m2 floor space complex ¨Cspread out over five floors¨C was barely large enough for the thousands of employees and visitors that came through those large doors every day. Nimue could not hide her smile as she took the first step on the stairs up to the main entrances, allowing herself to wallow in pride as she studied the high-arched windows, Ionian-style marble columns, and the seven fifty-metre plinths that were decorated with fantastical carvings of the settlement and history of each of the Auroran worlds; a female anthropomorphised figure representing each of Aurora, Angevin, Amaranth, Cymru, Nova Caledonia, Avalon and Westernesse standing proudly on top of the plinths. She fished out the lanyard from inside her inner vest pocket and let it hang freely across her chest as she walked up the steps and through the massive bloodoak doors, the card at the end of the lanyard featuring her face in 2.5D with the accompanying text ¡°Hastings, Lady Nimue V. L. ¨C Desk Officer, Analytics Division, Corridor Territories Directorate, HMFO¡±. Access to what was often tongue-in-cheek called ¡°His Majesty¡¯s Independent Kingdom of the Foreign Office¡±, was limited to people who worked there, Members of Parliament attached to any relevant committees, and invitees such as foreign plenipotentiaries, journalists, academics and the like. All entrances were guarded by Cordelia Metropolitan Police officers and numerous seen and unseen surveillance and defensive systems. Not even Royal Navy or Army officers or Royal Intelligence Service members were allowed inside unless they had been specifically invited by someone relatively high up in the FO, or if tasked with work through the Kingdom Defence Council. Nimue had to flash her card to a constable who proceeded to scan it with a service handcom, and she couldn¡¯t fail to note that under the constable¡¯s semi-dress frock jacket, he wore a plate carrier and a strap looped across his chest that held a carbine slung across his lower back. The ¡®com pinged an affirmative noise, and the constable gave Nimue a small smile. ¡°Welcome to the FO,¡± he said, gesturing with an outstretched arm that was both welcoming, but also herding her along; ¡°have a nice first day on the job, Milady.¡± The inside was even more palatial than what the outside indicated. The floor on the ground level by the main entrance was a huge Renaissance-style mosaic depicting the voyage of Europa on the back of oxen-Zeus, and the far end was dominated by an ornate grand stairway made of imported Earth maple, painted in ivory white and leaf gold, with delicate carvings along the railings and banisters painted in silver and gold. The roof was three levels up, and featured a heavily stylised painting of the signing of Magna Carta, as well as seven smaller paintings that were similar to the statues on the plinths outside, in all intra-cardinal corners apart from the one facing the entry doors; that was dominated by a large painting featuring the first king of Aurora, William I, and his wife Queen Alexandra, their daughter Louise and son Henry. The whole spectacle was breath-taking both in terms of its ostentatiousness as well as its large scale, but also the implied power that emanated from such imperious and imperial surroundings. The decorations ¨Cand by extension the Foreign Office as a whole¨C seemed to scream wordlessly, we can be this overly dramatic in our trappings and as flauntingly opulent because we know we are the dominant nation in Human Space, and we could not give less of a damn what you think. There were a number of desks between the tall columns interspersed in the entrance hall, where uniformed clerks sat behind monitors on grav-mounts and received questions or inquiries from the many suit-clad entrants. There were uniformed police here as well, but they were standing off by themselves near the ground floor doors to waiting rooms and visitor lounges instead of in the middle of the cavernous hall. Nimue felt like she, and all the other people dressed in modern clothes, had travelled back in time to the Renaissance palaces of the Medici or the Sforza at their height of splendour. ¡°Lady Nimue, I presume?¡± A serious voice cut her loose from the entrancement she had been caught in, and she spun around on her heel to come face to face with a tall man with black hair slicked back all the way to adhere perfectly to his skull, and a thin pencil moustache. He wore a black three-piece suit and a deeply purple ascot tie and a small pin on his lapel of a crowned feather-pen. Nimue¡¯s reflexed kicked in, and she did a small curtsy. This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere. ¡°At your service, Sir¡­?¡± ¡°Good, you¡¯re early,¡± the man simply said, not picking up on her socially polite way of asking for his name, ¡°punctuality at the House is not simply a virtue, it is a necessity, and being early is the same as being punctual. Traffic alright?¡± ¡°I¡­¡± she was about to say she had to order a skytaxi to get here on time, but that would be a tacit admission that she in fact, had been late for her first day. ¡°I managed fine, sir.¡± Speaking to this complete stranger at a drop of a hat was extremely uncomfortable for Nimue, and she found she could not look him the eye, so settled for looking at a place between his mouth and nose instead. That usually helped assuage the awkwardness she felt. ¡°Good show,¡± the man said with the ghost of a smile hiking up his thin moustache ever so slightly. ¡°Well, hop along then, lots to see, more to do.¡± He started to walk past the first sets of columns and clerk desks towards the grand staircase, and Nimue simply followed two paces behind, hoping that some more concrete information would be forthcoming. ¡°Tell me, Lady Nimue,¡± the man said without turning, and Nimue could tell that the other people around them were keeping a respectful distance, ¡°what made you join His Majesty¡¯s Foreign Service?¡± ¡°I have always been interested in different cultures, sir, and especially the way that culture has shifted and moulded over the centuries since the separation from the cauldron of them all on Earth and into the interstellar societies of today.¡± The man did not answer or make any indication that he even heard her answer. She hoped she had been speaking loud enough for him to hear, but she daren¡¯t repeat herself in case she sounded like a moron stuck in a loop. There was, after all, quite a bit of background noise, although the sound level was surprisingly low for- ¡°I was hoping for a bit more of an interesting answer than that, if you¡¯ll pardon me, Milady.¡± He hadn¡¯t turned, nor had he slowed down, and Nimue bit her lip. Her mind was racing. She had practiced that little spiel for an entire week for just an occasion like this, and now she was drawing a blank. Six years of university studies are not enough for you, silly girl, you cannot come up with a credible answer as to why you¡¯re here, and you are getting booted out on your first day. Panic gripped her. ¡°Sir, two hundred years ago someone calculated that the Foreign Office receives about fifteen hundred missives of consequence every hour, pertaining to everything from the declaration of independence of a star system from an interstellar polity, to the new appointment of an ambassador to the capital of an important nation, down to the birth of a fifth son to a fifteenth in-line to an unlanded former royal family in exile. That adds up to thirty-six thousand missives a day, and over thirteen point one million a year. The Foreign Office is the eyes of the Kingdom, without which Parliament would not know how to conduct policy, as any policy is contingent on the events outside the orbits of the worlds of the kingdom. Sir, history has shown that any little event can cause a massive cascade of unintended aftershocks. If I can play only a miniscule part in ensuring that the Kingdom is as well-informed about any events anywhere in Human Space that might influence or affect it, then I will be proud.¡± She realised she was slightly of breath, and a few other staffers around them had stopped on their way up the stairs. Her guide had stopped as well, his left foot on the first step. Slowly he turned. His smile was much wider and genuine now. ¡°I think you¡¯ll find, Lady Nimue, that you can comfortably time that estimate by four these days, things have changed a bit over the course of a couple of centuries. My name is Sir Samuel de Croye-Muir, I am the Director-General of the Corridor Department, and acting Third Permanent Under-Secretary of the Foreign Office in lieu of Dame Rachita Suravarjula. Welcome to His Majesty¡¯s Foreign Service, Lady Nimue, it¡¯s an honour to have you.¡± Sir Samuel extended a hand and it took Nimue all of two seconds that might as well have been two hours before she grasped the hand lightly, and Sir Samuel squeezed and shook it with a single, vigorous pump. ¡°As you know perfectly well, Lady Nimue, you come to us with most excellent grades and glowing recommendations,¡± Sir Samuel said as they continued walking up the carpeted steps of the grand staircase, passing staffers who granted them a wide berth, ¡°as such we expect the very best performance. You may think that you¡¯ve earned an easy pass into His Majesty¡¯s Foreign Service because of your title. Shake that notion immediately, no one who haven¡¯t shown that they belong in these hallowed halls have ever been allowed to work here for even an hour. The Foreign Service is, as you so eloquently put it, the eyes of the Kingdom, but not only that. We are its brains as well, at least part of it. We have over six-hundred thousand employees in all capacities, spread all across the stars, from the lowliest of janitors and front desk clerks to heads of mission and plenipotentiaries on royal commission to junior analysts ¨Cas your humble self¨C and canteen staff.¡± They reached the top of the first flight of stairs, which split partway up into further left and right stairs, and Sir Samuel led the way up the flight to the right. It was all Nimue could do to keep up and actually listen and retain what he was saying. ¡°You, Milady, are taking the first steps into the vaunted Auroran public service. It is a venerable and proud tradition of servitude to the state that has been an integral part of our society for centuries. I imagine, and I do apologise if I am missing the mark or inferring too much, that at least a few of your friends or some in your social circle are planning on joining the Royal Navy or the Royal Army.¡± ¡°Yes,¡± Nimue managed between increasingly quicker intakes of air, ¡°my friends Lady S¨¦lincourt and Alexandra Barham are going to King William¡¯s come autumn.¡± ¡°Ah, the other S¨¦lincourt child is joining as well? What splendid news, the whole family in uniform. As for a Barham, that is almost to be expected is it not? Ah, splendid news, yes. There you have what makes Auroran society the pinnacle of modern civilisation, Milady, the spirit of service to the commonwealth. Some join the Armed Forces, some join the medical profession, some dedicate their careers to further the boundaries of knowledge and technology, and while others choose the Civil Service. A whole social class, public servants, a most noble calling, but ours is not the glory but rather the satisfaction of a job well done in service to King and Country. Though not wreath-crowned, we are the gears that turn the great wheel of state.¡± Nimue was starting to realise that Sir Samuel was quite a bit of a blabbermouth and she absently started to wonder if this was common among Foreign Service members. ¡°Be that as it may,¡± he continued as they walked down a set of wooden-panelled corridors, past large ironwood doors with brass plaques stencilled with the names of former greats in Auroran political history, ¡°I think you¡¯ll fit right in, Milady. I¡¯ve heard from Graeme Shorter, the Director of Analysis at Corridor Territories, your superior, that your Master¡¯s thesis on the changing perception of Corinthian hegemony on the Union side of the Corridor through media usage of disputed maps, was simply top notch. And Shorter also apologises for the deferment of your start by six months, there was a bit of a cock-up at Personnel, it happens sometimes, and I hope you didn''t awfully mind.¡± "No, sir, I was able to see my family on Nova Caledonia before returning to the capit-ah!" Sir Samuel suddenly stopped after going down another pathway, standing in front of a wooden door with the plaque Lord Ripon Room ¨C Corridor Territories AB4. With a slight grunt he opened the door, revealing a large floor of desk-stations where each station had up to four monitors on grav-mounts, slots for ¡®coms and ¡®pads, small privacy bubble emitters, and comfortable swivel chairs. ¡°This is Corridor Territories Analytics Branch Four, where the focus is on the independent polities of the Corridor. Your desk is at the end to the left there, by the window.¡± He pointed and Nimue swallowed, the reality of her chosen career starting to set in and she could feel she was breaking into cold sweats. ¡°Your former academic supervisor at King Shore¡¯s University praised your work ethic, as well as your impressive and seemingly innate ability to place yourself mentally in the shoes of the small border polities and how they would realistically act and react, given parameters and limitations to deal with. I certainly hope you can continue to bring that same sort of insight here at His Majesty¡¯s Foreign Service. Bonne chance.¡± He patted Nimue lightly on the shoulder as he walked back out the door and it slowly slid shut behind him. Nimue was left standing in the doorway as it closed, and the sound made most of the thirty-odd analysts and deck officers in the room look up at her. Lady Nimue Hastings, future Countess of Seraphim had been in many previous situations where she had felt uncomfortable, it was almost a given that she felt uncomfortable in any social setting or an encounter with strangers. But she had never felt as out of place as right now. She nodded quickly to her right and to her left and with as hurried steps as possible without hopefully looking like she was fleeing, she headed to her assigned desk, sat down, keyed the slotted ¡®pad to life and turned on the privacy bubble. With privacy somewhat restored she sighed as heavily as she could without moving her body enough to give her panic away. Then she looked at one of the monitors. The official seal of His Majesty¡¯s Foreign Office greeted her and she felt her heart rate rise again and she quickly let the small camera scan her iris so she could access the for-your-eyes-only. One affirmative bleep and a few seconds later, she was greeted to the desktop and no less than forty-five e-letters already in her inbox. She ignored the few formality ones, copied those internal letters that had important dates for later on her personal ¡®com. Nimue¡¯s heartbeat was starting to calm down, and looked to get stuck in, the best way she knew how to deal with stress, and opened the first e-letter which caught her fancy, with the title Customs Inspections (Performed/Manned) Observations [3.Pt.Ver.Nom.Sec.] Nova Polonia ¨CD.01.01/75-01.05/75 Gal.Rel ¨C Sc. Cl.L. 03-01. Nimue¡¯s dark green eyes scanned the document and the numbers. Then she looked at the numbers again, a little voice in the back of her head nagging at her. On the fourth read-through her black eyebrows shot up. Chapter 47 - Weeks of Uncertainty: Vistula Crisis No.3 Si l''on pose en principe que la d¨¦mocratie est le meilleur gouvernement pour tous les citoyens, qu¡¯en sera-t-il ¨¤ ceux qui ne sont pas d¨¦mocratiques? Representative (future President) Uriel Jacques-Laurent Konstantin, ISA House of Planets, 22nd January (Gal.-Rel.) 2759 CE
