Post by ingen on Jul 20, 2022 14:42:19 GMT
Beef - Ingen, Marchanders, Sunpike conspirators, The Merger, The Cult
Marshmello - The Minevans
LeftHandOfGod - The Poleisi
JadeGreen - Gauss Dominion
Ofton - The Furrelians
Pyromaniac - Ms Korse
Premier Kuraly was nervous. This was a momentous morning for the planet of Marchand. After centuries of rule by various guilds, merchant orders, trade unions and other plutocratic organisations, he was about to invest the first true government since the petty kingdoms of antiquity. He took a sip of coffee, a foreign import that he had come to rely on, and shook himself before standing. He was wearing a black suit with a white shirt and a blue tie, also foreign, but also familiar to the outward-looking and trade-oriented Marchanders.
Kickoff to the grand event was not until noon - he still had time. He crossed to the window, looking out from the poorly-named 'Palace of Democracy' and onto the street below. Rebuilt after the Bombing, it was nearly a hundred metres wide. Primarily used for pedestrians, and with a line of rugged but beautiful fern trees down the centre alternating with bright concrete lampposts in the new, brutalist style that necessity and government policy had deemed appropriate, it felt empty. People were walking here and there, not only Marchanders but aliens of all different stripes, but a cold wind was forcing people indoors and the downtown region was still marred by stretches of glassy rock that betrayed the violence levied against it only months previously.
His secretary knocked politely, heralding the arrival of United Democratic Party General Secretary Sundin. Although technically not yet a member of government, Sinden had played a major role in the Coalition Provisional Authority and was the head of the People's Party of Marchand, the political party expected to make sweeping gains in the first ever federal election. If, or rather when, he won, Sundin would be the head of government and second only to Kuraly, the head of state. Or perhaps even more powerful, Kuraly was still not quite sure.
"Hello Lats," the older man said genially, taking a seat without being invited. The two had been fierce rivals in the Great Marchander Guild of Commerce, but had been forced into an uneasy alliance that had evolved into what Kuraly suspected, to his horror, was a friendship.
"Good morning Jant. How are things going?"
"Good, good! Polling stations have been busy all morning, the people are clearly taken with the notion of choosing their leaders for once! I have to admit I thought you were talking nonsense when this all started, but hey, what do I know?"
Lats chuckled at this, pouring out some Sattran whiskey for his guest and taking a slug himself to steady his nerves.
"No problems then?" he asked, at which Jant Sundins' heavy face grew somber.
"Ehhh, you know how it is. A few spots of bother here and there. Nothing the PDG can't handle."
"How bad? Did the goblins get involved?"
Sundin shook his head. "Nah. As ever, no need for them." The People's Democratic Guard, the armed forces of the CPA and soon to be the armed forces of the Federal Democratic Republic of Marchand, were surprisingly good at providing security when they needed to, but no matter how desperate the situation he would be damned if he went running to the Ingenious for help. Their small garrisons were officially 'advisors' but everyone knew it was an occupation. The sooner he took power, the sooner he would work to get them off Marchand. Kuraly was not so cavalier, knowing full well that there were still millions, perhaps billions of Marchanders still loyal to the Cult. The south was an absolute nightmare, Blidh and Cass one step away from sheer lawlessness, and the towns and cities inbetween were worse. He was not ready to let go of the Jade life preserver and try to swim unsupported, not yet.
Constance Cerwyn stood out in the Boznef Working Council Club, a small co-op bar on the far end of the long Avenue of Democracy, as the giant road at the heart of Hornqvist was apparently called. Nearly six feet tall, with glinting jade and ivory skin, thick bottle-green hair and horns tipped by balls of light, she was in stark contrast to the short, furry, hunched natives of Marchand. She sat at the bar, filling the room, pristine in a blazer and skirt.
Eventually she was joined by a native, who ordered a large glass of kvass bread-beer and took the stool next to her.
"The exit polls do not look good,"the Marchander woman muttered "the UDP is polling nearly forty percent so far. They will probably be forming a coalition with the Marchand Dignity Party."
Cerwyn did not take her eyes off the glittering wall of bottles that stood on mirrored shelves behind the bar.
"And the Worker's Unity and Labour Front?"
"About 20."
Cerwyn nodded. These numbers were not surprising. A little poorer performance by the WULF than had been expected, but the only real question pundits had been talking about was whether the UDP would win an outright majority or need to form a coalition. The UDP was the centrist party, containing many members of the CPA transitional government, and was promising stability, rationality and a reliable process of change. The MDP, their potential allies, wanted to preserve traditional values, whilst the WULF were more radical and thought the new Federal Democratic Republic was too milquetoast. They were a syndicalist party, some claiming they bordered on collectivism. Apparently there was a word for this; 'communists'. It had become a dirty word, and the party was underperforming in the polls.
That did not really matter to Cerwyn, however. She did not truly care who ruled Marchand. All she cared about was that the Jade Empire did not.
A young woman when the Curse had turned her into a Yokari, she was one of a growing number of disaffected Neusattrans who believed that the Jade Empire was not the benevolent protector it made itself out to be. Her people had been stripped of their own democratic rights and forced into the Imperial feudal system, and whilst it was true the Ingenious had skyrocketed them through several centuries of technological progress in only a few short years, five decades later the Neusattrans were chafing.
Before the annexation, the Calcarcians and Athoine had operated on a participatory democratic system, whilst the northern regions had relied on informal acclaim and support for their leaders rather than any kind of hereditary system. Even in the Kingdom of Suedia, the aristocracy had had direct and real power that checked the rights of the monarchy. In the Jade Empire, only the judiciary was elected, and citizens could not even own property - even the samurai officially lived on land owned by the monarchy and granted to them.
To cut a long story short, after the disasters of the Barlat Wars and Deep Harvest, the heavy losses in the Ancerious colonies, and now the bizarre Curse of Light, many Neusattrans were tired of Imperial law. Spearheaded by the illegal Conclave of Sunpike, they were agitating to make life difficult for the Ingenious and maybe free themselves of the Curse. Foiling the Imperial plans on Marchand would help those goals, and so Cerywn was giving advice and support to the WULF, among other duties.
Blidh had survived the war unscathed, surrendering to the invaders after the capitol was burned. In the days that followed, fanatical members of the Cult of Carcaros had gone on a rampage, murdering the Bailiwick and many other leading figures they accused of collaborating with the invaders. Eventually, the remains of the GMGC had managed to restore order to the city, though many believed that this was because the new mayor, Tek Numminen, was secretly a member of the Cult.
It was in the south of Marchand that resistance was fiercest. CPA sympathisers and officials were harassed, attacked and even murdered, government facilities were sabotaged and looted, and the Jade consulate in the city was the scene of frequent protests, although whenever a 'goblin' was attacked directly, their snarling soldiers exacted brutal and heavy-handed revenge.
As the winter deepened, so too did the danger. Everyone was on edge ahead of the election results due to arrive that afternoon. Of course, the Cult did not recognize the legitimacy of the elections either way.
A newsfeed was running in the upper right corner of her vision. There was no sound to accompany the animated speech of a talking head as they discussed graphs, charts, and colour coded maps. As far as election coverage went is was pretty typical, but she wasn’t paying attention to it. She was lightyears away on a different planet reliving the moments before, during, and after an orbital strike. She could remember the sight of the munitions falling out of orbit. It was burned permanently into her memory, the last thing she’d ever seen with her own eyes. The concussive force of the blast had burst her eyes in their sockets. Someone had told her it would have destroyed her eardrums too, but she’d already been wired for audio. The audio suite had level dampers, and other protective safeguards. In the aftermath of the blast she’d still been able to hear.
Some moments, like this one, she wished she hadn’t been. She couldn’t remember a worse experience than groping blindly in the dark, guided only by the sound of distant emergency alerts. Eventually an emergency worker had guided her to an aid station. Later, after they’d put her new eyes in and looked at the pictures and videos of the carnage. She’d never been able to decide if they worse than the scenes she’d imagined in the hours of blind groping.
She kicked a rock at her feet, watching it skip across the glassy, blasted rock ahead of her. Different munitions had been at work here according to the intelligence brief, but destruction looked similar enough to take her back to that moment and the hours that had followed it. She felt a painful burning between her fingers and glanced down at the source. A cigarette she’d forgotten she’d lit. She let it fall from between her fingers and crushed it beneath a black boot.
The wind picked up, rustling her coat around her and blowing a black tie back over her shoulder. With a sigh she pulled the strip of fabric back into place. She hated suits. She unmuted the newsfeed and accepted an update from one of her lackeys with a touch of mental fingertips. They’d been set up since the small hours of the morning, somewhere with good lines of sights on the Palace of Democracy (ha.) and telescopic lenses. She flicked through the pictures they’d accumulated throughout the morning. They’d already run them through the algorithms and matched most of the people coming and going with various government officials and party bosses. Thus far, and unsurprisingly, no one unexpected had turned up at the center of Marchand’s new power structure.
She lit a fresh cigarette, and may well have been lost in more recollections of the worst day of her life had one of her minders not touched her on the shoulder. She glanced at him, a square jawed man with a thick layer of stubble coming in. He wore plain clothes, a black and white flannel jacket beneath a carpace chest piece. The outermost layer of carbon fiber weave was in tan, with a black rig overtop. He had the same eyes as her, grey irises ringed by tiny red lettering identifying the manufacturer and model number.
“It’s been twenty minutes,” He said simply as way of explanation, shifting the mag rifle he was cradling to rest on his other shoulder.
"Thanks Turner,” She muttered. With a thought the pictures from her surveillance team and the newsfeed vanished from her sight. She followed turner back to their rented vehicle, where three more plainclothes were waiting, scanning the surroundings for potential threats and fiddling with mag rifles of their own. Part of her wished she could dress as casually as the other men. The collar of her shirt felt too tight and she would have given a great deal for the comfort of casual attire.
Private contracting had its perks she supposed.
The three men climbed into the back of the vehicle after she and Turner took their positions upfront. She tossed the cigarette out the window as they merged back into traffic. She checked the time, confirming a suspicion that it was still much too early. The grand event wouldn’t be until noon, and she only needed to be there long enough to maintain appearances. Afterall, she was supposed to be some corporate lapdog looking to secure extraction rights or shipping contracts for her overlords. She’d have to at least show up and play nice with the locals.
“I need a drink,” She declared, gazing out the window as construction sites and brutalist architecture whizzed by.
“Isn’t it a bit early?” Turner commented.
“One drink,” She replied. “Make my brain shut up for a moment,”
He gave her a look that said he understood the feeling and took one hand off the steering column. He tapped momentarily, found a bar a couple kilometers away from the Palace at the end of the Avenue of Democracy. He found a place to park when they arrived and Turner dutifully followed her toward the bar, earning him an exasperated sigh from his charge.
“Must you?”
“Company policy says one of us has to have eyes on you at all times Ms. Korse,” He answered.
“Could you at least leave the rifle?”
He shook his head, she gave him her most withering glare, and the mag rifle came into the bar anyway. She found a seat near the entrance and Turner sat across from her, grey eyes on the door and one hand still on the mag rifle.
“You’re going to make people nervous Turner,” She said absently, surveying the occupants. Her grey eyes stopped momentarily on a woman at the bar. Six feet easy, with green skin… she stood out like a sore thumb among the natives. Her gaze lingered long enough to be classified as a ‘stare’ before she finished her survey and called the election coverage back up.
“That’s the idea Ms. Korse,” He replied evenly, keeping his gaze fixed on the door. “One drink,”
“One drink.” She confirmed with a roll of her eyes.
In the distance, explosions filled the sky. The buzzing of rotary mass drivers. The occasional flash of a courser missile or hardlight beamer. Their enemy continued spilling over the ridge to the south. Screams of agony, terror, pain tnd tourment barely audible on the wind melded into a heartbreakingly, disturbingly melody.
The spaceport was a mangled half-functional mess. A huddled mob of civilians stood as they were ushered onto transports by lines of war droids.
“This transport is full!” A Cauldarion barked. “Send it up.”
The mob let out impatient cries. Worn raw from months of incessant combat they lacked the fervor to outright panic. But to let their discontent known from poorly enunciated curses. The transport took off, scalding plasma singing those closest to it as it pulled away, igniting its main engines and burning for orbit. Amidst the rabble stood a young go’shii. No older than four, she struggled to make her way onto the ship without being trampled by the desperate mass. However it was swiftly replaced with another.
She approached one of the soliders, wise enough to tell them apart from the ubiquitous war droids.
“Mister… where are my parents?”
The solider took pause, glancing around before kneeling down. A ribbon laser swept the young girl’s wrist for a moment. Behind his visor his display linked her ID chip to the database and began to drum up a list of family members. Her immediate family, everyone on this planet had not been confirmed to have evacuated. The solider frowned before he could respond.
There was a blinding flash, a mighty ball of fire like a second sun rising on the horizon. Solid rock rippled like a pebble splashing in a pond, throwing up a spray of dust and soil as it spread.
The crowd finally broke into panic, recognizing the finality of the encroaching shockwave. Desperately flailing to climb over one another to get onboard. But the girl did not panic. The solider snapped her up, breaking for a transport shuttle and leaving the war droids to make their eternal vigil. The military shuttle was already taking off but one rocket-assisted jump carried the solider just high enough to make it onboard.
Hauling the tender youngling in, he averted her eyes as the civilian transport shuttle attempted to make its own departure. Lifting off with the doors still open and the desperate mob momentarily formed a sort of tether to the shuttle before this broke. Citizens continued to spill out the still-open door as the shuttle lifted off. The shockwave arrived, tossing the craft like a toy. The civilian shuttle exploded, but the military craft managed to regain its bearings before striking the ground. The side doors sealed as they built speed and made for orbit.
"What the hell is that… that’s not protocol!” One of the men onboard shouted, levying a gun at the child. His shouts obscured outside his helmet. To the girl, the shuttle was oddly silent.
“Stop! Its not a Mungunhola… she’s just a kid and she’s got a chip.” The solider that rescued her said. The other relented, lowering his guard.
“Where are my mommy and daddy and little brother?” She asked again, ignoring their conversation.
“The commander’s just received orders. We’re heading to Kon Galon… they’re going to make a blind ascending jump. They don’t even know where that will land them… say it might be a one way trip.”
“Like we’d even have a home to come back to. Kido Vista… Assiduous… Manatari… all of them fell in the last few hours alone. The whole god damn galaxy’s getting overwhelmed.”
“Fuck!”
“Mister come on, please! I just want my mommy and daddy! Tell me where they are.” She cried.
“Theres no sense in lying to her… she wants to know. I’m going to tell her the truth.” Her rescuer said.
“Are you sure? Don’t you think she’s been through enough already?”
“Kids’ going to have to toughen up if she wants to make it anywhere… especially with the way things are going now.”
The other soliders seemed hesitant. Her rescuer withdrew his helmet into his collar and knelt down to speak to her. The man looked old; something unusual for a solider of the dominion wherein life extension was common. His hair was gray, his face chiseled and square with a fair few wrinkles indicative of middle age and wearyness. The lefthand side more youthful, only by virtue of being a patchwork of medical reconstructor scars. His lower lip quivered as he looked her in the eye.
"Your parents are gone, kid.” He said drily.
“I knew it!” She cried. “I knew it! I knew it! Why did mommy and daddy have to die! Bring them back! Go back and rescue them. Do something!”
"We’ve done all we can…” He mumbled.
“Why?! Why did they have to die! They weren’t bad people! Why is this happening?” She asked between sobs.
“Because…” He began solemnly, waiting for the girl to finish sobbing. “There is no justice in this universe. The world is cold and cruel and unforgiving. God… mazungaten… the universe… whatever you want to call it is cold and cruel… It’s… a big bully. And the only way to ever put down a bully for good is to fight back.” He responded, a bit of fury rising as he made a fist from his armored glove. “Just like that the universe doesn’t care if you go tell mommy it was mean or go cry in the corner. The only axiom that the universe… or those Courgaten we were fighting… or anyone else will universally respect. Is strength. That is the axiom of the galactic admiral… Sulumai Luss. Remember that… and you’ll go far, kid.”
“Madame Precit…” The wormy Mediocine Assistant asked nervously as two four-armed service bots carefully dressed the Go’shii in her diplomat’s robes. “Are you completely sure this is a wise idea? You’re already fairly close in the polls… 43% is not bad… I am confident if you made the rounds of the hotly contested systems you could win over Kroywen’s reelection vote!” He said waiving his datapad in her face to show the polls.
“As if I could ever compete with that old goat and who knows how many centuries of experience she has in spinning honeyed prose and winning debates!” She snapped as her body clenched up. “That shriveled old goat is obsolte in this new galaxy…” She spat. “Unlike her… I grew up here; I’ve spent my entire life here and I’ve watched the dominion recover from the verge of extinction only to fall face first back into war and stagnation. And what does she do? Make friends with these imbeciles thinking they can be trusted? Give the furbags endless offers for peace and friendship while they murder us in droves? The only axiom this galaxy recognizes is strength… and therefore we must show it. Not with words, but with a demonstration.”
“Ah yes… so you want me to have the PR team spin this as… an active demonstration of how our strength could be used to pacify the unaligned and quell any conflicts? Risky… but it could be just what the people want.”
"Its what the people need. A leader who isn’t afraid to play hardball if it means keeping our people safe and our nation’s dignity intact.”
“So… how exactly do you intend to go about this?” The Mediocine asked nervously. “What’s your… strategy?”
"Well…” She said plucking the datapad from the Mediocine’s hands. “By the looks of it, Theres still riots and cultists in the southern hemisphere. And this ” She shook her head in disapproval. “The occupying force didn’t do a very good job of cleaning this place out of problem individuals.”
“And… well… that is to be expected. The planet was just invaded…”
"Yet the local authorities have not been able to restore order to an entire hemisphere of their planet. That bespeaks weakness and incompetence the likes of which no leader should have. They are either unwilling or unable to defuse the situation. So… we shall do it for them. Zorg…” She adressed the Mediocine. “I’d like to introduce you to an old friend of mine.”
A man in powered armor stepped in the room, two guards at his side.
“Field Marshall Gunmoor.” She said, giving a deep and respectful bow to the man. His faceplate retracted, revealing his scarred and weary face which wore a proud smile. “It is an honor to have you as my head of security.”
“The honor is mine.” He returned politely.
“I need you pacify the lawless regions and to prep for the deployment of relief stations. Threats of force will only work in the short term, we need to show the citizens of this planet… that they depend on us. I also want a media campaign surrounding the lawlessness and aid being drafted. Document it but don’t broadcast it… could come in handy later.” She turned to the Mediocine “Contact our ingenious allies and arrange a meeting with them ASAP. Triple check for Merger infiltrators and Gunmoor, I want you to be there.”
As the eve of the election drew to a close. Mass of Protestors was slowly transitioning to a riot. A handful of particularly tumultuous individuals; without a doubt cultists who simply reveled in unseating any form of government. The GMGC forces had formed a perimeter, barricading the city’s government buildings, but their numbers so scant that it was doubtful they could cover the city’s government buildings.
There was a sonic boom as a fighter trailed by a squad of UAVs shot overhead; flying barely above the city’s highest buildings. Some of the drones peeled off the formation, looping back around. As they returned to a station above the city capitol they unfurled into a hovering configuration, priming its weapons as it began scanning the crowd for known cultists via facial recognition. Hundreds of marchlander faces scrolled past as it scoured an ever-groing database of the planet’s citizens. In this instance, it found none. A small compartment in the drones underbelly yawned revealing an array of compact but potent megaphones.
The finely-tuned ears of the Marchlanders would be assaulted by three deafeningly loud high pitched siren tones before the machine spoke.
“Attention Citizens of Blidh. A Manadatory Curfew is now in effect for all non CPA law enforcement personnel. Return to your homes or go inside immediately. Those who will fail to comply within thirty seconds will be exempted from relief supply distribution beginning sharply at 6:00am local time…”
The outer edges of the planet Marchand lightened up for a minute, as a small ship finished its jump there. It was painted black, and not even a minute after it appeared, it suddenly disappeared from both radar and visual sight. Yet, unbeknown to those with a small attention span, the ship was still there, and it was quickly advancing towards the planet of Marshand itself. The ship was a Furrelian craft, barely longer than twenty meters. As it descended towards the planet, the unease in the crew cabin started to rise. The captain of the ship had to make even one mistake and the entire mission would fail. Kanedama looked around his squad. They were with eight men, and would only remain on the planet with six. He himself was the commander who was given the authority over this squad, and no surprise that was. He was an experienced commander, who had battled time and time again for the continuation of the Furrelian regime, so when the Furrelian Agency for Homefront Security, or FAHS, had contacted him, he accepted.
“This is some high-level insanity, they expect us to liberate a planet with eight men?” one of the members of the squad decided that a few moments before they entered the atmosphere of the planet would be a good moment to voice his opinion.
-“Six men, Minadoma.”
“Fuck off Disumena.”
Kanedame stepped in before the discussion could grow hotter. “You two, stop it. Yes, I agree that the FAHS could’ve given us more information, but I think that we can suffice with what we have so far. All we need to do is to lower Gaussian influence on Marchand and get a pro-Union Marchander in control of the planet. Their elections are coming up, so we should just influence them good enough.”
Before Minadoma, the first person to talk, could respond, the captain of the ship announced that the ship had entered the atmosphere, and before long the squad prepared themselves.
“Disengaging cloak in three, two, one...”
Only a dozen kilometres above the surface, the patrol craft re-appeared into sight. It continued its descend even sharper, and before long, it landed in the middle of the Braet forest on the southern hemisphere, not too far away from the city of Blidh. The Furrelians slowly began to drip out of the ship, and soon after the cargo followed. The captain of the ship too left the craft, in order to discuss something with Kanedame.
“I didn’t expect the FAHS to send this few cargo. Three bikes, each with two replacement batteries, a translator, a month’s worth of rations and a few survival kits. Could they really not have sent in stuff that actually lets us fight?” Kanedame said, the captain nodded but quickly put his two cents on the issue.
“You really don’t need more. You have your guns, each with a bayonet. Tilson Inudama there,” he points at one of the soldiers. “If I remember correctly Inudama also got a rifle with actual bullets, in case if you got the orders to assassinate someone. Each gun has its own repair and maintenance kit, so I’m not too sure what you want more. Now hurry up so that I can finish with the final part of my deployment.”
-“That is?”
“We’ve been given a normal warhead, rather than the miniature ones which are standard on this class. We’re supposed to drop it on the first Gaussian base we find and destroy the base.”
-”Huh, good luck with that.” Kanedame replied, before returning to his squadmates. When the bomb was finally loaded onto the craft, and quick and final exchange of words later, the spaceship finally departed, hurrying to the west.
“Well then, time to influence an election.”
The rumble of the oars shipping back into their locks reverberated through the hull of the Eyes of Nixus, shaking Melina Tyrallicus out of her light doze. The ship hummed softly as the sublight drive pushed it into the orbital docks. Glancing down at the light-scroll she'd been reading, she snapped it closed and grabbed her bag. There was a knock on her door and the captain's muffled voice informed her that they were docked and her escorts were assembling on deck. Closing her eyes to center herself for a moment, she whispered a brief prayer to Porten before checking her reflection in the bedside mirror and leaving.
Once on deck, she eyed the "escorts" that the Entolis had given her. They'd formed a ragged formation, but the lack of training was evident in the sloppy way they held their shields, the dozen places where the line was ragged, and more. Raw militia recruits, green enough to piss grass, if she was any judge. Definitely nothing up to the standards of even gutter rats. But, the gods provided, and mortals made do. Anything else was asking for trouble, and it wasn't like this mission warranted diverting one of the Aspidae.
Leading the way into the docks towards the shuttles, she pulled another scroll out of her bag and checked it. According to this, her contact was a Constance Cerwyn, a Yokari with separatist sympathies and connections to the Conclave of Sunpike. There had been some minor outreach to the League from the Conclave a few months ago after a mercenary company repelled a pirate assault on an outlying merchant station. Most in the megaboule thought dealing with Sunpike a waste of time, but Melina's superiors had argued for strengthening ties and offering aid in hopes of undermining Ingen. After all, no empire crumbled faster than the one that was attacked from within. And after the Crown Prince's atrocity, the outreach had finally been approved. Hence her presence.
There was a soft ding as the door to the bar opened and Melina slipped inside. Glancing around, she caught sight of Constance over by the bartop. She gestured to the two recruits who had followed her in to find a seat, then went over to the other woman. Dropping into a seat next to her, she ordered a glass of sake, then dug into her bag before pulling out a twenty unit League coin and 'fumbling' it down the bar towards Constance.
"So sorry about that, ma'am. Sometimes things just get away from me!"
Cerywn avoided the stranger's gaze, knowing that getting into spats at a bar was the exact opposite of her purpose here. She did, however, commit the woman to memory. A well-dressed foreigner whose security detail was hefting a full rifle was almost certainly someone of interest, though she wondered just who would need such precautions here...
The bartender gestured to Turner's gun.
"Please, no gun. Leave at coats." he said in the guttural Marchander accent.
Cerwyn caught the coin deftly, and within moments she and her newfound 'friend' were sat in a booth with the other two Poleisi who had arrived. Their loud and cheerful chatter gradually dropped to a more muted, private conversation.
"So you are the League contact? Thank you for coming. You know, I've never met a Poleisi before....strange to think we have common ancestors..." she said with a self-deprecating shrug and a roll of her eyes upwards to indicate her horns and onibi. Her accent was flowing and gentle, the words blending into each other and emphasis placed on odd syllables at times, indicating she was from Suedia on Neusattar.
The announcement was met with a roar of disapproval as the crowd jostled and surged, hurling rocks and other objects at the drones far overhead. Ahead of the crowd, a thin line of CPA militia in their signature blue flak vests and helmets tried to hold them back, huddling behind a barricade of concrete blocks and metal fencing that surrounded the central offices being used to tabulate ballots and co-ordinate the election. Elsewhere in the city, other polling stations had had to close early or call for assistance, whilst one Net station had been vandalised, putting the AncNet out of commission in the area until a satellite could be repositioned to cover for it.
The commander of the militia outside the offices scowled up at the Dominion drones overhead.
"Great, wind them up why don't you. It's our stun batons that will have to be used when they go crazy," he said, mostly to himself, watching as the crowds pushed against his troopers who were armed mostly with LTL gear.
Mitsuyoshi been busy, and had seized an old warehouse belonging to the former GMGC, clearing it out and fortifying the yard. Although he had turned day-to-day control of the 'advisory' force back over to the Kokubusho, he had raised his own force of veterans, including survivors of the disaster at Cass City and volunteers from further afield, and turned the block into a veritable fortress. From here, he and his followers conducted business and trade, distributed charity and launched missions to assist the CPA, often without invitation and sometimes even despite the CPA's protests.
Precit's shuttle settled down in a wide forecourt that was once a loading bay for trucks, but now housed a variety of military and civilian vehicles, including rows of hoverbikes, trucks, cars and a large shuttle.
The soldiers around wore black clothing with gold trim and, oddly, hot pink cloaks and cyphers.
Precit was escorted across the forecourt, offered a delicate parasol to keep the drizzling rain off, and escorted into an office building attached to the main warehouse. Two guardian lion-dog statues stood gleaming in gold in front of the dreary-looking doors, whilst inside hanging kakejiku scrolls, plants, prints and statues had been placed to give the soulless building more of an Ingenious air.
A boardroom, with the central table removed and replaced with a smaller console and touchscreen table, proved to contain the Crown Prince himself, dressed in loose white and black robes and sipping at a tea as he looked over some reports at his desk which occupied a nook in one corner.
He stood as the Gaussian entered, finishing his tea in one gulp and moving out from behind the desk, waiting for her to approach and speak first.
CPA coverage in the south was spotty at best, and the ship was not of enough interest to prompt a response from the small Jade squadron still in orbit. The clearing in which the Furrelians found themselves was deep in the forest, with no tracks or paths to be seen. A dense, cloying fog crept between the gnarled and ancient trees, whilst underground thick moss crawled over the stony ground and seemed to muffle even the loudest of noises.
The ship similarly lifted off without any interference from the local authorities, although the Gaussians in the area were a different matter...
“See?” She said passing the bartender a generous tip. “I told you, you’d make people nervous,”
Turner scowled at his charge and drummed his fingers against the rifle.
“If shit goes down…” He began.
“You’ll have to use one of your concealed weapons, oh no…” She said with a tone of mock anguish and a gaze that said it wasn’t up for debate. “We’re not here to antagonize people Turner,”
Not yet at least. She thought watching another foreigner enter the building and take a seat next to the foreigner at the bar. Turner muttered something under his breath and made an exaggerated show of ejecting the magazine out of his rifle and clearing the chamber before he stood and set the weapon by the door. The mag and the spare round he left on the table, returning both to appropriate pockets on his rig upon his return. She picked up the drink and took a gulp of it before setting it down again.
“That looks awful,” Turner commented, folding his arms across his chest. “How can you drink that?”
“I’ve had worse,” She answered, dismissing the newsfeed from the corner of her vision when both the foreigners at the bar got up and moved to a booth with some of the locals. She replaced the feed with the settings menu for her audio suite, working to mute it’s omni-directional capture and instead direct it toward the booth the persons of apparent interest had moved to.
“Oh really?” Turner said incredulously. “Corporate type like you slummed it with the working class before?”
“I grew up in gangland,” She commented. “Used to be involved in shady stuff, which meant long nights punctuated by cheap alcohol,”
“Really?” His face said he didn’t believe her. She nodded, and finished tuning the suite to eavesdrop on the booth across the bar. She turned her head enough to put one ear in the optimal position to capture audio, and covered the movement by setting a tablet on the table and pretending to read whatever was on the screen.
“I can’t see you in a gang,” Turner commented.
"The corp had my image sanitized when I was recruited. Lasered off my tattoos, cut all the bright colours out my hair, smoothed out my facial scars, took out my piercings…” It was only partly a lie. It had been a recruiter from the SIS who had fished her out of gangland after the war was over, not the corporation she was currently pretending to work for. They were looking for shady people who could operate in the shadier parts of foreign society. She’d been one of many young gangsters to be set up with a fresh ID, a sanitized image, and foreign assignments. Her work was more lucrative now, and before she’d lost her eyes she would have said it was safer too…
But one didn’t usually find themselves in the splash zone of an orbital bombardment when they were boosting cars and warring for corners.
“Huh,” Turner said, shrugging his shoulders. “Did you have a lot of tattoos?”
She smirked and sipped her drink again.
“I did. Still have all the ones that can be hidden by a suit,” He quirked an eyebrow and shook his head before returning to scanning the bar for threats she was fairly confident didn’t exist. With the conversation having fallen off she turned her focus to the conversation she was working on eavesdropping, a touch of her mental fingertips beginning a recording while she continued to scroll through news articles on the tablet.
Southern Continent
The Relief camps had been established, much to Zorg’s behest at the fact that it would cause chaos. There was no doubt about the fact that the citizens were one step from total anarchy.
In Blidh the camp was relocated from its initially planned site to an empty lot outside the city. The promise that any citizens who refused to go home had to be made into an empty threat, otherwise nobody would have been allowed in. The camp was quite small, only around two dozen organics were actually needed to run the camp; though a few hundred robotic workers were brought in.
Some began laying out shelters. Dome-like tents unfurled from compacted packages no larger than a breifcase which turned green in the sunlight; photosynthetic algae inside the fabric producing electricity for the internal lights and HVAC system. Others began unloading food, water purification equipment and medical supplies to establish a hospital.
From here the plan was simple. Marchlanders would check in at the front of the camp and have the needed services distributed to them. The security was moderate. Dominion war droids had proven themselves superior against the defending forces stood guard around the camps. At two and a half meters and a quarter-ton in weight only the most foolish of the marchlanders or merger terrorists would dare defy their orders. Airborne drones patrolled the camp, scanning nearby for merger cultists.
A similar scene would play out at the dozen or so other sites flagged to receive relief camps.
Lamis made her approach with a haughty demeanor. Her status and ambition had won her an audience with the crown prince, no small feat. As she stepped off the shuttle, Gunmoor’s men met the ingenious soliders and bolstered their security force. As they made their way inside, she took up the parasol. Gunmoor took little issue with the rain, wearing full armor he only retracted his helmet once they were inside. Zorg on the other hand was fumbling to keep his datapad dry and unable to find space. Weaving around the feet of the full sized soliders the tiny creature was nearly stepped on multiple times as he negotiated the formation.
Arriving inside the three took bows to the prince. Though Zorg required a hiss from Lamis before he recognized who he was supposed to be bowing to. Even the handful of war droids gave a bow before proceeding to postings around the room.
“Crown Prince Mitsuyoshi.” She began. “I am honored that you took the time out of your busy schedule to convene with me. This is my chief of security, Marshall Gunmoor. And this is my assistant secretary, Zorg.”
“Uhm… yes your highest excellency…” The Mediocine began nervously, wetting his lips. “Tha-thank you so much for taking the time to convene with madame precit. I assure you this is not time wasted- nada! Nat a bit-“
“Zorg, Enough!” She snapped. “I do not mean to assume, but I get the sense you are not a man who prefers to waste time with pedantry and bureaucracy, so I shall be breif. I believe that that the Marchlanders are unfit to govern themselves. If you look at what happened… how deeply the merger infiltrated the planet’s people… and how even now it is still in chaos. This will only breed further conflict. At this juncture… the only path to lasting peace is through our continued presence. And I would like to support you in this venture.”
Melina chuckled, taking a sip of her drink. "The gods have made more things amongst the stars than we can know. And stranger things, to be sure." Setting the glass down, she folded her hands together. "As you say though, we do share a common descent. And it is the spirit of that descent that I've been sent here to make an offer to you and your fellows."