The crowds outside the fenced court of the Nowosejm were continuing to grow in size, and Premier Consul Fabian Rutkowski loosened his black tie a little as he regarded the huge, shouting, angry mass of humanity ten floors below. The agitated crowd was polite enough to keep to the other side of the fence for the time being, though the line of police officers in riot gear might also be discouraging any further attempt to get into the Nowosejm grounds. Placards with hurriedly painted slogans waved over the heads of the agitated phalanx of protestors and a few police drones had been swatted out of the air by stones and empty bottles. Cognizant of what had happened in Cordelia half a year ago, the Polonian police was giving the protestors a wide berth, choosing to hold their ground rather than arrest the worst of the troublemakers. Rutkowski turned back from the window to regard the rest of the democratically elected cabinet of the Republic of Nova Polonia, most of them seated in the Consul¡¯s personal office in the third floor of the Nowosejm building, huddled around the usually large enough luncheon table, but now it seemed crowded by uneasy-looking politicians. ¡°So what are we going to do about this?¡± The Premier Consul asked the rest of the assembled cabinet officials as a body, not addressing anyone in particular as he produced a handkerchief and ran it over his bald, sweating head. ¡°There is no doubt about the fact that we need to deal with the elephant in the room, as first order of business before we face the elected assembly.¡± Minister of Interstellar Affairs Szymon Bohater said, running a shaking hand through his greying brown hair. Rutkowski had always half-assumed his surname had been some sort of joke by the man¡¯s parents and their previous generations; ¡°Bohater¡± meant ¡°hero¡± in Polish, and the minister representing Nova Polonia¡¯s interests in the face of the superpowers that surrounded the small state was outwardly anything but. Regardless, he gave the visibly nervous man the go-ahead via a nod, and Rutkowski sat down in the chair at the only empty chair at the head of the table, physically trying to dominate the conversation. Bohater wasted little time bringing up the message he had received from the plenipotentiary of the Independent Systems Alliance embassy in Lublin a short fifty hours ago, stored on a small mem¡¯ disk. It was slotted into the luncheon table¡¯s imbedded reader and the text was displayed via holographic projection while Ambassador Sindre de Huascar¡¯s voice filled the room, just as it had been delivered to Bohater¡¯s face. That alone had been an affront to the sovereignty of Nova Polonia and her elected politicians; the equivalent of a Foreign Secretary had been summoned to an embassy, rather than the other way around. The arrogance of the Alliants knew no bounds, Rutkowski thought, his teeth grinding together painfully at the humiliation. The ambassador¡¯s voice had that unmistakable tang of superiority, delivered in a tone that even without visuals one knew the person speaking was smiling throughout the entire conversation. ¡°The Republic of Elysium and the Independent Systems Alliance recognises the Republic of Nova Polonia as a true friend and an ally in these precarious times for the collective Human race. The Polonians were our faithful partners in the Entente Revolution and the reformation of the Verge Federation, and we do not forget the sweat and blood shed together in the struggle for freedom. Despite the fact that circumstances and internal politics meant our polities drifted apart following that great period of uncertainty, I believe I speak for a majority of Alliants when I say that we regard the Polonians as one of our sister peoples, regardless if the Polonians have, on a number of occasions, chosen to remain outside the Alliance.¡± An intake of breath could be heard, as well some uncertain sound of shuffling in the background. ¡°This is why my personal disappointment and sensation of indignation is surely echoed by most of the citizens of the ISA, when Polonian naval authorities, flying in the face of longstanding interstellar treaties, board our peaceful merchant traders, and arrest some of their number on trumped-up charges which would be dismissed in any interstellar court. Why would you, enlightened citizens of a true democratic nation, allow yourself to believe the lies spewed by the lickspittle autocrats of the Royal Union and the uniformed terrorists of Aurora? Surely you know better than that.¡± The recording played the sounds of heeled boots walking back and forth on wooden floor panels. That had been a stroke of genius by the Bureau of Internal Security, outfitting Minister Bohater with a hidden remotely-accessed-only microphone in the Polonia flag lapel he wore on his jacket, the only reason why the assembled ministers were able to hear de Huascar¡¯s real missive before it could be distributed through official channels in perfectly confusing diplomatic floral double-entendre language. ¡°Elysium, and in particular Starfall and her planets,¡± the ambassador said, now much closer to the hidden microphone, ¡°have always been Nova Polonia¡¯s most important ports of call, at least in terms of shipping passing through and shipping passing the other way back.¡± There were another few more creaks on the wooden floor. ¡°Nova Polonia is a world placed in a very interesting position, in a geographic sense. Of course, you would know all about this, Mr Bohater, the neutral juxtaposition between the ISA¡¯s core system of Starfall, and the Republic of Corinth on the other end. Not to mention the astra-equivalent position you enjoy. Nova Polonia is practically the most equidistant star between Elysium, Sol, Coma Berenices, and Aurora. No, don¡¯t you play coy with me, Mr Bohater, this is why your puny star-nation still has its independence. Any other polity of equal size of yours would have been swallowed up by either the Royal Union or the ISA, a long time ago. But the tides are changing, Mr Bohater, and I trust you¡¯ll inform your government as such. The galaxy will not be the same ten years from now, and the Polonians would be wise in choosing their direction today, rather than tomorrow. And thus it falls to me to inform you that unless the elected government of Nova Polonia is ready to release a public statement where you unequivocally renounce the Nova Polonian Navy¡¯s previous behaviour as a danger to interstellar travel and peaceful conduct amongst fellow nations, and take full responsibility for their actions, the Independent Systems Alliance will be force to undertake drastic measures to ensure the safety of our citizens in space.¡± The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident. There was some clacking of boots and a distant shuffling noise as the ambassador evidently put on his coat and hat. ¡°I bid you good day, Sir, and I hope this conversation has provided you, if not with incentives, at least indications that are slightly better than Tarot cards in predicting the coming galactic future.¡± ¡°What a fucking asshole,¡± Minister of Defence Aniela Kerekes almost spat out as the recording came to an end. ¡°Asking the elected government of an independent nation to prostrate themselves like that, selling out our own independence in the process. And Clausewitz is still alive and kicking apparently, ¡®War is just diplomacy by other means¡¯.¡± More than a few eyes fixed on Minister Bohater, and he shrunk down in his chair, but Consul Rutkowski clapped his hands together to focus their attention on him. ¡°Alright, ladies and gentlemen,¡± he said in calm, slightly accented Polish as he leaned over the top of the table in order to look at every one of them, despite the fact that his tie leapt loose of its shirt-moorings. Not that anyone cared. ¡°Loose tongues have been wagging, given the huge agitated crowds outside, and no, I don¡¯t suspect anyone in any of your offices have been careless, I think we can easily blame the Alliants for that. They know that the easiest way to influence policy makers is to make the electorate demand change, and that¡¯s the aggravating thing; it¡¯s just how democracy is supposed to work.¡± No one answered him, so Rutkowski continued. ¡°Do not be under any illusion, ladies and gentlemen, what de Huascar and the Alliants are looking to accomplish is to curtail our independence and sovereignty. The ability of a small star-nation like ours to control, police, and custom the shipping passing through our own gravity well is the only right of force we are legally and realistically able to employ upon other polities. And needless to say, our orbital shipping industry is the backbone of our economy, as well as the livelihood of most of our citizens as well. If a foreign power threatens this¡­ Well, no wonder the people are taking to the streets to make their displeasure known.¡± ¡°The public outside are scared, Fabian,¡± Minister of Commerce Mikasa Marcell said, her hands fidgeting on the tabletop of the luncheon table, ¡°they¡¯re worried for the future of their livelihoods, if the Polonian Navy performing their duty diligently will result in import-export tariffs that will hurt dues and tariffs, and that will have untold consequences for the average citizen.¡± She smiled thinly, her copper eyes not showing any mirth. ¡°Economic warfare is, after all, the great equaliser, where the convergence of interstellar politics cripples both the rich and the poor.¡± ¡°Yes,¡± Minister Bohater replied, looking very despondent, ¡°but where the rich has all the power and the poor simply suffer.¡± ¡°I don¡¯t like de Huascar¡¯s inclusion of the ¡®drastic measures¡¯ bit at the end,¡± Minister Kerekes said, nibbling on a fingernail, ¡°it smells too much of euphemistically worded military speak for ¡®we will force you by gunpoint to do our will¡¯.¡± The nervous glances being exchanged around the room revealed that Kerekes was not the only one to have gone down that train of thought. ¡°Do we send this to the Union?¡± The question was voiced by the Minister of Transport Franci?ak Tarasa¨³, a nominally nothing in terms of political weight, just placed in the cabinet to fill out the numbers, but he had just asked a question that might shape the future of the entire Republic of Nova Polonia. ¡°Dear God,¡± Bohater exclaimed, wringing his hands before wiping them on the legs of his trousers, ¡°you¡¯re asking us to hand our fate over to a different supranational polity in order to escape the machinations from another? I¡¯ll be the first to admit I don¡¯t trust the Alliants as far as I can throw them, and I¡¯m not a very imposing physical specimen. But to admit our position of weakness and hand over the keys to the house to the Aurorans in order to stave off the Alliants? You might as well ask the Assembly to vote for either plague or cholera, the end-result is the same; the effective end of our independent Republic.¡± ¡°I think,¡± First Consul Rutkowski said in a tone that was worryingly devoid of tone and emotion, ¡°that our hand has been forced. I just received the following missive from the Most Excellent Ambassador de Huascar.¡± He put his datapad in the middle of the luncheon table and as the assembled ministers huddled around to read what the e-letter on the screen said, Fabian Rutkowski walked over to one of the office cabinets and fished out a bottle of premium vodka, and instead of producing a glass, he simply popped open the cork and took a long swig of the burning alcohol. ¡°Dear God in Heaven,¡± Kerekes muttered behind a hand that covered her mouth in shock, ¡°they¡¯ve given the all-clear for a full police action.¡± ¡°The Alliants are about to seize control of our star,¡± Bohater sounded like he wanted to cry and Rutkowski did not blame the man. ¡°We¡¯re doomed, we can¡¯t stand up to that we¨C¡± ¡°Hell we can¡¯t!¡± Marcell half-shouted and slammed a fist down on the tabletop. ¡°We will fight the invader, the Nova Polonian Navy might be small, but if we simply roll over we will accomplish nothing than acquiesce to those that would seek to dominate and force others to adhere to their fascist rules and their narrow-minded way of viewing the Galaxy.¡± ¡°Mikasa,¡± Kerekes piped up, not nearly as energetic as her colleague, ¡°we can¡¯t fight the Independent Systems Alliance. For them, this is a police action, for us this represents the complete loss of stellar autonomy, and whatever small task force in their estimation is dispatched our way will make space dust of our entire navy in minutes.¡± ¡°There¡¯s no choice in the matter then,¡± Rutkowski said. He picked up his necktie and re-tied it around the collar of his shirt. His hands were shaking but he hoped doing this would hide it from his fellow cabinet members. ¡°I will go to the Assembly in the Nowosejm as soon as they are gathered. I will tell them of the conversation will His Excellency de Huascar, which they will have cottoned onto given the very public outcry. And I will tell them of this official letter from the Independent Systems Alliance Embassy, stamped with the approval of the President of the ISA and what this would entail for our republic. Then¡­¡± He took a deep breath. ¡°Then I will ask for their permission to request military aid from the Royal Union, predominantly the Kingdom of Aurora, and ask for any assistance they may provide in this current crisis for our nation.