Reaching into her jacket, she pulled out a slim data-scroll and handed it over to Constance. In simplified terms, the scroll laid out basic terms for an agreement between the League and the Conclave. The League would offer arms and formal training to those who wanted it, along with funds to expand the Conclave's membership and reach. In exchange, the Conclave would spread the word of the Poleisi and their true history.
"Go ahead and read it over. I'll be on-world for the next few days to receive your response and to keep an eye on how Ingen...responds to the situation here."
Pyshnyak was not happy. His favourite watering-hole was now a haunt for foreigners, and had been ever since the occupation began. It was not bad enough that they had destroyed the Guild, installed a puppet regime and flattened half of Hornqvist, now they were in his bar talking in their foreign languages, loud and inconsiderate.
The strangers in the booth were inviolate - everyone knew how catastrophic the consequences could be if you harassed the lightbulb goblins, and even if no-one openly discussed it, there were rumours of disappearances and swift retribution. The two at the bar, however...
He stumbled up to the bar and clattered his glass on the counter, throwing a dirty look at Korse as he ordered. Taking a slug of his new pint, he wiped his mouth on the back of his sleeve and then turned to them. In broken Common he addressed Korse.
"What you do here, huh? Bars on your planet all shit?"
Constance kept her expression level as she read the agreement. As risky as it was committing anything to writing, it was an extraordinary deal. As it stood, the Conclave relied on secret donations from sympathetic individuals, mostly petty nobility on Neusattar and a scattering of military officers. This bargain would massively increase their resources, and more importantly gave credibility to the idea of an independent Neusattar, providing it with a large trade partner and ally from the get-go.
It almost seemed too good to be true, and Cerwyn was nothing if not thorough. She had already done some background checking on Melina and her people, but you could never be too careful. There was always the chance this was a trap.
She slipped the data-scroll inside her blazer and then switched the topic of conversation to the Gauss-Furrelian war, loudly talking about how it had affected insurance rates for one of her larger account holders at Goldwing Finance. Eventually, finishing her drink, she bid farewell to Melina, promising to catch up again soon, and stood to leave.
As her heels clacked loudly on the pavement outside, the local she had been talking to earlier pulled out a communicator and placed a call, muttering surreptitiously.
Mitsuyoshi nodded in welcome and gestured for Lamis to sit, as an attendant arrived with a tray of tea and water. Flicking the sleeves of his kimono back, he sat himself, on a padded stool that was clearly designed to create traditional military appearance.
"Welcome, Precit. You're correct, there's no value in wasting time." he replied, pausing to take a sip of tea.
Setting the cup back down, he leaned forwards, one elbow resting on his knee whilst the other hand rested on the other knee, cocking his head as he looked at a map displayed on the console table in front of him.
"So you foresee a long-term involvement from the Dominion?" he asked gently, offering no information of his own. "That could be expensive, both in terms of cash and lives," Personally, he could not give a bucket of piss for the future of Marchand, other than that it did not again threaten Jade interests in the area. If it were not economically important to the region he would be half tempted to level the entire planet, but that would greatly damage the Tuvian Arm economy beyond what had already been done, as well as further alienate the Jade Empire's allies and perhaps compromise his own position.
Blidh was in a state of near-anarchy. Those who went to the relief camps had to watch out for thieves and cultists waylaying them on their way home, either for material gain or to punish them for colluding with the hated invader. Even those who made it safely home had to be sure to lock their doors, as bitter rumour and tensions began to swell among the population. The aliens had caused the problems in the first place, and now they were holding food and other supplies hostage, trying to force the Marchanders to bend to their will...
One dishevelled figure waited in line for food rations, casting curious glances at the war droids and aid workers nearby. He was scanned for weapons and explosives and cleared, and so shuffled through the fence lines, under the watchful eye of the airborne drones. As he moved up, he moved closer to the elderly couple in front of him. The man in front turned to protest at being jostled, and then gasped as the stranger placed a hand on his shoulder and another on the wife's shoulder. All three arced their backs and screamed, and there was a sudden burst of noxious black smoke that obscured them from view.
Out of the smoke came a giant beast, twice the height of a Marchander, towering over the average humanoid. Its front was a massive maw of circular teeth, whilst its long limbs combined claws and tentacles. The ground shook as it sprang towards the nearest war droid, roaring an unholy bellow as it trampled another Marchander underfoot.
Nearly two kilometers away, atop an old steelworks, two figures lay prone, staring towards the commotion using old-school telescopic sights. Positioned in front of one of the outlets for the electric arc furnaces inside, their heat signatures were masked well, even if they were uncomfortably warm.
"Now?" asked one. The other raised two fingers and made a cutting motion for him to hold fire.
The monster wrestled briefly with the machine, trying desperately to fend off the beast at the expense of its own life, and prevent it from consuming any more hapless marchlanders. It bought just enough time for one of the loitering drones to snap its guns around unleash a ferocious rapid fire volley hardlight bolts into the beast. The non-military medics and service workers ducked for the cover of their stalls.
Half a dozen marines rushed from the shuttle, closing their armored helms as they ran to investigate. The sergeant began to doll out orders.
“You three, check the perimeter. Corporal… dispose of whats left of that thing. Lieutenant, help me get these refugees back in line. Everyone else, get back to work.”
From the snipers perspective the three marines and their droid escorts split up, and began perusing the perimeter; tiny ESP drones loitering about and checking nearby hiding spots. Thankfully for them, they did not seem to anticipate any foe being further away than a few hundred meters. One was preparing what looked to be a flamethrower to torch the remains of the beast, while the other two were working to redirect the line of refugees around the site of the incident. One by one the heads of the relief camp staff came back up ready to resume their jobs, a little shaken but assured the situation had been handled.
Marshall Gunmoor seemingly became distracted by an electronic ping, bowing and silently excusing himself rom the room. Lamis paused for a second knowing the array of possibilities was slim, studying the prince’s tone for a moment. She knew of course, he was the one who had ordered the bombardment of the capital. Doing a double take at the others in the room before speaking.
“Countless more will die if we do not intervene now. What we are doing… is giving these disenfranchised people a chance to live a peaceful life. The people of marchland are victims of a dangerous ideology… they will all either succumb to the allure of the cult of Carcaros or die off. If Carcaros is left to fester, it could soon grow to threaten more than just this system.”
She paused, taking a sip of tea. She smacked her lips, the flavor being unfamiliar.
“Our people have been strong allies since we arrived in this galaxy, and we all stand to gain from this situation if we are intelligent and decisive. We could share with the people of the Sarnath system our technology and our might; cleanse the planet of this infestation. In return they could give us their industry, wealth and influence; and this planet could stand as a beacon of the alliance between our people and what the colonial powers can do for the unaligned.”
Scelene’s attention was focused foremost on the foreigners. She caught most of what was being said, thanks to her implants. She sent off the relevant information to her people elsewhere. They began pulling what information they could on the ‘League’ that had been mentioned. A second message went out to the rest of Turner’s people waiting by the car, a simple instruction to photograph the people as they departed and pass it on to the facial recognition algorithms.
So focused was she on her task that she didn’t notice the man when he sidled up next to her, and with her implants tuned to monitor the conversation across the bar it wasn’t until Turner nudged her softly that she glanced first at him, and then at the man who had spoken to her. She reset her implant parameters to default and took another sip from her drink, setting it down on the bar top before turned to the man.
She didn’t reply immediately, sizing him up before finally settling her gaze back on her drink. She picked it up and took a long pull before settling back down.
“The bars on my planet are fine,” She answered. “But I’m here on business, I needed a drink, and so here I am,”
She kept her tone casual and non-confrontational, doing her level best to avoid a fight… though she had a sinking suspicion this man might not let it go so easily. You didn’t normally roll up on strangers and lead with insults when you weren’t trying to start a fight.
Finishing her own drink several minutes later, Melina rose and went over to the bar, handing the glass over before addressing Pyshnyak in Marchander. "Truly, I do apologize about all of the commotion, good sir. I was only here to speak with the young lady, but I do understand that it can be trying to have foreigners in one's establishment, especially after such unpleasantness."
Counting out enough to pay for both her and Constance's drinks, she added in half as much again, before pushing the pile of coins over to the the bartender. "Mind, I am here on official business, as it happens. Would you be able to point me towards the local enclave of Poleisi? I understand that their Dromos is in some disrepair after the attack, and needs parts."
The sniper fire was rapid and accurate, the tiny Marchander's sharp eyes and nimble hands letting him use the primitive .50 calibre bolt-action hunting rifle with surprising efficiency. He was a veteran of AgriCorps Solutions, which had been more or less wiped out during the invasion, and was practiced at long range killing, only this time it was people instead of dangerous animals.
The first explosive-tipped round screamed at the fuel tanks of the flamethrower, hoping to detonate the material within or cause a lethal backfire to the thrower itself. Almost before it had landed, he had thrown the bolt and fired again, aiming at a figure he recognised from the last couple of days' surveillance as being fairly important, or at least in a position to give orders.
After the second shot he threw the bolt again and then waited, wanting to see what effect the shots had and whether the enemy were able to triangulate their position quickly...
Mitsuyoshi considered this all with an attentive expression, taking a sip of his tea as he listened. Once she had finished speaking, there was silence for a few moments.
He leaned back in his chair. "I agree with you, at least on the basic principles. The Merger is a cancer, one that'll only get worse over time, and you know the treatment for cancer."
He glanced at the sword on its display stand beneath the shuttered window, the same sword he had carried at the Battle of Cass City.
"I will be candid, I do not care whether the Marchanders live or die. At best they sat back and let the Merger take hold, even those who didn't actively join it. They've already cost too many Jade lives. My only objective here is to stamp out the Cult of Carcaros - I don't particularly care who takes power so long as they can keep the ports open and the Merger suppressed."
Pulling up a holofeed, the faces of Premier Kuraly and General Secretary Sundin were displayed, alongside various snippets and data analytics for the election which was currently ongoing.
"Right now these men are our best bet, I think. The Unified Democratic Party has a strong hold in the urban centres of Marchand, and its ranks are filled with former Guild and CPA officials with good political, tribal and business standings. If we can build their People's Democratic Guard into a half-decent military, and help them set up a rigorous intelligence and security arm, we can leave most of the policing to them, saving our 'advisors' for the heavy lifting. We can also use our troops for the dirtier work, letting the PDG keep their hands clean so the general population don't resent them. They'll resent us, of course, but who cares?"
"What kind of business, eh?" asked the stranger, doggedly. "Getting rich off our misery, I bet. No trouble here 'till you kozyols turned up."
He spat on the floor, but whether intentionally or due to inebriation part of the gobbet landed on Scelene's upmarket shoes.
Meanwhile, Turner's backup teams began to find public information available on the Poleisic League, an ancient culture of humans that at one point had been part of, or indeed the entirety, of the Second Coronan Republic before their decline thousands of years ago. Now they seemed to be a loose collection of culturally and politically enmeshed independent planet-states scattered across much of the Ancerious Galaxy. The cryptic remarks about the connection between Cerywn's 'people' and the Poleisi were not so easily explained, but was what strikingly obvious was that the Poleisi as a whole valued democracy to an almost religious pitch. The Jade Empire quite markedly did not share these feelings, and combined with the clandestine nature of their meeting and Cerywn's ethnic background as a Neusattran, suggested that Melina's presence did not bode well for the Jade Empire.
The bartender squinted for a moment, as if weighing up the request, before jerking his head.
"Lots of humans over by the Yefimovich docks in the north. Your friends are probably there."
Melina's preliminary research, or even a quick Ancnet search, would confirm that the Yefimovich spaceport, which was absolutely ravaged by the orbital bombardment, had somehow miraculously survived and been rebuilt, mostly by foreign concerns looking for a cheap and high-volume landing spot for their merchant shuttles and freighters. In exchange for generous tariff reductions and other considerations, they had paid to rebuild the sprawling docks piecemeal, resulting in a hotpot of foreign concerns, companies and nations with a strange mishmash of structures and designs which nevertheless had helped bring trade back to the ailing capital city.
As she stepped outside and began heading down the street, however, a quartet of Marchanders in CPA uniforms accosted her. The crisp dark blue uniforms, with their white piping and epaulets, seemed out of place in this murky corner of the city, and the starch lines were still visible even. Three of them held some kind of stun batons at their hips, whilst the leader had a submachinegun of some kind slung under one arm, his hand on the pistol grip though his finger was off the trigger.
With his other arm he gestured for Melina to stop.
"Inspection!" he said in very heavily accented Common. "For to show identification immediately."
The first round struck the flamethrower tank. Yet there was no spectacular eruption of blue and violet flame. Instead amounting to an anticlimactic drizzle of chemical ooze erupting from the backpack and igniting in a small puddle; more akin to a steadily growing campfire. The neutralizer agent in the wall of the tank had neutered the volatility of the fuel. Still the solider recognized the danger, decoupling the backpack. His armor’s servos whined as he wound up and hurled the hundred-kilogram unit into a vacant lot next to the camp.
Suspicion arose. The soliders turned about.
A second shot hit the supervisor; who doubled as the camp’s chief doctor. A tall Katharian wearing a minimalistic white garb. It struck him dead on the temple. The result was a grizzly decapitation as violet blood and fragments of his skull were scattered throughout the tent behind him.
With these two points of reference for the trajectory of the shot; one of the drones plotted a trajectory. The network didn’t take long to piece together based on the doppler shift of the bullet ’s sound and calculate to within a fraction of a degree where the shots were coming from.
“Sniper! South-Southeast!”
The soliders got behind hard cover, as did the other gaussians in the camp. The war droids scanned the horizon across the spectrum, parceling up the direction of enemy fire. It wasn’t long before one of them found the glint of a scope and the barrel of a gun poking out amidst the steelworks. The captian in charge of the camp gave permission and pulled the virtual trigger, sending a guided fragmentation round downrange at their position.
Lamis pondered it. It was not the response she had anticipated, though she held doubts about the prince’s. Her ear cocked sideways as he overheard Gunmoor the next room over discussing an attack on one of the camps and the loss of one of their lead doctors. She’d known there’d be resistance, but didn’t think it would happen that fast. And recognized that perhaps there was credence to what he said.
She wanted to bring the hammer down herself, but she was just a candidate who had a friend in the armed forces able to pull strings. She knew with every fiber of her being it would be five years, tops, before the PDG grew corrupt or fell apart. But if it meant a short term success… earning support… validating her abilities as a leader, and getting elected, she was willing to to bend to his whims, at least for the time being.
“I suppose there is credence to that… Very well, you have my support. I will continue my relief efforts for the civilian populace for the time being, and we will continue to screen for merger threats while we get the PDG on its feet. If you require my support in any other way; I will be willing to oblige within my means. For one…” She chuckled, taking another sip of tea, having developed the taste for it. “I’m certain Gunmoor would enjoy having some recruits to yell at…"
Scelene followed the trajectory of the gobbet with her eyes until it landed on her shoe with a wet sound. Turner was out of his seat but a glance from his charge was enough to still the mercenary before he could lay hands on the Marchander. She sighed and picked a napkin off the counter, wiping the gobbet off her shoe with a sour expression before she regarded the man. She crumpled the napkin and set it on the bartop next to her drink.
All the while she was skimming through the information coming in from her team, while the gears in her head turned. Fanatic democrats holding clandestine rendezvouses with Yokari certainly implied the existence of some form of dissenting movement in the Jade Empire. It was exactly the sort of thing Scelene had been sent to find. She just hadn’t expected to stumble into the discovery of such movements so quickly, and certainly not in a place like this. It boded well for her, though identifying persons affiliated with insurrection and ingratiating herself to them were entirely separate matters. Still it was a start, a start she hadn’t had when she entered the bar looking for a cheap drink to suppress her nerves.
The silence between her and the man dragged on, so¬ long in fact it may have seemed the woman intended to ignore the man altogether. But at last, after downing the rest of her drink, she addressed him.
“The company I work for and the Commonwealth had nothing to do with the campaign that conquered this planet,” She said setting the glass down on the bar top and standing. She straightened her suit, and smoothed out a wrinkle in her pants. “Your hostility is misdirected,”
She set a credit chip on the bartop and slid it toward the Marchander.
“Have another drink on me, we’ll be on our way,”
She didn’t wait for an answer. She turned and walked away, pulling on her coat before stepping back out into the street and lighting another cigarette. Turner remained in place, glowering down at the Marchander with his thumbs hooked under the shoulder straps of his tactical vest until his charge had left the bar. Then, finally, the mercenary turned and followed her, pausing to retrieve and reload his rifle before joining her outside on the street.
Already Scelene was sending out more instructions. The team that had been doing clandestine surveillance on the Palace of Democracy she reassigned to surveil Cerwyn and the local she’d left the bar with. She doubted they’d be able to catch up with them right away, they’d have to pack up their equipment and then relocate and by then Cerwyn and her companion might be long gone… but hopefully the facial recognition algorithms would turn up something and they’d be able to pick the trail back up.
Turner paused on the sidewalk next to her, glancing down the street to where Cerwyn’s contact was being accosted by several Marchanders. He tapped Scelene on the shoulder and she shifted her gaze toward the scene. For the moment, both stood in place, watching while the rest of Turner’s men brought the car around to pick them up.
Melina stopped as requested, quickly flashing hand signals behind her back to her two guards to ensure that they didn't try to fight the officers. The last thing she needed was trouble with the local authorities. Clearing her throat, she nodded smoothly to the man with the gun, then spoke in a somewhat accented Marchander as she pulled her identification and passport out of her bag.
"Good day, sirs. As you can see, I am Melina Tyrallicus, an envoy from the Poleisic League, here on a diplomatic mission. Is something amiss?"
As the terrorists watched, the droids began scanning the horizon. The spotter, Gysh, was already on her feet and sprinting towards the rear of the building, but Silotsk was fumbling - the rifle's sling had caught on the brickwork.
She did not bother to tell Silotsk to drop it - if he did, it would be traced back to him anyway. Instead, she just scrambled down the far side of the building, wincing as she felt and heard the explosion that rocked the rooftop. She paused for a moment, listening for sounds of movement, but there was nothing but crackling and the falling of debris. Silotsk had been caught by the gunfire, it seemed.
She sprang to the ground and ducked into the building across the street, scampering into the cellar and diving into the warrens below, disappearing into the darkness to return to her comrades far off....
"He'd be very welcome, I am sure - the Marine Corps is advising the PDG at Camp Watanabe west of Hornqvist and Camp Zhukov north of Cass City. Gauss advisors and training staff would be most useful there. The more effective we can make the local grunts, the better, especially at COIN and counter-terrorism. Off the record, we have JIAN agents across the continent, working to build networks for the government and to put the hurt on the Merger."
He stood.
"Now if you'll excuse me, I was planning to lead a patrol around the districts west of the Yefimovich Dockyards, remind the locals we're here and make sure there's nothing untoward being planned, but this afternoon there will be a banquet to celebrate the election and honour the new Premier and President - I'd be honoured if you would join us. We should show unity to our furry friends, neh?" he asked with a chuckle.
Captain Tsuyoshi Nishi watched the monitor intently, the directional microphone picking up the conversation that was happened down the street from the abandoned apartment he had secreted himself in. An agent of the JIAN, he had his suspicions that these Poleisi did not have such a benign intention as they claimed; certainly meeting with Constance Cerwyn was a huge red flag. Out of interest he had placed a call to the local police to see how Melina would react and what she would give away. He had no intention of intercepting her yet, and his primary target was still Cerwyn, but it seemed a new player had just entered the game.
The officer scrutinised the documents without responding or offering his own name, eventually giving a pronounced sniff and squinting up at the Poleisi.
"Diplomatic? Who to?" he asked, keeping his questions and manner curt.
"Well, that's hardly any of your business, is it?"
Grimacing after a moment, she coughed delicately. "Apologies, you've caught me in something of a temper. I'm here on business to meet with the local enclave down by the dockyards. After events such as the...disturbance that has occurred, it's League policy to dispatch an envoy to assess the condition of the enclave and provide assistance if required."
Turning slightly to face one of her guards, she murmured softly in Poleisic. "Something is wrong about this. Contact the Ysir and request Aspidae support."
The militia trooper punched several glyphs on a gauntlet he was wearing before resuming his position behind the envoy.
A drone swept over the manhole cover. Gysh narrowly managing to close it before a blue scanning laser swept the area. The drones loitered overhead for a few minutes before going back about their buisness. The three soliders on perimiter duty continued to watch on high alert for the time being as the ranking officer of the camp approached the kedaver of the lead doctor. Quickly ascertaining that rebuilding his splattered brain was beyond even the dominion’s medical technology.
He ordered the transmission of a breif and informal report to Marshall Gunmoor, requesting more drones be dispatched to not just his camp and more stealth detection measures be brought in, but all the camps as a means to beef up the ranges at which they could patrol; ensuring repeat usages of this tactic wouldn’t be as affected. The others slowly began to restore the releif camp to normal order.
Gunmoor walked back into the room. Lamis opened her mouth to speak, but stopped herself upon noticing his demeanor. His normally expressionless face looked particularly concerned; an ocean of worry being held at bay by a thin layer of stoicism. The urgency with which his voice came.
“The Blidh camp was attacked. One dead, no wounded. I’m ordering extra drones down from orbit and the ships to provide regular orbital scans of the areas surrounding the camps…”
Lamis paused. Was the grizzled Marshall really so worked up over the death of one individual. She frowned, preparing to speak again, but was cut off on the inhale.
“Its not just that. There’s just been an attack back home. Massive communications blackout and cyberattack, so reports are limited. But from what we can gather the council hall was bombed, possibly by a Furrelian. They had insider help from the Supreme Galactic Commander. Garo… it seems he was a traitor all along.”
Gunmoor turned to face Mitsuyoshi
“The Ingenious embassy was bombed by a Furrelian too.”
Lamis wore an odd expression, seemingly processing for an excruciatingly long time. “That’s terrible.” She muttered, seeming genuinely unsure of how to react.
The policeman scrutinised the documents for quite some time, then placed a call in Marchander. There was a brief back-and-forth and then he handed the documents back to Melina.
"Ok. Yefimovich docks are that way. You have nice day."
He gestured for the offworlders to continue, his men watching them sullenly.
Above them, far beyond normal eyesight, a drone settled into position, tracking the Poleisi through a thermal feed to see exactly where they went. Captain Nishi packed up his gear and quietly exfiltrated, stepping out into the small street behind the apartment building, slipping away into the city.
The drones found nothing, except the scattered body parts of Silotsk and the charred but intact rifle he had left behind. After the rumbling died off, the area settled into an uneasy quiet once more, with no further attacks that evening. The locals were restless though, with bitter muttering and the occasional shoving match in the queue, whilst many had simply turned and fled home the moment blood had been shed...
Mitsu stood as he heard the news. He opened his holo and reached out to Sanrin - he was finding though that the government had been somewhat reluctant to deal with him. No-one was openly defiant, but answers were sometimes slow or vague, favours were not being readily granted...he knew Toshi and Minowara were furious he had usurped their authority here.
He watched Lamis as she reacted to Gunmoor's report. "Yes...certainly. So tell me," he said, crossing behind his desk and typing something into his holo. "Is the Prime Minister alright? If the council have been bombed and Garo is a traitor, who is in charge now?"
Cerwyn pulled up in a taxi, a hydroelectric four-wheeler towncar that hissed sleek through the rain and puddles to the small two-storey industrial unit near the docks. Behind a battered chain-link fence, the dull grey building had only a small plaque by the front door announcing its occupants, and there were only a half-dozen vehicles outside. Stepping out, Cerwyn shook her hair and then headed inside, unaware she was being watched....
The group of Furrelian soldiers had not departed from their spot of arrival yet. Kanedame himself was looking at a map of the planet. A single large continent. His force was to the north of Blidh, and he needed to go south as quickly as possible. Luckily, he had the resources to do so, a series of bikes. He was also in the southernmost part of the forest, so it wouldn’t be too hard to leave the forest. He looked around at his squad. Only six people were sent, but that did not matter too much. If they could pull the strings of the upcoming election enough, six people would’ve been enough. “FAHS does not send more than needed.”, or so the saying among operatives went. Kanedame was not sure about that, but he had to do it with what he had.
“We’re departing after sunset.” He shouted to the group, a few complaints went out, but the mood was lightened at least a bit. He looked as how the sunset. This planet now is the Furrelian Union’s newest zone of conflict.
The FAHS 94822, nicknamed the Devil of the Ride by its crew, had departed the Braet forest with great hope of finding a Dominion complex, but after a while, it lost its patience. The Small ship flew low above the surface, its stealth engaged. After searching for a complex for what seemed like hours, they finally found something. A tiny camp, nothing the size the crew expected. But, orders were orders, and the ship began its attack on the compound. It disengaged its stealth, dropped the antimatter bomb it was carrying, and reengaged, quickly accelerating away from the expected zone of explosion.
Korse watched silently, cigarette flaring in the drizzle, as Cerwyn’s contact was briefly harassed by the police. She quirked an eyebrow, watching as they sent the contact on their way after a brief exchange. She took another drag on her cigarette, and wondered just what had been said to scare the Marchanders off so quickly… and what’s more the SIS Agent couldn’t help but wonder who else might be watching. She cast her gaze around, grey eyes surveying the area, identifying a myriad of perches and patches of darkness where she’d have hidden a surveillance team. She saw no sign of surveillance, but she supposed if they were any good she wouldn’t.
You’re being paranoid, She told herself, but she wasn’t entirely sure she believed that.
Rumination on the subject was cut short as Turner’s men arrived with the vehicle. She stepped in, Turner coming in behind her, and then they were back on the road. She kept a line open with the second team. They had relocated to the Goldwing offices, and confirmed the arrival of Cerwyn. Notably absent was Cerwyn’s Marchander contact.
Well, they’d found Cerwyn at least. With luck she’d lead them to all her other contacts sooner or later. For now, the team’s orders were purely surveillance. Tail Cerwyn, take note of who she met with, where she went, what she did… Once Scelene knew more she could decide what, if anything, to do about Cerwyn and her shady contacts.
In the meantime, she had a schedule to keep. She needed to maintain her cover, which meant she had to put on a show of negotiating for resource extraction rights she quite frankly couldn’t care less about. But, not every aspect of SIS skullduggery could be pulse pounding excitement. Today it would be boring and routine. Filling out paperwork, meeting with government officials who could connect her to the right people.
It was tedious, it was boring, but it was something to do while she waited for new information and planned her next move. She sensed something was afoot on Marchand, and she intended to turn whatever it was in her favour.
"I'm not sure..." Gunmoor began. "That was all that made it out before a communications disruption set in. There was a large cyberattack on the innernet, but we managed to chop communications before they could infest our systems all the way out here. If the council are gone as well as the supreme galactic commander; then the galactic admiral Assumes garo's position and is acting head of state until the council and a new prime minister can be reinstated."
"This... this changes everything." Lamis began. "Without Kroywen running against me... the Democrats will have to pick a new canidate. We've... basically just won the election."
"I wouldn't be so confident. Kroywen was trying to surrender to the Furrelian Union, then a sack of urngoth shit hit the fan. If things are half as bad as I think they are... there won't be a gauss dominion to go back to."
Lamis swallowed uncomfortably, her stern and assertive demeanor withering.
"What do we do?"
"I don't know." Gunmoor responded sternly before his communicator chimed. He answered, sounding annoyed. "Now what?” Someone began chattering on the other end in untranslated Kimbeau.
The figher patrol loitering in the area identified the ship more or less the instant it decloaked. The anti matter bomb caught halfway by an interception missile air burst above the city. The shockwave flattened tents and ruptured eardrums yet netted no serious casualties on the people below.
Once they had been decloaked, the ships in orbit locked on to the tachyonic signature of the ship, and within moments several of the patrolling fighters had unleashed unneccsarialy large salvos courser missiles. Breaking mach after mach until the missiles were hypersonic, igniting the atmosphere in blinding trails fo plasma.
It was not long after the end of the open conflict and the subsequent employment of capital weapons on a population center that Marchand became an item of the galactic news cycle. Outlets and pundits spread the word of destruction, death, and uncertainty far and wide. In the international climate, it was almost a stale tale; a rapidly morphing power vacuum filled with larger-than-life individuals making brash decisions. In the background lie a dangerous and conniving enemy, threatening the menagerie of democracy that the myriad of foreign actors were trying to uphold. Even though the open battles in places like Cass City had concluded, the fog of war was still opaque and evidently the bullets continued to fly. This was the news that had reached the crew of the Foss-class Corvette, Velkna’s Plackart.
A hostile cult, a tenuous election, and victims of war; Serashee Krisra concluded that she and her compatriots had their work cut out for them as she reviewed every bit of information she could scrounge up. The young Minevan woman was lounging in a rather large charge she had brought aboard weeks prior, surrounding by stacks of solid documents, open books, and floating displays of digital information surrounding her. Serashee took a moment to zone out after hours of mental labor, drinking in the scent of her tea and swaying her head to the whisper of a wind instrument. Raising her hand, the wooden flute gently listed into her grip and ceased its tune.
Even from the relative safety of their vessel at the Yefimovich Dockyard, Serashee was intimately familiar with the sights that lay outside the Muonized bulkheads and beyond. The psion closed her eyes, the digital displays of information blinking into nothingness and the various resources strewn about her room organizing themselves onto nearby surfaces. Making sure to savor her last bit of comfort, she grabbed her belongings, shut the lights, and departed to meet her associates.
Dozens of relief teams had formed of their own accord, non-uniformed in general Sovereignty fashion. All members of the crew that were to depart wore only one item in common; some piece of dark-green clothing emblazoned with the ship’s insignia; a double-ended golden hook. Serashee herself was wearing baggy and practical clothes, her uniform green article being a poncho that obfuscated her form. The composition of species aboard was diverse; mostly Minevans, a good amount of minute Celvians, the occasionally colossal Malikan, and a few dexterous Valkarians.
After hours of deliberation and crew-wide meetings, the consensus had remained the same as before; spread wide, discern which communities were most at-risk, embed with them to provide bottom-level aid, encourage participation in the democratic process, and protect those who did from the Cult of Carcaros. The ship’s administration team had notified local authorities of their presence and had given proper notice of armed individuals to protect their relief workers.
Serashee’s own goals lie beyond the simple work of aid and relief. She was one of the few Minevans wrapped up in a major galactic affair, and there were dark secrets to be unearthed lying in the damp underbelly of this city. The bastions in the south had already fallen to constant skirmishes and barely maintaining a sense of order. If the extremists could not be exposed and unraveled in Hornqvist, the democratic project of Marchand would be lost for good. The subsequent acts of barbarism and loss of life would likely make Cass and the orbital strike look like a couple’s argument.
In the dockyard, Serashee took a minute to enjoy the natural light and breeze, albeit some would consider the climate unpleasant. The cold was a welcome friend to her kind. Eventually she was joined by a Celvian; Mantiya of Talakka, who she was able to easily recognize from the healed web of cracks along his facial carapace. The insectoid was not faring as well in the chill and needed a few more insulating layers than her and the two other Minevans that followed behind him. She recognized the lot of them very well- most of their crew had flown together since a decade prior after the glassing of Agnios.
“This planet is a disaster,” Mantiya blurted out, the cold having frozen his sense of tact as well.
“Not the worst,” Serashee held a laugh behind a smirk, never tiring of the insectoid’s poor attitude, “I hear the people are rather glib, though.”
“I hear they are fucking nuts.”
“Let us not generalize, friend,” Serashee declared, beginning to walk off and knew the others would follow. After a small delay, they did and she continued, “Most of the people here are victims of circumstance, regardless of war or cult. We must show them the tools to change their circumstance, no?”
“We agreed to be here. Preach to them, not to me,” Mantiya bluntly said.
Serashee was unphased by his remark, watching as their transportation came their way from the tail hangar end of the ship several hundred meters down the ‘pier’. It was a ‘Walleye’ armored car, lattice painted a smooth purple with a green strip and turret stripped from the top. She entered the passenger seat, the others filing into the rear.
Once she was sure they were sealed off from the outside and there was no risk of eavesdrop, Serashee turned to face the back seat and spoke once again. “This part may interest you more. We are going digging, probably for trouble.”
“Naturally,” Mantiya was smashed in the middle seat, being much smaller than the two Minevans flanking him, “What did you have in mind?”
“These Carcaros individuals, they are the biggest threat to the elections and general quality of life in this city. The other cities have fallen to warlords because of them. This is the stronghold we must fortify, and if we don’t figure something out then who knows when the Ingen reprisal will be glassing half of the continent.”
“Aren’t we talking a multi-million cult?” Mantiya emphasized the last word, sounding incredulous, “I got a couple guys with rifles.”
“Ah,” Serashee put a finger up, “First we observe, my friend. Always observe and think before making decisions. Didn’t they teach you that in the rangers?”
Weeks of work did little to dim the curious glint in her eyes. Serashee and Mantiya’s crew staked the ghettos and red-light districts that stood up in the wake of the conflict and rampant homelessness. These locations were almost always synonymous with danger and crime; if Serashee were to be following her mission and principles, then danger would be where she found her information.
She and her people tried to build rapport with locals, helped with any random job they could, socialized with any open ear, and still yielded little but cautious glares and pursed lips. The Marchanders were generally as unsociable as they appeared, opening up in the instances of free labor and open wallets but otherwise scurrying away when the incentives were gone.
She did not entirely blame them; having one’s city shelled by capital weapons did make one swiftly skeptical, especially of random foreigners cycling in every day.
They were on the dying end of a chilly rain, the making the streets damp and largely empty. To her, this only accentuated the damages brought on by the rampant firestorms weeks prior. They were in relative proximity to one of the impact sites, making Serashee shudder at the thought of glancing at the sky one moment and being rocked by a capital-ship’s coilgun the next.
She jumped as she felt something poke her side. She turned and saw Mantiya, now a walking ball of demotivation and misery. “Sera,” He rose his voice over the precipitation, “We oughta head back or move on for now, synch up with the others.”
“Hm…” All Serashee could offer was audible thought, considering his suggestion. They stood in the road for a few moments, the rain finally running its course and a deafening silence crawling in. It dawned on her that she heard absolutely nothing over the sound of their breathing and the heartbeat in her ear. She inquisitively turned about, scanning everything with a harshly furrowed brow. Very few faces, rodents, and parked shabby vehicles.
“HEY!” Hearing a faint scream, the pair turned and saw one of their team cutting a corner a couple hundred meters down the mainway. Their trained eyes could make out the barrel of a rifle at the high ready, weaving to-and-fro from a dead sprint.
“That’s… Korv?” Mantiya said.
On moment, silence. The next, a flash of light and thunder erupting from the ground, with enough force to shatter glass and send the pair reeling to the ground. Down the road, the Minevan rifleman was swallowed by a bright orange fireball and the part of the structures they could see were shredded into small debris.
Serashee felt the air leave her lungs, on her back looking to the sky in total shock. Large pieces of rubble were sent hundreds of meters into the sky, barely grazing the top of the swiftly-forming mushroom cloud that would be visible from all quarters of the city. Several town blocks were blown away by the initial blast alone, flaming chunks and shrapnel travelling much further, and a billowing wall of smoke was coming straight towards them whilst consuming the ground level.
“Sera! You good?!” She snapped her look over to see the Celvian already up, grabbing and pulling on her shoulder.
She tried to respond, only to instead inhale as if she had taken her first breath in years. The concussive force and sudden rush of oxygen made her feel faint. All she could do was begin to stand, for the moment.
Across the road, a small set of double-doors was violently kicked open. Another Minevan rifleman emerged, gun at an alert carry with eyes wide. Before Mantiya could even call his name, hundreds of ‘pop’s and ‘crack’s in a symphony of tones rang out from above them. With each of these sounds, a storm of solid projectiles and energy lances violently rendered the Minevan into paste.
“Go!” Mantiya screamed at Serashee, pushing her with all his might in the opposite direction. Without thinking, she bolted towards the nearest dwelling she could find and smashed her body through the entry way.
The Celvian ripped his rain cover off, revealing a set of four handguns in holsters. In a flash he identified a pair of targets on the rooftops about to traverse the wall of fire his way. The many-armed Celvian drew in the same motion he’d drilled and executed thousands of times, and cleanly dispatched the two automatic gunners in the time it took to extend his arms. Mantiya bolted after Serashee with the momentary reprieve, a dozen more gunners pursuing him by fire. He returned precision fire to the window and rooftop roosts their would-be killers were occupying.
“Sera!” Mantiya shouted to her, not taking an eye off the direction of the attack even though he was now in cover. “Are you hurt?”
Serashee had dumped her satchel, the adrenaline making her fine motor control elude her as she searched for her commlink. Being questioned, she realized that a good bit of glass had taken a liking to her forearm. Without thinking, she instinctively removed it and immediately regretted her decision. She picked up her communication device, forgetting to give the Celvian an answer.
“This is Serashee Krisra,” She frantically spoke, the link directly open to her ship. She coughed after drawing a sharp breath, “I am in Zayac district! There has been an attack, gunners on the rooftops!”
Her ears were ringing from the extreme volume of fire chewing up the front of her and Mantiya’s establishment. She held the commlink to her ear, barely able to hear the static coming from it.
Uncertain, she switched the device to an unsecured net, repeating her desperate call.
Watching them go, Melina shook her head. That had been...odd. Next to her, a guard cleared his throat. "Ysir confirms, Aspidae support en route. Three hours to orbit."
She blinked in surprise, turning to face him. "So soon?"
"I guess a unit was already on the way. Nukes tend to do that."
She laughed to herself, then nodded and led her guards down towards the docks. Upon arrival, after a few questions they found themselves outside the enclave. To most, it would've simply seemed to be a collection of buildings in a somewhat odd circular layout. But Melina could see the concentric defenses, the sentries, the turrets, and myriad measures
Every enclave was different, but this one seemed to prefer hiding in plain sight. No gates, no walls, no obvious teeth to it. Fair enough, after all, she could hardly imagine that blatant defiance would've evoked anything but retribution from the Jade. Signaling her guards to stand back, she moved forward to where the buildings formed a sort of entrance to the inner rings and cleared her throat. "Beneath the eyes of the Eleven, I come to mend the ties of kinship and extend the hand of aid."
Several minutes later, three armed guards equipped much like those she'd brought with her came forwards and escorted her and her retinue inside. Surprisingly, instead of the gathering hall like she'd expected, they took her straight to the Dromos shrine. As she entered, a man in a priest's robes turned and bowed slightly. "Be welcome, Herald. I believe we have much to talk about..."
A distant boom rattled the windows and shook the ground beneath their feet. Mitsu staggered momentarily and then immediately crossed to the stand holding his armour. "What the fuck was that?" he barked at Sergeant Masamune, who was already on his Holo.
"Some kind of terror attack near the docks. Reports of ongoing gunfire, looks like a briefcase nuke," replied Tosho in staccato Ingenious. "...and...another outside Blidh, looks like an aerial strike," he said, trailing off in a stream of invectives.
Mitsu hauled on his G-BUS suit, tugging the ornate helmet into place.
"Tosh, get third platoon ready, we're going out."
The sergeant nodded and left the room, bellowing orders as he did so.
"Precit, Marshall, you'll excuse me. If you wish to make yourselves comfortable here we have guest quarters. My invitation for later tonight still stands, but if you need to go I get it."
Trailing Cerwyn was dull for most of the afternoon - she seemed to be working earnestly at Goldwing Finance, maintaining her cover. She spent most of her time at her desk, which was near a window, occasionally getting up for a washroom break, a coffee, and once for a meeting in a corner office.
As the afternoon wore on, however, punctuated by a huge explosion far off elsewhere in the city, she stepped out and got into a wheeled car, its hydrogen engine purring quietly as she drove towards the docks. She drove right past one of Korse's stakeout teams, glancing briefly at them before passing by, but she did not seem to betray any reaction.
A small drone, barely a foot in diameter, crept unobtrusively over the skyline of a neighbouring building before landing gently on the roof, its camera trained on the Enclave door below and across the street, the door that Melina had just entered through. A local device of Marchander manufacture and belonging to the CPA police, the drone was not particularly well-equipped and lacked the ability to see or hear inside the building, but it seemed content simply to watch and wait. Some distance away, they too could hear the gunfire and explosions from Zayac District...
The roar of Shiroyama hoverbikes was audible long before they actually arrived, screaming through the streets at breakneck speed, scattering locals as they ducked and weaved through traffic.
Their destination was easy to spot, a huge billowing plume of flame and smoke from the devastated Zayac District. They outpaced the CPA forces en-route, whilst the official Jade 'advisory force' did little other than dispatch a gunship to observe from high above.
Turning the corner onto a large roadway, the lead hoverbike was almost immediately hit by a stream of energy fire, sending it crashing to the ground and throwing the rider violently across the road, crashing sickeningly into a parked vehicle as the bike scraped along the concrete, burning. The rest of Mitsu's force pulled up instantly, dismounting behind their bikes and opening fire with their AA-42 gunspears. The weight of professional fire, concentrated at one end of the street, drove back the cultists, killing two and forcing the others into cover. Third platoon began to advance down the street, three marines moving at a time whilst the rest covered them, sweeping for casualties. Tosho came across the Minevan who had been caught in the double doorway, and didn't even bother checking for vitals - the poor sod was dead.
"Sir, it's Minevans!" he called out, confirming what they had suspected from Serashee's name and accent as she had called out over open radio. Mitsuyoshi had been vaguely aware of some Minevans engaged in charity work in the area, tolerated because of their community's good standing on Sanrin and because they were one of the only groups the locals seemed to trust, but it seemed like that had made them a target for the Cult.
Any foreigner was bad in the Cult's eyes, and foreigners doing good deeds were doubly intolerable as they threatened to soften public opinion towards offworlders.
As Mitsuyoshi advanced behind two of his marines, gun at the ready, all these thoughts floated in the back of his mind, inconsequential. They had enemies in front of them, Cultists who needed to be put down so that order could be restored to this little corner of the world. A burst of pistol fire erupted from a storefront on street level to their left, forcing a Cultist on a roof opposite to duck for cover.
"Friendlies!" called out of of the marines, and then she kicked the door in and she and Mitsu ducked inside. The marine turned to take position at the window, next to the diminutive Mantiya, adding her fire to his, whilst Mitsu took stock
In front of him, a young Minevan woman, with the pale skin and thick white hair of her species, was trying to staunch an arm wound which had soaked her worn green poncho.
"Serashee Krisra?" he asked, aping the pronunciation just about well enough to avoid being offensive, as he ducked behind the counter of the shabby electronics store and reached into a pouch for a combination bandage.
To the Minevans, the Jade soldiers were barely a comforting sight, despite their familiarity. Dressed in black combat armour, their helmets bore inhuman horns whilst their faces were hidden by snarling and unmoving dragon masks chased in gold, with 'eyes' glowing a deep pink-red.
Mantiya looked at the Jade marine who stacked up next to him, giving an appreciative nod. If he was capable of complex facial expressions, he would certainly be smiling with relief.
Serashee was visibly distressed, but not from her own physical pain or discomfort. She knew her wounds were relatively minor, noting her arm was oozing dark veinous blood, as opposed to a free arterial bleed. The Minevan snatched the bandage from the newcomer and immediately pressed it to her wound. Teeth clenched and brow furrowed, she wordlessly examined the mask that was addressing her. She nearly didn't even register she was being spoken to.
Her mind was clouded with the undoing of her work around her; her dead compatriots, likely an ample amount of locals, and the general destruction brought on by acts of war and their escalations. Even in the very shop they sat in, the floors she had helped clean a few days prior were now riddled with ricochet trails, speckled with scorch marks, and stained in her blood. She couldn't help but feel a twinge of guilt; in the quest for information she had flown too close to the sun.
"Yes," Serashee shook her head, forcing herself out of her shocked state. She could at least show appreciation to his manners in the midst of a firefight, "Thank you! Not a moment too soon; I fear I may have kenned too much about their little Cult, enough to kill my people!"
The Cultists moved low and fast, taking opportunistic shots while egressing deeper into the structures and cover. Their silhouettes could be seen scurrying across the top levels of the buildings and darting through the shadows behind the apertures. Once met with legitimate resistance, they evidently had no intent of standing their ground and holding a fighting line. In a stand-up fight, even experienced fighters like this were getting cut down in short order by a professionally trained and equipped fighting force.
Instead, the gunners supplemented their random assortment of automatic weapons by lobbing and firing a worrying amount of explosives from their many angles. A volley of grenades and rockets of numerous makes and models were dumped to ground level, in hopes of disorienting and softening the Ingen quick reaction force.
"Incoming!"
Mantiya flinched as he felt a solid vibration on the wall, witnessing a rocket take a chunk out of the windowsill next to him. The device harmlessly dropped on the floor by his feet; miraculously a dud. The Celvian wasted no time in grabbing it and sending it away from them and their new friends. Even though one of his arms had been nicked, forcing it into a death-curl from the lack of hydraulic pressure, Mantiya was in a calm state of autopilot: confident, aggressive, relaxed.
Mitsuyoshi was momentarily taken aback - the woman was a foreigner, a barbarian even, but she had striking features and seemed in great spirits for someone bleeding from a gunshot wound.
He found his mask suddenly stifling and he slid it down to hang around his neck, revealing a youngish face with a narrow nose, a broad chin and faintly shadowed eyes, sporting an expression that almost seemed resigned, as if weary or numb to whatever buffets and blows were headed his way. Like the rest of his kind his skin was a slightly luminescent ivory, except for a band of glittering green that covered the top of his head down to his nose and cheekbones. A thin pencil mustache and goatee sat lightly on his face, a face which had been on the AncNet a lot recently following the bombing of Hornqvist. He offered a wry smile.
"These yatsus would kill you no matter how much you knew about them. I'm impressed any of you survived."
Next to Mantiya, meanwhile, the marine squeezed off a few rounds, flinching as the tiny arachnid cleared the grenade. She ducked with a curse as a ripple of explosions went off outside, glancing at his arm.
"Are you okay?" she yelled over the din in the staccato accent of the Ingenious, hefting her AA-42 to suppress two Cultists across the street. Outside, there was confused shouting as the other Jade Marines struggled with the volley of explosions and tried to determine casualties through the smoke and debris....
"I'm not," She shot back, eyes narrowing. Her smooth, lilted accent and her wordiness riddled her retort, "I've fought with these men against a Justiciari Adjudicator and the K-Battalions. Getting killed by such a group of simpletons, not until I get to the bottom of them."
It was only then that she really looked to examine her rescuer; her serious expression deepening. Once she realized who exactly she was speaking to, a cold chill ran up her spine and burned in her chest. "I suppose I am impressed that instead of leveling the district, you came to rescue this damsel," Serashee dryly remarked.
In short order, the newcomers gained fire superiority. The majority of the battlefield sounds became the reorganization of the Jade forces and the uniform sound of their own weaponry. Drowned out now was the wave of automatic fire and random torrent of explosive devices; an ending as abrupt as their opening volley. Their attackers were already on the run, slipping into the dark alleys and unwelcoming holes in the ground and leaving their dead to their unadorned graves upon the dirt and roofs.
The Celvian held his answer for a moment, intensely watching the egress of their attackers. With a flourish, he spun three of his handguns into his holsters and maintained a fourth. "I'm fine," was his curt answer, lowering his voice relative to the dying fight around them, "We need to set up a cordon and triage because those guys out there, are not."
Keeping standoff from the wall, Mantiya continued to scan his sector and take potshots at the rats as they ran for the hills.
Mitsu offered an affiliative smile even though internally he struggled to bite down on a sharp retort. Glancing out pointedly at the dead, Marchander, Minevan and Ingenious sprawled on the street outside, he barked an order in Ingenious and then shrugged.
"Maybe I made the wrong choice?" he said, watching Sera from the corner of his eye to see how she'd react, his eyebrows dancing upwards briefly and betraying the high-spirited nature of the question.
Outside, the Jade marines began to recover, not deigning to give chase - falling into a secondary ambush was one thing, but running into a third would be beyond embarrassing. Another marine was dead, with others injured to various degrees. The whine of miniaturised drones filled the air as Sergeant Tosho set up an early warning cordon, whilst two of his men tended to the injured and others spread out to secure the dead Cultists and find any surviving Minevans. Somewhat redundantly, they identified themselves loudly in Common, wanting to avoid any accidental friendly fire, as if their ornate armour and height were not enough to distinguish them from the locals.
"Perhaps," Serashee tugged on the last bit of the tightened bandage, finishing up her work and packing the tail end of the cloth in the folds of the dressing, "If you think it better, to atomize the place rather than hear such terrible words."
She drew a deep sigh, eyes shut, trying to regain her center. Her arm was throbbing, her adrenaline was still peaking, and the situation at hand held some rather grave stakes for all parties involved. As much as she hated to admit it, she was glad that Mitsu had personally shown up; with plenty of people to boot. Regardless, for a Minevan there was no worse individual to be indebted to than a literal crown noble. She scoffed at her situation, bringing herself to her feet.
"My apologies," The Minevan continued, forcing away her critical response, "I did not want any harm to befall your people. We were... I am trying to find the source of our enemies."
Mantiya was intimately familiar with the chaos of a dying firefight; the eerie silence quickly supplanted by the cries of pain, the urgent barking of orders, and the rumbling of heavy motors and machinery. He brought his pistol to his face, pointing towards the sky in the alert carry. With a thankful nod to the marine at his flank, he left the cover he shared with her and was upon the street.
He quickly walked to the Minevan across the street who had been mulched by two automatic weapons in the opening salvo. He was unable to identify him visually from the state of his remains, so Mantiya quickly sifted through his belongings. He felt white-hot rage in his blood, identifying the man as his friend, Vinta. Korv was turned into vapor by the fireball, Vinta turned into compost from plunging fire, and as of right now Cirvante was missing. Mantiya assumed the worst.
What truly frustrated him was knowing they had faced much worse, and that there was no possible retribution pursuit. He was vindicated with no outlet. Mantiya found Tosho, and gave him the info on his missing riflemen.
"I'm sorry about your people too. This place...have you seen the underground yet? It's bigger than we ever could have imagined." The professional way she had dressed her wound told Mitsu that this alien knew what she was doing, which made it twice as rewarding to have drawn her temper. He had been close to snapping himself, and perhaps a year ago he would have done, but he was gradually understanding the value in the perpetual disaffected and polite air the Ingenious nobility were expected to cloak themselves in.
As if to serve as a perfect demonstration of why this practiced comportment was so valuable, Tosho was bellowing from outside in Ingenious.
"Mitsu? There's a fucking spider here says you're in a phone shop! Think you could grace us with your presence a moment?"
Mitsu stood, stepping over to the front door as the other marine scrambled through the broken window.
"Thank you Sergeant, we're quite alright" he said in Common, and then in quieter Ingenious "Try not to insult the little man with the loaded gun, you idiot."
As Sera caught up, Mitsu glanced around at the street. The three injured marines did not seem to be in any life-threatening danger, but he did not know about the Minevans.
"We're not officially part of the Jade Marine Corps, so we don't have any QRF or CASEVAC inbound. Do you have somewhere nearby we can move the dead and wounded?"
"I've done a fair share of digging underground; I'm more surprised than anything this attack had not happened below," Sera said. It dawned on her that the attack had most likely been placed to maximize publicity and damage to civil life and infrastructure. Perhaps they truly were lucky that the Ingen response wasn't detached and inhuman saturation by armor and gunships, but by a much more measured vigilante paramilitary outfit lead by a prince playing by ear.
The sights on the street were not unfamiliar to her, but it had been a very long time since she had seen a firefight proper. Back then, the stakes had seemed much higher and the cause nobler; for a brief moment, she felt the gravity that she had two people killed in this distant land with a foreign cause. The third, as the Ingenious reconnaissance confirmed, had vanished from the local area without a trace.
Mantiya eyed Tosho as the loudmouth bellowed out in a foreign tongue, having memorized the word spider in several dozen languages as he seemed to be a constant source of derision. He used to have a bemused reaction; spider, arachshit, creepy crawly, longlegs, he had heard it all. Nowadays all he offered was a blink and a shake of the head. He holstered his last gun
"There's...." Sera replied, eyes frozen on Vinta's remains, "An empty chop shop around a dozen blocks down the other direction. We have been using it as a safehouse."
She awaited the marines to reorganize and consolidate before directing them on their way. In just a short few minutes, locals were returning and cautiously observing the military troop, now putting her on edge. Sera recognized a few of the faces, but knew her mission had shifted gears. She had made her decision; less building rapport, and more digging deep. She would get her answers, even if it meant leveraging the network she had built to the crown prince.
A soft ding sounded on the bridge as the ship furled its sails and dropped back into reference with the rest of the galaxy. At the ruddermaster's console, Alixus Kene simply adjusted an engine monitor screen before laying in a path to the orbital docks. His second, Parvi, stretched and yawned. "So what do you think caused all the ruckus? I know we were listed to come here anyways, but Command really lit the fire under our asses for this."
Alixus shrugged. "Not really our concern, is it? We go where we're told. I signed up to fight, and you did too." Turning to go and collect his armor, he paused at the door. "A word of advice, though. Looking too closely at the motives of politicians can lead one into politics." Behind him, Parvi shuddered in disgust. Maybe the Shieldmaster had a point.
Attention, Marchand Orbital Command. This is the Poleisic League trireme Resolve to Power requesting docking clearance.
Melina huffed irritably. "That would be one way to put. Not what I'd say, mind. The message you sent us mentioned an artifact being stolen during the fighting?"
The priest nodded and gestured for her to follow as he started walking further into the temple. "We were never quite sure what it was or where it came from, but we knew that it was dangerous and powerful. My predecessors did their best to silence any rumors and suppress any knowledge on it, but -"
They walked into another gallery with a display case at the far end. As they came closer, Melina could see into the case. It was large, but consisted of a glass cover over a curving depression in foam. And the more she stared at it, and the more the priest talked, the more her heart sank. "You-you had one of the Polkeró here!
The immediate excitement of her chance encounter at the bar quickly gave way to the dull monotony of Scelene’s day to day activities. She had to maintain her cover, and so while her teams monitored Cerwyn and reported on her movements, Scelene was in very dull meetings. First it was meetings with bureaucrats and minor government officials and then with executives at the corporation her cover worked for. She knew it was important to maintain appearances, but damn if it wasn’t boring.
Fortunately, what little participation was expected of her came toward the beginning, and she was able to spend most of the remainder of the meeting scrolling through news feeds to keep apprised of the days events. It was a busy day today it seemed. Refugee camps had been attacked by snipers, a Gaussian base had been bombed and commentators were wildly speculating as to who the perpetrator might be, all mixed in with coverage of the election results and impending inauguration of the new government.
Sometime later, after far too many tedious conversations about ‘synergy’ and ‘optimization’ and other corporate buzzwords Scelene excused herself. The Marchanders were holding a banquet today, and Scelene (after much badgering) had convinced the corporation to secure her an invitation. With the banquet approaching she returned to the hotel she was staying at to shower and change before the event.
The tedium of Scelene’s day was at least matched by the tedium her surveillance team faced. Work was done to determine if and when audio bugs may be covertly installed in Cerwyn’s office, but most of the day there was little more to be done than watch and record Cerwyn, going back over the footage with lip readers in the absence of audio bugs.
The men running the surveillance op were bored, none more so than Hands, the bear of a man put in charge of the surveillance team. Hands was a man who enjoyed a good fight. As a younger man, he’d always been up for a good scrap, and at the slightest provocation he’d be the first one to start throwing hands in the dive bars and seedy clubs he had frequented back home. But, after a stint in prison, followed by another stint in the army, Hands had learned the value of reconnaissance, intelligence, and above all else: patience.
So he watched through the lens of the cameras, he listened to his lip reader translate silent video, and he only just saved his drink from a dusting of drywall when an explosion rocked the city. The ground shook with the aftershocks, the windows cracked from the force of the glass, and Hands dusted off the hand he’d covered his drink with
“The fuck was that?” He asked, inspecting the liquid for any sign of drywall dust before sipping at it experimentally. Still good.
“Not sure…” One of the other men replied. “Something big just went off near the docks… got combat assets headed in the direction now but the news-…”
“She’s on the move,” The man keeping eyes on Cerwyn reported.
“Shit,” Hands downed the rest of his drink in one gulp as the team began tearing down their set-up, packing away high powered optics into padded cases while two men in a car clocked Cerwyn leaving at the wheel of her own vehicle.
“Direction?” Hands called.
“Toward the docks,” He heard over the comms as the tail car merged into traffic two cars behind Cerwyn, following her at a distance. “We’re hearing reports of gunfire?”
“Stay on the target,” Hands ordered. “Strap up if need be but keep on her,”
He grabbed one of the cases and the surveillance team headed down to where their own car was waiting. He fired off a quick update to Scelene as they began driving, trying to catch up with Cerwyn and their own tailing vehicle.
“I don’t like this,” Hands muttered. “Explosions and gunfire and some financial analyst is driving toward it all?”
“We don’t know that’s where she’s going,” Another man commented. Hands just shook his head and began passing out armour and weapons. They were heading toward a fight, maybe an ambush, and he wasn’t about to be caught in his civvies with nothing but a sidearm if shit went bad.
The Devil of the Ride had enjoyed its last ride. The bomb had been detonated too early, and though the explosion was still considerable, it wasn’t enough to even damage the Gaussian camp. Then came the interception. The ship was already making preparations for the jump back to Furrelian territory when the first missile hit. A courser missile hit straight through the right “wing” of the Devil, which shortly afterwards snapped off like a dead twig. Alarms were blaring all through the ship, and it wasn’t made better that the sudden change in drag made the ship tumble northward. The altitude of the ship was quickly decreasing, and then came the second missile. This one, in a twist of irony, exploded right above the left wing, completely disintegrating it. The Devil fell into a freefall, and then came the other missiles. A third one destroyed the engines, the fourth one exploded above the FTL module, and the fifth was a straight hit on the cockpit, vapourising it. The ship, or the remnants of it, crashed down on the edge of a forest, the black smoke rising to mark its grave. The reactor core, in a final twist of irony, was the smallest explosion of them all, melting the hull further and blackening the inside of the wreck. The stealth module, having somehow survived everything the dominion had thrown at it, quickly afterwards initiated its self destruct procedure as the power supply cut out. All that remained of the Devil of the Ride was a burning stack of metal, two corpses, and the black smoke rising kilometres into the sky. There was no single survivor.
The motorbikes the group of Furrelians had received were completely useless in the thick forest of Braet. So the company of six had to walk towards the nearest exit, around twenty kilometres to the south, too much to do within a single night, and yet they carried on. By dawn, they had reached the edge of the forest, and they were finally able to use the motorbikes. At a top speed of around one-hundred and forty kilometres per hour, it advanced the group’s progress drastically. They drove for around an hour, before finally arriving at their temporary destination, where they could finally rest for the day.
By the time the Prince or his men would return, they would find that Lamis' shuttle had departed. In her hasty departure she had left a short message behind speaking of an urgent matter unfolding in her home country which required her to preform and emergency withdrawl from their involvement on Marchland.
Not long after the attack, the camp workers were given orders to withdraw on surprisingly short notice, excusing themselves under the guise of command having determined the operation to be too dangerous due to the frequent attacks. Within an hour they had simply opted to unload all of the food and medicine stores they had and allow the disenfranchised civilians to sort out the rest by themselves.
Gunmoor had wanted to have his men investigate the downed stealth ship. Though he doubted there was much left of it to investigate, and their orders were quite clear; that they were to return to home space as swiftly as possible. The three cruisers which headed the operation had collected their supporting shuttles and crew and departed within the hour.
Cerwyn's destination proved to be less suspicious than the site of the ambush, but only barely. Managing to avoid detection, Korse's team were able to track Cerywn all the way to the Yefemovich Docks, the sprawling spaceport used most often by foreigners. Bustling with trade and ships as the city slowly recovered from its brutal beating, Cerywn pulled down a quiet side alley before letting herself in through an open door that led to a small, single-shuttle landing bay.
A shuttle of unfamiliar design was already sat there, and as Cerwyn approached a pair of mechanics rose to greet her before calling back towards the shuttle. From its belly strode a strange figure, clad in sheer white power armour with gold lacquer and a black tabard. The figure's helmet was pointed, and it hefted a lethal-looking rifle. If Korse hadn't known better she'd say it looked like a giant chesspiece, a bishop. Behind it were more men and women, Yokari. Their chatter was low and indistinct, in a language Korse recognised as Neusattran, but the accent was so guttural and thick it was hard even for an automatic translator to pick up what they were saying.
They piled into Cerywn's car and a larger van and headed back through the city, eventually stopping at a run-down two-storey house in the suburbs, ducking to get through the low doorways and leaving their vehicles stowed safely in a garage, hidden from sight, or at least so they thought....
Attendees were gathering early in the huge central hall of the Palace of Democracy, where rows of long tables covered in fine linens, glittering table service, glass carafes and delicate flowers sat with drinks and amuse-bouches to keep the assembled occupied.
Premier Kuraly sighed. He had already won his election, as an independent not beholden to any party, but the advance polls were in and it seemed clear the UDP had taken the largest chunk of the vote, but it was not enough and they were going to have to make a coalition, but the question was whether it would be with the right-wing Marchand Dignity Party or the far-left Worker's Unity and Labour Front?
Nikolaj Ipatiev, the leader of the WULF, was a huge and irritating man. Nearly 6 feet tall, he was abnormally large for a Marchander, and he wore his fur long in thick braids. He clapped Kuraly on the shoulder, shovelling some pastries into his mouth from a nearby table.
"Hello Kuraly! Nervous yet? Worried you'll have to see my ugly face every day?" he asked, guffawing at his own joke. Kuraly smiled thinly.
"Whoever the people elect, I will be glad to work with them for the good of the Republic."
Ipatiev shook his head. "So stiff-necked. You might not like it but change is coming, my friend."
Elsewhere in the hall, Mitsuyoshi made his way through a crowd of locals and offworlders hoping to curry his favour and crossed over to Admiral Nighthorse, the replacement for Admiral Prescott who he had summarily dismissed. She narrowed her eyes as he approached.
"Yes, your Highness?" she said, pre-empting him with an openly sarcastic tone. He smiled, privately glad to have an admiral with a little more fire in their belly in command of the theatre.
"Good evening to you too, Victoria. I trust you are well?"
She rolled her eyes. "Not really. The Gauss bailed on us this afternoon, apparently there's some kind of civil unrest going on back home, which leaves Blidh more or less ungoverned."
She realised what she had said a moment too late, glancing around at the other dignitaries, but none of them seemed to have noticed. Mitsuyoshi chuckled.
"True. It is what it is. The Republic is at least moving in the right direction; I am sure we can cover the hole the Gauss have left behind."
Nighthorse sighed and then left to find a waiter with something alcoholic, leaving Mitsuyoshi to scan the crowd. He had invited quite a few people here tonight, including the Minevans he had met that afternoon. After a brief respite in their safehouse, he had managed to arrange for the Marine Corps to send a medical shuttle, eventually parting ways with Serashee with an invitation to the banquet.
He spotted Yudina Olegovna lurking at the far side of the room. He was told she was attractive by Marchander standards, though she still looked like a nasty little rodent to him. The head of the MDP, she was a committed anti-foreigner and he suspected she had some contacts with the Cult, although the MDP officially repudiated them and just wanted a small government like in the 'good old days'. He wondered if she knew where Sera's missing trooper was. The CPA had local officers scouring the Underways near the docks, but he doubted the man would be found until the Cult wanted him found, if at all.
As dusk fell the Furrelians became more and more uneasy. The forest around them was a bizarre and strange place. Filled with old growth and haggard trees that had borne many winters on their gnarled backs, a sort of fog seemed to cling between the trunks, whilst below them the ground gave way uncomfortably, layers of moss and dead leaves making their footing uneven. Sounds bounced unnervingly, sometimes too loud, sometimes muted, and the mists twitched constantly as if something was moving behind them.
Glad to be out of the forest, they found an abandoned farmhouse to settle in overnight. It was early in the morning still when they heard the rumbling of a vehicle outside, a CPA patrol of two vehicles, some kind of truck and a jeep analogue with a gun mounted in the flatbed....
"Appeal To Power, Flight Tower Yefemovich. You are clear to land, Bay Alpha-Two-Nine. Berthing fee will be 80 Roubetsk per day, waived if you purchase more than 2,000 Roubetsk worth of fuel from an approved vendor. Flight path incoming."
80 Roubetsk was not a lot of money. 500 Roubetsk was maybe a single SIGEC millicent, depending on your currency guy. Marchand was desperate to attract lost business after the disastrous impact of Cult dominance and the subsequent invasion, and so fees were lower than they had ever been.
It was with no small amount of relief that the cars tailing Cerwyn noted her change of course and subsequent arrival at the docks. Hands may have been a rough and tumble sort of guy but going balls deep into whatever was kicking off on the docks with no intel and no back up hadn’t really sounded like his idea of a good time.
Still, the situation was developing quickly. Cerwyn had met more contacts at the docks, Yokari this time as opposed to the natives and foreigners Korse had observed her with earlier at the bar. Their surveillance equipment picked up whatever conversation was held, and while their translation software identified the language it failed to produce anything more than incomprehensible half-sentences. A swift slap to the side of the machine did not improve the results, and earned Hands the subsequent ire of the techie operating the equipment.
Nonetheless, the meeting was photographed and then they were on the move again tailing them back out to the suburbs and the run-down house where Cerwyn had taken her latest contacts.
The latest development was confirmation that Cerwyn was most certainly up to something, though the details of exactly what remained just out of reach. He lit a cigarette, earning another irritated glare from the techie, and sent off the pictures and updates to Korse. Then it was back to waiting and watching.
Korse was just getting out of her car at the banquet when Hands’ information hit her uplink. She paused long enough to flick through the pictures and details while Turner gave some final instructions to his team. Then, together, the two of them headed for the banquet.
Scelene always felt out of place at banquets, galas, and other black tie events for the wealthy and well connected. Schmoozing with rich people just wasn’t her scene and it never had been. She’d have rather been slumming it in jeans and a flannel shirt, getting fucked up on cheap whisky and cheaper beer. But Scelene had made it to her position in the SIS by being good at faking it. Regardless of how she felt, she could look comfortable in an expensive gown, do her hair in a trendy style, and be all fake smiles and easy laughs for an evening.
Turner was less comfortable. He was dressed formally, with a concealed weapon, and an armoured vest that didn’t show beneath a white button down shirt, but no amount of coaching from Scelene was going to make him seem like anything other than a security detail. But that was fine she supposed. Other dignitaries would no doubt have their own security, so no matter how out of place he might seem, he’d be out of place in a way that still belonged.
She scanned the crowd at the banquet, making note of who was there and who was speaking with whom. She made a mental checklist of all the people she’d need to talk to. She’d need to speak with the powers that be of course. The new president, and the leaders of the opposition parties of course. She could get a feel for each of them, their temperaments and ambitions, and of course push the company line… after that she’d have to play it by ear. Make the rounds, play the part of the charming executive, and see what happened.
For the moment she didn’t approach anyone. She was still contemplating the information she’d received, wondering just what their financial advisor seemed to be involved in and just who was in the power armour. She was already beginning to feel like she was reaching the limit of what she could learn from surveillance alone. If she wanted answers she’d have to question Cerwyn… but that posed its own questions. Whether to treat her like a potential source and ally or a hostile agent of an unknown power? What leverage she could apply to compel the truth from the woman, and how to make contact?
She mulled it all over as she did her first round of the banquet, engaging in pleasantries and soaking up the vibe while Turner trailed after her like an obedient hound.