¡± There were uncomfortable groans among the ministers, but no one voiced their objection. ¡°I know,¡± Rutkowski said with a tired smile that was entirely for show, ¡°I will ask the Assembly to swallow whatever similar feelings they might have against the Union and the Aurorans. But we are a nation too small to afford the choice of sides. And now our hand has been forced. Either we ask the Aurorans and, God forbid, the Corinthians and Dionysians for help, or we will be completely swallowed up by the Alliance.¡± The ministers rose from their chairs and looked him solemnly, but there was no rejections forthcoming, and Fabian Rutkowski nodded to them and made for the door. Just as his hand rested on the doorknob, Minister of Defence Aniela Kerekes spoke up. ¡°Sir, you do realise that this might drag the superpowers around us into a conflict that they might rather avoid?¡± Rutkowski smiled wearily. ¡°I think, Aniela, that war will come sooner rather than late. If it be lowly Nova Polonia¡¯s destiny to be the footnote in history to be the catalyst of the greatest conflict Humanity has ever seen, then so be it.¡± He twisted the knob, opened the door and walked out into the hallway beyond. Chapter 48 - Weeks of Uncertainty: Vistula Crisis Deepening No.1 The man staring intensely into the camera was clean-shaven, with thin brown hair, probably somewhere in his late twenties or early thirties, but it was hard to tell. When he spoke, the English that came out of the speakers was not his own words directly, rather simultan-translated by simple DAI algorithms. ¡°Friends and compatriots, we face the direst moment in our proud nation¡¯s history.¡± The white background was blurred out by the camera pickup; the only thing visible was him and his wooden desk, where he sat with his hands folded. He wore a simple black band collar shirt, the type mass-produced by drone fabric-printers dirt cheap and sold for less than an Auroran pound in pop-up shops. ¡°We find ourselves on the precipice of the great disaster of our time, a Second Deluge.¡± He spoke clearly and what seemed like with honest conviction, but the emotional blankness of his expression was unnerving. ¡°Like our forefathers and ¨Cmothers twelve hundred years ago, the proud Polish people are on the verge of being ripped asunder by warring superpowers that in their mad greed and lust for blood and dominance stand ready to tramp over our anointed soil. Even as I speak, the cowardly and utterly incapable Nowosejm scramble over themselves like vermin, feigning defiance and resoluteness in the face of the oncoming enemy. Which enemy? Take your pick. The Alliants, who our noble forebears fought alongside in heaving off the yoke of the Verge Federation, now march into our star and take for themselves control of it. Be under no illusion, the Alliance is here to take the sky from us, reduce us to a cowering vassal state, force us to be subservient to their economy and political system. And what is the response by our elected leaders? To ask for assistance from the Union. The same Union who have lusted for control of the Corridor since the worlds here were settled and the hyperlane was discovered.¡± He stopped to take a breath before he continued. ¡°My friends, you might think that is a better option, that we will retain our independence at least, that we will still have the freedom of the stars. Be under no illusion. Like our ancestors knew all too well, life under a master is no life at all. Soon we will be forced to bow our knees and kiss the feet of foreign nobles and monarchs, the same kind of vile societal parasites our honourable ancestors fought time and time again to become free.¡± His gaze into the camera intensified as he visibly prepared himself for the crux of his address. ¡°My fellow patriots, it is the duty of any true Pole to fight oppression forced upon them. Now that slavers with shackles in hand, dressed as foreign warships, embark towards our God-given planet, it is the right and noble obligation of the free citizens of Nova Polonia to resist the invaders and their lickspittles. Make your voices and feelings heard, my friends, take to the streets and plazas and parks and public places, and show your defiance to our so-called leaders. Make them understand what treason entails. Poland has not yet perished.¡± The feed on the viewscreen shifted away from the non-descript man in the blurry room to show feeds from news streams from all over Nova Polonia. The man called himself Artur Czarniecki, the last name very specifically chosen to appeal to a certain demographic of the Polonian populace. He had until three days ago been a very vocal, but rather minor political activist with his own small stream production. But the sudden bombshell that the Alliance was preparing for a police action against Nova Polonia in order to curtail what they felt were extreme overreaches against their interstellar shipping, had skyrocketed Czarniecki¡¯s popularity. Desperate people looking for answers flocked to his streams, and he basked in the newfound attention, being able overnight to command the attention of millions. And Czarniecki knew exactly in which direction to point the half-crazed mob. ¡°Oh my God,¡± Sir Patrice Overkirk breathed as the newsfeed showed what amounted to urban warfare in the Square of Victorious Liberty in central Lublin, the large cobblestone plaza not far from the Nowosejm. Groundcars, both civilian and police, were overturned and many were lit on fire. Heavily armed police and gendarmerie were firing live rounds against throngs of very agitated protestors, who had armed themselves with makeshift weapons of all types, and were throwing homemade explosives and incendiaries at the police. A concerning amount of people in the crowds were armed with military grade weapons, and hard-rounds and pulse bolts crisscrossed the debris-strewn plaza, which was completely in ruins. Rubble, burnt-out husks, and all sorts of detritus filled the large open space which in normal times was a famed tourist destination. Some of the debris had been humans once. ¡°I think we¡¯ve seen enough, ladies and gentlemen,¡± a calm, but steely baritone voice said, and an aide-de-camp turned off the viewscreen with a tap on his ¡®com. The ¡®screen retracted into the large argentwood table, and nearly all eyes focused on the man who had spoken. The setting for the meeting was very grandiose, although it had worn out its sense of awe-inspiring ostentatiousness and severity for most of the people in the room a long time ago. Most, but not for Lady Nimue Hastings, who tried her best to become a chameleon as she stood at the back of the Royal Council Chamber of Rosecourt Palace. She tried very hard not to look directly at the man at the end of the long and broad argentwood table, seated on a very old-fashioned gilded and upholstered chair. King Nicholas Charles Alexander de Roze was tall, albeit somewhat stocky, with broad shoulders and a sturdy physique, but he sat ramrod straight in his chair, a very serious mien on his broad face, and his green-grey eyes was without the usual warmth which the Auroran public was so used to seeing. His strong jaw was hidden underneath a carefully maintained full, black beard and long moustache, and his lips were pursed in thought. A hand ran absentmindedly through his combed back ebony black hair. The Royal Council Chamber was a large room in the upper part of the central wing in Rosecourt Palace. The interior of Rosecourt was divided into the official parts and private parts of the palace, with the official parts being uniformly decorated with dark blood-oak floor tiles, much paler argentwood panelling with gilded rocaille decorations, interspersed periodically with painted Baroque reliefs in stucco in the corners of the vaulted corridors and hallways. The main rooms were all large, all of them with tall, arched windows that faced either into the inner courtyard, the Guards Yard, the Royal Arch, or towards West Wing Park or East Wing Swan Pond. Each main room also had a major theme, like the Princess Royal¡¯s Presence Chamber which had large Realism motifs of the four seasons on each of the walls. The Royal Council Chamber was more oriented towards statecraft, and the various paintings hung on the walls showed a collection of different historic events, like the signing of the Auroran Constitution, the redrafting of the Te Tiriti o Waitangi, and the regal coronation portrait of Queen Victoria. The rest of the room was decorated more for function than for pure style, with the large argentwood table having the retractable viewscreen, slots for mem¡¯disks, computers or ¡®coms, and seating for, as the name of the room suggested, the full Royal Council, plus several upholstered stools for aides, assistants, secretaries, and five desks for the exercising regent¡¯s personal equerries and secretaries. King Nicholas I was dressed formally in a black suit, white shirt and purple tie, the only physical reminder of his royal status as King of Aurora and all Her Dominions, was the large star medal of the Order of St George on the left side of his blazer chest. The rest of the people in the room were all dressed formally as well, the equerries and royal aide-de-camps in the No.1C dress uniforms of their respective branches, plus gold-corded aiguillettes denoting their status as attached to the royal household, but despite the seeming formality of it all, this was not a special occasion. In fact, it was simply a regular Friday occurrence, the end of the political week for the Royal Council, which in every other setting was simply known as ¡°the Cabinet¡±. But during the whole process of the King-in-Council, they were referred to both out loud and in the minutes as ¡°the Royal Council¡±. The King-in-Council was the process of the Monarch (capital ¡®M¡¯, the political aspect of the Regnant Royal) being informed of the major debates of Parliament, the matters of importance pertaining to questions of state, and other important topics. It was also the process through which laws were given royal assent, and particular decisions could through these meetings be created as royal decrees. The Monarch was constitutionally the champion of the common people against the aristocracy, and as such was the only one who could elevate people into the aristocracy, and had the power to revoke noble status. And it went without saying that the Monarch was not allowed to step foot unto Parliament without express permission, such as the Opening of a new Parliament, or to deliver the Speech of the Intent of the Cabinet. Though millennia ago, the causes and results of the Civil Wars of the British Isles in the 17th century on Old Earth were still remembered. But due to the wording of the Auroran Constitution, no law could be passed before being granted assent by the Commons, the Lords and the Monarch, although only Parliament were allowed to present bills, and required majority or functional minority (i.e. the tacit support of backbenchers to a minority in favour of a bill) in both Houses before being presented the Monarch to be granted royal assent, and legally folded into the lex canon of Aurora. The Monarch did not have the right of veto on laws seeking royal assent, but they could issue the ¡°Monarch¡¯s Displeasure¡±, which would send a suggested bill back to Parliament for major revision. This was exercised so rarely as to be almost a technicality, but the loss of face for the Cabinet was so extreme that is almost always triggered votes of no confidence in Parliament when it happened. And the monarchy was staunchly supported by the vast majority of the commoners of the Auroran worlds, and also among large parts of its erstwhile "enemies", the aristocracy. But this particular Friday¡¯s parliamentary discussion had been perfunctory, with the topic very quickly moving on to the developing crisis in the Corridor. ¡°How long ago was this?¡± King Nicholas asked no one in particular, continuing to look straight ahead where the viewscreen had been. Sir Edward Ranganekary, the Foreign Secretary consulted his ¡®com with thin, practiced fingers. ¡°Two days and some hours ago, so Tuesday 09th May Relative, Your Grace.¡± ¡°¡¯Sir¡¯ is quite formal enough, Sir Edward,¡± the king replied with an accompanying waving motion with one hand, ¡°and that timespan is sufficiently long for the situation to have gotten even more out of hand. Who do we have on the ground on Nova Polonia from the Diplomatic Service?¡± ¡°Regina Taunton, sir,¡± Ranganekary replied, having memorised it before the meeting had started. All twenty of the cabinet ministers present at the meeting, along with their staffs, a few select department heads with their own staffs (Nimue amongst them) had after lunch on this particularly rainy Friday been driven by a collection of skycars belonging to the Royal Household from Parliament in Goldbrook Palace, to Rosecourt Palace, the official residence of the royal family in Cordelia. Nimue had been picked by Sir Samuel de Croye-Muir to tag along, considering that only an hour into her first day on the job at the Corridor Department, she¡¯d burst into his office and warned about the possibility that something exactly like this would happen. The entire menagerie of politicians, secretaries, analysts and others numbering some one hundred in total, had waited in the large and magnificent Reception Hall, the great vestibule to the Crown Chamber, before being led up a double set of stairs that reminded Nimue a lot of the main stairway in the entrance hall of the Foreign Office, by liveried footmen in scarlet and gold and through sets of white double doors. Now she was standing at the very back of the room, trying to hide behind two aide-de-camps wearing Royal Air Corps uniforms, listening to what was being said all, the while trying to stay out of sight. Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings. ¡°Is she capable of dragging the proverbial chestnuts out of the proverbial fire, Sir Edward?