Serashee's day up to this point was unpleasantly eventful, which served to do nothing more than vindicate her and redouble her efforts. The remains of her compatriots had been recovered and brought to the troop-marshaling area of the Velkna's Plackart, now filled with the grieving many. The search teams were able to recover what was left of Vinta and just a few of Korv's personal effects. Jin was still missing; presumed either killed in the blast or captured by the cult. Instead of a somber progression, the crew and company aboard the vessel were preparing arms and equipment, the elected leadership studying maps and plans. Presumably, she had hoped, the captain and general leadership were coordinating with local authorities and military commanders before doing anything too brash.
She had spent a short time in her quarters, her pondering over the day's events quickly devolving into an episode of angry tears. The primal feeling of cheating death and accepting the reality of those killed had hit her like a solid cross to the nose. She had scant moments of legitimate privacy such as this, and even fewer moments dedicated to wallowing and rage. The Minevan collected herself in a short time, convincing herself that this behavior was uncharacteristic of her and bottled it all down.
Sera dressed herself in a traditional adornment sporting the usual Minevan colors; a deep, regal purple served as the base material in the reaches of the conservative dress, accentuated by the same golden décor and sigils of their union that was sewn into the crew’s everyday clothing. The garb was little more than sleeveless robes of a fine material sporting a hood, showing her bandaged arm publicly like a badge. It evoked the image of a travelling sage or guru rather than some dignified sort. A deep sigh followed a long gaze into her mirror, ending her preparation for the formal banquet. Once the hint of tears and fury had left her face, she made her departure.
-
Another pass through the crowded troop marshalling area stoked her emotional flames, this time managed as she had forced the mental barrier. She had departed the Velkna’s Plackart with determination in her mind. Outside, an armored car awaited her with more escorts than she had asked for. Standing about, squatting, and leaning on the assortment of vehicles was a fully-kitted rifle squad, their smoking and conversation ending as she approached. At the front of the unit was Mantiya, who caught her gaze and approached her.
“I got the boys together,” The Celvian spoke plainly. He was unaffected with the loss of one of his arms, the non-fatal wound dressed but still no prosthetic replacement in the short amount of time.
“Send them back to their families,” Sera strode past Mantiya towards her vehicle. Her driver, a colossal one-eyed Malikan, silently squeezed into the armored car as she approached.
“Excuse me?” Mantiya shot back, pausing as he was ignored, “Woman, are you mad?”
“Do not chide me, Mantiya,” Sera stopped at the passenger door and glared back, “You mean to bring all these guns to a democratic convention?”
“And the other invitees don’t have security, I’m sure,” Mantiya’s sarcasm managed to escape his heavy accent.
“Pax here will be more than enough,” Sera nodded her head towards the driver, “Go inside and make sure no one goes into the Underways until we have a real course of action.”
“Sera,” The Celvian was pleading with her, “You’re being rash.”
“No,” She clenched her jaw, being well past the mood for an argument or debate. She knew very well that the people around her would make their own decision at the end of this discussion, but she made a very clear demand, “I must not go with a large escort. I do not mean for us to appear weak in the face of adversity.”
Mantiya only stared at her, not able to formulate a proper response as she had evidently little regard for his reasoning. He knew if the Jade prince was there, the venue would certainly be protected enough. As much as he hated it, Mantiya respected her decision. “As you wish. You call and we are there in minutes.”
They exchanged a nod. Sera flipped up her hood and mounted the vehicle. Mantiya flashed a hand-and-arm signal, the troops collectively groaning and complaining whilst packing up their equipment.
The Minevan looked upon the venue with hidden disgust, guised by her own serious and determine expression. So many self-important folk loaded into one tight space; many of those she had memorized by look and name. Many of those she recognized were certainly in an adversarial position to her and her work; the MDP whom she was trying her hardest to unravel the secrets of.
Sera took slow, deliberate strides and walked with a dignified air about her. She had adorned her outfit as well with her psionic latency with a lately adopted Jade custom; behind her followed up several small, glowing orbs she had conjured up via force of will. This was a deliberate move. She intended to gain the attention of those around her, as if challenging those who had most assuredly been entangled with the deadly plot earlier that day. She was still alive, and she would illuminate what hid in the seedy corners.
The party the Minevan activists had been aiding was predominantly the Workers’ Unity and Labor Front; on a brighter day she would have embedded herself amongst them to build rapport. Instead she took the time to brush past the leadership of the Marchand Dignity Party and offer a silent glare that could kill. If she could work to unravel the cult and its fearful influence, the election was surely to go only one way.
Mitsuyoshi was not a hard person to identify. After partaking in a small drink, Sera made her way over to his gaggle, eyeing the dignitaries and various officers. She took note of key individuals, trying to recollect what she knew of an Admiral Nighthorse, before turning her attention to the prince.
“Thank you for the invitation,” Sera spoke informally; very few of her kind spared formalities for dignitaries and nobles, “An interesting ensemble you have assembled here.”
After her remark, she placed a hand over her heart and introduced herself, as to not create too much unnecessary offense.
The priest stammered, having not quite been prepared for this. "My lady, I-I-" He stopped and composed himself. "We suspected, but had no means of confirming such. Not without making inquiries that might've endangered the artifact."
"And yet, you and your predecessors knew enough to be concerned and summon League aid when it was stolen?"
More sputtering and protestations ensued before Melina raised her hand, cutting him off curtly. "Enough. Do you have any leads on who might've taken it?"
Calming after a moment, the priest cleared his throat. "Ah, yes. There's a collection of street gangs that occasionally hire their services out. During the fighting, they took the horn, but the guards killed members of two separate gangs. Perhaps the local authorities might have more information, I wouldn't know. I and my acolytes mostly stay within the enclave here."
Nodding, Melina took her leave, pausing outside the enclave and sighing, pinching the bridge of her nose. Immortals of sea and sky, why did this keep happening to her? One mess spiraling into five. Taking a deep breath, she straightened, as her earpiece chimed. "Envoy Tyrallicus speaking.
There was a slight crackle before the response. "Shieldmaster Alixus of the Endless Gale, at your service, Madam Envoy."
"Well, there's some good news at least. Listen, I have something of a situation down here..."
The group of Furrelians woke up to the muted rumbling of the vehicles outside. That was a problem, as the bikes the Furrelians brought couldn't be placed inside, so they were parked near the exit. It would've been pretty obvious that the Union was active on the planet, so it was crucial that the patrol did not return. As the first Furrelian woke up, he immediately noticed that something was wrong, and he rushed towards the commander, Kanedame. Within half a minute, the entire squad was up and running, including weapons.
"Minadoma, Disumena, go to the other side of the road, we need to terminate them." He said, pointing at the patrol vehicles.
-"Roger!"
"Edinema, you have a grenade, right?"
-"At least one, sir."
"Understood, then that might be the wisest way out. Prepare to throw."
As the group moved around the barn, the patrol came closer. Two of the Furrelians were able to quickly cross the road and jump into a bunch of trees and shrubbery, guns pointing out to release a flurry of disruptors upon the patrol when they came close enough. From an open window in the barn, another Furrelian was preparing to throw a grenade. The deep breaths of the soldiers overtook any other sound in the stress they were in.
Despite her looks, Korse did not receive much attention, the majority of the attendees being Marchanders who thought her smooth skin was disturbing and weird. The odd offworlder gave her a lingering look, however, other businesspeople and foreign diplomats mostly, many of whom were used to inhabiting a world where attractive women just sort of appeared by default at gatherings.
Ipatiev, the hulking Marchander in charge of the WULF party, suddenly appeared beside her, staring out at the crowd. "So the results are in. UDP only got 39% and the MDP only took 8%. That means his nibs has to deal with me if he wants a coalition that gives him a simple majority, eh?" he said with a chuckle.
He turned to glance at her. "So I'm the person to know today, it seems. And just who are you, beautiful alien?" he asked, offering a smile that bared his sharp, yellowing teeth.
Behind him, perhaps unnoticed by Korse herself, Cerwyn arrived in a burgundy cocktail dress that set off her bottle green skin quite nicely. She was officially there as part of a small deputation from Goldwing Finance, who had helped the financial situation of the new FDR quite a bit...
Mitsu visibly brightened as Serashee approached. Those around him followed his lead, welcoming the pale-skinned Minevan.
"Thanks for coming," replied the prince, before going through the motions and introducing a gaggle of people. A minor Pordish diplomat, a couple of Ingenious embassy officials, an executive from the KanshoCorp mining conglomerate, an officer from the 203rd regiment.
"Ms Krisra and her compatriots have been doing good work in the north of the city, charitable stuff, you know. They've even faced down members of the Cult. If only everyone were so dedicated!"
Steering her away, he scooped up a couple of glasses of Suedian brandy and handed her one.
"Bad news for your guy, I'm afraid. It looks like the MDP are out and the WULF are in. If the MDP aren't part of the ruling coalition, it's going to be much harder to get them to help us with the search."
He sighed, taking a sip. "It's going to be much harder dealing with the government at all. The MDP might hate us as foreigners, but the WULF hate us as capitalists and apparently that's worse."
He paused for a second. "You look lovely, by the way." he said with a smile.
As Melina spoke, she caught sight of something in an alleyway across the street. Before she could take a closer look, there was the roaring hiss of a rocket-propelled explosive heading her way, whipping past her to crash into the doors of the Enclave facility. A ghastly series of shrieks and chitters went up as Marchanders seemingly materialised from nowhere all around her. In windows, on rooftops, from behind parked vehicles, they sprang out and began hosing the Enclave down with fire, mostly gunpowder firearms that cracked noisily in the echoing street.
The grenade went off squarely beneath the cab of the transport truck, knocking it out as it rolled to a stop roiling flames. Soldiers poured from the back, some cut down by disruptor fire as they disembarked, whilst ahead the jeep opened up with its heavy repeater. Unlike the Cult, who preferred to use less powerful but harder to spot gunpowder weapons, the CPA primarily used big, loud, bright plasma weapons. Blasts of green fire raked Minadoma and Disumena's position, trying to suppress them, even as the jeep reversed, bouncing as it rolled over debris from the truck behind it.
The surviving patrol members, perhaps a dozen men scattered into the nearby fields, some jumping into a drainage ditch and beginning to return fire. Two simply didn't stop running, fleeing through the fronds of the hardy apple-like fruit field.
In the jeep, an officer was screaming into a comms unit, even as he and his men scrambled to escape the ambush
"Ah," Sera's face fell flush, not so used to casual conversations nor compliments. Being blindsided frustrated her, but she stifled it for the time being. "I do try my best."
Learning a hundred new names and faces always was disorienting, but her entire life up to this point was dedicated to collecting and organizing an indefinite amount of information that befell her. More names, faces, and contacts expanded their network that much more. The Minevan pulled her hood down, rubbed the back of her neck, and accepted the drink before partaking with him.
"The WULF victory may at least partially be my doing," Sera admitted openly, "Something told me that the MDP was not going to be very forthcoming, regardless. I understand some of their people are in bed with some bad actors."
She did not expend energy being particularly quiet or discreet with the prince, trying to make a statement out of it but still slightly nervous just below the exterior. "At least we all tangentially share an enemy, I hope. The fair and free elections is what this was all about... right? I will find Jin, alone or with a Pan-Marchand Coalition behind me."
She cleared her throat, not about to discuss political intricacies at this political banquet, for sure. Sera looked about, meeting the eyes of the same people she had passed or been introduced to. "It does not bother your confidants, to waltz off with a random foreigner?"
Not long after the bodies were finally in the morgue, the crew was locked in another chaotic clamor. The notification of another attack had fallen down the grapevine, causing the various sections and unions to all prepare of their own accord. Vehicles were being primed and inspected, guns loaded with ammunition, and armor being thrown onto bodies. Mantiya still had not had his missing arm replaced, barely finding the time to nap before his comrades had lost their minds once more. He could be little more than annoyed as he looked on in the hangar and marshalling area.
Mantiya himself was not dressed or prepared for the occasion. Still, as he approached an assembly of Shortfin tanks and Mako IFVs, an ensemble of young-faced team leaders approached him.
“Mr. Talakka,” Representing the group was a young Valkarian; a tall and hunched carnivorous creature with spines running out down his head and back through his armor, “We’ve elected you as raid leader.”
“Of course, how thoughtful,” Mantiya remarked, unimpressed. It was not that he had expected this; he was elected to head the majority of outings, but more that he had left for not a quarter of an hour and his mentees were far too eager to jump the gun. “Is it a raid now? I’m sure there is a planned exfiltration then?”
There was a pause, filled only with the nervous shuffling of feet and the nervous glances between the young adults.
“I’m certain someone coordinated with local authorities? The provisional government? The Jade Marines?” The Celvian jumped a glare between the individuals before him, “Confirm any of the intelligence at all?”
The continued silence was the only answer Mantiya needed. Their initiative always impressed him, but their indiscretion always angered him. He ordered them to complete their pre-mission responsibilities more thoroughly and they were off, scattered to the winds with his guidance.
"Fuck!"
Melina spun on her heel, panicked, and bolted back towards the embassy gates, while her guards formed up into a pitiful approximation of a shield wall, the energy barrier from their shields wavering and flickering as enemy fire hammered into it. Raw and untested, one of them decided to try and follow the Envoy...right as someone in the alley pitched a grenade out and through the hole in the line that had just been opened.
The blast rang through the air, and knocked Melina through the doors which the enclave militia had opened for her. Shaking her head, and fuzzily trying to get her bearing, she saw two soldiers slam the gate closed, while several more took positions on the ramparts and leveled their spears outwards before returning fire. Streaks of flickering red light rained into the attackers to the sound of screams and curses, followed by a sudden resounding BOOM as another rocket impacted the gates. When the world stopped shaking, Melina could see where the reinforced metal was dented inwards and damaged.
Panting, she fumbled for her comm. "Shieldmaster, come in!"
The even smooth tones of the warrior filled the line. "Ma'am?"
"The local enclave down here is under attack...with me inside. I need a full deployment, immediately."
She didn't get a response as such, but the sharp burst of yelled commands before the comm cut out was more than sufficient.. Jumping slightly as another rocket was fired, she looked back into the enclave, where the locals were also mustering. The Diakos would be able to drive the attackers off without a doubt, it was merely a matter of holding out until they arrived. Turning, she hustled inside, brushing past several sprinting troopers as they went to go help someone haul out an onager so the enclave could start returning fire properly.
Snapping out commands, Alixus pushed, kicked, bullied, and shoved his fighters into shuttles for deployment before opening a line to Marchand Orbital Command. "Attention, this is the Resolve to Power. We are deploying shuttles to the surface due to an attack on the Poleisi enclave by unknown assailants. Please clear the descent path."
Scelene was used to strange and judgmental glances, this wasn’t her first time working on an alien world, and she had often found the strange looks aliens gave her was not too dissimilar from the looks she’d received anytime she’d turned up in an upscale part of Levitsky in gang colours and flowing tattoos. Cerwyn went unnoticed by Scelene for the moment, distracted as she was with her mental checklist of persons of interest and then the rather sudden appearance of the large marchander at her side.
She recognized Ipatiev immediately, from both the non-stop election coverage and the intelligence briefings she’d been given before being packed off the Marchand in the first place. She couldn’t help but wonder why the leader of the WULF would have singled her out for his personal attentions, but she pushed away the thought a moment later. He’d been on the list of people she intended to talk to anyway and there was no time like the present
“Well congratulations certainly seem to be in order then Mr. Ipatiev,” She said, turning toward him with another of her easy smiles. “You’ve successfully positioned yourself as the king maker in your brave new republic,”
She paused momentarily before holding out a hand.
“Scelene Korse,” She introduced herself. “I’m a senior executive with the Voss-Ulrich Combine,”
Mitsuyoshi waved a dismissive hand and grinned. "Probably. I annoy them because I flout tradition but to criticise me would be to flout tradition, so they're hooped. Admiral Nighthorse has been a breath of fresh air - she's a Neusattran and they just don't give a shit."
He glanced at his Holo briefly. "I know it's not much, but I spoke to her earlier today. She refuses to send marines down into the tunnels but she did dispatch a squadron of Karogan combat Frames. If they die they just wake up in a fresh Frame back at base. I also rounded up some local troops to help out - they should be heading over to your base soon enough."
He rubbed his eyes with his free hand, sighing as if suddenly exhausted.
"Why are you here, Serashee? I know why I'm here. I have to be. We shouldn't be here, but Toshi and Minowara decided we should be and now here we are, millions dead already. But you," he said, pausing to let the bitterness ebb, a rare slip in his seemingly uncaring and casual facade, "...why would you choose to spend a single second in this pit?"
"Ahh," rumbled Ipatiev, shaking her hand with clumsy force, "another offworlder here to profit off our people's labour? But of course I'm sure your Vosselrich Combine only has our best interests at heart?" he said with a theatrical wink, mangling the pronunciation.
Cerwyn appeared from the crowd, a wry smirk on her face as she listened to the Marchander harangue some poor offworlder for daring to support the capitalist cause.
"Nikolaj, please, there's no need to be vindictive. Nobody likes a sore winner." she said, her tone clearly playful as she offered him a bise, kissing the air by his cheek in the Suedian manner. She turned to offer her hand to Scelene.
"Constance Cerwyn, Treasury Analyst with Goldwing Finance." she said politely, wondering just who this woman was and whether WULF were making contacts beyond the Conclave...
There were shrieks and wails as the defenders began picking off Cultists on the street. Despite the initial success of their attack, the Cultists were largely not as well-trained as regular militaries and made simple mistakes, one by one as the spears of the Poleisi began to grind down the attack which washed at the edges of the compound like waves on the shore.
There was a rumbling in front of the gates, however, and the cobbled street ripped open as if a mine had gone off underground. From the plume of dust and rubble emerged a vast, crab-like being, the size of a tank, dripping with pale ichor and waving a hideous selection of tentacles and pincers as it stormed towards the gate, filling it with its huge bulk. Underneath the rugged dark shell, a mouth made of a ring of teeth that opened up into three smaller rings roared from three throats, no eyes visible. The stench of decay and watery filth washed over the defenders as the beast came on, whilst behind it, using it like a battering ram, a flood of Cultists tried to storm through the gates.
The small Jade presence in orbit was mostly stationed at the dockyards, focused on restricting travel in and out of the system. The CPA's scratch fleet, a mismatch of older vessels and appropriated ones, augmented by only a small number of modern, standardised vessels, was slow off the mark and even as they bleated for the Resolve to stop, a duo of sleek bottle-green fightercraft slipped either side of the League ship.
"Resolve To Power this is IJN 7th Fleet, transmitting a flight path now. Do not deviate. We'll take you in."
A path down to the Enclave lit up on their nav consoles, along with a fainter secondary path should the Enclave landing pad prove compromised. On the ground, the CPA were still waking up to the problem, scrambling to assemble a force to send out....
Outside the Minevan hideout, the rumble of a Bension model utility truck shook the streets. By the time the Minevans glanced outside, the hulking rollerball-equipped truck was already departing, leaving behind a trio of tall, armour-clad figures with towering horns and blazing eyeslits on their otherwise blankly-helmed heads. Each had an autocannon hanging on one shoulder. They bore the black-and-silver of the Tanuki regiment.
The one in front turned to look at the Minevans.
"Karogan Platoon, three-seventy-seventh. We have been detailed to assist in the search for your missing soldier." it announced bluntly, its voice synthesized and devoid of accent.
Behind them, on foot, a ragged group of men in the blue uniforms of the CPA were heading down the street, the promised assistance from the local government. Equipped mostly with shotguns and SMGs, they looked prepared for a trip down into the Underdepths.
“I may not have an obligation out of duty or other intangible,” Sera smiled thoughtfully, much rather used to this line of conversation to varying degrees. She could sense his negativity, unsure if it was directed at her, or for her sake. She continued, “I stay because it is, as you say, a pit. There are those who wish to make it worse, and us who should leave it better. The people here, they suffer; victims of dark powers.”
Sera looked around, gauging the glances aimed their way. She was trying to get a read on how many important folks were taking note of them; she had intended for her presence alone to make a scene, let alone walking straight into the pocket of arguably the most important and controversial man in the room.
“Two or three of my friends might have died earlier; gods know how many Marchanders as well. Because of what, theocrats and old money afraid of voting and public opinion?” Sera scoffed, putting on a paper-thin veil of bluster. Not usually keeping the company of others, she made an active effort to be less awkwardly verbose. Her eyes met his again, sympathetic to his plight and concern, “Your friends, too. I’m sorry. I guess I’m here for the real answers.”
The Minevans were both grateful and pleasantly surprised to see any support arrive whatsoever. The various elected leadership had cooled off the more fiery youth partaking in their operation to build a sense of care and caution. A good portion of the crew had come from Installation II of Alpha Ceti, massive underground caverns and ravines being second-nature to them. Still, digging through foreign, poorly charted tunnels and undertowns was begging for disaster to strike. They would take their time.
They did not immediately depart, instead getting a headcount of their assets and incorporating the locals into their formations. They assigned billets, roles, and conducted various drills and rehearsals to completely integrate their units. The first thing they would need to do was establish their forward patrol base and work from there; most of their work underground would have to be on foot, so finding their initial defensible position was a priority for the main body.
In tandem, several individuals went about the city in small groups, finding their most relevant contacts to find their jumping off point for their investigation. Without a proper lead, they wouldn’t find a single trace for the next ten years. Sera had trusted her contacts to Mantiya. All they had to do was triangulate all the leads they could find and run recon. A psionic tracker would be able to find Jin if he was close and alive; all they needed was a locale and a little bit of luck.
“Scelene Korse,” She said taking Cerwyn’s hand and shaking it. “Senior executive with the Voss-Ulrich Combine.”
She released her hand and for a moment said nothing, studying Cerwyn with her slate grey eyes. Once more she wondered at what Cerwyn’s game was. She was cozy with the WULF, which was another point of interest to add to an ever growing list of interesting things. Yes, she’d have to speak with Cerwyn. Question her, that much was obvious… though not here. There were too many people who could overhear, and she hadn’t the slightest idea what sort of surveillance the Marchanders or their Imperial overlords may have set up to spy on the dealings at the banquet.
She shifted her gaze back to Ipatiev a moment later.
“Ah but Mr. Ipatiev, given your newly minted position in the government I would imagine you have the pull to make sure any arrangement between Marchand and the company will be suitably beneficial to the people of Marchand,”
She gave another of her easy smiles and then turned her gaze to Cerwyn.
“I gather you two know each other?”
Shuttles undocked from the trireme, forming up along the course provided by the IJN and descending. Inside the command shuttle, placed in the middle of the squadron, Alixus locked his helmet in place, then pulled up a street map and got on the line with his division leaders. They'd need to be careful about this, or they could wind up divided and cut to pieces.
Five minutes later, there was a thud that shook the craft as the shuttle landed. Collecting his thought, Alixus led his men out to gather with the rest of the host. Then he gestured at the younger man who had followed him, carrying a large horn, chased in brass, and set with old, rusted iron. Taking a breath, the man set the horn to his mouth and blew.
The sudden appearance of the beast leading the horde was...disturbing, to say the least. While Melina couldn't say for a certainty, she was sure the soldiers manning the wall were shaken by the monstrosity. A booming thump from behind her signaled that the crew had finally gotten the onager firing, and there was a corresponding blast from the street as the beast rammed the gates.
Further shouting ensued as more militia (and these were definitely the greener troops of the lot) rushed forward to set up a defensive line in front of the gate. More explosions followed as the onager crew adjusted their aim, before there was a deafening thunder right outside, and an enraged roar from the crab-thing.
The bombardment didn't seem to do much to slow it down from what she could tell though, as it continued to better at the gates, bending them apart through sheer bulk and hatred.
And then...she heard it. The deep bass rumble of a League warhorn. It might've been a pale shadow of its elder cousin, but even just hearing it was enough to lift her spirits. The same could not be said of the increasingly panicked defensive line, so she cleared her throat and put her oratory skills to use.
"Warriors! Fighting-men of the People! Hold fast! The tide comes to wash you away, to wash away your halls and kin! But the Shield is here! They are coming, but you must hold. Hold, then! Hold, and drive the filth at your gates back into the pits!"
A defiant cry rose up as they locked shields and the glimmering blue light of a barrier flashed into existence.
Two to one, not a preferable battle. The Furrelians were with six, the patrol members with twelve. What the Furrelians lacked in numbers, however, was made up by their skill. The FAHS, after all, was the top-notch of the Furrelian armed forces. Minadoma and Disumena tried to hide further into the shrubbery, returning fire on whatever soldier they found near their location. Two disruptors continued to fire back at the patrol, until suddenly both stopped. A loud bang and the smell of burning flesh betrayed what happened. Minadoma had been hit, straight in the chest. Blood was pouring out of the burning hole which had been created by the plasma impact, and the jaw had been dislodged, the red fur turning darker by the second.
"Fuck, fuck, FUCK! Stay with me for fuck's sake!" Disumena shouted out loud in Sylenti, as Minadoma slowly passed out of consciousness. He tried to grab a part of his medical kit but had to buck down to avoid incoming plasma fire. As he approached the kit, he could hear another shot hitting Minadoma, and that one was the fatal one. A last rasping breath was the final sound Minadoma made, and then he passed away. The squad was brought down to five. Disumena was in dilemma on what to do, but duty came first. He grabbed his gun, and a few seconds later, the disruptor shots returned to the action. Disumena targetted the soldier using the Jeep's repeater.
On the other side of the road, organised firing was better. Priorities were set on the officer shouting into the comms unit, and the unit itself. While Edinema, the soldier who originally threw the grenade, had run down to the motorbikes and was using its own disruptor to return fire on the soldiers of the patrol running away. Another Furrelian noticed the two soldiers running towards the apple-garden, and had run to the back of the barn, shooting at them from there.
The pair were certainly drawing attention - there were clearly a few furtive conversations as the elite tried to place and gauge this unknown newcomer, some artificial smiles and some outright glares. Mitsuyoshi seemed not to notice, but closer inspection hinted that it was an engineered ambivalence, one carefully placed over his true attitude.
"It baffles me that they let themselves be corrupted by...well, Corruption, but they're so violently opposed to democracy. I guess our system doesn't have the option to use such brutal methods to export its beliefs.."
He caught Sera's eye, and added with a smile "Which is a good thing, don't get me wrong."
Glancing over at Ipatiev, Cerwyn and Korse, he offered a wan smile. "Now see there, I should really do something about that. There's rumours the Neusattrans are in bed with WULF and that doesn't help squash any rumours. But if honest, I find it hard not to sympathise. Ever since the Annexation, the Neusattrans have had a rough go of it. There has never been a Neusattrandaimyo* outside of Neusattar province, and only one fujin-daimyo either. The military relies on them, but we've never had a Neusattran Jade Admiral, Shogun, or head of any other branch. Independence I don't think is do-able, but their desire for suffrage, and an end to the feudal landhold system?"*
He winked. "Come on."
"Oh yes," said Constance lightly, "in fact WULF are a valued client of ours. Campaigning costs money, but it looks like it was money well spent in your case, Mr Ipatiev."
"Yes indeed," chuckled the Marchander, "and you are quite right Ms Korse. But remember, everything I do, I do for the people! Mutually beneficial is a dangerous term, don't you think?"
They were interrupted by the arrival of Mitsu and Sera. Cerwyn's eyes widened, whilst Ipatiev simply cracked an even larger grin. He appreciated shit-stirring when he saw it.
"Ah, my prince, good evening," he said, bordering on the irreverent. "May I introduce Ms Cerwyn of Goldwing Finance and Ms Korse of the Voss-Ulrich Combine, both fine ladies here to help rebuild our beautiful country, out of the goodness of their hearts of course."
Mitsuyoshi smiled. "It's always good to see international trade blossoming. Hopefully Marchand can grow back a better place for everyone. This is Serashee Krisra, a Minevan doing charitable works here."
Cerwyn seemed taken aback, her normally suave demeanour lapsing into silence as she was confronted by the Crown Prince of the nation that was her sworn enemy.
Their asking about seemed to suggest one most likely contender for Jin's location. An underground hub known only as 'The Wheel', some kind of market or forum located deep underground to the south-east of the foreign docks. The CPA contingent seemed to know of this place, though a couple of them seemed wary when it was bought up. It was largely agreed that the best entrance for 'foreigners' was through the basement of a bar known as the 'Particle Accelerator' a few blocks away from Velkna's Plakart....
The beast roared and squealed in a hideous, ear-splitting wail as the onager's fire hit it, the stench of burned, rotten flesh wafting through the air, but the rest of the monster simply kept coming. Outside, the Cultists began to swarm in earnest, even as accurate fire from the hoplites above punched down one after another. The waves broke against the wall aimlessly, suffering needless casualties from Poleisic weapons until the monster finally wedged itself through the gates, screaming furiously.
Exposing itself, it was immediately subject to a direct-fire shot from the defenders onager, which cratered the gruesome morass that was presumably its face, spattering noxious gore everywhere in a miasmic cloud. By the time the defenders had recovered from the sheer stench and foul sensation, they saw that the beast was dead, but swarming over and around its corpse through the broken doors, firing from the hip and rushing to get into close combat with the defenders.
A block away, a small group of a dozen Cultists were waiting in ambush towards the docks, hoping to catch out whoever came to help the beleaguered Enclave. Unseen by them, atop a radio tower perched the bizarre form of the Bishop, the Conclave warrior that Selene had seen debarking after Cerwyn's meeting with Melina Tyrallicus. Hefting a long rifle chased in gold, he sighted on the little rat-man that was sighting in a TOW weapon just as Alixus' band rounded the corner. There was a boom, and a burning spike of flame punched down to pierce the Cultist through the chest, sending him tumbling to the ground with a shriek as his dropped weapon rolled into the street, betraying the ambush to Alixus' warriors...
The FAHS had hit hard. The CPA captain barely had time to curse the fleeing duo, Sayenko and Suprunyuk, before a single blast cut through them, shearing one through the gut and taking another's leg off at the hip. They collapsed, screaming in agony, and Lieutenant Levchenko shrugged. They were dogshit useless anyway, and degenerates to boot - typical CPA recruitment fodder.
He had little time to ruminate, however, as the corporal on his pintle gun was hit in the chest and fell dead before he hit the ground. Scrambling up to the gun himself, he checked at the last minute, realising the enemy were probably waiting for just that. His hesitation saved his life as Disumena fired again, just clipping his shoulder. He tumbled from the jeep and rolled into cover in a ditch by the road, taking stock. He had no way of telling, but he could see at least eight of his troopers, though at least one other than himself was wounded. Things were not going well...
OVERHEAD
Yuye Park completed her last pre-flight checks and then flashed a ready gesture, thumb and pinky extended as she waggled her hand at the deck chief who nodded, returning the gesture and then bellowing for launch. The senjin class snubfighter jolted as the elevator lifted it into a launch position, and she gunned her engines, roaring out of the hangar and into high atmosphere. Beside her another snubfighter carved through the sky, whilst behind them came a lumbering raijin bomber-gunship, to be used only if the engagement became protracted. Word was another CPA patrol had got itself ambushed, only a small number of suspected insurgents, so the mission was almost certainly going to consist of a couple of atlatl attack missiles and a flyby to intimidate them into retreating. At least that was what she thought until the updated satint feed came in....
KORSE
Scelene’s grey eyes flicked first from Ipatiev to Prince Mitsuyoshi, then Sera, and finally to Cerwyn. The woman’s sudden change in demeanor was not lost upon Scelene. She’d been charming only a few moments earlier but at the Prince’s appearance she was suddenly silent. She hadn’t seemed to have the slightest trepidation over implanting herself into Scelene’s conversation with Ipatiev either, so she was clearly used to dealing with power players… strange. Everything about Cerwyn was strange. She made a decision and with a touch of mental fingertips sent a message to Turner to relay on to the security detail that had remained with their vehicle.
Find Cerwyn’s vehicle, She instructed him. The mercenary behind her made no reaction upon receiving the message, using his own implants to contact the team without any outward sign that he was doing so. It was time she engineered a… serendipitous encounter with the financier.
“Prince Mitsuyoshi,” Scelene greeted the man with the same easy smile she’d worn all evening. “It’s an honour to find myself in such esteemed company. The three of us were just discussing the merits of a mutually beneficial arrangement between the company and Marchand,”
She glanced at Serashee, giving her a nod of acknowledgement.
“And good evening to you Ms. Krisra. You’ll have to forgive me but I know very little of the Minevans, only what tidbits trickle through the networks about the Free World’s anti-piracy operations,”
That wouldn’t be the case for long. The SIS was always eager to fill more filing cabinets in their basement, and with the Minevans here and operating with the Free Worlders she imagined it wouldn’t be long until several cabinets were devoted to the Minevans
“What sort of charity are you involved in?”
While Sera flourished in crowded spaces with her wandering troupe of vagabonds, she tried to bury he discomfort of associating in a large circle in a formal event that was already unnatural to her. She stood aside the Prince, shifting ever closer in a subconscious standoff from the group before her.
Financiers and political leaders aplenty; certainly this would help her with her original intent of making her name and survival well-known.
"My apologies once you finally learn more about my people," Sera offered a joke to break the ice. She finished her drink and offered a gentle smile. "I suppose you can call it more accurately refer to such as mutual aid. We try to create safe, stable communities, and in return we receive friendship."
Sera's studious eyes traveled all around their circle, trying to snipe the intricacies of their demeanor. If Sera's discomfort was a noticeable ripple, Cerwyn's was a typhoon. Her eyes narrowed and her cunning smile widened momentarily giving off the visage of a snake driving hidden prey, before bringing her gaze back to Mitsu. "Some on this world don't share my ideals of building friendships, however."