¡± the king asked again, and the Foreign Secretary nodded to Sir Samuel de Croye-Muir who straightened his own purple tie and cleared his throat. ¡°Sir Samuel de Croye-Muir, Your Majesty,¡± the public servant said in a slightly nervous voice, ¡°Director-General of Derpar- I mean Department of Corridor Affairs, Your Majesty.¡± ¡°Dispense with the formality and take a breath, Sir Samuel,¡± King Nicholas interjected and gave Sir Samuel a small smile to remove any edge to his command, and Nimue¡¯s superior¡¯s superior seemed to calm down. ¡°Yes sir, my apologies sir. Regina Taunton is a capable diplomat, but she is in the unenviable position of being the mission head of a very small diplomatic detachment. Nova Polin- Nova Polonia is a very small polity with only sixty million inhabitants who have not expanded much beyond the first continent they settled down on. That we have a diplomatic mission at all is due to the very fortunate astrogational position the planet is located in. Nova Polonia, along with Ilion and Concord, are natural stops for the shipping lanes that go through the stable hyperband Light Way lane through the Corridor¡­¡± Sir Samuel looked around and saw that the assembled ministers were quickly losing patience, seeing as he was doing the equivalent of explaining why Gibraltar back on Earth was in a good location. He cleared his throat and rubbed his hands on his trouser legs. ¡°Ms Taunton is very capable, as I¡¯ve said, but she is frightfully junior. There is a tendency in the Foreign Office to test the mettle of those in the Diplomatic Service we feel have the potential to take on larger roles by sending them to small, but crucial stations, like Arcturus, or one of the major port planets of the Neuhansa Bund. But she is probably engaging right now in an attempt to get any Kingdom and Union citizens out of harm¡¯s way.¡± ¡°What do we know of the threat the Alliants have made towards the Polonians, Sir Edward?¡± the king readdressed the Foreign Secretary, who half-shrugged. ¡°We know what has been communicated down to us by the grapevine, through second-hand reports and observations like the one we just witnessed. There is no doubt in the Foreign Office¡¯s mind that a very palpable sense of impending military action has been impressed on the Polonians, which has regrettably prompted such drastic actions among parts of the their populace.¡± ¡°Barbarity,¡± Sir Patrice Overkirk muttered, the Secretary of the Union not being able to stop the horrified outburst in time. ¡°Quite,¡± Ranganekary said in his usual academic way of understatement, ¡°but that opens a Pandora¡¯s Box in regards to control over the Corridor. If the Alliants acquire a major port at the ¡®western¡¯ entrance of the Corridor, what¡¯s stopping them from laying claim to the whole thing?¡± ¡°Which is about the worst thing that could happen for our interstellar trade westward,¡± Dame Niamh Walker-Dupont interjected, the Secretary of Trade leaning forward over the wooden table. ¡°That would mean the death of the only neutral tariff zone along the entire Union-Alliance border. Goods and shipping going from the Union through Alliance space would be subject to whatever customs and tariff hikes the Greens could dream up, and could in the most extreme consequence completely stymie our trade with United Sol and New Majapahit. It would slash into our profit margins conducting trade with a combined market of about forty billion people, a third of them on Earth alone. Need I remind you all that Earth is still the most populated planet in the galaxy, and the largest single market?¡± Walker-Dupont collected herself, returned to sit properly in her wooden chair. ¡°I mean no disrespect, Your Grace, but the impact it will have on the Union, and especially the Auroran economy, is a thought almost too terrible to think about.¡± ¡°Point well made, Mrs Walker-Dupont, thank you,¡± King Nicholas said. He turned to look directly to his right, to a man who had so far said almost nothing. ¡°What are my first minister¡¯s thoughts on this?¡± Sir Alfred Carmichael was a short, portly man of one-seventy-two years of age, his sand-brown hair had receded to a crown around the lower part of his head, but he had a mighty moustache on his upper lip which had functioned as his visual trademark for all his years in the upper echelons of Auroran politics. He was dressed in a very formal black dress jacket and vest, and a small red bowtie, which he had been slowly fingering while the rest of the cabinet were discussing. Alfred Carmichael was the son of a captain of a hydrogen harvester, and among the ministers of the Cabinet, he was the one with the least prestigious education under his belt, having gone to nothing but public schools, and with ¡®only¡¯ a Master¡¯s Degree in Business Management. That was not very impressive next to someone like Ranganekary, Dame Fiona Spyros, or the Marquess Howeland, but given his family background he had made a tremendous step in terms of socio-economic class. And his ¡®club gentleman¡¯-appearance, with his physical paunch, tendency to slightly overdress and bring a walking cane everywhere he went, meant he disarmed and wrong-footed nearly everyone who did not know him personally. Carmichael was a brilliant and keen-sighted politician, with an uncanny ability for political pragmatism. He had shot like a comet up through the ranks of the Social Liberal party after he retired from banking sixty years ago. Now the Prime Minister of the Kingdom of Aurora and Her Dominions twirled his moustache with the hand not holding onto the brass knob of his cane. ¡°My thoughts,¡± he said in a heavy West-Avalonian accent, ¡°are but a poor echo of what Dame Niamh just so effectually iterated. Nova Polonia is a steppingstone for the Alliance to gain the whole of the Corridor, which would mean the Union and the Kingdom lose ¨CI won¡¯t say free access, we still have to pay Polonian tariffs after all¨C, but at the very least cheap access to the large markets of the United Colonies of Sol and beyond. Dame Niamh or Sir Samuel here can probably describe the journey an average Indiaman better than I can, but from my days in shipping insurance, we used to be able to provide favourable premiums to a merchantman leaving Corinth, to make a stopover in Ilion, Ouroboros, or Nova Polonia, and then arrival in Gateway on the Sol side of the Alliance border. Any longer than that, and you ended up inside Alliance Charter territory, and that, even back in the day, would quickly run up the added customs costs of the journey.¡± ¡°So, there is complete agreement something must be done then?¡± Dame Fiona Spyros, Chancellor of the Exchequer opined, folding her hands on the table. ¡°We cannot allow this to stand, it would mean ruin and financial catastrophe for all major shipping lines, not to mention all the companies and firms reliant on interstellar export going through the Corridor.¡± ¡°Not to mention the humanitarian aspect of it all,¡± Sir Patrice Overkirk said from his side of the table, ¡°who would we be if we allowed the Alliant jackboots to march over an independent and sovereign nation?¡± Sir Edward Ranganekary pinched the bridge of his nose, and the Marquess Howeland shifted in his chair. ¡°You say that as if we are in a favourable position to do anything,¡± Ranganekary said just as Linton Sciacca was opening his mouth to protest as well. ¡°The Kingdom does not have a particular treaty or agreement with Nova Polonia that opens for Auroran involvement if anything like this were to happen. The Polonian independence for the past two-hundred and sixty-years have been guaranteed due to the tacit understanding that one of either power moving in and securing control over the Vistula gravity well, would be unacceptable to the other. Gods know that the Corinthians have been clamouring for any chance to semi-legitimately go in and grab the rest of the Corridor, but that would have sparked a confrontation with the Alliance, and if so happened Aurora would not have supported Corinth.¡± ¡°There is also the aspect of proportional power to consider,¡± Linton Sciacca, Marquess Howeland, said. ¡°From all the reports trickling back to us through backchannels, hearsay, and clandestine contacts, the Alliants are not marching in with a battle fleet and an expeditionary force. The words the Royal Intelligence Service keeps hearing over and over again is ¡®police action¡¯, meaning that unless President Kelley has sacked CNO Bradford, the response to¡­ what was it your office called it again, Sir Samuel?¡± ¡°¡®Perceived intolerable control and illegitimate customs duty efforts on behalf of the Nova Polonian authorities in face with Alliance interstellar shipping¡¯, I believe was the choice of phrase by one of my junior analysts.¡± He shot a glance in Nimue¡¯s direction, not unfriendly so, but who subdued an uncomfortable eek, and hid further behind the two RAC adjutants regardless. ¡°Just so,¡± Howeland continued, switching between looking at Walker-Dupont, Spyros, Overkirk, and the King. He barely noticed that a Royal Navy lieutenant with an aide-de-camp¡¯s aiguillette had silently entered the room by a side door, and strode up to the king¡¯s First Equerry, a suave-looking Royal Army major in a bone-khaki uniform, wearing the badges of the Queen¡¯s Nikosian Royal Dragoons (3rd Guards/Northumbrians), and the two exchanged hurried whispers. ¡°Regarding what we know of operational procedures during the last ten and change years of the Alliance Space Navy under Chief of Naval Operations Edwina Bradford, we know that she is a very meticulous commander. She knows the rules of the interstellar community; she¡¯s not going to up and bowl at the batter, if you like your sporting metaphors, sirs and madams. And as Sir Edward here would tell you, a Polonian populace on the verge of civil conflict, that only makes a modest military intervention into the Vistula System appear to be out of concern for spiralling loss of human lives. This is as picked out from a history textbook what President Uriel Konstantin did ninety years ago, and the Lorelei SAR fell under Alliance hegemony as a consequence.¡± The First Equerry reached down discreetly to whisper something into the king¡¯s right ear, and he nodded. The choice of right ear was intentional, for Prime Minister Carmichael turned slightly as well. King Nicholas rose from his chair, the gilt wooden legs scraping on the blood-oak flooring. A moment later, all the minister and the seated aides and secretaries rose as well, a clear sign that Friday 12th May''s King-in-Council had come to an end. ¡°Ladies and gentlemen,¡± the king said and nodded slightly to both the left and right, ¡°thank you for your time. I trust I will be kept updated on this situation as it develops further, and I expect to hear from the Foreign Secretary¡¯s office on the regular, so I will bid you a good afternoon.¡± Everyone not attached to the Royal Household bowed or curtsied, and the far doors were opened by unseen footmen, and slowly those aides and staffers closest to the doors started to file out; it was customary for the ministers of the monarch to be the very first to arrive and last to leave. As more junior secretaries like Dame Janice Stavrelli (Development & Infrastructure), Lukas Herzfeld (Culture & Sport), Angelique Perrault (Chancellor of the Court & Leader of the Commons) and Yashoda Mahindra (Education) had already departed, the king cleared his throat as Ranganekary and Howeland were about to walk out. ¡°I believe,¡± King Nicholas said while folding his hands behind his back, ¡°that a select few gentlemen have been trying rather anxiously to organise a meeting with Sir Edward here whilst we were all detained on constitutional affairs.¡± Ranganekary and Howeland exchanged surprised glances. The Royal Navy lieutenant stepped up and gave the Foreign Secretary an old-fashioned white paper note. Ranganekary¡¯s dark eyebrows shot up and he turned around, forgetting in the moment that it was supremely bad manners to turn your back to the Monarch. More than a few equerries and adjutants bristled. ¡°Sir Samuel,¡± Sir Edward called, ¡°belay that early afternoon off, grab all the staff you brought with you, especially that young woman who stumbled unto this in the first place, and meet us back at my office. Me and Howeland are taking a skycar directly there.¡± ¡°We are?¡± Howeland asked, completely perplexed, and Ranganekary handed him the note. The aristocrat rapidly read the few short lines and he frowned. ¡°Right,¡± he said and bowed to King Nicholas I again, ¡°I think I need to make a few calls so we can start forming an idea why the ambassadors of the Alliance, Corinth, and Dionysia want to meet with the Foreign Secretary, all at once.¡± Chapter 49 - Weeks of Uncertainty: Vistula Crisis Diplomacy 1 There were three distinguished gentlepersons sitting in the small waiting lounge that adjoined the outer office of the Foreign Secretary of Aurora¡¯s office proper. The waiting room was not large, but it was decorated in the same, overbearing imperial style of the rest of the official rooms of Emerald Garden Palace. Emerald Garden Palace had originally been envisioned as a paradeisus-style recreational area when the Auroran monarchy was young and the city of Cordelia even younger, but the construction spree that had seen the building of so many grand venues, noble mansions, parks, artificial ponds, and palaces had been so hectic that only the name of the original plan had remained when the first brick of Emerald Garden had been laid. In a confusing game of musical chairs, Goldbrook Palace had been designed for the royal family, but expanded to fit the Houses of Commons and Lords, Grand Kent had been originally built for the Lords, but became the residence for the Crown Prince/Princess Royal family, St. Andrew¡¯s Palace had been intended for the Commons, but was retained for the royal regnant family as a personal home. Rosecourt Palace had been commissioned as a professional as well as personal residence for the royal family, the last of the major palaces in the vicinity of the capital to be constructed. As a final result, Emerald Garden had been expanded from a primary greenery and crystal garden for picnickers and the well-off, into the official office and residence building for His Majesty¡¯s Government. It was a Palladian-inspired, but curiously Avant-Gothic complex of buildings. It forewent the usual Doric or Antiochian columns favoured by the Neo-Regency or Neo-Georgian styles, instead having half-inlaid arches around entrances, and exposed white brick made up the exterior walls instead of the much more common rustic red, and there were what might be referred to as flanging wall extensions that mimicked the sharp angles of Gothic architecture, but much less eye-catching. The roofs had crenellations and small spires sticking up from rotundas interspersed between the chimney stacks, and because of its function as the office for the government of Aurora, there were multiple small altar-like inlays in the walls every other story which featured a marble statue of major Auroran historical figures in life size. It looked like someone had merged a medieval cathedral with a set of 19th Century large brick mansions, and with some Classical inspiration and designs thrown into the mix. Like most political buildings of importance, Emerald Garden lay in the Quarters, just a few streets over from Foreign Office House, Grand Kent, the Royal Bureau of Statistics, and ¡°Horse Guards¡±, the ancient nickname still in use for the Royal Army General Headquarters (no Horse Guards were quartered there, the closest would be Monmouth Barracks in East Limesley). The Emerald Gardens buttressed a series of green spaces and the small but stately Ridgeley Park, named after the first prime minister of Aurora, later Viscount Ridgeley. That was the only part left of the original plans that the early city planning architects had laid out that had been implemented. Ridgeley Park was a small biome of its own, with Amaranthine acacias, Leukosyrian ambermaples, short but dense Azurean spiderbrambles, and beds of Earth tulips next to Valhallan stepmother-blooms and Hydran steel-hyacinths, all growing in greenhouses and around gazebos in marble and finely forged crystal glass sheets. But Emerald Garden Palace was a government institution, in fact the government institution both on and in Aurora. The building complex was rectangular, with the far (eastern) short end open towards the park areas, all of the interconnected wings six stories tall. The south wing was all dedicated to the Prime Minister; his personal residence during his or her term as First Minister of Aurora was located there, which included an assortment of dining rooms, lounges, waiting rooms, conference rooms, a billiard room, and libraries in addition to the personal chambers of the First Minister and their family. The northern and western wings were for the offices and secretariats of the other cabinet ministers, though many of them chose to lead their ministries from the main ministry buildings. The western wing was for staff quarters. Once past the front entrance and having been admitted into the vestibule, the interior decorations were impressively large; inlaid alabaster white half-columns in the walls with stucco reliefs, and scarlet wallpaper, with gilt wooden and marble furniture interspersed throughout. Hanging on the red walls were large oil paintings in gilded frames of famous politicians, the regnant royal family, and other major historical figures from Auroran history. If one sought out Sir Edward Ranganekary during work hours, he would most likely be found in his third story office in the west wing of Foreign Office House, while Linton Sciacca, the Marquess Howeland, preferred his office in Goldbrook Palace, or sometimes Admiralty House. But whenever interstellar ambassadors announced their intent to speak with the Auroran foreign secretary under four eyes, the solemnity of the situation behoved that it take place in the Foreign Affairs secretariat offices in Emerald Garden Palace. Two of the three distinguished gentlepersons in the inner office waiting lounge were seated in comfortable upholstered chairs with tall backs made of Amaranthine rainbow-teak and woven New Devon silk, the backdrop equally as palatial. The walls were covered by cream-green wallpaper with golden lily and fleur-de-lis motifs, chequerboard silvery/ebony roof patterns and the ubiquitous Auroran favourite, blood-oak floor panelling, doors, and assorted furniture. A Foreign Office secretary in a white shirt and dark grey vest was the only orderly on duty, manning one of the four desks of the inner office lounge leading into the Foreign Secretary¡¯s personal office. He was trying his best to wordlessly persuade the waiting dignitaries that he was indeed very busy taking notes on a grav-mounted computer, but in reality he was just waiting for the soundless go-ahead signal which would be sent to his ¡®com that indicated Sir Edward was ready to receive the first of the dignified three. The one seated on a venerable old chair made by manufacturers in Hong Kong on Old Earth before that grand city had been swallowed by the sea, was Her Dionysian Majesty Queen Stratonike Tryphaine¡¯s representative to the most august Kingdom of Aurora, the honourable Lord Pierikomas Sir Andronikos Erymachos-Williams. Sir Andronikos was partly Auroran by way of his esquire grandfather marrying into a noble Dionysian family (quite a rare occurrence), and despite their myriad differences, the Dionysian nobility emulated the Auroran one in trying to benefit their country and monarch as much as possible, ¨Calthough ¡®benefit¡¯, loosely Koine Greek ¡®euergete¨­¡¯, was very much up to personal interpretation¨C. This was why the Erymachos family had for five generations been closely linked to the Dionysian foreign and diplomatic service. There was no convincing argument to be made that Sir Andronikos hadn¡¯t been awarded the very prestigious posting of Dionysian ambassador and plenipotentiary to Aurora due to his familial circumstances, and the assumed insight he gained by this. His post-graduate education at King¡¯s College of Sciences in Cordelia had certainly helped as well. Nevertheless, he was now seated in the Foreign Secretary¡¯s waiting lounge, wearing a black three-piece suit in the Auroran/Neo-European fashion, albeit with a sash of white linen with a thick royal purple band going from his left shoulder down across to adjoin at right-side hip. This was the archaic mark of a noble, and the Dionysians were adroit in terms of expressing their nobility for all to see. Sir Andronikos was reasonably tall, with black curly hair, warm rose-brown eyes, and a philosopher¡¯s beard which was all the rage among the intellectual elite of Dionysia. The chairs occupied by the others were hand-carved and upholstered by local Camlann craftsmen, but no less fine in their workmanship than the ancient ones from Earth. The other male diplomat wore a pale khaki linen full male-cut suit and trousers, and a fierce yellow cravat. His skin was sunburned sandstone in colour, and his black hair had mostly disappeared apart from a modest crown around his ears. He was markedly older than his Dionysian colleague by a few decades or more, but in the 29th Century that hardly mattered. The honourable Georgios Lykosphendates had been the Corinthian ambassador to Aurora for a mere three months, but he had served in the Republic of Corinth Navy for forty years, and had learned to hobnob with the Aurorans (and especially among the Auroran officers) during his time, not to mention people from a number of other Union worlds. He had not wanted to be seconded to the Corinthian diplomatic service once he had been forced out of office as a senior naval officer (because younger officers needed the opportunity, oh how Georgios envied the Royal Navy, ever-hungry for men and women). But now here he was, and Georgios was determined to do his best for his nation in face with these arrogant, mostly pale, bastards, who just so happened to be the best allies the Corinthians had. Lastly was the honourable ambassador of the Independent Systems Alliance to the Kingdom of Aurora, and by extension the Royal Union, which constituted in total twenty-nine sovereign states (most major Union polities were assigned their ¡°own¡± Alliance Charg¨¦e d¡¯affaires ad permanens for reasons of expediency and courtesy, so not everything had to flow through the one assigned to Aurora), and almost twice that number again of settled stellar bodies. Dressed in a suit of deep green, the national colour of the ISA, was Magdalena da Cunha. Her statement colour suit was very intentional on this particular day, and she¡¯d made sure that her long black hair was tied back into the relatively nonchalant ponytail which was Auroran female fashion at the moment, at least among Commoners. Da Cunha was a post-graduate of the still-existing Yale University of Earth, having delivered a PhD dissertation in interstellar relations with honours. Out of the three in the room, she was perhaps the most comparable to the Auroran foreign secretary, a civilian who had come from relatively ordinary means to achieve career-greatness through personal efforts during her studies, and not through secondment or barely-contained nepotism. Magdalena da Cunha had earned her spurs as a diplomat in her first major role as a junior consulate officer on Alsharaf in the Star Caliphate of New Asqalan, being the first diplomatic officer that disgruntled Alliant civilians would meet whenever encountering that polity¡¯s most particular bureaucracy. Since then she¡¯d moved up the ranks, to becoming the junior plenipotentiary of the Alliance on Berenice in the Comas Berenice Star Federation, then the Head of Mission in Lemberg on Tschornohora. And now, after a swift thirty-year career abroad, she was the First Ambassador of the Independent Systems Alliance to the Sovereign Kingdom of Aurora. The clerk got up from his chair energetically, betraying how much he had been waiting for the unheard call. ¡°The Foreign Secretary will see you now, Your Excellency,¡± the clerk said with a smile, at which all three rose without a moment¡¯s hesitation, before looking at each other in askance. The clerk immediately recognised his mistake, and held up both hands in a placating gesture. ¡°I am terribly sorry, I meant to ask the Excellency from the Alliance to enter first. You will of course be allowed audiences soon enough, Your Excellences.¡± Magdalena straightened her green blazer and, not able to help herself, flashed a slight smirk in the direction of the Dionysian ambassador, whose attention was mostly focused on not crumbling his long coattails as he sat back down. She entered the double argentwood doors at the clerk¡¯s polite insistence, who at unbidden instructions closed them behind her. The office was relatively large, with a sizable work-desk (complete with grav-mounted screens) at the far end which had perfect views to windows on two sides, ¡°south¡± and ¡°west¡±, with bookcases and oil-paintings of Auroran notables and landscapes dominating the walls and empty spaces. Persian-style carpets mostly covered the dark blood-oak floor panels, but there was a comfortable-looking sofa and coffee table grouping at the far end of the work desk in polished leather. Magdalena did not expect to be the only person in the room, an aide or a secretary was normal procedure, but the fact that there were three other people did manage to surprise her. ¡°Your Excellency,¡± Sir Edward Ranganekary said warmly from behind his desk, hands holding firmly onto the backrest of his work chair, ¡°I suppose I should I welcome you to this, the most inner sanctum of the Foreign Office of the Kingdom of Aurora, despite not being in the Foreign Office per se. As I understand it you¡¯ve been asking for an audience with some gusto and urgency. Please, find a seat, do not be particular with where.¡± Sir Edward accompanied his words with a smile, but any diplomat worth their salt knew that it was for perfunctory reasons only. Magdalena da Cunha simply smiled politely in return, and performed a half-bow. She took a seat in one of the two free upholstered chairs in-front of the aforementioned work-desk. ¡°Sir Edward, I have come on behalf of my government and nation to dispel the possible tension that might have arisen between our noble star-nations, considering what is happening on our collective neutral borders right at this moment.¡± Magdalena was aware that there were three other persons in the room, one female and two males, but she tried to focus her energies on Sir Edward, regarding the others with suspicious squints from out the corner of her eyes. ¡°I was under the impression that this meeting was to take place under four eyes, sir?¡± Sir Edward smiled slightly and made a very wide motion with his right arm to sort of indicate and include the others. ¡°My apologies, Your Excellency,¡± he said politely, ¡°but considering this concerns the security of the Corridor and the safe passage of civilian traffic throughout, I felt it was only prudent of me to invite along the Secretary of Defence, the Marquess Howeland¡­¡± At the mention of the title Magdalena kicked herself mentally for not noticing before, and she rose from the chair and bowed. ¡°My Lord, I meant no disrespect.¡± Her apology was genuine enough, but she loathed the inclusion of an Auroran peer into the discussion; it just made the whole roundtable so much more fastidious to deal with. And Lord Howeland came with a reputation as more than a bit of a hawk in the Auroran Cabinet, not one likely to sing the Alliance¡¯s praises. The aristocrat simply waved a hand dismissively, while smiling, and da Cunha sat back down again. He was quite handsome, Magdalena could admit, with sandstone-colour skin, slightly curly but short black hair, and deep green eyes. If she hadn¡¯t known any better, she might have suspected the Auroran electorate had voted in an aristocratic playboy to become their Secretary of Defence, but she knew the Auroran political process did not work like that, it was mere happenstance. No Peer was ever directly elected, they were chosen on merit or tenure, paradoxically enough. The other two people were more of a concern to her. ¡°And my deputy secretary for Corridor Affairs, Sir Samuel de Croye-Muir, whom I¡¯m sure you¡¯ve met at some point.¡± One was a semi-corpulent man with thin slicked-black hair and a thin black moustache, dressed very formally, with a silver pin that Magdalena was unable to recognise. ¡°And this is one of my recen- ah, junior analysts, the Lady Nimue Hastings.