Mantiya had opted to beat the path alone, leaving the others to their normal operations and satellite patrols to establish a 'soft cordon' of their area of operations. Small cells patrolled and the occasional tactical vehicle made their way through the populated streets, but the Minevan task force made no moves to restrict any civilian flow of movement. If anything were to happen in the vicinity of their vessel or their search, they could have a platoon or more on the scene in the timespan of a few minutes.
The Celvian was dressed in loose casual wear and a wide-brimmed hat, doing well to obscure the figure of his short form and to only leave hints that he had four handguns holstered under his arms. Mantiya had ensured he was properly licensed to prevent extended questioning.
He had worked his way to the bar, hopping on a stool with a bit of effort, and ushered the keep over.
"Something on the tap for insectoids?" The Celvian looked up, expression blank as usual, "Those mammal brews'll kill me."
“Eight remaining! We need to finish this!” Kanedame shouted over the group in Sylenti, before continuing to fire on the soldiers running away. By now, it was more of a fair fight, as there were only eight soldiers remaining on the patrol’s side, compared to five Furrelians. Kanedame sweated as he profoundly continued to fire upon the soldiers going further into the field. By now, all the Furrelians had exited the building, helmets on, and disruptors firing. No survivors remaining, that was the goal now. If the Patrol members could communicate that it was Furrelians attacking them, the mission would’ve been over. Kanedame looked around. One of the motorbikes was in use by Edinema, firing at whatever patrol member he could find with his disruptor, the barrel turning red from the rapid shots, and the air around it green as the ionised plasma continued to rush towards anyone unfortunate to be found. From afront, he could see Disumena standing out of the shrubbery, his clothes covered in a red layer of blood. Kanedame could not see Minadoma though, something must’ve happened.
“Where’s Minadoma?” Kanedame asked, gasping for air as he ran towards Disumena, continuing to fire.
“Minadoma has been eliminated from action. 2 Shots to the chest.”
“Fucking…” He mumbled, an elimination was not preferred during a mission, especially not during high-stake missions like these. “Take care of the body for now, we need to get moving as fast as possible. Terminate any survivors too, wounded soldiers on their side are not an option.” He ordered, loud enough for the rest of the squad to hear. A few ‘Rogers’ and the likes were shouted in response, but the combat continued.
As the body hit the ground, there was a shout of alarm and the front ranks formed up into a shieldwall that continued to advance, keeping a wary gaze out. Bringing up the rearguard, Alixus signaled the others to pick up the pace. If the cultists were bold enough to risk an assault in broad daylight, then they'd try again, and the host had to reach the relative safety of the enclave's walls before then.
The maddened howling of the cultists filled the air as they charged the line, met by defiant yells from the emboldened militia and the sharp snapping noise of spear fire. The screams and clangor of battle was punctuated with the periodic blast of the onager's munitions as the defenders struggled to hold the tide back.
From her position by the artillery, Melina could see where the filth was swarming up the walls to assault the troops who had been cut off when the gate was broken. Shrinking in on herself, she flinched as the guttural screams and chants of the lunatics swelled and the shieldwall buckled, the attackers pushing forward across heaping mounds of their own dead. From the distance, the great horn sounded again.
Before they could speak further, there was a cough as Premier Kuraly approached a microphone on the dais at the top of the hall. Ipatiev winked. "That is my cue," he said, and headed to the dais along with the rest of the prospective Speakers, the title that had been decided upon for the head of the unicameral government.
After some spluttering and fiddling, which robbed the moment of its grandeur and import, Kuraly called for silence, squinting at a teleprompter. He spoke in Marchander, but a holoscreen behind him showed a translation in realtime into Common.
"Citizens and friends," he began, his voice hoarse and gravelly, "it has been a long road. Our people have suffered through much, too much, but today is the first day on which Marchand can truly claim to be in charge of its own future. The people have spoken through the polls, and now it is time to formally announce the first democratic government of Marchand.
The People's Democratic Republic is bound first and foremost to uphold the will of the people. I will now confirm the results of the election.
He coughed again, taking a sip of water before continuing, the candidates shifting behind him uncomfortably.
"United Democratic Party; five thousand, four hundred and sixty one seats."
There was muted applause. This was around 40% of the total 14,000 seats available, a seat for every million Marchanders. It was less than the UDP had been expecting, but still made them the largest unless the polls had been wildly inaccurate
"Marchand Dignity Party; one thousand, two hundred and fifty four seats."
This elicited a gasp. The MDP had been expected to take more seats, closer to the two thousand mark, and the quickest mathematicians realised that this meant a UDP-MDP coalition would not have a majority.
"Worker's Unity Labour Front; two thousand, nine hundred and eighty-eight seats."
This provoked boos and jeers.
Many of the political elite were leftovers from the GMGC and, even though officially they repudiated the Cult of Carcaros, many of them were far more sympathetic to the 'traditionalist' MDP than the reformist WULF, despite the MDP's rumoured links to the Cult. For some, those rumoured links were even a selling point.
Kuraly droned on, reading the results of lesser parties, a scattering of a dozen fringe and lesser parties who would no doubt disappear by next election once people realised that the first-past-the-post system had rendered their vote futile.
Mitsuyoshi turned to the others. "A victory for the collectivists, it seems. Perhaps Marchand's future is a little more proletarian than we thought. Cerwyn, that can't be good news for you?" he asked with a feigned concern, his expression hinting just slightly at mockery.
Cerwyn was flat-footed, so concerned with the thought that Mitsuyoshi might suspect her of being a Conclave member and WULF sympathiser that his allusion to her cover story, as a financial analyst, took her by surprise.
"I uh...no, it's...I'm sure it's a good result," she stammered, cursing herself before taking a sip of her cocktail to buy a moment's reprieve. Outside, Korses' agents found Cerwyn's car far in the underground parking lot, a sleek rental.
The Marchander behind the bar seemed surprised, her voice a little incredulous, but she had a non-alcoholic malt drink typically served to minors. Non-alcoholic beers had not taken off yet on Marchand, which had a spiralling level of alcoholism.
There were chuckles from elsewhere in the dingy room as the locals watched the strange little alien. Their distaste was temporarily overcome by curiosity, and besides, how scary could such a small creature be?
As far as Mantiya could tell, the woman was young for a Marchander. She plunked the faintly sweet, watery mug down in from of Mantiya. "10 Roubetsk,"* she said, holding out her hand expectantly...
The surviving ambushers fled, the Bishop watching them in silent contentment as Alixus' host continued their advance, no obstacles now between them and the Enclave other than the corpse that had fallen into the street, which was trampled beneath their feet. The Bishop crossed to the other corner of the roof to watch the battle at the Enclave itself. The dead littered the street outside, heaping at the gates whilst inside the defenders were slowly being pushed back, screams, howls and gunfire echoing out...
Inside, Cultists began hurling themselves at the shieldwall, heedless of injury or death. Whenever the weight of the suicidal cultists caused a ripple in the shieldwall, more poured themselves into the gap. Meanwhile, others attempted to jump over the wall, springing from the backs of their colleagues to land and lash out in a frenzy or scurry deeper into the building, seeking places to hide....
The Furrelian special operatives had effectively controlled the fight from their new position in front of the farmhouse, their sustained fire suppressing the surviving patrol members. The bike's heavy blasters punched through a section of wall and boiled away another patrol member, but the others simply kept their heads down, occasionally firing blind from behind cover. The Furrelians were not making any serious offensive move, and that suited the beleaguered CPA troopers just fine. The injured officer glanced up as a faint screaming sound found them over the wind, audible only in the brief pauses between gunfire as the sporadic gunfight continued...
The ground rolled away beneath them as the sleek fighters screamed into position. Coxswain Park's HUD began painting targets, the friendlies glowing green whilst the opponents were a flickering red as the feed came in. She splashed a target point with the touchscreen on her console, checked and then fired. The atlatl missile screamed out of the sky even as Park thundered overhead, shaking the ground with the passage of her fighter. The missile punched into the farmhouse, which erupted in a cataclysm of fire, sundered into a cloud of superheated debris which blew outwards. One of the CPA troopers, separated from the others, ignored the officer's call to take cover and was lifted from his feet by the shockwave, burned and shredded in mid-air despite his distance from the farmhouse across the road.
"Good hit good hit," called Park to her wingmate, following behind, as they waited for the battle damage assessment from overhead. She hit her hardlight profile modifiers, temporary wings of pink hardlight flickering to let her halt her forward momentum and execute a graceful turn in midair
As the attack continued, the line bent even further. For all their vaunted might, and despite the fact that the cultists were dying by the dozens every minute, the defenders were too few, and the pressure was telling. At the center of the formation, the captain holding the shieldwall in place seemed about to say something.
Just then, a hulking brute lunged forward and seized his shield, and the arm holding it. With a grunt of effort, it tore the limb off, and dragged the screaming captain out of the line before beating his skull in with his own arm, still bound to the shield. Roaring in victory, it gathered a group behind it and charged...right into the tip of the late commander's spear. Panting with adrenaline, Melina twisted the spear and yanked it free, before grabbing a discarded and bloody shield from the ground and restarting the program for the shield emitters. She'd had basic militia training, but that had been decades ago, and it showed. She was just a little slower than she should've been, staggered a bit more by impacts on the shield. Gritting her teeth, she held on as the fiends battered away, aiming an overhand stab at one particularly ugly specimen.
Forcing her dry and dusty throat to work, she called out, hoping to rally the troops one last time. "Hold them here! Hold the line!
From the shattered gates, there was a combined shout, and the rumbling thunder of two hundred feet as the Shield company arrived and gave voice to the ancient refrain. "THE LINE HOLDS!"
With that, they advanced, a hail of lasers scything into the enemy from behind, and the gleaming mass of armor leaving the dying and panicked cultists nowhere to flee.
Notification from the men in the garage hit Scelene’s uplink just after the UDP’s result was announced, and she had to pause in mentally dictating instructions twice to make sure she heard the other two party’s results. It was not unexpected based upon the exit polls. It would certainly be an upset as far as the pundits were concerned but if the crowd’s reaction was anything to go by she suspected the MDP would make a big show of questioning the election’s integrity before long.
Future problems for a future Scelene do deal with. She had gathered, mostly by Cerwyn’s reaction, that the current group dynamic was ‘tense’. Scelene couldn’t help but wonder just what the Prince may have already known about Cerwyn. After all, her people had picked up a great deal and they’d only been looking for one day. How long might the Empire have had Cerwyn under surveillance? How careful was she really being?
“It’s better than the alternative,” Scelene concurred, picking up where Cerywn had awkwardly trailed off. She fixed her eyes on the Prince and gestured dismissively with one hand. “The MDP were protectionist and isolationist. I cannot claim to speak for all the godless capitalists on this planet, but I’d much rather negotiate with labour organizers than xenophobic isolationists. Better yet, labour organizers playing second fiddle to a more amiable majority.”
Finally she was able to finish composing the message she sent off to her man in the garage. He read over them a few times before setting to work with a sigh. She’d ordered him to sabotage Cerwyn’s car. Not so bad that it couldn’t e repaired, not even so bad that it couldn’t be easily repaired… but the sort of thing one might not be keen on repairing while recently rattled and wearing a cocktail dress.
New notifications were hitting her uplink from Hands and the surveillance team, but she couldn’t read them now. She kept focused on the conversation and for what it was worth made an attempt to shift the focus away from the faltering Cerwyn.
“Mutual aid is an interesting term to use,” She commented turning her gaze once more to the Sera. “It’s a term I’m more accustomed to hearing thrown around by protest organizers and political activists as opposed to charities. What exactly is it you do?”
Hands, meanwhile, had split up his surveillance team after Cerwyn had departed the house where she’d stashed her associates. One vehicle had stayed on Cerwyn while Hands in the other remained to watch the house. The team on Cerwyn had remained on her only until it became apparent she was headed for the banquet. Afterward, they had returned to the house where they had remained.
In the meantime Hands had followed Cerwyn’s associates when they departed for the docks and once more had found himself strapping on armoured plating and readying a weapon. He supposed it shouldn’t have come as a shock that people in power armour would be looking for a fight.
They’d managed to avoid the street fighting and remain at a distance, observing the battle taking place between a group of offworlders (apparently supported by Cerwyn’s associates) and a group of dissidents.
“Fanatical,” Hands said aloud watching Bishop from afar through a telescopic photography lens.
“Huh?” The technician murmured, looking up from her directional listening equipment.
“That’s how I’ll characterize the crowd in my report. ‘Fanatical dissidents’. Does that seem fair to you?”
She glanced at him, then out at the crowd, back to him, narrowed her eyes and shrugged.
"I don’t know dude. I just make shit work.”
"Hm?" She grunted at the sudden inquisition, although she had heard the question quite clearly. Sera took her time to finish looking about, before nodding at Scelene. "Oh, me? I would hate to bore you with the specificities. We currently specialize in the distribution of necessities and cleaning battlefield debris, it would appear," Sera remarked, putting a hand to her chin and gazing up; while she caught herself being verbose, she spoke slowly and smoothly in her usual heavy accent. "I suppose a bit of ordnance disposal and education, we have been doing as well?"
Her speech, as usual, was unnaturally long-winded. Sera was no stranger to turning a normal conversation strange, more concerned with the information than the social precedent.
Mantiya could feel the eyes and remarks bearing down on him from all angles. It was a response to his presence that he was decently familiar with. He allowed them to have it; he may have even shared in their laughter had he been able to.
"Of course, ma'am. Thank you," Mantiya said blankly in typical Celvian fashion. He paid his server and began to partake in his drink.
"Crazy stuff out here. Has the reconstruction been treating you well enough?"
“Attention, all who are still alive, check in!” he shouted, a moment of silence followed, but then the responses came.
“Disumena checking in, still alive.” the Furrelian shouted through his communications unit.
“Konidema here, near Disumena and alive.” another Furrelian came in, the background sounds betraying that he was still firing.
“Esadema here.” A final Furrelian said, his accent being thick.
Kanedame took a sigh of relief, there were still 4 in his squad, including himself. He thought about an order as a plasma bolt flew above his improvised shelter.
“Alright, listen up! We’ve passed 20% casualties, you all know what that means.”
-“Sadly enough, who were it?”
“I’ll tell if we survive, but we’re having a change of plans. Do not shoot to kill, we need to stun them, that’s our way out! If the Jade bastards realise their allies have been captured by us, we can negotiate a deal out, for the terrorists of the FFR of course. Once we’re off-planet, we can give our catch back to the sea, but we need them, ironically enough, now.”
A moment of silence followed as the Furrelians were taking the plans in.
“Copy that. Disumena said, with the other 2 Furrelians repeating the same words. Before they came out of their hiding spots, they switched their heavy disruptor rifles, the guns which they had been using for all this time, with a lighter but less efficient stun gun, more specialised for medium-to-short ranged combat, exactly what was happening now. The Furrelians were acting more aggressive now, having lost another ally, instead of confirming that the enemy had been terminated, like how they’d do it with the disruptor, they aimed at whatever soldier was in their path, pulled the trigger a few times, and move on to the next, hoping to terminate them all and be able to communicate with the bombers above before the next bomb strike.
From his perch across the street the Bishop watched approvingly. The Poleisi's tactics were simple but effective. Against the ill-trained and frenzied cultists they were particularly ideal, and now the glinting metal of helmeted soldiers shone brightly in his viewfinder. The Bishop began making his rifle safe, his impassive helmet watching as the last few Cultists fled shrieking into alleyways and boltholes
A duo of Cultists, one with blood streaming from a shoulder wound, scrambled down a tenfoot alley and almost by surprised came out in front of Hands and his technician. The injured Cultist gave out a terrified shriek, whilst the other lunged forwards out of instinct, waving a machete-like weapon that was coated in fresh blood.
THE PARTICLE ACCELERATOR
The bartender raised an eyebrow. Her Common was relatively good, and she offered a disbelieving chuckle. "No, but everything was garbage before too."
She turned to move a tray of glasses, then glanced along the bar before offering an appraising look back at the little alien in front of her.
"What are you doing here?"
Godless capitalists!" laughed Mitsuyoshi, "you and Ipatiev are going to get along just fine!"
He turned to watch as Ipatiev, Sundin and Kuraly huddled in a corner, clearly bashing out a drumhead agreement prior to any kind of formal announcement of a coalition. He suspected Ipatiev was just as surprised as the other two, but he knew for a fact that Kuraly's CPA had severely underestimated the impact of Conclave activity on the planet. This was partly because the JIAN, the Jade Empire's military intelligence service, had pointedly kept them in the dark, not wanting to give their unofficial vassals reason to doubt Jade power.
"Well," he said as music struck up, surprisingly upbeat, "someone has to get this party started. Care to dance, Ms Krisra?" he said with a grin, nodding towards the empty dancefloor.
Whilst Sera and Mitsu were talking, Cerwyn glanced at Scelene.
"Mas Pronocheis," she muttered in Poleisic, her suspicions about this strange new woman aroused, wondering if Scelene would recognise the informal password the Conclave and League had agreed upon.
The remains of the patrol were still hunkering down from the airstrike. Two, including the captain, were injured, and the last thing they were expecting was an aggressive maneuver from the battered Furrelians. As one appeared in a defilade position, opening fire at short range, the survivors scrambled to turn and face them and unwittingly exposed themselves to the others. Within moments all but the two injured CPA troopers were down, and the captain held up a hand.
"Stop! Stop! It's done!" he gasped, not realising his last four troopers had been stunned, not killed, cursing the overbearing Jade fighters who had fired so close to his own position.
Overhead, Park arced around. SATINT had confirmed that there appeared to be no AA assets on-ground, so she slowed her craft into a holding pattern overhead.
"A thousand spirits curse it," she swore as her vehicle's optics picked out the scene on the ground below with outlines to clarify it. The surviving attackers had pushed up and finished off the local patrol, and at least two of them were still up and moving, being taken prisoner even as she watched.
Her wingmate said nothing, knowing that there was little they could do. Their armaments were not precise enough to do anything about this. She alerted the gunship to settle into an overwatch pattern, its long guns a little more useful for anti-infantry operations but still not neat enough to risk the lives of the CPA prisoners...
"I'll give you a secret. It's like that most places."
Mantiya did not avert his eyes, though he did give her pause as he finished his serving of juice. If he wasn't on a manhunt, he'd be more keen to compliment the quality. One of his antenna twitched.
"I'm trying to get to The Wheel. I was told this was the place to go," He was blunt, figuring honesty was key, "Just figuring I'd ask to gauge what you or our eavesdroppers thought about that. I'm looking for my friend, you see."
"Of course, my liege," Sera mocked lightly, unable to contain a momentary snicker at herself. While recent circumstances were a roadblock between her and unbridled fun, she did take satisfaction in sowing discontent between those who wish her unwell. Although, even with her cultural derision to monarchical authority, not many got offered the company of a prince.
She strode backwards towards the empty arena, extending a hand towards Mitsu. This was going to piss a lot of people off, she was certain. Sera smirked.
Scelene kept her gaze first on Sera, and then on Mitsuyoshi as he laughed and walked off with Sera. It was an odd pair. A very odd pair. In fact the more Scelene thought about it the odder it seemed. On one side was a jade royal, the epitome of power and prestige and an easy poster boy for the Empire’s occupation efforts on Marchand. On the other, a Minevan charity worker engaging in mutual.
Building communities, education, and ordinance disposal… She frowned. Parallel power structures were usually the objective of the mutual aid programs she’d been aware of in the past.
The goal is typically to undermine the authority of the governing body by reducing the public’s reliance on them. She recalled the bored monotone of an underpaid TA as Sera and Mitsuyoshi broke away for the dance floor. Was Sera building parallel power structures for the Empire? Put mechanisms in place so that they could undermine Marchand’s government if the need arose? No, that didn’t really make sense. The government was an Imperial puppet, why would they undermine their own puppet?
She was torn away from her rumination by Cerwyn, glancing in the other woman’s direction when she spoke. Her audio-implants caught the phrase, and identified the language, but failed to translate it. But knowing what language she was speaking was enough for Scelene to guess at what the financier was trying to do. And it confirmed her suspicion that Cerwyn wasn’t being careful enough.
She fixed her gaze on Cerwyn and let the pause following the phrase hang thick in the air. The two of them were alone now, but once again she found herself concerned about what recording or surveillance devices might be monitoring the banquet.
“You’ve mistaken me for someone else Ms. Cerwyn,” Scelene said finally. “We can talk later,”
“Aw for fuck’s sake,” Hands said as the cultists appeared. Conventional wisdom said they were too close for either Hands, or the technician crouched over the microphone, to grab the guns off their hip and shoot him before they got cut up. Hands, for his part, didn’t even make the attempt.
The technician was grabbing for her gun, but Hands stepped in front of her, fists up. Hands had been in more than his fair share of bar fights and pub brawls. Fists up, he moved to block the cultist from getting to the technician. He found some solace at least in the fact he didn’t need to win this fight, just buy enough time for his compatriot to get her gun out. Even so, this felt like a real great way to lose some fingers.
As the last cultist in the enclave was gutted and the surviving militia started dragging bodies into piles to be burned, Melina wearily handed her armaments over to an aide and went over to speak with Alixus. He turned as she approached and bowed slightly. "Good day, Herald. My apologies for the delay, it took some time to reach the surface."
Smiling halfheartedly, she waved him off. "I'm happier that you arrived at all. We'd have all been dead but for that rear charge."
He grinned with her. "Any chance we could bargain that gratitude into additional funding and recruits? We've been looking into a campaign against some corporation-backed pirates to the west from here, but we're rather underequipped for it."
Beckoning him to follow her, she led him inside the main building and around a corner before stopping. "If it helps, the boule was aiming to try and raise another three Shield companies from this cluster. At that point, you'd have the senior command. But there is something more delicate afoot. The temple here was guarding a Polerko."
The commander's eyes went wide with shock at her words, and his voice seemed to tremble slightly. "A starhorn? Here!!?"
She nodded grimly. "Or rather, it was. It was stolen during the initial fighting, and the priests aren't sure which of the gangs around here took it. There's a banquet going on right now that might get me access to someone who can help narrow the search, but the attack stopped us. I have my suspicions about that, mind."
Alixus frowned. "Indeed. Someone is pulling strings from behind the scenes, and I like it not. I'll see if I can't requisition a transport to get you to the banquet while my men stay here and help with repairs and clean up." He looked back over his shoulder. "I'll give them this much at least, their gate was solidly built. We'll have some good tactical data to hand over to the Defense Council once this is all over."
About half an hour later, Melina laughed and shook her hair out, before thanking the hoplite who had given her ride. Taking a breath, she slipped inside the hall, and paused to scan the crowd of diplomats and politicians before she saw Cerwyn. Ah. Fixing a smile in place, she slipped over, and stepped behind the yokari before clearing her throat. "Greetings, madam! I'm so sorry I'm late, I had some pressing matters to take care of that demanded my attention first."
The barmaid raised her eyebrow and then chuckled. "If you have business down there, sure. The blue door in the snooker room will take you down. But uh," her expression softened a moment "you're not a lightbulb goblin so you might fit down there but....you won't fit in." she said warningly.
The music was oddly catchy despite being a little dated, one of those timeless classics. On the way to the floor Mitsu snatched and downed a cocktail from a passing waiter, who stopped in surprise, leaving the tray exposed for Sera as she followed by. Surprisingly informal, Mitsu broke out almost immediately into a lackadaiscal dance starting with the grapevine, arms all over the place, just having fun with it. Almost immediately, Nighthorse emerged on the other side of the dancefloor, dragging a stranger Sera didn't recognise, and a couple of more daring Marchanders joined moments later.
Cerywn almost gave a sigh of relief as Melina appeared. She made her excuses to Scelene and took Melina aside. "Did you hear? The elections were called...WULF got more than 20%, they're going to form a coalition with the centrists!"
The first Marchander recoiled as the tall offworlder squared up, machete flailing wildly in the air as the local built up the resolve to swing again. That hesitation was his undoing - there was a crack and his chest erupted in a spray of blood as he collapsed, thrown forwards by fire from somewhere above them.
The second Cultist barely had time to process all this before Hands' technician managed to get her gun levelled and popped him three times, spinning his little body around and dumping it to the floor. As Hands looked up, he spotted the armoured figure they had surveilled at the spacedocks earlier, perched atop a low apartment block nearby, watching them....
Melina nodded and stepped closer to the other woman, before settling her hands on her hips and moving Cerwyn about in a slow dance to cover any suspicions about their conversation.
"That's good to hear, but I'm afraid we have far more pressing concerns at the moment, namely being that someone has stolen an ancient artifact of immense power from the local enclave."
Leaning in close, she whispered her next sentence. "What do the Ingen know of the Asteros Polerkó?"
Hands flinched as the cultist’s chest exploded and showered him in gore. He muttered curses, swiping a hand across his face to clear away the blood while the tech finished off the second cultist. It didn’t take him long to spot the armoured figure above them. He spat some of the blood out of his mouth with a final curse.
“Let’s clear out,” He said to the technician, pausing long enough to check the corpses for ID. “We’ll take some turns to avoid tails.”
She nodded and the two headed back to where they’d parked, eyes open for anyone who might be following them. While they walked Hands sent off the information to Scelene and then warned the other surveillance team that the other foreigners at the house may sweep for them in the not-too-distant future.
Scelene didn’t even get the opportunity to greet Melina, nor say goodbye to Cerwyn before she spirited the financier a short distant away. At an ordinary party she might have been annoyed by the rather abrupt end to their conversation, but this was no ordinary party.
As at the Bar she once again adjusted the settings on her audio implants, directing her hearing toward the two women even as she turned her gaze toward the dance floor, putting on the appearance of watching the dancers while she listened in on the conversation.
The break in conversation afforded her the opportunity to review the updates pouring in from her other teams, getting caught up on all the goings on. Cultists attacked an enclave, their armoured foreigner was apparently involved, and now here was Melina again pulling Cerwyn away for a conspiratorial conversation.
Her man in the garage finished sabotaging Cerwyn’s car and returned to the vehicle to await further instructions. She doubted she’d need him for anything else before the banquet concluded… but best to keep him around just in case. Once the banquet ended she’d ‘happen’ upon Cerwyn and her vehicle which, with a bit of charisma, should afford her the opportunity for a private conversation with her. For now it was back to waiting. She listened to the conversation, watched the dancers, and ruminated on the implications of everything she’d learned so far. It was shaping up to be an eventful day, and seeming more and more likely that Marchand was going to be a far more interesting post than she’d initially suspected.
That’s a curse isn’t it? She mused silently. ‘May you live in interesting times’
She chuckled to herself at the thought.
"I find that the same, anywhere," The Celvian joked, before departing the stool with a small hop.
"My lady, stay safe," Mantiya bid his farewells. He waddled off to the note of her directions, pausing only to locate this 'snooker room' and the blue door that accompanied it to make it along his way. En route, he tapped the communicator on his thorax that had the entire raid force listening in; the squad leaders and cordons were tracking his every move and were situated in the blocks around the bar in their loose checkpoints.
If anything were to arise, he knew it would likely be too little too late. His reinforcements could rush in guns blazing or some other manner of flashy presentation in retribution, but any sort of violence would leave Mantiya battered and perforated in some gutter, for certain.
The best he could do was scurry down to the Wheel and drink in his new surroundings or contacts that were sure to receive him.
As Mitsu pulled free ahead of her, she watched him flow ahead with none of the dignity expected of noble birth. The yokari certainly caused some heads to flush with rage; a doting parent or his embarrassed handlers, perhaps? Her smile gave the slightest hint of pronounced cuspids, the international signifier of a Minevan's uncouth demeanor and barbarity.
In a flashy sleight, she held open a hand to which a drink travelling through the air to her.
She secretly thanked the old gods for not leading this with some ballroom show. Aside from the bombings, ambushes, and crime at least it was universal among all peoples that silly dances and acting foolish were common ground they could share. While she lacked the explosive energy herself, she weaved around the floor like flowing water, brushing by and noting most and ending at the prince.
"So, what is the proposition after this ordeal?" Sera asked loudly over the music. "Unless you purchased some nice beachfront property here?"
Cerwyn shook her head surreptitiously, a little lost. She understood only a few words of Poleisic, although from what she knew it was apparently quite similar to Athoine, the language spoken on southern Neusattar.
"I'm not familiar with the term," she replied, unaware that they were the basis for the Sattran legends of the gjallarhorn and the Suedian olifant.
Elsewhere, Mitsuyoshi seemed a little taken aback by the question, but then shrugged it off quickly.
"There's always work to be done, but that can wait. I want to know more about you! I can't just pull up an Ancnet page and read all about your life, so you've got the edge on me already...tell me about yourself,"
Scelene, finding herself momentarily alone, was surprised to hear a high-pitched voice with almost a hint of a purr speak up next to her.
"So pleased with themselves. Throwing away millennia of tradition without a second thought."
She glanced around to see Yudina Olegovna, head of the conservative MDP, stood beside her, arms crossed, a scowl on her diminutive face.
As Hands and the technician walked back to their car it seemed as if they had made it away undetected. As they reached their car, however, they heard footfalls behind them.
Turning, they saw the same armoured figure that had helped them just moments before step out of an alleyway, his rifle slung over his shoulder. The impassive helmet took in one and then the other, before a surprisingly sibilant voice spoke.
"Who are you, and what is your business here?" the figure asked quietly.
Pushing into the snooker room, which was even more poorly lit and crowded with figures around a few worn tables, smoke hazy in the air and matched only by the stench of spilled alcohol that had soaked deep into the carpets, Mantiya spotted the door almost immediately. Small and faded, with peeling paint, it nevertheless was kept clear of obstruction and the carpet around it was worn almost bald, suggesting heavy use.
As he moved towards it, a Marchander reached out a paw to stop him. The man was halfway between muscular and fat, solid and sturdy for a Marchander, with a lumpen face and angry eyes. He was wearing a waxed jacket and a thick sweater, and in his other paw was a snooker cue.
"Hey, you. Where you going?"
Hands cursed silently at the sound of footsteps and the appearance of the armoured figure. This had been exactly the thing he was trying to avoid. But the situation wasn’t as bad as it could be. He didn’t know who they were, and that gave Hands options. He could lie entirely, though he doubted his ability to come up with something convincing on the fly. What could you say when asked ‘why are you hanging out in a war zone?’. He could claim to be a reporter, but he didn’t have any credentials. Private investigator? Probably needed a license for that…
In the end he decided it would be best to avoid answering the question first. The figure didn’t seem overly aggressive. After all he had helped them deal with their cultist problem and his weapon was out of his hands. If that failed, he could stick to the cover story. He had all the falsified documents and history to pass himself and his companion off as corporate security.
"Could ask you the same question mate,” Hands commented folding his arms across his chest. “You’re not a Marchander, that’s for sure, don’t have the look of an Ingen, nor do you seem like you’re with the people those fanatics were attacking,”
He gave the man a cheeky grin, which was more than a little off-putting with the cultist’s blood still smeared across his face.
“How about a trade? Answer for an answer?”
Scelene winced, ever so slightly, at Yudina’s sudden appearance. With her implants tuned to listen in to Cerwyn’s conversation, Yudina’s words, quiet though they were, sounded like they were coming out of a loudspeaker.
She adjusted some levels, doing her best to split her attention between Cerwyn and the recently appeared leader of the MDP. Silently, she lamented just how popular she seemed to be tonight. First Ipatiev, and now Yudina. Everyone seemed to want something from her this evening…
She gave Yudina one of her easy smiles and smoothed a wrinkle in her dress. She glanced in the direction of Ipatiev and then back at Yudina.
“Can you blame them?” She said finally. “Ingen looking over their shoulders and breathing down their necks after violently dismantling the previous administration… hard to fault them for wanting to distance themselves from the policies that brought them to this juncture.”
She held out a hand to the Marchander woman.
“Scelene Korse with the Voss-Ulrich Combine, I don’t believe we’ve met,”
"Fucking finally." Kanedame stood up and walked to the officer, by now on of the last two people remaining on the other side. He walked towards the Officer in firm steps, his gun, a proper disruptor this time, ready to shoot him at a second's notice. His black uniform had suffered some damage, and his helmet had broken, his gas mask had detached, exposing his lower face. In broken common he shouted something at the officer, a thick Sylenti accent sometimes making it hard to understand Kanedame.
"Call of the Bombers! On your knees! Any other moves and I shoot you! Do as I say and you and your men will not be hurt!"
At the same time, the other Furrelians started moving out of their hiding spots. One of the Furrelians moved to the stunned CPA troopers, restraining them before they regained consciousness. Another Furrelian ran towards the other CPA soldier who was still awake, and forced him on his knees, gun pointed at his head. Soon after, the Furrelians started communicating with each other in Sylenti.
Sera let out a short and loud laugh out of compulsion.
"Myself? A student and artist, I like to pretend! My parents were farmers unfortunate enough to rear a psion, so I was appropriated by the old systems, and..." She paused, using the dance to mask her visible thinking, "I was stuck in strict academia; I compensate now by getting involved in ambushes it seems."
Her smile had not faded. It wasn't as if she was speaking to a staunch and pompous nobleman, recognizing the young veteran for her relatable military experience. If she had read right, he was marginally younger than her; compensated by not his status, but the trying and drastic calls he had to make. Those days of making tough calls on a conventional battlefield were long behind her, she hoped; even having never made strategic decisions.
Mantiya gave pause, taking ample time to size up those around him and the individual confronting him. These Marchanders were small, but relative to his frame the Celvian realized he was still dwarfed in size.
"I have an appointment," Mantiya began, "The Curator is expecting me. I would hate to keep him waiting."
He patiently stood, likewise with his robotic delivery.
At the Minevan checkpoint several blocks off was situated a command-variant Mako; the stocky fighting vehicle stripped of its main weapons in favor of a comprehensive communication and sensor suite. Tucked away in the troop compartment was a team monitoring their leader, awaiting potential disaster or the delivery of an emergency code to interfere. The contact was known to be amicable to at least Serashee and Janka, but it was known their affiliation was not exclusive.