¡± The other was a thin but tall woman with jet-black hair, dressed in a black functional female suit and work skirt, barely revealing tall black heeled boots underneath. She clutched a datapad to her chest, seemingly not daring to look up, but there were something about her eyes when they showed¡­ ¡°Are you paying attention, Ma¡¯am?¡± The voice of Sir Edward broke through Magdalena¡¯s reverie, and she sat straight up in her chair. ¡°Of course I am, Sir Edward,¡± she said while adjusting her blazer once again. The Foreign Secretary looked at her in askance. She cleared her throat and leaned forward in the chair. Magdalena placed her elbows on her knees and looked in turn at Sir Edward, the Lord Howeland, and the Foreign Office bureaucrat-leader. She breathed in and launched into the address she had prepared on the way over from the Embassy in the Lysander, based on a pre-prepared missive sent to all Alliance embassies in the Union. ¡°The current crisis that is underway in the Corridor is of utmost importance for all of our governments and electoral bodies. It has the potential to set on edge the collective militaries of all our nations, which is something that is to be avoided at all costs, that goes without saying. I acknowledge the fact that the Corridor has been neutral space for the past four-hundred and something years¡­¡± Support the creativity of authors by visiting Royal Road for this novel and more.There was a mumble from the female in the back that Magdalena didn¡¯t fully catch. ¡°The situation in the Vistula System is dire, and must be resolved by cooperation with all involved and interested parties, including cooperation between the local government and interstellar polities with vested interest in the region. Regardless, if the inhabitants of Nova Polonia have decided at this critical juncture in history to join hands with the Independent Systems Alliance¡¯s democratic community, then I am obliged by oath and duty to inform you, the rest of the interstellar community, that our government is ready to accept them into our midst and start the processes under interstellar law and regulations to include them as such..¡± She looked up at Sir Edward and the Lord Howeland. ¡°I am not trying to present a hostile front to the noble Union by saying this,¡± she said, arms and hands now animated, ¡°it is simply the wishes of a planetary supreme legal and elected body, wishing to become part of a supranational organisation. It has become clear that elements within the Polonian military and judicial forces have for a time acted out of misplaced sense of duty, which the larger population and the indeed the majority of their elective body have vehemently disagreed with. Upon reception of countermanding of such practices given by the Alliance President¡¯s Office, the Nowosejm took this to heart, and it seems that very large parts of the populace does as well. To the point where inclusion into the Alliance seems to be the most favoured choice by the electorate, if going by observation from the outside looking in. As such, a token military force from the Alliance Armed Forces has been dispatched to the Vistula System to oversee the plebiscite that will either confirm or deny such wishes through proper democratic process.¡± ¡°Ah, there it is,¡± Lord Howeland said, his accent having that almost stereotypical aristocratic drawl, but the words nothing to scoff at. ¡°Open admission of what we¡¯ve been hearing through the RIS and Naval Intelligence, the Alliants do in fact have a task force on its way to force compliance in Nova Polonia?¡± Da Cunha furrowed her brow and pointed a remonstrative finger at the aristocrat. ¡°That is a serious accusation, My Lord, and one that I, as the premier repr¨¦sentant diplomatique of the Independent Systems Alliance to the Kingdom of Aurora, strongly object and decry.¡± ¡°But you do insist on overseeing a referendum in a neutral star nation?¡± Sir Edward hiked one of his dark brown eyebrows and looked at her inquisitively and da Cunha suddenly felt wrong-footed. ¡°All indicators point to this being the natural decision in the country, considering the situation on the gro-¡± ¡°A situation you helped inflame,¡± Lord Howeland interjected, ¡°by shipping increasingly inordinate amounts of goods through the Corridor and your own citizens protesting against the ¨Chighly legal, I might add¨C customs stops and searches by the Nova Polonian judicial authorities. Of course they would conduct cargo searches and custom control operations, that¡¯s their job, and if your shipping constitutes the vast majority of goods ferried through their systems, the majority of customs searches will in turn fall on your freighters. And then when your shipping captains complained of lost time and increased insurances premiums, you skipped the seven logical instances such matters have to pass through first, and took it to the highest possible authority, the Presidential Cabinet and the upper echelons of Alliance Navy command.¡± ¡°My Lord, that is hardly what-¡± ¡°It is precisely what happened,¡± Sir Edward cut in, his hands having resumed the unintended back-massage of his work-desk chair. ¡°You overreacted, a collective ¡®you¡¯ mind you, I absolve you, Your Excellency, for any personal blame; but ¡®you¡¯ overreacted and forced a very sensitive issue onto a very small population in a very demographically incongruous system, but highly strategic one. No wonder the populace is up in arms and ripping themselves apart, you¡¯ve threatened to take away their control of their own system body. The fact that you can say with any sort of certainty that the electorate are voicing a desire to be included in the Alliance is frankly absurd; there¡¯s no knowing what is going on over there at the moment, not for us, not for you. And you might call whatever the Alliance is sending or have already sent a police force, an observational group, or whatever, but even one of yours or our heavy cruisers outweigh the entire total Nova Polonian Navy. This whole ordeal had to have been deliberate, one of the most extraordinary threats delivered to an independent stellar nation in peacetime.¡± Da Cunha found herself lost for words, struggling to come up with a comeback. The sheer arrogance of these Aurorans! How dare they lecture her! How dare they present themselves indignant and as if their personal honour had been smirched! ¡°We do not see it as such, sir,¡± she managed after a few belaboured moments, trying to get control over her roiling emotions. A poor choice of words, but it was all she could manage. ¡°What will it take to see your sensibilities and mercantile honour satisfied?¡± Lord Howeland asked in a tone that da Cunha found excessively arrogant and snide. ¡°Complete compliance, My Lord, nothing less.¡± She tried to stare Howeland down but found his gaze was a bit too intense and switched tactically to look at Sir Edward Ranganekary. ¡°The Independent Systems Alliance are not in the wrong here, Sir Edward, we are reacting to outside events, same as you. You of all people should be aware of how the Kingdom would have reacted if it had been your Indiamen being accosted and accused of smuggling. Interstellar commerce is the lifeblood of any nation, and the potential closing of the neutral tariff ports is the same as stymieing of the economic agency of a star nation. I dare you to say that your government would not have been moved to act if you had been in the Alliance¡¯s position.¡± The Foreign Secretary and Secretary of Defence looked at each other for a moment, before Sir Edward smiled at her politely. ¡°Thank you for your time and your input today, Madam da Cunha, please do not stray too far away in the foreseeable future. I believe we will have much cause to speak again following addressing the other two gentlemen, and what is no doubt to come in the days ahead.¡± Magdalena suppressed the urge to fling choice expletives at the overly polite and correct Auroran to the point where he was acting very impolite. Instead she rose, adjusted her blazer for the umpteenth time, and politely bowed to the Foreign and Defence secretaries, not sparing the two mere bureaucrats a second glance, before stomping out of the room. The clerk in the office outside barely had warning to open the door before she would have proverbially kicked it down. The angry exit of the Alliance ambassador was not lost on the Dionysian and Corinthian ones waiting to be admitted, and she stopped before her previous seat with what could be most closely described as an annoyed huff. She looked at Sir Andronikos, and then at the poor clerk and chose to focus her attention at him. ¡°Diplomacy, sirs, is a matter of discretion and honour,¡± da Cunha said, clearly very annoyed and checked her ¡®com for any messages, ¡°and those two, your boss and his colleague, clearly has not an ounce of the two between them.¡± The clerk gave her a smile as polite as he was able to, before his ¡®com buzzed and he rose to indicate with a gesture to the Dionysian ambassador. ¡°If you¡¯d allow me, Your Excellency,¡± the clerk said, while opening the door to the Foreign Secretary¡¯s office again. Sir Andronikos could not help himself after rising from his seat and striding most of the way to the inner office door, as he looked back at the Alliance ambassador. He impulsively straightened his blazer, and looked straight back at da Cunha. ¡°Perhaps, Madam, if you¡¯d have any tact yourself, Sir Edward would have shown you some of his own.¡± With that snide remark, he entered the inner office before Magdalena could form a reply. Lykosphendathes simply covered his mouth as he faked a cough, hiding a smile instead. Da Cunha made a grimace and exited the outer office doors, and the violent way she pulled them on her way out would have slammed them hard, had it not been for the cushioning in the door frames. Her receding stamping feet could be heard for a few moments, reverberating down the wood-panelled hall. Sir Andronikos was greeted the same way as the Alliance ambassador, the same people introduced in the same order, except he took notice of Lady Nimue. ¡°I say, does she really need to be here?¡± Sir Andronikos asked, one black eyebrow hiked up in askance. ¡°Yes, she does,¡± Sir Samuel answered quite resolutely, at which Sir Andronikos simply held up a hand in dismissive defeat and sat down in the same chair Madam da Cunha had sat in. ¡°Let¡¯s get down to business immediately,¡± Sir Edward said, pacing behind his desk this time instead of rooting his hands on the work-chair. ¡°You¡¯re here because the Alliance have organised a task force to oversee a potential plebiscite of the Nova Polonian population whether to join ¨Cnominally voluntarily on the surface of things¨C the Alliance or stay independent.¡± It was not a question and Sir Andronikos did not embarrass himself by feigning surprise, instead crossing his legs and with a free left hand tug lightly on the tips of his beard. ¡°Yes, quite,¡± he said in a completely Auroran aristocratic accent, ¡°and because the Dionysian interest in the Corridor is being directly threatened by an increased Alliance presence. I¡¯m sure I do not have to spell it out to Lord Howeland, nor Sir Edward or Sir Samuel, nor this Miss Nimue¡­¡± He received a dirty look by Lord Howeland by this mention and Sir Andronikos immediately took mental notice. ¡°It is simple as, My Lord, sirs and madam, that the Corridor is a fragile political ecosystem. It is balanced by major powers on both sides ¨Cthree sides even, if one count the Berenicans¨C trying their best to exert power and influence unto the nominally independent systems within that most vaunted of stable Light Way lanes. If one of us oversteps, the inherent threat of the others coming in with sizable military means is the understated reaction that the stability of the Corridor depends upon. I feel like I am preaching to the proverbial choir to Sir Samuel here, in fact the whole assembly as it happens.¡± Sir Samuel de Croye-Muir had no choice but to nod, as did Sir Edward and Lord Howeland. ¡°His Excellency is on point,¡± Sir Samuel supplied, ¡°the Corridor is held in place by non-verbal, inferred agreements made by hush-hush agreements by diplomats of all the major Corridor nations. There really is no formal treaty or treaties plural as such that guarantees the independence of the Corridor systems in particular, apart from common interstellar laws and rights of sovereignty, established centuries ago. It was envisioned as a neutral space for transport of shipping after the Verge Federation¡¯s collapse, but the systems in question have expanded their control of their own gravity wells a lot these past two centuries. In the past, it was common practice for other polities¡¯ navies to condu-¡± ¡°Yes, thank you, Sir Samuel,¡± Sir Andronikos interjected politely but firmly, ¡°but I think all involved here under eight eyes understand the gist of the situation, as we¡¯re all men and women of interstellar politics and realities in this room, are we not, m¡¯yes. Alas, as it stands, the Corridor is facing the unfortunately very real danger of being subsumed by a major stellar polity, one of the major stellar polities, with emphasis on the article. If the Alliance gains control of the Vistula System, it is but the first salvo in what must ultimately be inferred as a race to secure the rest of the Corridor. No matter who would end up with effective control of what gravity well, and no matter the shape of said control would look like, it would all mean the same thing. The effective end of the last neutral corridor of interstellar shipping and travel between the two greatest supranational civilisations history has ever seen, to the detriment of all. What is to stop the Alliance from introducing tariff hikes, outrageous customs regulations, and even promote outright shipping bans, if all ports from Corinth and New Malta to Gateway and Alpha Proxima are in their hands?¡± Sir Andronikos seemed to be sitting quite still, but all the others in the room could see his cheeks become slightly coloured. ¡°Likewise, vice versa, if the Union would assume dominance over the Corridor or large tracts of it, the Alliance would absolutely detest it and thus transfer fees for Union commercial shipping would no doubt expand handsomely through Alliance ports in order to compensate for what they would no doubt perceive as great power meddling by us in a neutral sector of settled space. So, having said all that, sirs and madam, this leaves the question of who should control Nova Polonia?¡± ¡°Should that not be the Polonians themselves?¡± The young pale-skinned, black-haired woman posited, and Sir Andronikos smiled warmly at her, despite feeling annoyed by the intrusion of the na?ve answer. ¡°In an ideal world, that would be the course to follow, but Milady, but given the events currently happening on that most unfortunate of worlds, it seems like that is tragically slowly dissipating as a viable solution to the current crisis.¡± ¡°You still have not really told us why you¡¯ve asked for this audience, Sir Andronikos,¡± Sir Edward said, smiling lopsidedly while casually half-sitting on the sill of the southern-facing office window, ¡°so far you have only affirmed that the events we have so far discussed are not news to you, nor to your superiors it is to be inferred, but your purpose has not been stated, sir.¡± Sir Andronikos Erymachos-Williams half-smiled and leaned comfortably back in his chair. ¡°I happened upon the Honourable Lykosphendathes in your waiting room, not to mention the Excellency da Cunha. You know an Alliance task force is headed towards Nova Polonia, either already dispatched or closing in on a date of departure.¡± He looked at Lord Howeland. ¡°We, as in my country, know the RIS have boots on the ground on Nova Polonia, quite a number of them actually, and I believe they are uniformly telling you the Alliance force will want to proceed like an observational third party, ostensibly there to enable some sort of democratic process in order to ascertain if the balance of the Polonian populace desire inclusion into the ISA or not. Lord Howeland and Sir Samuel here can tell me right now that the answer to that is a firm ¡®no¡¯, but we all knew that already.¡± Sir Andronikos looked in turn at Sir Edward, Lord Howeland, Sir Samuel, and Lady Nimue. ¡°I am here to offer a solution that will neatly dispense with more than a few problems that might cause significant headaches for Aurora. The Honourable Lykosphendathes has been instructed by the Corinthian Gerousia to use every trick in the diplomatic playbook to convince you, collective ¡®you¡¯, as in the Auroran political and military leadership, to allow the Republic of Corinth to form a naval force to counter the approaching Alliance one.¡± Lord Howeland opened his mouth, but Sir Andronikos held up a hand in an arresting gesture. ¡°Please let me finish, My Lord. Yes, he will suggest this, quite insistent he will be as well. Some of his arguments will be solid, most will not. It really boils down to this. Can the interstellar community accept a Corridor under majority Corinthian control? Both the short and the long answer is ¡®no¡¯. Corinth already enjoys an extremely advantageous geopolitical and astrogational position, especially in terms of shipping and interstellar commerce. They are also belligerent, and I will not pretend to hide the obvious elephant in the room; Dionysia and Her Majesty have a very real rivalry with our erstwhile allies to the galactic south. We would rather they not climb even further up the proverbial ladder to great power-status. Selfish, perhaps, but I am honestly delivering the intent and desires of my Queen and government.¡± ¡°I certainly hope you have a point to make at the end of all this prevarication, Sir Andronikos?¡± Sir Edward¡¯s tone was ice-cold and his arms were folded across his chest. ¡°I do not appreciate subterfuge, nor do I particularly enjoy rivalry between close allies of my King and Kingdom. Maybe I was na?ve to think we were all on the same side, sir?¡± Sir Andronikos feigned brushing some imaginary lint off the lapel of his blazer. ¡°You are too smart for that, Sir Edward, you have experienced too much of the inner workings of interstellar politics to be so virginal.¡± He leaned forward in his chair a bit, uncrossing his legs. ¡°What I suggest is to meet hard with hard. The Corinthians will suggest leading a force to meet the Alliants? Agree. But agree on your own terms. Demand either total command of the force sent into Nova Polonia, or at least that significant elements, including force multipliers come from the Royal Navy. Trust the Polonians.¡± Sir Andronikos looked down at his chest for a moment, before sticking a hand inside his blazer. ¡°I¡¯m terribly sorry, but that¡¯s all the time allotted to me right now,¡± he said while rising and bowed politely in turn to the four Aurorans, ¡°I must return to the Embassy and make a report to the Prince¡¯s Own. Please understand that I would have told you more had I been permitted and had the situation been sufficiently accelerated. Please, Sir Edward, listen to what Lykosphendathes has to say, but keep my advice in the back of your mind.¡± He made for the door, but stopped just as he was reaching for the handle. ¡°I promise I will have answers forthcoming, on that you have my word, Sir Edward.¡± With that, he bowed again to Sir Edward, opened the door and exited. Sir Edward and Lord Howeland looked at each other, both with nonplussed expressions on their faces. ¡°I think we should inform Cabinet of this,¡± Lord Howeland managed after a few moments. ¡°I think you¡¯re right,¡± Sir Edward replied and looked at Sir Samuel and Lady Nimue as if asking for confirmation, but they looked as bewildered as he probably did. ¡°But in any case, to be perfectly safe,¡± he said while turning to look out at the Cordelia skyline through the office window, ¡°let¡¯s hear what His Excellency from Corinth has to say first.¡± Chapter 50: Weeks of Uncertainty: Vistula Crisis Diplomacy 2 Georgios Lykosphendates was not a man accustomed to being relegated to what was in essence a waiting room. He had led Corinthian cruiser squadrons on deployments into pirate-infested space, shared toasts with Auroran, Valhallan, and Myndowan nobility on numerous occasions, and had been selected to the high honour of taking up the mantle as the chief Charg¨¦ d¡¯affaires and head plenipotentiary to the Kingdom of Aurora on Aurora herself. And having booked an at your earliest convenience meeting with the Auroran Foreign Secretary, he was more than a bit miffed having been left as the last of the trio that had occupied the inner office lounge. Corinth was the most important ally the Aurorans had, damn their eyes! He stole a glance at the expensive wooden clock mounted on the far wall of the office, and suppressed a scoff. Georgios settled on staring out the office window, overlooking the Emerald Garden parks, the architecturally eclectic Cordelia skyline bathed in a clear May afternoon sun, and allowed himself to mentally drift off. The Republic of Corinth, the shining gemstone of the Corridor, the Pearl of the Union, home to Neas Athina, Hellas re-born. Oh, how Lykosphendates missed the fields of whistlegrass outside his home of Demopolis, basking in the warm embrace of the star Eileithyia, the hustle and bustle and thousand smells of the megagora of Eleutheapolis. He missed the bosom stars that surrounded him on all sides when in Corinth¡¯s familiar orbit, and the busy shipping routes between Corinth and Ekdosiseia Attika, the daughter world. Attika was something as unique as a habitable crag world, with an immense hydrosphere and rampant volcanic activity, making every habitable bit of land mountainous, but packed to the brim with easily accessible rare earths and the volcanic soil was fertile land providing extremely large amounts of foodstuffs. While sparsely populated, Attika was the highest producing planet of marketable goods in the entire Royal Union calculated per capita, giving the Republic an excellent source of revenue and strategic resources it could leverage. But Attika paled in comparison to Corinth herself; in fact, in the Royal Union only Aurora, Angevin and perhaps New Malta could compare to the sheer scale of orbital industry and the activity of shipping that Corinth had. Every local day, hundreds to even thousands of freighters, haulers, ice-miners, drone-drillers, Indiamen, fuel tankers, solar energy collectors, hydrogen extractors, customs patrol vessels, naval ships from several Union nations, colliers, diplomatic ships, couriers, and a myriad of other spacefaring vessels departed and arrived in Corinth¡¯s orbit and the dozens of orbital stations ¨Ccivilian and military¨C that slowly drifted to the slow spin of the great world that they were both physically and metaphorically pulled toward. And on her surface, ah, what a splendid sight were the quad-aqueducts of the Prime Consul, the trade-ziggurats of the Blessed Euzouzai, the floating gardens, the manors of the Ekthans, the esplanades that covered the walks along the Nomean- ¡°The Foreign Secretary will see you now, Your Excellency,¡± the clerk said with a smile, this time directing his attention to the sole remaining ambassador in the waiting lounge. Lykosphendathes wasn¡¯t sure when Sir Andronikos had left the inner Foreign Office, but he must have been wool-gathering a bit too fervently to notice. Not that he let that show outwardly, as he rose from the cushioned seat and straightened the tails of his suit, making sure his cravat was perfectly flush with his blazer¡¯s lapels, and headed through the wooden door the aide was holding open for him without sparing the mere menial with a second glance. Well inside, he noticed the Foreign Secretary was not alone, there was a man with thin hair and an even thinner moustache dressed in what Lykosphendates recognised immediately as a cheap, if stylish male suit, another male, dressed- ah, shit, the Lord Howeland, this just got a lot more complicated, the Aurorans are at least somewhat in the know. The fourth person was a tall woman with jet-black hair and an equally black female-cut suit. Lykosphendates nodded to what he immediately assumed were another set of aides, bowed to the Marquess of Howeland and the Foreign Secretary. ¡°Your Excellency,¡± Sir Edward Ranganekary said in a warm, welcoming tone, but the Foreign Secretary¡¯s body language was tense and Lykosphendates jumped to immediate conclusions, ¡°please have a seat, and we can address the intent of your visit.¡± Lykosphendates chose (unknowingly) the same chair both the previous plenipotentiaries had sat down in, but refrained from crossing his legs or making any sort of demonstrative act in terms of body language like crossing his legs or arms. ¡°You¡¯ll have to forgive me for inviting the Lord Howeland,¡± Sir Edward said, with nothing like an apologetic tone of voice, smiling politely all the while, ¡°you must understand we came directly from King in Council; ¡®tis a Friday afternoon after all, and the current, ah, situation seemed to deem it necessary to involve the Secretary of Defence. Sir Samuel de Croye-Muir here;¡± Sir Edward indicated with an outstretched arm, ¡°is the functioning Director-General of the Corridor Department of the Foreign Office at the moment, and she over there is the Lady Nimue Hastings, an analyst of Corridor Affairs.¡± Lykosphendates cleared his throat in an attempt to take the edge of his next comment. ¡°I¡¯m sorry, Sir Edward, but does she really need to be here?¡± ¡°Yes, she does,¡± Howeland and de Croye-Muir answered in an angry chorus, and Lykosphendates sat straighter up in his chair. ¡°Allow me to pre-emptively guess the subject matter of your visit, Your Excellency,¡± Sir Edward said, sitting back down in the window-sill overlooking the Emerald Gardens, ¡°you¡¯re asking for a carte-blanche for a Corinthian intervention force to enter the political sphere of Nova Polonia.¡± It was not posited as a question, rather as a statement of fact and it took Georgios Lykosphendates a few moments to gather his wits. Who had leaked the information? Some loose lips in the Gerousia? Some officer high in the Corinthian Navy getting drunk in a place where Auroran RIS agents might have overheard? The Dionysians? It had to be the Dionysians; those enigmatic bastards were everywhere and sticking their collective noses into everything. ¡°Guilty as charged,¡± he finally answered with a wry lopsided smile in an attempt to regain control of the situation, ¡°though I challenge you to posit such an act as it pertains to our not answering the Alliants in kind. After all, they are the ones interfering with the political process and local suzerainty of an independent polity in the Corridor. If the Republic is considering a military response, that must indeed be only to answer like for like.¡± Sir Edward was about to respond, but the door opened, and an aide from the Foreign Office stepped gingerly into the room, bearing a paper, sealed with a digital code wax. ¡°Apologies,¡± he said quickly and quite breathlessly, ¡°Sir Edward, My Lord, sirs, madam, but this arrived from His Majesty¡¯s Embassy on Nova Polonia just now." He held it out and after a nod from Sir Samuel, Lady Nimue accepted with uncertainty written all over her body movements, before she pressed her FO card¡¯s chip to the code-wax. She unfolded and inspected the document briefly, eyes narrowing. ¡°It is a formal request for Auroran military aid," she announced, her voice calm but edged with nervousness. ¡°The author claims to represent the democratically elected body of Nova Polonia, who are denouncing the Alliant choice of action and forthcoming interference in their polity. However¡ª" she paused, glancing at Howeland, then Lykosphendates and Sir Edward in turn, "there¡¯s no indication of whether this coalition possesses an actual mandate or if it''s the product of splintered factions, or even any indication that it belongs to anyone currently in power at the moment in Lublin. Nova Polonia''s is currently fragmented, with contested factions aligning both for and against Alliance presence, and all our information are days old, there¡¯s no telling there still is a functional Nowosejm¡­¡± Her cheeks reddened and quickly put the letter on the Foreign Secretary¡¯s desk before retreating to her previous spot. The room shifted, tension rising palpably as Sir Edward leaned with his outstretched hands on his desk. "This puts us at a precarious crossroads. We cannot be certain if this missive is legitimate, yet a delayed response could tip Nova Polonia toward Alliance influence permanently, unwillingly or otherwise. And if we act, it risks appearing like an outright alignment against the Alliance in this volatile zone, and pass us off as equally desirous of political dominance.