The armed patrols did their best to look nonchalant and unengaged, but even in an occupied city riflemen were certain to stick out.
The Envoy grimaced. "Surprising, give what I know of your people's history. The term translates as horn of stars. There were a number of the artifacts created by the Second Republic, but they were scattered in the Fall. The megaboule was made aware that one of them had been located here and was in the safekeeping of the local enclave."
Spinning the yokari into a bow, she pulled her back up. "Said enclave was then raided by gangsters during the fighting and the horn has vanished. Couple that with the Merger assault against the enclave earlier today, and I have concerns that the Merger, or one of their pawns, maybe be linked to this." She drew to a halt, and looked Cerwyn dead in the eye. "I cannot stress enough the damage that one of the horns could wreak if used incorrectly. Used correctly, well..."
Melina shook her head. "At that point, you'd want to just find a new planet to live on."
The figure betrayed no reaction to Hands' comment. "My name would mean nothing to you, bàsmhor" it replied, "but you delve into matters of which you know not. Tell me your purpose here."
Close-to, there was little more to identify the figure. Although it wore white, gold and black, the colours of the Conclave, its voice was almost certainly not yokari, and the language was also not of the Jade Empire.
Yudina took the hand and shook it, her grasp slightly too firm.
"Our customs are not to blame for this! The interfering foreigners couldn't leave well enough alone, decided they knew best, and used guns and bombs to force us into submission! Now they want to remodel Marchander society in their image, but it will not end well."
She whuffed angrily, baring perfectly white fangs.
"If those cursed Zdenii hadn't fled like cowards, maybe we could have bloodied the nose of the Jade Empire, but instead here we are, watching the idiots who led us to defeat as they make friends with the enemy."
She turned a pair of baleful eyes on Yudina, a scarlet so deep as to appear almost black.
"And what do you want here? If you are here on behalf of a corporation then surely you would support my cause?"
"Ah yes, destined for a higher purpose, that sounds familiar," Mitsu replied with a smile. "It's wonderful, isn't it?"
For a little while they just danced, taking another shot as the first song gave way to an upbeat ballad that, from what little Marchander they had picked up, told the story of a powerful courtier who had eventually been killed for his many vices and crimes. The locals seemed to enjoy it, particularly Ipatiev, who bellowed along, some of them throwing themselves into traditional Marchander dances with gusto. Eventually the song finished and Mitsu crossed to a table, grabbing two red wines.
"Honestly," he began after a sip, "I'm kind of glad I might never be Emperor."
There was an awkward pause as the hulking Marchander contemplated Mantiya. The Celvian could practically hear the gears turning, but eventually with a jerk of his head he nodded towards the blue door.
"Fuck off then," he said, turning back to his game of pool.
The door eased open quietly, surprisingly well-oiled despite its battered state, suggesting that those who used it did not want to advertise their presence. It opened into a narrow rock tunnel that led steeply down, the floor uneven and unlit. After what seemed like an eternity, it opened out on one side, revealing that Mantiya was in a natural gallery, separated from a vast chasm on his right by nothing more than a short lip of rock. Below him, clustered around an underground lake and climbing up the sides of the rocky cavern, was a settlement of dry stone buildings lit by a combination of lamps, lanterns, fires and phosphorescent plants, mostly a uniform of blues and greens. Ahead of him, the tunnel came out onto a steep, unrailed staircase cut into the rock. Even at this height he could hear voices and the echo of footsteps below. There was one building that stood out, a huge circular construction of cyclopean architecture with two storeys, from which music emanated faintly...
The dancing human and yokari drew some stares from the crowd - not only were Marchanders not too keen on inter-species entanglements, viewing the 'businesspeople' who plied their trade at the docks as disgusting, but they were also highly uncomfortable with even the faintest whiff of homosexuality. Two women dancing together, even at a ball like this, had been practically unheard of until the occupiers arrived with their strange new ways. No-one said anything, however, knowing how swiftly and callously the Ingenious sometimes reacted to trespasses against their own.
Cerywn seemed not to notice, her attention fixed on Melina and her tale.
"Les olifants," she said under her breath, eyes wide, "we have legends of the magical horns across Neusattar, but we thought they were just old tales! You had one?!"
She glanced around nervously. "You're right, we have to find it...but if the Jade Empire gets wind of it they'll want it for themselves, both for the power it holds and to deny us our history...do you have any plans on what to do next?"
The two surviving CPA soldiers didn't resist, too battered and bloodied to put up any more of a fight as the remaining Furrelian agents kicked away their weapons and cuffed them. Above, Park cursed. She knew what her fire controller was going to say before he said it, and sure enough he called them off. Marchanders or not, the CPA were their allies and the powerful weapons aboard the senjin and raijin were not accurate enough to ensure the survival of the two prisoners.
"Ground team inbound, stay with them," came the laconic update from above, and a cluster of contacts indicating troop transports and VTOLs blipped in the distance on her console.
The CPA officer, after recovering his wits, cast a weary eye over the Furrelians.
"What will you do now?" he asked, although his tone made it sound more like a rhetorical question than a sincere one
"It can be," Sera let out an amused grunt.
It had been a long time since she had witnessed festivities like these that wasn't in some seedy dive with reverberating bass. She wore the appropriate face for the scene; enjoyment of the mirth, appreciating the parallels she could observe between all parties who were so-recently traumatized by war and death. She wanted to scoff at how easy it was to forget one's troubles at least temporarily, given she was sharing a dance with one of the architects of Hornqvist's misery.
The drink and dance had her blood pumping, keeping her pale face flushed. Sera took a seat with legs crossed, leaning her side to the table. She made sure to still face out, studious eyes darting about to steal glances at individuals to include the political figures and the various corporate benefactors.
Sera took a drink. For a moment, she had virtually forgotten who exactly she had been talking to. It vexed her to be sharing the night with the man who had ordered the bombardment of the city and the heir to its consequences, and simultaneously for his words to be human and ordinary. The concern was evident on her brow. "Surely there are worse things to be. Sometimes the correct individual can use their station for good."
She turned his way, resting her arms on the table and offering a gentle smile. "Royalty not all it's made out to be- who needs it, anyways?"
He shook the feeling of unease before descending the long stairs, one stone at a time. He took his time as the stairs weren't tailored for his legs, his light feet making small taps on the bare rock face. With one arm, he checked the fidelity of his signal to the raid force: acceptable. With another, while he assumed he was still unobserved, he attempted a sleight of hand to seamlessly let loose a handful of diminutive drones. Each were no larger than an ant, taking no time to come to life and scurry away on the slate.
"If I were a betting man..." Mantiya sighed. He safely assumed this hub presented to him was 'The Wheel' he was looking for. Now, it was to find this 'Curator', of whom he had not met and was unsure of the company they kept in the meantime.
In the meantime, he tried to look nonchalant as he confidently sauntered to the town below; he knew he most certainly did not look natural there. Every man he passed by, he tried not to keep eye contact or look back. Inversely, he offered the fairer gender a polite tap of his hat.
The music grew in volume and intensity, and he knew he was drawing nearer to his mark.
Coming up now. Standby Five.
Above ground, the Minevan in her command Mako replied with a silent acknowledgement, picking up the handset wired to the bridge of Velkna's Plackart and the Jade paramilitary force that helped facilitate the operation.
"Lead in vicinity of Objective Vagrant. Standby Five. Advise if you have or see traffic going underground."
“Mhm,” Hands hummed, his tone incredulous at the armoured figure’s comment. He folded his arms across his chest and stroked his chin for a moment, studying the armoured visage across from him. There was nothing to see of course, that was the benefit of full-face helmets and bulky armour plating. No facial expressions to analyze, no body language beyond the rigid attention of soldiery.
“Right well I could keep this circle jerk going. Say ‘my name would be meaningless to you too’ and answer your question about why I’m here with philosophical musings on why any of us are here in this place in this time, standing on a rock hurtling through the universe etcetera, etcetera, blah, blah, blah, all that bullshit.”
He shrugged. The technician climbed into the driver’s seat of their vehicle and turned over the engine with a low thrum.
“Could go around and around and around for hours and days and weeks and neither of us would learn anything other than how stubborn and infuriating the other is,” He gave another shrug, shook his head, and fixed the figure with a crooked grin.
“Since we’re not doing names I’ll skip to your other question. I’m following fanatics so I can accurately report on the danger they present to my client,” It was a lie, but one Hands had decided was believable, and not terribly far from the truth. He had been following people, to report on the danger they presented (among other things), the lie was just in who he had been following.
“Alright now your turn. What are you doing here?”
It was difficult, extremely difficult in fact, to try and pay attention to what Cerwyn and her associate were talking about while Yudina railed against foreigners and the new status quo. It was even more difficult to put on the appearance that Yudina had her full attention. She ended up focusing more on appearing invested in what Yudina was saying and ended up missing large chunks of Cerwyn and her associate’s conversation. Something about a relic that both women seemed to think was important. Maybe it was a weapon? She’d missed details for sure, but she didn’t miss what she felt was the most important detail of all: gangsters seemed to have made off with it.
Gangsters, Scelene thought, were something she had a great deal of experience with.
But before she could ruminate overmuch on gangsters she’d need to make it through the conversation with Yudina without earning the marchander’s wrath. She didn’t like the idea of being pleasant with her, but she liked the idea of pissing off a party boss even less.
So she let go that ‘bloodying the nose’ of the Jade Empire would have got Marchand little more than more orbital munitions raining down on them, more leveled cities, more bodies in the street, harsher peace terms and and outcome that would have remained the same. And for what? Pride?
What the fuck was pride worth?
“I’m just a corporate executive trying to buy up mining rights,” She said when Yudina had finished speaking. “I suppose I’d support any cause that would further the endeavour, but your party’s rhetoric gave me the impression you wouldn’t want to court foreign business interests.”
She nodded at Cerwyn's question. "Shieldmaster Alixus has a lead that suggests that the horn might've been sold to a collector of rare artifacts. I'll send you the details."
Giving the yokari a respectful nod, she took her leave from there.
Kanedame looked around, still seeing the fighters hovering above him. He had 'requested' for the CPA officer to call them of, and yet he hadn't done so. After looking around at the other Furrelian soldiers, he decided to take action.
"What will I do now? Blow out your brains if you do not carry out my orders!" He barked at the Officer below him, grabbing him by the collar of his uniform and forcing the officer to stand up. With firm steps, and the officer in his right hand, he walked towards the comms unit of the jeep, which had survived. Once Kanedame had arrived there, he once more forced the CPA officer to kneel.
"Call of the bombers and fighters, tell them to leave us alone, or I blow the head of you and your comrades!"
Mitsu cracked a smile. "You're getting too comfortable, hey," he said, eyebrow raised, as he stopped a passing waiter and placed a cocktail order. Once the waiter had taken Sera's order and left, Mitsu leaned forwards on the table.
"What one person thinks is 'good', another might think is 'evil'. You still hate me for bombing Hornqvist, but have you considered the alternatives?"
He paused as the waiter brought back their drinks, and took an appreciative slug of his dark and stormy.
"Not every Cultist was willing. Once the Merger shows itself in earnest, they drop the facade, or lose control or the powers they've unleashed. It's a grey area. But either way innocent people end up dragged along for the ride. The longer a battle goes on with them, the more of our people die, but the more civilians get killed too.
He trailed off, then shrugged. "The thing they never tell you is that there is no right answer. Sometimes, there...I....it's easier, just riding around on hoverbikes and shooting bad guys when they show up, you know?"
The Marchanders down here were a strange mix, many of them wearing clothing the same as you'd see above ground, but the odd few wore more esoteric clothing, robes and rags that spoke of a different age. The tiny Celvian drew plenty of filthy looks and muttered comments, but it was not until he crossed the threshold of the Wheel that anyone approached him.
The Wheel was a large bar, it looked like, with a central pillar around which the bar itself ran whilst the outer edge was crammed with doors, booths, stairways and nooks. The place was crowded, with exclusively Marchanders sat at the tables or playing various bar games inbetween the hub and the rim, but as he took in the dark, dimly-lit scene two Marchanders in thick fur overcoats stepped into his path.
"You. The Boss wants to see you. Give us your guns and come with us." one said in a thick accent, clearly telling rather than asking.
The figure tilted its head.
"I am the Druadh. Who are your clients?" he demanded simply, seemingly not caring that the technician had started the car.
Yudina's eyes widened, the dyed fur around her eyes making them look even more expressive.
"Are you joking? We are the party of trade! All we want, all we have ever wanted, is to continue the traditional ways of the Guild, engaging in peaceful mercantilism with the rest of the galaxy. It is the UDP and their new friends, the WULF, who are anti-business, who want a government that controls everything."
She scoffed. "Offworlders truly do not understand us. We would happily mine those materials for you and sell them to you, but the narrative has already been written. The Jade Empire's stooges are the reliable, trustworthy ones and the traditional culture of Marchand is barbaric and dangerous."
"They are standing off, you svinya," he spat, breathing heavily. Sure enough, overhead the whine of the craft was still just about audible, but they were no more than dots high in the sky. "You've really fucked up now."
Marshmello - The Minevans
LeftHandOfGod - The Poleisi
JadeGreen - Gauss Dominion
Ofton - The Furrelians
Pyromaniac - Ms Korse
HORNQVIST, MARCHAND, SARNATH SYSTEM
The Palace of Democracy
Premier Kuraly was nervous. This was a momentous morning for the planet of Marchand. After centuries of rule by various guilds, merchant orders, trade unions and other plutocratic organisations, he was about to invest the first true government since the petty kingdoms of antiquity. He took a sip of coffee, a foreign import that he had come to rely on, and shook himself before standing. He was wearing a black suit with a white shirt and a blue tie, also foreign, but also familiar to the outward-looking and trade-oriented Marchanders.
Kickoff to the grand event was not until noon - he still had time. He crossed to the window, looking out from the poorly-named 'Palace of Democracy' and onto the street below. Rebuilt after the Bombing, it was nearly a hundred metres wide. Primarily used for pedestrians, and with a line of rugged but beautiful fern trees down the centre alternating with bright concrete lampposts in the new, brutalist style that necessity and government policy had deemed appropriate, it felt empty. People were walking here and there, not only Marchanders but aliens of all different stripes, but a cold wind was forcing people indoors and the downtown region was still marred by stretches of glassy rock that betrayed the violence levied against it only months previously.
His secretary knocked politely, heralding the arrival of United Democratic Party General Secretary Sundin. Although technically not yet a member of government, Sinden had played a major role in the Coalition Provisional Authority and was the head of the People's Party of Marchand, the political party expected to make sweeping gains in the first ever federal election. If, or rather when, he won, Sundin would be the head of government and second only to Kuraly, the head of state. Or perhaps even more powerful, Kuraly was still not quite sure.
"Hello Lats," the older man said genially, taking a seat without being invited. The two had been fierce rivals in the Great Marchander Guild of Commerce, but had been forced into an uneasy alliance that had evolved into what Kuraly suspected, to his horror, was a friendship.
"Good morning Jant. How are things going?"
"Good, good! Polling stations have been busy all morning, the people are clearly taken with the notion of choosing their leaders for once! I have to admit I thought you were talking nonsense when this all started, but hey, what do I know?"
Lats chuckled at this, pouring out some Sattran whiskey for his guest and taking a slug himself to steady his nerves.
"No problems then?" he asked, at which Jant Sundins' heavy face grew somber.
"Ehhh, you know how it is. A few spots of bother here and there. Nothing the PDG can't handle."
"How bad? Did the goblins get involved?"
Sundin shook his head. "Nah. As ever, no need for them." The People's Democratic Guard, the armed forces of the CPA and soon to be the armed forces of the Federal Democratic Republic of Marchand, were surprisingly good at providing security when they needed to, but no matter how desperate the situation he would be damned if he went running to the Ingenious for help. Their small garrisons were officially 'advisors' but everyone knew it was an occupation. The sooner he took power, the sooner he would work to get them off Marchand. Kuraly was not so cavalier, knowing full well that there were still millions, perhaps billions of Marchanders still loyal to the Cult. The south was an absolute nightmare, Blidh and Cass one step away from sheer lawlessness, and the towns and cities inbetween were worse. He was not ready to let go of the Jade life preserver and try to swim unsupported, not yet.
A BAR, TWO KILOMETERS AWAY
Constance Cerwyn stood out in the Boznef Working Council Club, a small co-op bar on the far end of the long Avenue of Democracy, as the giant road at the heart of Hornqvist was apparently called. Nearly six feet tall, with glinting jade and ivory skin, thick bottle-green hair and horns tipped by balls of light, she was in stark contrast to the short, furry, hunched natives of Marchand. She sat at the bar, filling the room, pristine in a blazer and skirt.
Eventually she was joined by a native, who ordered a large glass of kvass bread-beer and took the stool next to her.
"The exit polls do not look good,"the Marchander woman muttered "the UDP is polling nearly forty percent so far. They will probably be forming a coalition with the Marchand Dignity Party."
Cerwyn did not take her eyes off the glittering wall of bottles that stood on mirrored shelves behind the bar.
"And the Worker's Unity and Labour Front?"
"About 20."
Cerwyn nodded. These numbers were not surprising. A little poorer performance by the WULF than had been expected, but the only real question pundits had been talking about was whether the UDP would win an outright majority or need to form a coalition. The UDP was the centrist party, containing many members of the CPA transitional government, and was promising stability, rationality and a reliable process of change. The MDP, their potential allies, wanted to preserve traditional values, whilst the WULF were more radical and thought the new Federal Democratic Republic was too milquetoast. They were a syndicalist party, some claiming they bordered on collectivism. Apparently there was a word for this; 'communists'. It had become a dirty word, and the party was underperforming in the polls.
That did not really matter to Cerwyn, however. She did not truly care who ruled Marchand. All she cared about was that the Jade Empire did not.
A young woman when the Curse had turned her into a Yokari, she was one of a growing number of disaffected Neusattrans who believed that the Jade Empire was not the benevolent protector it made itself out to be. Her people had been stripped of their own democratic rights and forced into the Imperial feudal system, and whilst it was true the Ingenious had skyrocketed them through several centuries of technological progress in only a few short years, five decades later the Neusattrans were chafing.
Before the annexation, the Calcarcians and Athoine had operated on a participatory democratic system, whilst the northern regions had relied on informal acclaim and support for their leaders rather than any kind of hereditary system. Even in the Kingdom of Suedia, the aristocracy had had direct and real power that checked the rights of the monarchy. In the Jade Empire, only the judiciary was elected, and citizens could not even own property - even the samurai officially lived on land owned by the monarchy and granted to them.
To cut a long story short, after the disasters of the Barlat Wars and Deep Harvest, the heavy losses in the Ancerious colonies, and now the bizarre Curse of Light, many Neusattrans were tired of Imperial law. Spearheaded by the illegal Conclave of Sunpike, they were agitating to make life difficult for the Ingenious and maybe free themselves of the Curse. Foiling the Imperial plans on Marchand would help those goals, and so Cerywn was giving advice and support to the WULF, among other duties.
BLIDH, SOUTHERN MARCHAND
Blidh had survived the war unscathed, surrendering to the invaders after the capitol was burned. In the days that followed, fanatical members of the Cult of Carcaros had gone on a rampage, murdering the Bailiwick and many other leading figures they accused of collaborating with the invaders. Eventually, the remains of the GMGC had managed to restore order to the city, though many believed that this was because the new mayor, Tek Numminen, was secretly a member of the Cult.
It was in the south of Marchand that resistance was fiercest. CPA sympathisers and officials were harassed, attacked and even murdered, government facilities were sabotaged and looted, and the Jade consulate in the city was the scene of frequent protests, although whenever a 'goblin' was attacked directly, their snarling soldiers exacted brutal and heavy-handed revenge.
As the winter deepened, so too did the danger. Everyone was on edge ahead of the election results due to arrive that afternoon. Of course, the Cult did not recognize the legitimacy of the elections either way.
KORSE
A newsfeed was running in the upper right corner of her vision. There was no sound to accompany the animated speech of a talking head as they discussed graphs, charts, and colour coded maps. As far as election coverage went is was pretty typical, but she wasn’t paying attention to it. She was lightyears away on a different planet reliving the moments before, during, and after an orbital strike. She could remember the sight of the munitions falling out of orbit. It was burned permanently into her memory, the last thing she’d ever seen with her own eyes. The concussive force of the blast had burst her eyes in their sockets. Someone had told her it would have destroyed her eardrums too, but she’d already been wired for audio. The audio suite had level dampers, and other protective safeguards. In the aftermath of the blast she’d still been able to hear.
Some moments, like this one, she wished she hadn’t been. She couldn’t remember a worse experience than groping blindly in the dark, guided only by the sound of distant emergency alerts. Eventually an emergency worker had guided her to an aid station. Later, after they’d put her new eyes in and looked at the pictures and videos of the carnage. She’d never been able to decide if they worse than the scenes she’d imagined in the hours of blind groping.
She kicked a rock at her feet, watching it skip across the glassy, blasted rock ahead of her. Different munitions had been at work here according to the intelligence brief, but destruction looked similar enough to take her back to that moment and the hours that had followed it. She felt a painful burning between her fingers and glanced down at the source. A cigarette she’d forgotten she’d lit. She let it fall from between her fingers and crushed it beneath a black boot.
The wind picked up, rustling her coat around her and blowing a black tie back over her shoulder. With a sigh she pulled the strip of fabric back into place. She hated suits. She unmuted the newsfeed and accepted an update from one of her lackeys with a touch of mental fingertips. They’d been set up since the small hours of the morning, somewhere with good lines of sights on the Palace of Democracy (ha.) and telescopic lenses. She flicked through the pictures they’d accumulated throughout the morning. They’d already run them through the algorithms and matched most of the people coming and going with various government officials and party bosses. Thus far, and unsurprisingly, no one unexpected had turned up at the center of Marchand’s new power structure.
She lit a fresh cigarette, and may well have been lost in more recollections of the worst day of her life had one of her minders not touched her on the shoulder. She glanced at him, a square jawed man with a thick layer of stubble coming in. He wore plain clothes, a black and white flannel jacket beneath a carpace chest piece. The outermost layer of carbon fiber weave was in tan, with a black rig overtop. He had the same eyes as her, grey irises ringed by tiny red lettering identifying the manufacturer and model number.
“It’s been twenty minutes,” He said simply as way of explanation, shifting the mag rifle he was cradling to rest on his other shoulder.
"Thanks Turner,” She muttered. With a thought the pictures from her surveillance team and the newsfeed vanished from her sight. She followed turner back to their rented vehicle, where three more plainclothes were waiting, scanning the surroundings for potential threats and fiddling with mag rifles of their own. Part of her wished she could dress as casually as the other men. The collar of her shirt felt too tight and she would have given a great deal for the comfort of casual attire.
Private contracting had its perks she supposed.
The three men climbed into the back of the vehicle after she and Turner took their positions upfront. She tossed the cigarette out the window as they merged back into traffic. She checked the time, confirming a suspicion that it was still much too early. The grand event wouldn’t be until noon, and she only needed to be there long enough to maintain appearances. Afterall, she was supposed to be some corporate lapdog looking to secure extraction rights or shipping contracts for her overlords. She’d have to at least show up and play nice with the locals.
“I need a drink,” She declared, gazing out the window as construction sites and brutalist architecture whizzed by.
“Isn’t it a bit early?” Turner commented.
“One drink,” She replied. “Make my brain shut up for a moment,”
He gave her a look that said he understood the feeling and took one hand off the steering column. He tapped momentarily, found a bar a couple kilometers away from the Palace at the end of the Avenue of Democracy. He found a place to park when they arrived and Turner dutifully followed her toward the bar, earning him an exasperated sigh from his charge.
“Must you?”
“Company policy says one of us has to have eyes on you at all times Ms. Korse,” He answered.
“Could you at least leave the rifle?”
He shook his head, she gave him her most withering glare, and the mag rifle came into the bar anyway. She found a seat near the entrance and Turner sat across from her, grey eyes on the door and one hand still on the mag rifle.
“You’re going to make people nervous Turner,” She said absently, surveying the occupants. Her grey eyes stopped momentarily on a woman at the bar. Six feet easy, with green skin… she stood out like a sore thumb among the natives. Her gaze lingered long enough to be classified as a ‘stare’ before she finished her survey and called the election coverage back up.
“That’s the idea Ms. Korse,” He replied evenly, keeping his gaze fixed on the door. “One drink,”
“One drink.” She confirmed with a roll of her eyes.
18 Years ago, Gauss Galaxy
The sky was full of worms. Tornadoes flailed like whips clasping at the stalks of fading mushroom clouds. The sky a marbled mixture of toxic yellows and browns. The air reeked of rotting flesh and burning metal. The streets of the city were lined with rubble. A monorail sat overturned, torqued and twisted over unto itself. What were once glittering glass archologies had been reduced to mangled metal and concrete skeletons full with dead, burning and burned plants.
In the distance, explosions filled the sky. The buzzing of rotary mass drivers. The occasional flash of a courser missile or hardlight beamer. Their enemy continued spilling over the ridge to the south. Screams of agony, terror, pain tnd tourment barely audible on the wind melded into a heartbreakingly, disturbingly melody.
The spaceport was a mangled half-functional mess. A huddled mob of civilians stood as they were ushered onto transports by lines of war droids.
“This transport is full!” A Cauldarion barked. “Send it up.”
The mob let out impatient cries. Worn raw from months of incessant combat they lacked the fervor to outright panic. But to let their discontent known from poorly enunciated curses. The transport took off, scalding plasma singing those closest to it as it pulled away, igniting its main engines and burning for orbit. Amidst the rabble stood a young go’shii. No older than four, she struggled to make her way onto the ship without being trampled by the desperate mass. However it was swiftly replaced with another.
She approached one of the soliders, wise enough to tell them apart from the ubiquitous war droids.
“Mister… where are my parents?”
The solider took pause, glancing around before kneeling down. A ribbon laser swept the young girl’s wrist for a moment. Behind his visor his display linked her ID chip to the database and began to drum up a list of family members. Her immediate family, everyone on this planet had not been confirmed to have evacuated. The solider frowned before he could respond.
There was a blinding flash, a mighty ball of fire like a second sun rising on the horizon. Solid rock rippled like a pebble splashing in a pond, throwing up a spray of dust and soil as it spread.
The crowd finally broke into panic, recognizing the finality of the encroaching shockwave. Desperately flailing to climb over one another to get onboard. But the girl did not panic. The solider snapped her up, breaking for a transport shuttle and leaving the war droids to make their eternal vigil. The military shuttle was already taking off but one rocket-assisted jump carried the solider just high enough to make it onboard.
Hauling the tender youngling in, he averted her eyes as the civilian transport shuttle attempted to make its own departure. Lifting off with the doors still open and the desperate mob momentarily formed a sort of tether to the shuttle before this broke. Citizens continued to spill out the still-open door as the shuttle lifted off. The shockwave arrived, tossing the craft like a toy. The civilian shuttle exploded, but the military craft managed to regain its bearings before striking the ground. The side doors sealed as they built speed and made for orbit.
"What the hell is that… that’s not protocol!” One of the men onboard shouted, levying a gun at the child. His shouts obscured outside his helmet. To the girl, the shuttle was oddly silent.
“Stop! Its not a Mungunhola… she’s just a kid and she’s got a chip.” The solider that rescued her said. The other relented, lowering his guard.
“Where are my mommy and daddy and little brother?” She asked again, ignoring their conversation.
“The commander’s just received orders. We’re heading to Kon Galon… they’re going to make a blind ascending jump. They don’t even know where that will land them… say it might be a one way trip.”
“Like we’d even have a home to come back to. Kido Vista… Assiduous… Manatari… all of them fell in the last few hours alone. The whole god damn galaxy’s getting overwhelmed.”
“Fuck!”
“Mister come on, please! I just want my mommy and daddy! Tell me where they are.” She cried.
“Theres no sense in lying to her… she wants to know. I’m going to tell her the truth.” Her rescuer said.
“Are you sure? Don’t you think she’s been through enough already?”
“Kids’ going to have to toughen up if she wants to make it anywhere… especially with the way things are going now.”
The other soliders seemed hesitant. Her rescuer withdrew his helmet into his collar and knelt down to speak to her. The man looked old; something unusual for a solider of the dominion wherein life extension was common. His hair was gray, his face chiseled and square with a fair few wrinkles indicative of middle age and wearyness. The lefthand side more youthful, only by virtue of being a patchwork of medical reconstructor scars. His lower lip quivered as he looked her in the eye.
"Your parents are gone, kid.” He said drily.
“I knew it!” She cried. “I knew it! I knew it! Why did mommy and daddy have to die! Bring them back! Go back and rescue them. Do something!”
"We’ve done all we can…” He mumbled.
“Why?! Why did they have to die! They weren’t bad people! Why is this happening?” She asked between sobs.
“Because…” He began solemnly, waiting for the girl to finish sobbing. “There is no justice in this universe. The world is cold and cruel and unforgiving. God… mazungaten… the universe… whatever you want to call it is cold and cruel… It’s… a big bully. And the only way to ever put down a bully for good is to fight back.” He responded, a bit of fury rising as he made a fist from his armored glove. “Just like that the universe doesn’t care if you go tell mommy it was mean or go cry in the corner. The only axiom that the universe… or those Courgaten we were fighting… or anyone else will universally respect. Is strength. That is the axiom of the galactic admiral… Sulumai Luss. Remember that… and you’ll go far, kid.”
18 years later; Space Above Marchland
“As if I could ever compete with that old goat and who knows how many centuries of experience she has in spinning honeyed prose and winning debates!” She snapped as her body clenched up. “That shriveled old goat is obsolte in this new galaxy…” She spat. “Unlike her… I grew up here; I’ve spent my entire life here and I’ve watched the dominion recover from the verge of extinction only to fall face first back into war and stagnation. And what does she do? Make friends with these imbeciles thinking they can be trusted? Give the furbags endless offers for peace and friendship while they murder us in droves? The only axiom this galaxy recognizes is strength… and therefore we must show it. Not with words, but with a demonstration.”
“Ah yes… so you want me to have the PR team spin this as… an active demonstration of how our strength could be used to pacify the unaligned and quell any conflicts? Risky… but it could be just what the people want.”
"Its what the people need. A leader who isn’t afraid to play hardball if it means keeping our people safe and our nation’s dignity intact.”
“So… how exactly do you intend to go about this?” The Mediocine asked nervously. “What’s your… strategy?”
"Well…” She said plucking the datapad from the Mediocine’s hands. “By the looks of it, Theres still riots and cultists in the southern hemisphere. And this ” She shook her head in disapproval. “The occupying force didn’t do a very good job of cleaning this place out of problem individuals.”
“And… well… that is to be expected. The planet was just invaded…”
"Yet the local authorities have not been able to restore order to an entire hemisphere of their planet. That bespeaks weakness and incompetence the likes of which no leader should have. They are either unwilling or unable to defuse the situation. So… we shall do it for them. Zorg…” She adressed the Mediocine. “I’d like to introduce you to an old friend of mine.”
A man in powered armor stepped in the room, two guards at his side.
“Field Marshall Gunmoor.” She said, giving a deep and respectful bow to the man. His faceplate retracted, revealing his scarred and weary face which wore a proud smile. “It is an honor to have you as my head of security.”
“The honor is mine.” He returned politely.
“I need you pacify the lawless regions and to prep for the deployment of relief stations. Threats of force will only work in the short term, we need to show the citizens of this planet… that they depend on us. I also want a media campaign surrounding the lawlessness and aid being drafted. Document it but don’t broadcast it… could come in handy later.” She turned to the Mediocine “Contact our ingenious allies and arrange a meeting with them ASAP. Triple check for Merger infiltrators and Gunmoor, I want you to be there.”
Blidh, Southern Marchland
There was a sonic boom as a fighter trailed by a squad of UAVs shot overhead; flying barely above the city’s highest buildings. Some of the drones peeled off the formation, looping back around. As they returned to a station above the city capitol they unfurled into a hovering configuration, priming its weapons as it began scanning the crowd for known cultists via facial recognition. Hundreds of marchlander faces scrolled past as it scoured an ever-groing database of the planet’s citizens. In this instance, it found none. A small compartment in the drones underbelly yawned revealing an array of compact but potent megaphones.
The finely-tuned ears of the Marchlanders would be assaulted by three deafeningly loud high pitched siren tones before the machine spoke.
“Attention Citizens of Blidh. A Manadatory Curfew is now in effect for all non CPA law enforcement personnel. Return to your homes or go inside immediately. Those who will fail to comply within thirty seconds will be exempted from relief supply distribution beginning sharply at 6:00am local time…”
Sarnath system, orbit of Marshand
“This is some high-level insanity, they expect us to liberate a planet with eight men?” one of the members of the squad decided that a few moments before they entered the atmosphere of the planet would be a good moment to voice his opinion.
-“Six men, Minadoma.”
“Fuck off Disumena.”
Kanedame stepped in before the discussion could grow hotter. “You two, stop it. Yes, I agree that the FAHS could’ve given us more information, but I think that we can suffice with what we have so far. All we need to do is to lower Gaussian influence on Marchand and get a pro-Union Marchander in control of the planet. Their elections are coming up, so we should just influence them good enough.”
Before Minadoma, the first person to talk, could respond, the captain of the ship announced that the ship had entered the atmosphere, and before long the squad prepared themselves.
“Disengaging cloak in three, two, one...”
Only a dozen kilometres above the surface, the patrol craft re-appeared into sight. It continued its descend even sharper, and before long, it landed in the middle of the Braet forest on the southern hemisphere, not too far away from the city of Blidh. The Furrelians slowly began to drip out of the ship, and soon after the cargo followed. The captain of the ship too left the craft, in order to discuss something with Kanedame.