¡± ¡°Which for the record,¡± Lord Howeland shot in, ¡°His Majesty and his Government are certainly not.¡± Lykosphendates¡¯s mouth set in a thin line, weighing his next words. ¡°Surely, gentlemen, this only reinforces Corinth¡¯s proposed response¡ªa decisive, balanced show of force. The Republic can provide an answer without implicating Aurora directly, thus leaving your government blameless should the political situation shift.¡± Howeland shook his head. ¡°It would also risk Aurora appearing as a passive enabler to a Corinthian expansion of influence in the Corridor, which would be equally as bad. Sir Edward, this calls for a united approach.¡± Sir Edward¡¯s fingers traced a pensive line along his jaw, his gaze narrowed as he absorbed Lykosphendates¡¯ words. The Corinthian¡¯s assurance seemed almost presumptive, as though Corinth''s authority was self-evident, matter of course in a tract of space they considered to be theirs in all but name. But the Auroran hesitation was palpable, and the Foreign Secretary was perfectly aware of that fact. ¡°Well, Your Excellency,¡± Sir Edward began with deliberate caution, ¡°we do recognize and share your concern of an Alliance encroachment, particularly in Nova Polonia, which it goes without saying is an all-important trade hub. But I must emphasize¡ªNova Polonia is a neutral territory. An open military venture by any Union power within the Corridor would be unprecedented. And not without consequence. Just as open Alliant military action is as reprehensible and unacceptable to the nations of the Union, so would any actions of our part be as unacceptable in the Alliance, the Coma Berenice Federation, and possibly in the Colonies of Sol.¡± If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation. Lykosphendates¡¯ expression barely shifted his physical stance calm yet expectant, I have them on the ropes, and they¡¯re acquiescing. Sir Samuel spoke up: ¡°To act too strongly, even under the best of intentions, may embolden Alliance extremists and give way to more... permanent conflicts along the Corridor. We are all perfectly aware that President Kelley and his ilk are not friends of the Union, and many within his clique are gnashing their teeth, spoiling for a fight. But I believe a show of force, the Royal Navy itself, should it move into the region, would take charge of any engagement. It is, after all, the senior force in the Union.¡± Sir Edward and Lord Howeland could have simply let out the internal groans they evidently held in, so clear was their body language in their vehement disagreement to Sir Samuel¡¯s suggestion, and the bureaucrat¡¯s shoulders slumped. Lykosphendates inclined his head, acknowledging the discussion of Auroran assertion of control, but an unmistakable tension simmered beneath his steady gaze. Then Lady Nimue, who had been quiet until now, spoke softly. ¡°Apologies, Sir Edward... Sir Samuel, My Lord, Your Excellency,¡± she said, almost deferring as she spoke, and bowed slightly to each in turn, yet her voice held a clear confidence. ¡°If I may¡­ it might be strategically advantageous to enter Nova Polonia on a different, quieter pretext,¡± she suggested, her eyes flickering between the senior diplomats. ¡°Perhaps as an observatory, or peacekeeping mission. That way, the perception remains¡­ neutral. A purely defensive stance, so that we can intervene if the Alliance forces escalate, or even try to as the RIS and this missive suggests, a hostile takeover of the Vistula gravity well. That would still allow the Union to remain... proactive without appearing aggressive.¡± Lykosphendates shifted, somewhat caught by the insight of her words, while Sir Edward and Sir Samuel exchanged a quick, considering look. A clever girl, I mistook her for just one more jumped-up nepotistic scion of the nobility, plunged into a role she was unqualified for; but no, she is my best ally in this room. Sir Edward leaned back, his hands clasped behind his lower back, and weighing Lady Nimue¡¯s suggestion with visible interest, his brows furrowed. ¡°A peacekeeping force, indeed,¡± he murmured, as if the idea itself were a fragile thing, one he could inspect from all angles. ¡°A protective detail, not a response to the Alliants¡¯ overtures, something independent of current events. This would allow the Royal Navy to establish a presence without violating the Corridor¡¯s neutrality. I must say, Lady Nimue,¡± he glanced at her with a nod of approval, ¡°a prudent alternative.¡± She didn¡¯t say a word, but she answered silently with a fiery blush in her cheeks that temporarily hid her freckles. The Marquess Howeland¡¯s gaze flicked between Sir Edward and Nimue. ¡°It¡¯s still a risk, though, positioning the Royal Navy in a way that might provoke further Alliance escalation. There¡¯s no telling what the Alliance might interpret as a first strike, however¡­ benignly we brandish our presence. A cruiser squadron is still a cruiser squadron, despite if it pertains to be a force of peace, and if the Alliants decide it represents a danger to their own deployed forces, or if the Polonians think it is there as a threat, that might provoke the Alliance Navy to strike.¡± Lykosphendates, sensing a wavering resolve, but a resolve nonetheless, pressed forward, his voice laced with a delicate balance of deference and urgency. ¡°If I may add, gentlemen, and lady¡ª Corinth would be prepared to shoulder a share of this burden, naturally, with all deference to the Royal Navy¡¯s leadership. We would merely act in support, standing at the ready to assist in securing the area, and to protect, not provoke. A firm Corinthian support contingent could send an additional message of Union solidarity.¡± But Sir Edward held up a hand, stilling the room, only the office clock click-clacking. ¡°Yet the Auroran Crown must be seen, unmistakably, as leading this action. Any Corinthian forces would have to operate within strict guidelines laid down by the Admiralty and report to Royal Navy command. We are not interested in opening the gates to an opportunistic Corinthian occupation, and no, Your Excellency, I don¡¯t want to hear any more disingenuous excuses about this being for the good of the Polonians; I think we¡¯ve all in this room earned the truth being told from all parties.¡± There was a pause, and Lykosphendates allowed himself a small nod of understanding, though a faint flicker of frustration touched his brow, belying the fury he felt bubbling in his chest. ¡°Naturally,¡± he said, adjusting his cravat. ¡°Corinth has no designs on Polonian territory; we simply wish to prevent Alliance overreach, because it would serve as a very serious economic and security threat to the commonwealth of the Royal Union. We¡¯re committed to supporting the Union¡¯s cause, nothing more.¡± Lady Nimue shifted slightly, looking to Sir Edward as if for permission, before she spoke once more, her tone soft yet clear. ¡°This... balance could work, I think. A carefully modulated response, with a joint force under Royal Navy command ready to lead any necessary actions,¡± she said, her words punctuated by a deferential glance to Sir Edward. ¡°If we proceed with caution, our presence would signal strength and decisiveness, but our restraint could lessen the risk of outright conflict, if the forces committed would appear reasonable.¡± ¡°Wise words,¡± Sir Edward affirmed with a measured nod. ¡°Then let it be so, an Auroran-led peacekeeping mission, with Corinthian support. A show of strength, but only that¡ªa deterrent. A countermeasure to the Alliants¡¯ attempt at political takeover.¡± ¡°I must insist though,¡± Georgios interjected with a polite clearing of his throat, ¡°that to satisfy the national spirit and honour of the great Republic of Corinth, that the heaviest combatants come from our own navy.¡± ¡°National honour or your personal honour, Your Excellency?¡± Lord Howeland asked with a sharp edge to his tone and Lykosphendates¡¯ brow furrowed. ¡°I object to that accusation, My Lord,¡± he replied in a tone that was just on the correct side of politeness, ¡°and I hope that you do not mean to imply the Republic of Corinth¡¯s Navy is self-serving in this proposed endeavour? I would have you to only look to the galactic map of where the first strike in a possible Alliance-Union war would land. No other Light Way hyper-lane is as quick and stable as the Cori- the Corridor, which could land an Alliance Navy fleet deep into Corinth¡¯s sacred gravity well in just a couple of days.¡± ¡°There was no challenge or implication meant, Your Excellency,¡± Sir Samuel hasted to say before Howeland could respond and the aristocrat had the good graces to close his mouth with a click, but both Lady Nimue and Lykosphendates could see his jaw working. ¡°A multi-national task force then,¡± Sir Edward Ranganekary said and clapped his hands together in an audible attempt to defuse the tension, ¡°a combined force of observation from the Royal Navy and the RCN. However, it must adhere to the alleged call for assistance from the presumably legitimate Polonian government just received.¡± Sir Edward had placed somewhat more pressure on the words ¡®alleged¡¯ and ¡®presumably¡¯ and the implication was lost on no one in the room. ¡°I know the Royal Navy the best, despite having a Royal Marine background personally,¡± Lord Howeland said with a wry grin. ¡°And I would assume that they¡¯d very much like the idea of plausible deniability in terms of allowing the Corinthians to provide the heaviest space-combatants in a possible observation force. In fact, I think they¡¯d welcome it.¡± ¡°Because they hold their own ships too dearly to deploy them on such missions?¡± Lykosphendates was aware that he sounded petulant at this point, but the Auroran hip-hopping dissimilitude was wearing him out, but the Auroran Secretary of Defence surprised him with a genuine questioning facial expression. ¡°Not at all, Your Excellency, if we wanted to, we could easily have deployed battlecruiser divisions to such a venture, but tact demands otherwise. It is clear you have not paid attention to Royal Navy internal debate and construction policies, but we regard our light combatants to be more precious military commodities than our battleships. A humble, modern light cruiser with up-to-spec configurations is capable of being a much larger force multiplier than one of our Warrior battleships.¡± Lykosphendates inclined his head in acceptance, though it was clear he had hoped for a stronger commitment. Nonetheless, he recognized the Aurorans¡¯ resolve, even within the bounds they set. For now, it would be enough. He rose from the chair and once again checked his coattails, lapels and cravat. ¡°I take it that I should communicate to my government in the Gerousia that Aurora is firmly placing herself behind an action to counteract the forthcoming Alliant incursion in the polity of Nova Polonia?¡± Sir Edward stood ramrod straight and came from behind his desk which had metaphorically acted like a shield for all these discussions with the divers ambassadors. He reached out a hand for the Corinthian ambassador to shake, and only once within arms¡¯ reach did Lykosphendates realise how tall the Auroran Foreign Secretary was. But in trying to adhere to some sort of personal honour, he only looked as far up as the Auroran¡¯s necktie while accepting his proffered hand. ¡°You deliver that communiqu¨¦ back to your government,¡± Sir Edward said in a very serious tone, and Georgios¡¯ face exploded into a genuine smile for the first time that day. ¡°There are many in the Republic of Corinthia and in Nova Polonia who will have grounds to be very happy with those words just uttered, Sir Edward.¡± He broke off the handshake and bowed to Sir Edward, Lord Howeland, Lady Nimue and gave a polite nod to Sir Samuel before heading out the door held upon by the FO secretary, having been called by a silent handcom warning. Once the Corinthian ambassador was gone and the doors closed, Sir Edward collapsed in the office chair behind his work desk, let out an almighty sigh, and brought his hands up to his temples. Lord Howeland took place in the sofa at the far side of the office, while Sir Samuel and Lady Nimue remained standing, sharing unsure glances. ¡°They¡¯re going to send at least a half-division of heavy cruisers, you mark my words,¡± Lord Howeland said faux-blithely, as he crossed his legs in the sofa at the far end of the office. Sir Edward sent him an annoyed glance, but he didn¡¯t voice his disagreement. ¡°This must be discussed in the Commons,¡± Sir Edward said at length, and it made the Lord Howeland sit up in the sofa. It also made Sir Samuel straighten his posture. ¡°Are you sure this is the most prudent option?¡± Linton Sciacca asked, and Lady Nimue could hear his uncertainty on his voice. But Sir Edward Ranganekary huffed and crossed his arms across his chest. ¡°My Lord Linton, this must be brought before the Commons. We are not the nation from which we boast descent of centuries ago, when every important international decision was decided under four eyes. We have advanced from this Post-Napoleonic way of conducting foreign diplomacy, centuries ago. I¡¯d hoped you adapted to this current way of political handlement.¡± ¡°Sir Edward,¡± Lord Howeland said, stealing a glance at the mechanical office watch, ¡°Parliament has already gone to the weekends, we were all just at King in Council, so the Houses do not convene before Monday. I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but the Royal Navy will not be very happy when I inform them of this within the next hour. They will lambast me and say that actions speak louder than words, and clamour for deployment orders¡­ Sir Edward, are you listening to me?¡± Sir Edward had no answer and decided to stare out the southern-facing window towards the darkening Emerald Gardens. There was rain in the air, and the heavy clouds turned mighty mother Euryphaessa into a mere orange speck. ¡°This is how it will be done, Lord Howeland. I will inform the Commons on Monday, you will inform the Lords at the same time, and the Royal Navy will have to adapt. By the Gods do I hope this will all be a show.¡± There was a call on Sir Edward''s personal handcom and he fished it out of his jacket pocket. "You will all have to excuse me," he said with an exhausted smile. "It seems important."