“I didn’t expect the FAHS to send this few cargo. Three bikes, each with two replacement batteries, a translator, a month’s worth of rations and a few survival kits. Could they really not have sent in stuff that actually lets us fight?” Kanedame said, the captain nodded but quickly put his two cents on the issue.
“You really don’t need more. You have your guns, each with a bayonet. Tilson Inudama there,” he points at one of the soldiers. “If I remember correctly Inudama also got a rifle with actual bullets, in case if you got the orders to assassinate someone. Each gun has its own repair and maintenance kit, so I’m not too sure what you want more. Now hurry up so that I can finish with the final part of my deployment.”
-“That is?”
“We’ve been given a normal warhead, rather than the miniature ones which are standard on this class. We’re supposed to drop it on the first Gaussian base we find and destroy the base.”
-”Huh, good luck with that.” Kanedame replied, before returning to his squadmates. When the bomb was finally loaded onto the craft, and quick and final exchange of words later, the spaceship finally departed, hurrying to the west.
“Well then, time to influence an election.”
Marchand, Sarnath System
Once on deck, she eyed the "escorts" that the Entolis had given her. They'd formed a ragged formation, but the lack of training was evident in the sloppy way they held their shields, the dozen places where the line was ragged, and more. Raw militia recruits, green enough to piss grass, if she was any judge. Definitely nothing up to the standards of even gutter rats. But, the gods provided, and mortals made do. Anything else was asking for trouble, and it wasn't like this mission warranted diverting one of the Aspidae.
Leading the way into the docks towards the shuttles, she pulled another scroll out of her bag and checked it. According to this, her contact was a Constance Cerwyn, a Yokari with separatist sympathies and connections to the Conclave of Sunpike. There had been some minor outreach to the League from the Conclave a few months ago after a mercenary company repelled a pirate assault on an outlying merchant station. Most in the megaboule thought dealing with Sunpike a waste of time, but Melina's superiors had argued for strengthening ties and offering aid in hopes of undermining Ingen. After all, no empire crumbled faster than the one that was attacked from within. And after the Crown Prince's atrocity, the outreach had finally been approved. Hence her presence.
There was a soft ding as the door to the bar opened and Melina slipped inside. Glancing around, she caught sight of Constance over by the bartop. She gestured to the two recruits who had followed her in to find a seat, then went over to the other woman. Dropping into a seat next to her, she ordered a glass of sake, then dug into her bag before pulling out a twenty unit League coin and 'fumbling' it down the bar towards Constance.
"So sorry about that, ma'am. Sometimes things just get away from me!"
MS KORSE
The bartender, dressed in a knit sweater and overalls to ward off the cold, eyed her suspiciously. Another foreigner in a sharp suit, he thought bitterly, as he accepted her tap payment and slid a chewy-looking glass of the local booze towards her. The drink's only saving grace was that, since the Marchanders were so small, their glasses were also a little smaller than average.
Cerywn avoided the stranger's gaze, knowing that getting into spats at a bar was the exact opposite of her purpose here. She did, however, commit the woman to memory. A well-dressed foreigner whose security detail was hefting a full rifle was almost certainly someone of interest, though she wondered just who would need such precautions here...
The bartender gestured to Turner's gun.
"Please, no gun. Leave at coats." he said in the guttural Marchander accent.
CERWYN AND MELINA
"So you are the League contact? Thank you for coming. You know, I've never met a Poleisi before....strange to think we have common ancestors..." she said with a self-deprecating shrug and a roll of her eyes upwards to indicate her horns and onibi. Her accent was flowing and gentle, the words blending into each other and emphasis placed on odd syllables at times, indicating she was from Suedia on Neusattar.
BLIDH PROTEST
The commander of the militia outside the offices scowled up at the Dominion drones overhead.
"Great, wind them up why don't you. It's our stun batons that will have to be used when they go crazy," he said, mostly to himself, watching as the crowds pushed against his troopers who were armed mostly with LTL gear.
ON THE SURFACE
Precit's shuttle settled down in a wide forecourt that was once a loading bay for trucks, but now housed a variety of military and civilian vehicles, including rows of hoverbikes, trucks, cars and a large shuttle.
The soldiers around wore black clothing with gold trim and, oddly, hot pink cloaks and cyphers.
Precit was escorted across the forecourt, offered a delicate parasol to keep the drizzling rain off, and escorted into an office building attached to the main warehouse. Two guardian lion-dog statues stood gleaming in gold in front of the dreary-looking doors, whilst inside hanging kakejiku scrolls, plants, prints and statues had been placed to give the soulless building more of an Ingenious air.
A boardroom, with the central table removed and replaced with a smaller console and touchscreen table, proved to contain the Crown Prince himself, dressed in loose white and black robes and sipping at a tea as he looked over some reports at his desk which occupied a nook in one corner.
He stood as the Gaussian entered, finishing his tea in one gulp and moving out from behind the desk, waiting for her to approach and speak first.
OVER THE SOUTHERN CONTINENT
The ship similarly lifted off without any interference from the local authorities, although the Gaussians in the area were a different matter...
KORSE
“See?” She said passing the bartender a generous tip. “I told you, you’d make people nervous,”
Turner scowled at his charge and drummed his fingers against the rifle.
“If shit goes down…” He began.
“You’ll have to use one of your concealed weapons, oh no…” She said with a tone of mock anguish and a gaze that said it wasn’t up for debate. “We’re not here to antagonize people Turner,”
Not yet at least. She thought watching another foreigner enter the building and take a seat next to the foreigner at the bar. Turner muttered something under his breath and made an exaggerated show of ejecting the magazine out of his rifle and clearing the chamber before he stood and set the weapon by the door. The mag and the spare round he left on the table, returning both to appropriate pockets on his rig upon his return. She picked up the drink and took a gulp of it before setting it down again.
“That looks awful,” Turner commented, folding his arms across his chest. “How can you drink that?”
“I’ve had worse,” She answered, dismissing the newsfeed from the corner of her vision when both the foreigners at the bar got up and moved to a booth with some of the locals. She replaced the feed with the settings menu for her audio suite, working to mute it’s omni-directional capture and instead direct it toward the booth the persons of apparent interest had moved to.
“Oh really?” Turner said incredulously. “Corporate type like you slummed it with the working class before?”
“I grew up in gangland,” She commented. “Used to be involved in shady stuff, which meant long nights punctuated by cheap alcohol,”
“Really?” His face said he didn’t believe her. She nodded, and finished tuning the suite to eavesdrop on the booth across the bar. She turned her head enough to put one ear in the optimal position to capture audio, and covered the movement by setting a tablet on the table and pretending to read whatever was on the screen.
“I can’t see you in a gang,” Turner commented.
"The corp had my image sanitized when I was recruited. Lasered off my tattoos, cut all the bright colours out my hair, smoothed out my facial scars, took out my piercings…” It was only partly a lie. It had been a recruiter from the SIS who had fished her out of gangland after the war was over, not the corporation she was currently pretending to work for. They were looking for shady people who could operate in the shadier parts of foreign society. She’d been one of many young gangsters to be set up with a fresh ID, a sanitized image, and foreign assignments. Her work was more lucrative now, and before she’d lost her eyes she would have said it was safer too…
But one didn’t usually find themselves in the splash zone of an orbital bombardment when they were boosting cars and warring for corners.
“Huh,” Turner said, shrugging his shoulders. “Did you have a lot of tattoos?”
She smirked and sipped her drink again.
“I did. Still have all the ones that can be hidden by a suit,” He quirked an eyebrow and shook his head before returning to scanning the bar for threats she was fairly confident didn’t exist. With the conversation having fallen off she turned her focus to the conversation she was working on eavesdropping, a touch of her mental fingertips beginning a recording while she continued to scroll through news articles on the tablet.
Southern Continent
In Blidh the camp was relocated from its initially planned site to an empty lot outside the city. The promise that any citizens who refused to go home had to be made into an empty threat, otherwise nobody would have been allowed in. The camp was quite small, only around two dozen organics were actually needed to run the camp; though a few hundred robotic workers were brought in.
Some began laying out shelters. Dome-like tents unfurled from compacted packages no larger than a breifcase which turned green in the sunlight; photosynthetic algae inside the fabric producing electricity for the internal lights and HVAC system. Others began unloading food, water purification equipment and medical supplies to establish a hospital.
From here the plan was simple. Marchlanders would check in at the front of the camp and have the needed services distributed to them. The security was moderate. Dominion war droids had proven themselves superior against the defending forces stood guard around the camps. At two and a half meters and a quarter-ton in weight only the most foolish of the marchlanders or merger terrorists would dare defy their orders. Airborne drones patrolled the camp, scanning nearby for merger cultists.
A similar scene would play out at the dozen or so other sites flagged to receive relief camps.
GMGC Warehouse
Arriving inside the three took bows to the prince. Though Zorg required a hiss from Lamis before he recognized who he was supposed to be bowing to. Even the handful of war droids gave a bow before proceeding to postings around the room.
“Crown Prince Mitsuyoshi.” She began. “I am honored that you took the time out of your busy schedule to convene with me. This is my chief of security, Marshall Gunmoor. And this is my assistant secretary, Zorg.”
“Uhm… yes your highest excellency…” The Mediocine began nervously, wetting his lips. “Tha-thank you so much for taking the time to convene with madame precit. I assure you this is not time wasted- nada! Nat a bit-“
“Zorg, Enough!” She snapped. “I do not mean to assume, but I get the sense you are not a man who prefers to waste time with pedantry and bureaucracy, so I shall be breif. I believe that that the Marchlanders are unfit to govern themselves. If you look at what happened… how deeply the merger infiltrated the planet’s people… and how even now it is still in chaos. This will only breed further conflict. At this juncture… the only path to lasting peace is through our continued presence. And I would like to support you in this venture.”
MELINA
Reaching into her jacket, she pulled out a slim data-scroll and handed it over to Constance. In simplified terms, the scroll laid out basic terms for an agreement between the League and the Conclave. The League would offer arms and formal training to those who wanted it, along with funds to expand the Conclave's membership and reach. In exchange, the Conclave would spread the word of the Poleisi and their true history.
"Go ahead and read it over. I'll be on-world for the next few days to receive your response and to keep an eye on how Ingen...responds to the situation here."
TURNER AND KORSE
The strangers in the booth were inviolate - everyone knew how catastrophic the consequences could be if you harassed the lightbulb goblins, and even if no-one openly discussed it, there were rumours of disappearances and swift retribution. The two at the bar, however...
He stumbled up to the bar and clattered his glass on the counter, throwing a dirty look at Korse as he ordered. Taking a slug of his new pint, he wiped his mouth on the back of his sleeve and then turned to them. In broken Common he addressed Korse.
"What you do here, huh? Bars on your planet all shit?"
MELINA
Constance kept her expression level as she read the agreement. As risky as it was committing anything to writing, it was an extraordinary deal. As it stood, the Conclave relied on secret donations from sympathetic individuals, mostly petty nobility on Neusattar and a scattering of military officers. This bargain would massively increase their resources, and more importantly gave credibility to the idea of an independent Neusattar, providing it with a large trade partner and ally from the get-go.
It almost seemed too good to be true, and Cerwyn was nothing if not thorough. She had already done some background checking on Melina and her people, but you could never be too careful. There was always the chance this was a trap.
She slipped the data-scroll inside her blazer and then switched the topic of conversation to the Gauss-Furrelian war, loudly talking about how it had affected insurance rates for one of her larger account holders at Goldwing Finance. Eventually, finishing her drink, she bid farewell to Melina, promising to catch up again soon, and stood to leave.
As her heels clacked loudly on the pavement outside, the local she had been talking to earlier pulled out a communicator and placed a call, muttering surreptitiously.
MITSUYOSHI'S WAREHOUSE
"Welcome, Precit. You're correct, there's no value in wasting time." he replied, pausing to take a sip of tea.
Setting the cup back down, he leaned forwards, one elbow resting on his knee whilst the other hand rested on the other knee, cocking his head as he looked at a map displayed on the console table in front of him.
"So you foresee a long-term involvement from the Dominion?" he asked gently, offering no information of his own. "That could be expensive, both in terms of cash and lives," Personally, he could not give a bucket of piss for the future of Marchand, other than that it did not again threaten Jade interests in the area. If it were not economically important to the region he would be half tempted to level the entire planet, but that would greatly damage the Tuvian Arm economy beyond what had already been done, as well as further alienate the Jade Empire's allies and perhaps compromise his own position.
BLIDH
Blidh was in a state of near-anarchy. Those who went to the relief camps had to watch out for thieves and cultists waylaying them on their way home, either for material gain or to punish them for colluding with the hated invader. Even those who made it safely home had to be sure to lock their doors, as bitter rumour and tensions began to swell among the population. The aliens had caused the problems in the first place, and now they were holding food and other supplies hostage, trying to force the Marchanders to bend to their will...
RELIEF CAMP, BLIDH OUTSKIRTS
Out of the smoke came a giant beast, twice the height of a Marchander, towering over the average humanoid. Its front was a massive maw of circular teeth, whilst its long limbs combined claws and tentacles. The ground shook as it sprang towards the nearest war droid, roaring an unholy bellow as it trampled another Marchander underfoot.
Nearly two kilometers away, atop an old steelworks, two figures lay prone, staring towards the commotion using old-school telescopic sights. Positioned in front of one of the outlets for the electric arc furnaces inside, their heat signatures were masked well, even if they were uncomfortably warm.
"Now?" asked one. The other raised two fingers and made a cutting motion for him to hold fire.
Blidh outskirts
The monster wrestled briefly with the machine, trying desperately to fend off the beast at the expense of its own life, and prevent it from consuming any more hapless marchlanders. It bought just enough time for one of the loitering drones to snap its guns around unleash a ferocious rapid fire volley hardlight bolts into the beast. The non-military medics and service workers ducked for the cover of their stalls.
Half a dozen marines rushed from the shuttle, closing their armored helms as they ran to investigate. The sergeant began to doll out orders.
“You three, check the perimeter. Corporal… dispose of whats left of that thing. Lieutenant, help me get these refugees back in line. Everyone else, get back to work.”
From the snipers perspective the three marines and their droid escorts split up, and began perusing the perimeter; tiny ESP drones loitering about and checking nearby hiding spots. Thankfully for them, they did not seem to anticipate any foe being further away than a few hundred meters. One was preparing what looked to be a flamethrower to torch the remains of the beast, while the other two were working to redirect the line of refugees around the site of the incident. One by one the heads of the relief camp staff came back up ready to resume their jobs, a little shaken but assured the situation had been handled.
Mitsuyoshi’s Warehouse
“Countless more will die if we do not intervene now. What we are doing… is giving these disenfranchised people a chance to live a peaceful life. The people of marchland are victims of a dangerous ideology… they will all either succumb to the allure of the cult of Carcaros or die off. If Carcaros is left to fester, it could soon grow to threaten more than just this system.”
She paused, taking a sip of tea. She smacked her lips, the flavor being unfamiliar.
“Our people have been strong allies since we arrived in this galaxy, and we all stand to gain from this situation if we are intelligent and decisive. We could share with the people of the Sarnath system our technology and our might; cleanse the planet of this infestation. In return they could give us their industry, wealth and influence; and this planet could stand as a beacon of the alliance between our people and what the colonial powers can do for the unaligned.”
KORSE
Scelene’s attention was focused foremost on the foreigners. She caught most of what was being said, thanks to her implants. She sent off the relevant information to her people elsewhere. They began pulling what information they could on the ‘League’ that had been mentioned. A second message went out to the rest of Turner’s people waiting by the car, a simple instruction to photograph the people as they departed and pass it on to the facial recognition algorithms.
So focused was she on her task that she didn’t notice the man when he sidled up next to her, and with her implants tuned to monitor the conversation across the bar it wasn’t until Turner nudged her softly that she glanced first at him, and then at the man who had spoken to her. She reset her implant parameters to default and took another sip from her drink, setting it down on the bar top before turned to the man.
She didn’t reply immediately, sizing him up before finally settling her gaze back on her drink. She picked it up and took a long pull before settling back down.
“The bars on my planet are fine,” She answered. “But I’m here on business, I needed a drink, and so here I am,”
She kept her tone casual and non-confrontational, doing her level best to avoid a fight… though she had a sinking suspicion this man might not let it go so easily. You didn’t normally roll up on strangers and lead with insults when you weren’t trying to start a fight.
MELINA
Finishing her own drink several minutes later, Melina rose and went over to the bar, handing the glass over before addressing Pyshnyak in Marchander. "Truly, I do apologize about all of the commotion, good sir. I was only here to speak with the young lady, but I do understand that it can be trying to have foreigners in one's establishment, especially after such unpleasantness."
Counting out enough to pay for both her and Constance's drinks, she added in half as much again, before pushing the pile of coins over to the the bartender. "Mind, I am here on official business, as it happens. Would you be able to point me towards the local enclave of Poleisi? I understand that their Dromos is in some disrepair after the attack, and needs parts."
BLIDH OUTSKIRTS
The first explosive-tipped round screamed at the fuel tanks of the flamethrower, hoping to detonate the material within or cause a lethal backfire to the thrower itself. Almost before it had landed, he had thrown the bolt and fired again, aiming at a figure he recognised from the last couple of days' surveillance as being fairly important, or at least in a position to give orders.
After the second shot he threw the bolt again and then waited, wanting to see what effect the shots had and whether the enemy were able to triangulate their position quickly...
THE WAREHOUSE
He leaned back in his chair. "I agree with you, at least on the basic principles. The Merger is a cancer, one that'll only get worse over time, and you know the treatment for cancer."
He glanced at the sword on its display stand beneath the shuttered window, the same sword he had carried at the Battle of Cass City.
"I will be candid, I do not care whether the Marchanders live or die. At best they sat back and let the Merger take hold, even those who didn't actively join it. They've already cost too many Jade lives. My only objective here is to stamp out the Cult of Carcaros - I don't particularly care who takes power so long as they can keep the ports open and the Merger suppressed."
Pulling up a holofeed, the faces of Premier Kuraly and General Secretary Sundin were displayed, alongside various snippets and data analytics for the election which was currently ongoing.
"Right now these men are our best bet, I think. The Unified Democratic Party has a strong hold in the urban centres of Marchand, and its ranks are filled with former Guild and CPA officials with good political, tribal and business standings. If we can build their People's Democratic Guard into a half-decent military, and help them set up a rigorous intelligence and security arm, we can leave most of the policing to them, saving our 'advisors' for the heavy lifting. We can also use our troops for the dirtier work, letting the PDG keep their hands clean so the general population don't resent them. They'll resent us, of course, but who cares?"
SCELENE AND TURNER
He spat on the floor, but whether intentionally or due to inebriation part of the gobbet landed on Scelene's upmarket shoes.
Meanwhile, Turner's backup teams began to find public information available on the Poleisic League, an ancient culture of humans that at one point had been part of, or indeed the entirety, of the Second Coronan Republic before their decline thousands of years ago. Now they seemed to be a loose collection of culturally and politically enmeshed independent planet-states scattered across much of the Ancerious Galaxy. The cryptic remarks about the connection between Cerywn's 'people' and the Poleisi were not so easily explained, but was what strikingly obvious was that the Poleisi as a whole valued democracy to an almost religious pitch. The Jade Empire quite markedly did not share these feelings, and combined with the clandestine nature of their meeting and Cerywn's ethnic background as a Neusattran, suggested that Melina's presence did not bode well for the Jade Empire.
MELINA
The bartender squinted for a moment, as if weighing up the request, before jerking his head.
"Lots of humans over by the Yefimovich docks in the north. Your friends are probably there."
Melina's preliminary research, or even a quick Ancnet search, would confirm that the Yefimovich spaceport, which was absolutely ravaged by the orbital bombardment, had somehow miraculously survived and been rebuilt, mostly by foreign concerns looking for a cheap and high-volume landing spot for their merchant shuttles and freighters. In exchange for generous tariff reductions and other considerations, they had paid to rebuild the sprawling docks piecemeal, resulting in a hotpot of foreign concerns, companies and nations with a strange mishmash of structures and designs which nevertheless had helped bring trade back to the ailing capital city.
As she stepped outside and began heading down the street, however, a quartet of Marchanders in CPA uniforms accosted her. The crisp dark blue uniforms, with their white piping and epaulets, seemed out of place in this murky corner of the city, and the starch lines were still visible even. Three of them held some kind of stun batons at their hips, whilst the leader had a submachinegun of some kind slung under one arm, his hand on the pistol grip though his finger was off the trigger.
With his other arm he gestured for Melina to stop.
"Inspection!" he said in very heavily accented Common. "For to show identification immediately."
Bildh Camp
Suspicion arose. The soliders turned about.
A second shot hit the supervisor; who doubled as the camp’s chief doctor. A tall Katharian wearing a minimalistic white garb. It struck him dead on the temple. The result was a grizzly decapitation as violet blood and fragments of his skull were scattered throughout the tent behind him.
With these two points of reference for the trajectory of the shot; one of the drones plotted a trajectory. The network didn’t take long to piece together based on the doppler shift of the bullet ’s sound and calculate to within a fraction of a degree where the shots were coming from.
“Sniper! South-Southeast!”
The soliders got behind hard cover, as did the other gaussians in the camp. The war droids scanned the horizon across the spectrum, parceling up the direction of enemy fire. It wasn’t long before one of them found the glint of a scope and the barrel of a gun poking out amidst the steelworks. The captian in charge of the camp gave permission and pulled the virtual trigger, sending a guided fragmentation round downrange at their position.
Warehouse
She wanted to bring the hammer down herself, but she was just a candidate who had a friend in the armed forces able to pull strings. She knew with every fiber of her being it would be five years, tops, before the PDG grew corrupt or fell apart. But if it meant a short term success… earning support… validating her abilities as a leader, and getting elected, she was willing to to bend to his whims, at least for the time being.
“I suppose there is credence to that… Very well, you have my support. I will continue my relief efforts for the civilian populace for the time being, and we will continue to screen for merger threats while we get the PDG on its feet. If you require my support in any other way; I will be willing to oblige within my means. For one…” She chuckled, taking another sip of tea, having developed the taste for it. “I’m certain Gunmoor would enjoy having some recruits to yell at…"
KORSE
Scelene followed the trajectory of the gobbet with her eyes until it landed on her shoe with a wet sound. Turner was out of his seat but a glance from his charge was enough to still the mercenary before he could lay hands on the Marchander. She sighed and picked a napkin off the counter, wiping the gobbet off her shoe with a sour expression before she regarded the man. She crumpled the napkin and set it on the bartop next to her drink.
All the while she was skimming through the information coming in from her team, while the gears in her head turned. Fanatic democrats holding clandestine rendezvouses with Yokari certainly implied the existence of some form of dissenting movement in the Jade Empire. It was exactly the sort of thing Scelene had been sent to find. She just hadn’t expected to stumble into the discovery of such movements so quickly, and certainly not in a place like this. It boded well for her, though identifying persons affiliated with insurrection and ingratiating herself to them were entirely separate matters. Still it was a start, a start she hadn’t had when she entered the bar looking for a cheap drink to suppress her nerves.
The silence between her and the man dragged on, so¬ long in fact it may have seemed the woman intended to ignore the man altogether. But at last, after downing the rest of her drink, she addressed him.
“The company I work for and the Commonwealth had nothing to do with the campaign that conquered this planet,” She said setting the glass down on the bar top and standing. She straightened her suit, and smoothed out a wrinkle in her pants. “Your hostility is misdirected,”
She set a credit chip on the bartop and slid it toward the Marchander.
“Have another drink on me, we’ll be on our way,”
She didn’t wait for an answer. She turned and walked away, pulling on her coat before stepping back out into the street and lighting another cigarette. Turner remained in place, glowering down at the Marchander with his thumbs hooked under the shoulder straps of his tactical vest until his charge had left the bar. Then, finally, the mercenary turned and followed her, pausing to retrieve and reload his rifle before joining her outside on the street.
Already Scelene was sending out more instructions. The team that had been doing clandestine surveillance on the Palace of Democracy she reassigned to surveil Cerwyn and the local she’d left the bar with. She doubted they’d be able to catch up with them right away, they’d have to pack up their equipment and then relocate and by then Cerwyn and her companion might be long gone… but hopefully the facial recognition algorithms would turn up something and they’d be able to pick the trail back up.
Turner paused on the sidewalk next to her, glancing down the street to where Cerwyn’s contact was being accosted by several Marchanders. He tapped Scelene on the shoulder and she shifted her gaze toward the scene. For the moment, both stood in place, watching while the rest of Turner’s men brought the car around to pick them up.
MELINA
Melina stopped as requested, quickly flashing hand signals behind her back to her two guards to ensure that they didn't try to fight the officers. The last thing she needed was trouble with the local authorities. Clearing her throat, she nodded smoothly to the man with the gun, then spoke in a somewhat accented Marchander as she pulled her identification and passport out of her bag.
"Good day, sirs. As you can see, I am Melina Tyrallicus, an envoy from the Poleisic League, here on a diplomatic mission. Is something amiss?"
BLIDH CAMP
She did not bother to tell Silotsk to drop it - if he did, it would be traced back to him anyway. Instead, she just scrambled down the far side of the building, wincing as she felt and heard the explosion that rocked the rooftop. She paused for a moment, listening for sounds of movement, but there was nothing but crackling and the falling of debris. Silotsk had been caught by the gunfire, it seemed.
She sprang to the ground and ducked into the building across the street, scampering into the cellar and diving into the warrens below, disappearing into the darkness to return to her comrades far off....
THE WAREHOUSE
He stood.
"Now if you'll excuse me, I was planning to lead a patrol around the districts west of the Yefimovich Dockyards, remind the locals we're here and make sure there's nothing untoward being planned, but this afternoon there will be a banquet to celebrate the election and honour the new Premier and President - I'd be honoured if you would join us. We should show unity to our furry friends, neh?" he asked with a chuckle.
OUTSIDE THE BOZNEF CLUB
The officer scrutinised the documents without responding or offering his own name, eventually giving a pronounced sniff and squinting up at the Poleisi.
"Diplomatic? Who to?" he asked, keeping his questions and manner curt.
MELINA
"Well, that's hardly any of your business, is it?"
Grimacing after a moment, she coughed delicately. "Apologies, you've caught me in something of a temper. I'm here on business to meet with the local enclave down by the dockyards. After events such as the...disturbance that has occurred, it's League policy to dispatch an envoy to assess the condition of the enclave and provide assistance if required."
Turning slightly to face one of her guards, she murmured softly in Poleisic. "Something is wrong about this. Contact the Ysir and request Aspidae support."
The militia trooper punched several glyphs on a gauntlet he was wearing before resuming his position behind the envoy.
Blidh Camp
He ordered the transmission of a breif and informal report to Marshall Gunmoor, requesting more drones be dispatched to not just his camp and more stealth detection measures be brought in, but all the camps as a means to beef up the ranges at which they could patrol; ensuring repeat usages of this tactic wouldn’t be as affected. The others slowly began to restore the releif camp to normal order.
Warehouse
Gunmoor walked back into the room. Lamis opened her mouth to speak, but stopped herself upon noticing his demeanor. His normally expressionless face looked particularly concerned; an ocean of worry being held at bay by a thin layer of stoicism. The urgency with which his voice came.
“The Blidh camp was attacked. One dead, no wounded. I’m ordering extra drones down from orbit and the ships to provide regular orbital scans of the areas surrounding the camps…”
Lamis paused. Was the grizzled Marshall really so worked up over the death of one individual. She frowned, preparing to speak again, but was cut off on the inhale.
“Its not just that. There’s just been an attack back home. Massive communications blackout and cyberattack, so reports are limited. But from what we can gather the council hall was bombed, possibly by a Furrelian. They had insider help from the Supreme Galactic Commander. Garo… it seems he was a traitor all along.”
Gunmoor turned to face Mitsuyoshi
“The Ingenious embassy was bombed by a Furrelian too.”
Lamis wore an odd expression, seemingly processing for an excruciatingly long time. “That’s terrible.” She muttered, seeming genuinely unsure of how to react.
OUTSIDE THE BOZNEF CLUB
"Ok. Yefimovich docks are that way. You have nice day."
He gestured for the offworlders to continue, his men watching them sullenly.
Above them, far beyond normal eyesight, a drone settled into position, tracking the Poleisi through a thermal feed to see exactly where they went. Captain Nishi packed up his gear and quietly exfiltrated, stepping out into the small street behind the apartment building, slipping away into the city.
BLIDH CAMP
THE WAREHOUSE
He watched Lamis as she reacted to Gunmoor's report. "Yes...certainly. So tell me," he said, crossing behind his desk and typing something into his holo. "Is the Prime Minister alright? If the council have been bombed and Garo is a traitor, who is in charge now?"
GOLDWING FINANCE OFFICE
Braet forest
“We’re departing after sunset.” He shouted to the group, a few complaints went out, but the mood was lightened at least a bit. He looked as how the sunset. This planet now is the Furrelian Union’s newest zone of conflict.
Above Blidh
KORSE
Korse watched silently, cigarette flaring in the drizzle, as Cerwyn’s contact was briefly harassed by the police. She quirked an eyebrow, watching as they sent the contact on their way after a brief exchange. She took another drag on her cigarette, and wondered just what had been said to scare the Marchanders off so quickly… and what’s more the SIS Agent couldn’t help but wonder who else might be watching. She cast her gaze around, grey eyes surveying the area, identifying a myriad of perches and patches of darkness where she’d have hidden a surveillance team. She saw no sign of surveillance, but she supposed if they were any good she wouldn’t.
You’re being paranoid, She told herself, but she wasn’t entirely sure she believed that.
Rumination on the subject was cut short as Turner’s men arrived with the vehicle. She stepped in, Turner coming in behind her, and then they were back on the road. She kept a line open with the second team. They had relocated to the Goldwing offices, and confirmed the arrival of Cerwyn. Notably absent was Cerwyn’s Marchander contact.
Well, they’d found Cerwyn at least. With luck she’d lead them to all her other contacts sooner or later. For now, the team’s orders were purely surveillance. Tail Cerwyn, take note of who she met with, where she went, what she did… Once Scelene knew more she could decide what, if anything, to do about Cerwyn and her shady contacts.
In the meantime, she had a schedule to keep. She needed to maintain her cover, which meant she had to put on a show of negotiating for resource extraction rights she quite frankly couldn’t care less about. But, not every aspect of SIS skullduggery could be pulse pounding excitement. Today it would be boring and routine. Filling out paperwork, meeting with government officials who could connect her to the right people.
It was tedious, it was boring, but it was something to do while she waited for new information and planned her next move. She sensed something was afoot on Marchand, and she intended to turn whatever it was in her favour.
Warehouse
"I'm not sure..." Gunmoor began. "That was all that made it out before a communications disruption set in. There was a large cyberattack on the innernet, but we managed to chop communications before they could infest our systems all the way out here. If the council are gone as well as the supreme galactic commander; then the galactic admiral Assumes garo's position and is acting head of state until the council and a new prime minister can be reinstated."
"This... this changes everything." Lamis began. "Without Kroywen running against me... the Democrats will have to pick a new canidate. We've... basically just won the election."
"I wouldn't be so confident. Kroywen was trying to surrender to the Furrelian Union, then a sack of urngoth shit hit the fan. If things are half as bad as I think they are... there won't be a gauss dominion to go back to."
Lamis swallowed uncomfortably, her stern and assertive demeanor withering.
"What do we do?"
"I don't know." Gunmoor responded sternly before his communicator chimed. He answered, sounding annoyed. "Now what?” Someone began chattering on the other end in untranslated Kimbeau.
Bildh Camp
Once they had been decloaked, the ships in orbit locked on to the tachyonic signature of the ship, and within moments several of the patrolling fighters had unleashed unneccsarialy large salvos courser missiles. Breaking mach after mach until the missiles were hypersonic, igniting the atmosphere in blinding trails fo plasma.
YEFIMOVICH DOCKYARDS, HORNQVIST
A hostile cult, a tenuous election, and victims of war; Serashee Krisra concluded that she and her compatriots had their work cut out for them as she reviewed every bit of information she could scrounge up. The young Minevan woman was lounging in a rather large charge she had brought aboard weeks prior, surrounding by stacks of solid documents, open books, and floating displays of digital information surrounding her. Serashee took a moment to zone out after hours of mental labor, drinking in the scent of her tea and swaying her head to the whisper of a wind instrument. Raising her hand, the wooden flute gently listed into her grip and ceased its tune.
Even from the relative safety of their vessel at the Yefimovich Dockyard, Serashee was intimately familiar with the sights that lay outside the Muonized bulkheads and beyond. The psion closed her eyes, the digital displays of information blinking into nothingness and the various resources strewn about her room organizing themselves onto nearby surfaces. Making sure to savor her last bit of comfort, she grabbed her belongings, shut the lights, and departed to meet her associates.
MARSHALLING AREA, VELKNA’S PLACKART
After hours of deliberation and crew-wide meetings, the consensus had remained the same as before; spread wide, discern which communities were most at-risk, embed with them to provide bottom-level aid, encourage participation in the democratic process, and protect those who did from the Cult of Carcaros. The ship’s administration team had notified local authorities of their presence and had given proper notice of armed individuals to protect their relief workers.
Serashee’s own goals lie beyond the simple work of aid and relief. She was one of the few Minevans wrapped up in a major galactic affair, and there were dark secrets to be unearthed lying in the damp underbelly of this city. The bastions in the south had already fallen to constant skirmishes and barely maintaining a sense of order. If the extremists could not be exposed and unraveled in Hornqvist, the democratic project of Marchand would be lost for good. The subsequent acts of barbarism and loss of life would likely make Cass and the orbital strike look like a couple’s argument.
In the dockyard, Serashee took a minute to enjoy the natural light and breeze, albeit some would consider the climate unpleasant. The cold was a welcome friend to her kind. Eventually she was joined by a Celvian; Mantiya of Talakka, who she was able to easily recognize from the healed web of cracks along his facial carapace. The insectoid was not faring as well in the chill and needed a few more insulating layers than her and the two other Minevans that followed behind him. She recognized the lot of them very well- most of their crew had flown together since a decade prior after the glassing of Agnios.
“This planet is a disaster,” Mantiya blurted out, the cold having frozen his sense of tact as well.
“Not the worst,” Serashee held a laugh behind a smirk, never tiring of the insectoid’s poor attitude, “I hear the people are rather glib, though.”
“I hear they are fucking nuts.”
“Let us not generalize, friend,” Serashee declared, beginning to walk off and knew the others would follow. After a small delay, they did and she continued, “Most of the people here are victims of circumstance, regardless of war or cult. We must show them the tools to change their circumstance, no?”
“We agreed to be here. Preach to them, not to me,” Mantiya bluntly said.
Serashee was unphased by his remark, watching as their transportation came their way from the tail hangar end of the ship several hundred meters down the ‘pier’. It was a ‘Walleye’ armored car, lattice painted a smooth purple with a green strip and turret stripped from the top. She entered the passenger seat, the others filing into the rear.
Once she was sure they were sealed off from the outside and there was no risk of eavesdrop, Serashee turned to face the back seat and spoke once again. “This part may interest you more. We are going digging, probably for trouble.”
“Naturally,” Mantiya was smashed in the middle seat, being much smaller than the two Minevans flanking him, “What did you have in mind?”
“These Carcaros individuals, they are the biggest threat to the elections and general quality of life in this city. The other cities have fallen to warlords because of them. This is the stronghold we must fortify, and if we don’t figure something out then who knows when the Ingen reprisal will be glassing half of the continent.”
“Aren’t we talking a multi-million cult?” Mantiya emphasized the last word, sounding incredulous, “I got a couple guys with rifles.”
“Ah,” Serashee put a finger up, “First we observe, my friend. Always observe and think before making decisions. Didn’t they teach you that in the rangers?”
ZAYAC, HORNQVIST
She and her people tried to build rapport with locals, helped with any random job they could, socialized with any open ear, and still yielded little but cautious glares and pursed lips. The Marchanders were generally as unsociable as they appeared, opening up in the instances of free labor and open wallets but otherwise scurrying away when the incentives were gone.
She did not entirely blame them; having one’s city shelled by capital weapons did make one swiftly skeptical, especially of random foreigners cycling in every day.
They were on the dying end of a chilly rain, the making the streets damp and largely empty. To her, this only accentuated the damages brought on by the rampant firestorms weeks prior. They were in relative proximity to one of the impact sites, making Serashee shudder at the thought of glancing at the sky one moment and being rocked by a capital-ship’s coilgun the next.
She jumped as she felt something poke her side. She turned and saw Mantiya, now a walking ball of demotivation and misery. “Sera,” He rose his voice over the precipitation, “We oughta head back or move on for now, synch up with the others.”
“Hm…” All Serashee could offer was audible thought, considering his suggestion. They stood in the road for a few moments, the rain finally running its course and a deafening silence crawling in. It dawned on her that she heard absolutely nothing over the sound of their breathing and the heartbeat in her ear. She inquisitively turned about, scanning everything with a harshly furrowed brow. Very few faces, rodents, and parked shabby vehicles.
“HEY!” Hearing a faint scream, the pair turned and saw one of their team cutting a corner a couple hundred meters down the mainway. Their trained eyes could make out the barrel of a rifle at the high ready, weaving to-and-fro from a dead sprint.
“That’s… Korv?” Mantiya said.
On moment, silence. The next, a flash of light and thunder erupting from the ground, with enough force to shatter glass and send the pair reeling to the ground. Down the road, the Minevan rifleman was swallowed by a bright orange fireball and the part of the structures they could see were shredded into small debris.
Serashee felt the air leave her lungs, on her back looking to the sky in total shock. Large pieces of rubble were sent hundreds of meters into the sky, barely grazing the top of the swiftly-forming mushroom cloud that would be visible from all quarters of the city. Several town blocks were blown away by the initial blast alone, flaming chunks and shrapnel travelling much further, and a billowing wall of smoke was coming straight towards them whilst consuming the ground level.
“Sera! You good?!” She snapped her look over to see the Celvian already up, grabbing and pulling on her shoulder.
She tried to respond, only to instead inhale as if she had taken her first breath in years. The concussive force and sudden rush of oxygen made her feel faint. All she could do was begin to stand, for the moment.
Across the road, a small set of double-doors was violently kicked open. Another Minevan rifleman emerged, gun at an alert carry with eyes wide. Before Mantiya could even call his name, hundreds of ‘pop’s and ‘crack’s in a symphony of tones rang out from above them. With each of these sounds, a storm of solid projectiles and energy lances violently rendered the Minevan into paste.
“Go!” Mantiya screamed at Serashee, pushing her with all his might in the opposite direction. Without thinking, she bolted towards the nearest dwelling she could find and smashed her body through the entry way.
The Celvian ripped his rain cover off, revealing a set of four handguns in holsters. In a flash he identified a pair of targets on the rooftops about to traverse the wall of fire his way. The many-armed Celvian drew in the same motion he’d drilled and executed thousands of times, and cleanly dispatched the two automatic gunners in the time it took to extend his arms. Mantiya bolted after Serashee with the momentary reprieve, a dozen more gunners pursuing him by fire. He returned precision fire to the window and rooftop roosts their would-be killers were occupying.
“Sera!” Mantiya shouted to her, not taking an eye off the direction of the attack even though he was now in cover. “Are you hurt?”
Serashee had dumped her satchel, the adrenaline making her fine motor control elude her as she searched for her commlink. Being questioned, she realized that a good bit of glass had taken a liking to her forearm. Without thinking, she instinctively removed it and immediately regretted her decision. She picked up her communication device, forgetting to give the Celvian an answer.
“This is Serashee Krisra,” She frantically spoke, the link directly open to her ship. She coughed after drawing a sharp breath, “I am in Zayac district! There has been an attack, gunners on the rooftops!”
Her ears were ringing from the extreme volume of fire chewing up the front of her and Mantiya’s establishment. She held the commlink to her ear, barely able to hear the static coming from it.
Uncertain, she switched the device to an unsecured net, repeating her desperate call.
MELINA
She blinked in surprise, turning to face him. "So soon?"
"I guess a unit was already on the way. Nukes tend to do that."
She laughed to herself, then nodded and led her guards down towards the docks. Upon arrival, after a few questions they found themselves outside the enclave. To most, it would've simply seemed to be a collection of buildings in a somewhat odd circular layout. But Melina could see the concentric defenses, the sentries, the turrets, and myriad measures
Every enclave was different, but this one seemed to prefer hiding in plain sight. No gates, no walls, no obvious teeth to it. Fair enough, after all, she could hardly imagine that blatant defiance would've evoked anything but retribution from the Jade. Signaling her guards to stand back, she moved forward to where the buildings formed a sort of entrance to the inner rings and cleared her throat. "Beneath the eyes of the Eleven, I come to mend the ties of kinship and extend the hand of aid."
Several minutes later, three armed guards equipped much like those she'd brought with her came forwards and escorted her and her retinue inside. Surprisingly, instead of the gathering hall like she'd expected, they took her straight to the Dromos shrine. As she entered, a man in a priest's robes turned and bowed slightly. "Be welcome, Herald. I believe we have much to talk about..."
WAREHOUSE
"Some kind of terror attack near the docks. Reports of ongoing gunfire, looks like a briefcase nuke," replied Tosho in staccato Ingenious. "...and...another outside Blidh, looks like an aerial strike," he said, trailing off in a stream of invectives.
Mitsu hauled on his G-BUS suit, tugging the ornate helmet into place.
"Tosh, get third platoon ready, we're going out."
The sergeant nodded and left the room, bellowing orders as he did so.
"Precit, Marshall, you'll excuse me. If you wish to make yourselves comfortable here we have guest quarters. My invitation for later tonight still stands, but if you need to go I get it."
KORSE AND TURNER
As the afternoon wore on, however, punctuated by a huge explosion far off elsewhere in the city, she stepped out and got into a wheeled car, its hydrogen engine purring quietly as she drove towards the docks. She drove right past one of Korse's stakeout teams, glancing briefly at them before passing by, but she did not seem to betray any reaction.
OUTSIDE THE ENCLAVE
ZAYAC, HORNQVIST
Their destination was easy to spot, a huge billowing plume of flame and smoke from the devastated Zayac District. They outpaced the CPA forces en-route, whilst the official Jade 'advisory force' did little other than dispatch a gunship to observe from high above.
Turning the corner onto a large roadway, the lead hoverbike was almost immediately hit by a stream of energy fire, sending it crashing to the ground and throwing the rider violently across the road, crashing sickeningly into a parked vehicle as the bike scraped along the concrete, burning. The rest of Mitsu's force pulled up instantly, dismounting behind their bikes and opening fire with their AA-42 gunspears. The weight of professional fire, concentrated at one end of the street, drove back the cultists, killing two and forcing the others into cover. Third platoon began to advance down the street, three marines moving at a time whilst the rest covered them, sweeping for casualties. Tosho came across the Minevan who had been caught in the double doorway, and didn't even bother checking for vitals - the poor sod was dead.
"Sir, it's Minevans!" he called out, confirming what they had suspected from Serashee's name and accent as she had called out over open radio. Mitsuyoshi had been vaguely aware of some Minevans engaged in charity work in the area, tolerated because of their community's good standing on Sanrin and because they were one of the only groups the locals seemed to trust, but it seemed like that had made them a target for the Cult.
Any foreigner was bad in the Cult's eyes, and foreigners doing good deeds were doubly intolerable as they threatened to soften public opinion towards offworlders.
As Mitsuyoshi advanced behind two of his marines, gun at the ready, all these thoughts floated in the back of his mind, inconsequential. They had enemies in front of them, Cultists who needed to be put down so that order could be restored to this little corner of the world. A burst of pistol fire erupted from a storefront on street level to their left, forcing a Cultist on a roof opposite to duck for cover.
"Friendlies!" called out of of the marines, and then she kicked the door in and she and Mitsu ducked inside. The marine turned to take position at the window, next to the diminutive Mantiya, adding her fire to his, whilst Mitsu took stock
In front of him, a young Minevan woman, with the pale skin and thick white hair of her species, was trying to staunch an arm wound which had soaked her worn green poncho.
"Serashee Krisra?" he asked, aping the pronunciation just about well enough to avoid being offensive, as he ducked behind the counter of the shabby electronics store and reached into a pouch for a combination bandage.
To the Minevans, the Jade soldiers were barely a comforting sight, despite their familiarity. Dressed in black combat armour, their helmets bore inhuman horns whilst their faces were hidden by snarling and unmoving dragon masks chased in gold, with 'eyes' glowing a deep pink-red.
SERASHEE
Mantiya looked at the Jade marine who stacked up next to him, giving an appreciative nod. If he was capable of complex facial expressions, he would certainly be smiling with relief.
Serashee was visibly distressed, but not from her own physical pain or discomfort. She knew her wounds were relatively minor, noting her arm was oozing dark veinous blood, as opposed to a free arterial bleed. The Minevan snatched the bandage from the newcomer and immediately pressed it to her wound. Teeth clenched and brow furrowed, she wordlessly examined the mask that was addressing her. She nearly didn't even register she was being spoken to.
Her mind was clouded with the undoing of her work around her; her dead compatriots, likely an ample amount of locals, and the general destruction brought on by acts of war and their escalations. Even in the very shop they sat in, the floors she had helped clean a few days prior were now riddled with ricochet trails, speckled with scorch marks, and stained in her blood. She couldn't help but feel a twinge of guilt; in the quest for information she had flown too close to the sun.
"Yes," Serashee shook her head, forcing herself out of her shocked state. She could at least show appreciation to his manners in the midst of a firefight, "Thank you! Not a moment too soon; I fear I may have kenned too much about their little Cult, enough to kill my people!"
The Cultists moved low and fast, taking opportunistic shots while egressing deeper into the structures and cover. Their silhouettes could be seen scurrying across the top levels of the buildings and darting through the shadows behind the apertures. Once met with legitimate resistance, they evidently had no intent of standing their ground and holding a fighting line. In a stand-up fight, even experienced fighters like this were getting cut down in short order by a professionally trained and equipped fighting force.
Instead, the gunners supplemented their random assortment of automatic weapons by lobbing and firing a worrying amount of explosives from their many angles. A volley of grenades and rockets of numerous makes and models were dumped to ground level, in hopes of disorienting and softening the Ingen quick reaction force.
"Incoming!"
Mantiya flinched as he felt a solid vibration on the wall, witnessing a rocket take a chunk out of the windowsill next to him. The device harmlessly dropped on the floor by his feet; miraculously a dud. The Celvian wasted no time in grabbing it and sending it away from them and their new friends. Even though one of his arms had been nicked, forcing it into a death-curl from the lack of hydraulic pressure, Mantiya was in a calm state of autopilot: confident, aggressive, relaxed.
Mitsuyoshi was momentarily taken aback - the woman was a foreigner, a barbarian even, but she had striking features and seemed in great spirits for someone bleeding from a gunshot wound.
He found his mask suddenly stifling and he slid it down to hang around his neck, revealing a youngish face with a narrow nose, a broad chin and faintly shadowed eyes, sporting an expression that almost seemed resigned, as if weary or numb to whatever buffets and blows were headed his way. Like the rest of his kind his skin was a slightly luminescent ivory, except for a band of glittering green that covered the top of his head down to his nose and cheekbones. A thin pencil mustache and goatee sat lightly on his face, a face which had been on the AncNet a lot recently following the bombing of Hornqvist. He offered a wry smile.
"These yatsus would kill you no matter how much you knew about them. I'm impressed any of you survived."
Next to Mantiya, meanwhile, the marine squeezed off a few rounds, flinching as the tiny arachnid cleared the grenade. She ducked with a curse as a ripple of explosions went off outside, glancing at his arm.
"Are you okay?" she yelled over the din in the staccato accent of the Ingenious, hefting her AA-42 to suppress two Cultists across the street. Outside, there was confused shouting as the other Jade Marines struggled with the volley of explosions and tried to determine casualties through the smoke and debris....
"I'm not," She shot back, eyes narrowing. Her smooth, lilted accent and her wordiness riddled her retort, "I've fought with these men against a Justiciari Adjudicator and the K-Battalions. Getting killed by such a group of simpletons, not until I get to the bottom of them."
It was only then that she really looked to examine her rescuer; her serious expression deepening. Once she realized who exactly she was speaking to, a cold chill ran up her spine and burned in her chest. "I suppose I am impressed that instead of leveling the district, you came to rescue this damsel," Serashee dryly remarked.
In short order, the newcomers gained fire superiority. The majority of the battlefield sounds became the reorganization of the Jade forces and the uniform sound of their own weaponry. Drowned out now was the wave of automatic fire and random torrent of explosive devices; an ending as abrupt as their opening volley. Their attackers were already on the run, slipping into the dark alleys and unwelcoming holes in the ground and leaving their dead to their unadorned graves upon the dirt and roofs.
The Celvian held his answer for a moment, intensely watching the egress of their attackers. With a flourish, he spun three of his handguns into his holsters and maintained a fourth. "I'm fine," was his curt answer, lowering his voice relative to the dying fight around them, "We need to set up a cordon and triage because those guys out there, are not."
Keeping standoff from the wall, Mantiya continued to scan his sector and take potshots at the rats as they ran for the hills.
Mitsu offered an affiliative smile even though internally he struggled to bite down on a sharp retort. Glancing out pointedly at the dead, Marchander, Minevan and Ingenious sprawled on the street outside, he barked an order in Ingenious and then shrugged.
"Maybe I made the wrong choice?" he said, watching Sera from the corner of his eye to see how she'd react, his eyebrows dancing upwards briefly and betraying the high-spirited nature of the question.
Outside, the Jade marines began to recover, not deigning to give chase - falling into a secondary ambush was one thing, but running into a third would be beyond embarrassing. Another marine was dead, with others injured to various degrees. The whine of miniaturised drones filled the air as Sergeant Tosho set up an early warning cordon, whilst two of his men tended to the injured and others spread out to secure the dead Cultists and find any surviving Minevans. Somewhat redundantly, they identified themselves loudly in Common, wanting to avoid any accidental friendly fire, as if their ornate armour and height were not enough to distinguish them from the locals.
"Perhaps," Serashee tugged on the last bit of the tightened bandage, finishing up her work and packing the tail end of the cloth in the folds of the dressing, "If you think it better, to atomize the place rather than hear such terrible words."
She drew a deep sigh, eyes shut, trying to regain her center. Her arm was throbbing, her adrenaline was still peaking, and the situation at hand held some rather grave stakes for all parties involved. As much as she hated to admit it, she was glad that Mitsu had personally shown up; with plenty of people to boot. Regardless, for a Minevan there was no worse individual to be indebted to than a literal crown noble. She scoffed at her situation, bringing herself to her feet.
"My apologies," The Minevan continued, forcing away her critical response, "I did not want any harm to befall your people. We were... I am trying to find the source of our enemies."
Mantiya was intimately familiar with the chaos of a dying firefight; the eerie silence quickly supplanted by the cries of pain, the urgent barking of orders, and the rumbling of heavy motors and machinery. He brought his pistol to his face, pointing towards the sky in the alert carry. With a thankful nod to the marine at his flank, he left the cover he shared with her and was upon the street.
He quickly walked to the Minevan across the street who had been mulched by two automatic weapons in the opening salvo. He was unable to identify him visually from the state of his remains, so Mantiya quickly sifted through his belongings. He felt white-hot rage in his blood, identifying the man as his friend, Vinta. Korv was turned into vapor by the fireball, Vinta turned into compost from plunging fire, and as of right now Cirvante was missing. Mantiya assumed the worst.
What truly frustrated him was knowing they had faced much worse, and that there was no possible retribution pursuit. He was vindicated with no outlet. Mantiya found Tosho, and gave him the info on his missing riflemen.
"I'm sorry about your people too. This place...have you seen the underground yet? It's bigger than we ever could have imagined." The professional way she had dressed her wound told Mitsu that this alien knew what she was doing, which made it twice as rewarding to have drawn her temper. He had been close to snapping himself, and perhaps a year ago he would have done, but he was gradually understanding the value in the perpetual disaffected and polite air the Ingenious nobility were expected to cloak themselves in.
As if to serve as a perfect demonstration of why this practiced comportment was so valuable, Tosho was bellowing from outside in Ingenious.
"Mitsu? There's a fucking spider here says you're in a phone shop! Think you could grace us with your presence a moment?"
Mitsu stood, stepping over to the front door as the other marine scrambled through the broken window.
"Thank you Sergeant, we're quite alright" he said in Common, and then in quieter Ingenious "Try not to insult the little man with the loaded gun, you idiot."
As Sera caught up, Mitsu glanced around at the street. The three injured marines did not seem to be in any life-threatening danger, but he did not know about the Minevans.
"We're not officially part of the Jade Marine Corps, so we don't have any QRF or CASEVAC inbound. Do you have somewhere nearby we can move the dead and wounded?"
"I've done a fair share of digging underground; I'm more surprised than anything this attack had not happened below," Sera said. It dawned on her that the attack had most likely been placed to maximize publicity and damage to civil life and infrastructure. Perhaps they truly were lucky that the Ingen response wasn't detached and inhuman saturation by armor and gunships, but by a much more measured vigilante paramilitary outfit lead by a prince playing by ear.
The sights on the street were not unfamiliar to her, but it had been a very long time since she had seen a firefight proper. Back then, the stakes had seemed much higher and the cause nobler; for a brief moment, she felt the gravity that she had two people killed in this distant land with a foreign cause. The third, as the Ingenious reconnaissance confirmed, had vanished from the local area without a trace.
Mantiya eyed Tosho as the loudmouth bellowed out in a foreign tongue, having memorized the word spider in several dozen languages as he seemed to be a constant source of derision. He used to have a bemused reaction; spider, arachshit, creepy crawly, longlegs, he had heard it all. Nowadays all he offered was a blink and a shake of the head. He holstered his last gun
"There's...." Sera replied, eyes frozen on Vinta's remains, "An empty chop shop around a dozen blocks down the other direction. We have been using it as a safehouse."
She awaited the marines to reorganize and consolidate before directing them on their way. In just a short few minutes, locals were returning and cautiously observing the military troop, now putting her on edge. Sera recognized a few of the faces, but knew her mission had shifted gears. She had made her decision; less building rapport, and more digging deep. She would get her answers, even if it meant leveraging the network she had built to the crown prince.
Marchand, Orbit
A soft ding sounded on the bridge as the ship furled its sails and dropped back into reference with the rest of the galaxy. At the ruddermaster's console, Alixus Kene simply adjusted an engine monitor screen before laying in a path to the orbital docks. His second, Parvi, stretched and yawned. "So what do you think caused all the ruckus? I know we were listed to come here anyways, but Command really lit the fire under our asses for this."
Alixus shrugged. "Not really our concern, is it? We go where we're told. I signed up to fight, and you did too." Turning to go and collect his armor, he paused at the door. "A word of advice, though. Looking too closely at the motives of politicians can lead one into politics." Behind him, Parvi shuddered in disgust. Maybe the Shieldmaster had a point.
Attention, Marchand Orbital Command. This is the Poleisic League trireme Resolve to Power requesting docking clearance.
Ground
Melina huffed irritably. "That would be one way to put. Not what I'd say, mind. The message you sent us mentioned an artifact being stolen during the fighting?"
The priest nodded and gestured for her to follow as he started walking further into the temple. "We were never quite sure what it was or where it came from, but we knew that it was dangerous and powerful. My predecessors did their best to silence any rumors and suppress any knowledge on it, but -"
They walked into another gallery with a display case at the far end. As they came closer, Melina could see into the case. It was large, but consisted of a glass cover over a curving depression in foam. And the more she stared at it, and the more the priest talked, the more her heart sank. "You-you had one of the Polkeró here!
KORSE
The immediate excitement of her chance encounter at the bar quickly gave way to the dull monotony of Scelene’s day to day activities. She had to maintain her cover, and so while her teams monitored Cerwyn and reported on her movements, Scelene was in very dull meetings. First it was meetings with bureaucrats and minor government officials and then with executives at the corporation her cover worked for. She knew it was important to maintain appearances, but damn if it wasn’t boring.
Fortunately, what little participation was expected of her came toward the beginning, and she was able to spend most of the remainder of the meeting scrolling through news feeds to keep apprised of the days events. It was a busy day today it seemed. Refugee camps had been attacked by snipers, a Gaussian base had been bombed and commentators were wildly speculating as to who the perpetrator might be, all mixed in with coverage of the election results and impending inauguration of the new government.
Sometime later, after far too many tedious conversations about ‘synergy’ and ‘optimization’ and other corporate buzzwords Scelene excused herself. The Marchanders were holding a banquet today, and Scelene (after much badgering) had convinced the corporation to secure her an invitation. With the banquet approaching she returned to the hotel she was staying at to shower and change before the event.
The tedium of Scelene’s day was at least matched by the tedium her surveillance team faced. Work was done to determine if and when audio bugs may be covertly installed in Cerwyn’s office, but most of the day there was little more to be done than watch and record Cerwyn, going back over the footage with lip readers in the absence of audio bugs.
The men running the surveillance op were bored, none more so than Hands, the bear of a man put in charge of the surveillance team. Hands was a man who enjoyed a good fight. As a younger man, he’d always been up for a good scrap, and at the slightest provocation he’d be the first one to start throwing hands in the dive bars and seedy clubs he had frequented back home. But, after a stint in prison, followed by another stint in the army, Hands had learned the value of reconnaissance, intelligence, and above all else: patience.
So he watched through the lens of the cameras, he listened to his lip reader translate silent video, and he only just saved his drink from a dusting of drywall when an explosion rocked the city. The ground shook with the aftershocks, the windows cracked from the force of the glass, and Hands dusted off the hand he’d covered his drink with
“The fuck was that?” He asked, inspecting the liquid for any sign of drywall dust before sipping at it experimentally. Still good.
“Not sure…” One of the other men replied. “Something big just went off near the docks… got combat assets headed in the direction now but the news-…”
“She’s on the move,” The man keeping eyes on Cerwyn reported.
“Shit,” Hands downed the rest of his drink in one gulp as the team began tearing down their set-up, packing away high powered optics into padded cases while two men in a car clocked Cerwyn leaving at the wheel of her own vehicle.
“Direction?” Hands called.
“Toward the docks,” He heard over the comms as the tail car merged into traffic two cars behind Cerwyn, following her at a distance. “We’re hearing reports of gunfire?”
“Stay on the target,” Hands ordered. “Strap up if need be but keep on her,”
He grabbed one of the cases and the surveillance team headed down to where their own car was waiting. He fired off a quick update to Scelene as they began driving, trying to catch up with Cerwyn and their own tailing vehicle.
“I don’t like this,” Hands muttered. “Explosions and gunfire and some financial analyst is driving toward it all?”
“We don’t know that’s where she’s going,” Another man commented. Hands just shook his head and began passing out armour and weapons. They were heading toward a fight, maybe an ambush, and he wasn’t about to be caught in his civvies with nothing but a sidearm if shit went bad.
Above Bildh
The Devil of the Ride had enjoyed its last ride. The bomb had been detonated too early, and though the explosion was still considerable, it wasn’t enough to even damage the Gaussian camp. Then came the interception. The ship was already making preparations for the jump back to Furrelian territory when the first missile hit. A courser missile hit straight through the right “wing” of the Devil, which shortly afterwards snapped off like a dead twig. Alarms were blaring all through the ship, and it wasn’t made better that the sudden change in drag made the ship tumble northward. The altitude of the ship was quickly decreasing, and then came the second missile. This one, in a twist of irony, exploded right above the left wing, completely disintegrating it. The Devil fell into a freefall, and then came the other missiles. A third one destroyed the engines, the fourth one exploded above the FTL module, and the fifth was a straight hit on the cockpit, vapourising it. The ship, or the remnants of it, crashed down on the edge of a forest, the black smoke rising to mark its grave. The reactor core, in a final twist of irony, was the smallest explosion of them all, melting the hull further and blackening the inside of the wreck. The stealth module, having somehow survived everything the dominion had thrown at it, quickly afterwards initiated its self destruct procedure as the power supply cut out. All that remained of the Devil of the Ride was a burning stack of metal, two corpses, and the black smoke rising kilometres into the sky. There was no single survivor.
Braet forest
The motorbikes the group of Furrelians had received were completely useless in the thick forest of Braet. So the company of six had to walk towards the nearest exit, around twenty kilometres to the south, too much to do within a single night, and yet they carried on. By dawn, they had reached the edge of the forest, and they were finally able to use the motorbikes. At a top speed of around one-hundred and forty kilometres per hour, it advanced the group’s progress drastically. They drove for around an hour, before finally arriving at their temporary destination, where they could finally rest for the day.
Warehouse
By the time the Prince or his men would return, they would find that Lamis' shuttle had departed. In her hasty departure she had left a short message behind speaking of an urgent matter unfolding in her home country which required her to preform and emergency withdrawl from their involvement on Marchland.
Bildh Camp
Not long after the attack, the camp workers were given orders to withdraw on surprisingly short notice, excusing themselves under the guise of command having determined the operation to be too dangerous due to the frequent attacks. Within an hour they had simply opted to unload all of the food and medicine stores they had and allow the disenfranchised civilians to sort out the rest by themselves.
Space
Gunmoor had wanted to have his men investigate the downed stealth ship. Though he doubted there was much left of it to investigate, and their orders were quite clear; that they were to return to home space as swiftly as possible. The three cruisers which headed the operation had collected their supporting shuttles and crew and departed within the hour.
KORSE
Cerwyn's destination proved to be less suspicious than the site of the ambush, but only barely. Managing to avoid detection, Korse's team were able to track Cerywn all the way to the Yefemovich Docks, the sprawling spaceport used most often by foreigners. Bustling with trade and ships as the city slowly recovered from its brutal beating, Cerywn pulled down a quiet side alley before letting herself in through an open door that led to a small, single-shuttle landing bay.
A shuttle of unfamiliar design was already sat there, and as Cerwyn approached a pair of mechanics rose to greet her before calling back towards the shuttle. From its belly strode a strange figure, clad in sheer white power armour with gold lacquer and a black tabard. The figure's helmet was pointed, and it hefted a lethal-looking rifle. If Korse hadn't known better she'd say it looked like a giant chesspiece, a bishop. Behind it were more men and women, Yokari. Their chatter was low and indistinct, in a language Korse recognised as Neusattran, but the accent was so guttural and thick it was hard even for an automatic translator to pick up what they were saying.
They piled into Cerywn's car and a larger van and headed back through the city, eventually stopping at a run-down two-storey house in the suburbs, ducking to get through the low doorways and leaving their vehicles stowed safely in a garage, hidden from sight, or at least so they thought....
BANQUET TO INVEST THE FIRST GOVERNMENT OF THE FEDERAL REPUBLIC OF MARCHAND
Attendees were gathering early in the huge central hall of the Palace of Democracy, where rows of long tables covered in fine linens, glittering table service, glass carafes and delicate flowers sat with drinks and amuse-bouches to keep the assembled occupied.
Premier Kuraly sighed. He had already won his election, as an independent not beholden to any party, but the advance polls were in and it seemed clear the UDP had taken the largest chunk of the vote, but it was not enough and they were going to have to make a coalition, but the question was whether it would be with the right-wing Marchand Dignity Party or the far-left Worker's Unity and Labour Front?
Nikolaj Ipatiev, the leader of the WULF, was a huge and irritating man. Nearly 6 feet tall, he was abnormally large for a Marchander, and he wore his fur long in thick braids. He clapped Kuraly on the shoulder, shovelling some pastries into his mouth from a nearby table.
"Hello Kuraly! Nervous yet? Worried you'll have to see my ugly face every day?" he asked, guffawing at his own joke. Kuraly smiled thinly.
"Whoever the people elect, I will be glad to work with them for the good of the Republic."
Ipatiev shook his head. "So stiff-necked. You might not like it but change is coming, my friend."
Elsewhere in the hall, Mitsuyoshi made his way through a crowd of locals and offworlders hoping to curry his favour and crossed over to Admiral Nighthorse, the replacement for Admiral Prescott who he had summarily dismissed. She narrowed her eyes as he approached.
"Yes, your Highness?" she said, pre-empting him with an openly sarcastic tone. He smiled, privately glad to have an admiral with a little more fire in their belly in command of the theatre.
"Good evening to you too, Victoria. I trust you are well?"
She rolled her eyes. "Not really. The Gauss bailed on us this afternoon, apparently there's some kind of civil unrest going on back home, which leaves Blidh more or less ungoverned."
She realised what she had said a moment too late, glancing around at the other dignitaries, but none of them seemed to have noticed. Mitsuyoshi chuckled.
"True. It is what it is. The Republic is at least moving in the right direction; I am sure we can cover the hole the Gauss have left behind."
Nighthorse sighed and then left to find a waiter with something alcoholic, leaving Mitsuyoshi to scan the crowd. He had invited quite a few people here tonight, including the Minevans he had met that afternoon. After a brief respite in their safehouse, he had managed to arrange for the Marine Corps to send a medical shuttle, eventually parting ways with Serashee with an invitation to the banquet.
He spotted Yudina Olegovna lurking at the far side of the room. He was told she was attractive by Marchander standards, though she still looked like a nasty little rodent to him. The head of the MDP, she was a committed anti-foreigner and he suspected she had some contacts with the Cult, although the MDP officially repudiated them and just wanted a small government like in the 'good old days'. He wondered if she knew where Sera's missing trooper was. The CPA had local officers scouring the Underways near the docks, but he doubted the man would be found until the Cult wanted him found, if at all.
BRAET FOREST
Glad to be out of the forest, they found an abandoned farmhouse to settle in overnight. It was early in the morning still when they heard the rumbling of a vehicle outside, a CPA patrol of two vehicles, some kind of truck and a jeep analogue with a gun mounted in the flatbed....
IN ORBIT
"Appeal To Power, Flight Tower Yefemovich. You are clear to land, Bay Alpha-Two-Nine. Berthing fee will be 80 Roubetsk per day, waived if you purchase more than 2,000 Roubetsk worth of fuel from an approved vendor. Flight path incoming."
80 Roubetsk was not a lot of money. 500 Roubetsk was maybe a single SIGEC millicent, depending on your currency guy. Marchand was desperate to attract lost business after the disastrous impact of Cult dominance and the subsequent invasion, and so fees were lower than they had ever been.
KORSE
It was with no small amount of relief that the cars tailing Cerwyn noted her change of course and subsequent arrival at the docks. Hands may have been a rough and tumble sort of guy but going balls deep into whatever was kicking off on the docks with no intel and no back up hadn’t really sounded like his idea of a good time.
Still, the situation was developing quickly. Cerwyn had met more contacts at the docks, Yokari this time as opposed to the natives and foreigners Korse had observed her with earlier at the bar. Their surveillance equipment picked up whatever conversation was held, and while their translation software identified the language it failed to produce anything more than incomprehensible half-sentences. A swift slap to the side of the machine did not improve the results, and earned Hands the subsequent ire of the techie operating the equipment.
Nonetheless, the meeting was photographed and then they were on the move again tailing them back out to the suburbs and the run-down house where Cerwyn had taken her latest contacts.
The latest development was confirmation that Cerwyn was most certainly up to something, though the details of exactly what remained just out of reach. He lit a cigarette, earning another irritated glare from the techie, and sent off the pictures and updates to Korse. Then it was back to waiting and watching.
Korse was just getting out of her car at the banquet when Hands’ information hit her uplink. She paused long enough to flick through the pictures and details while Turner gave some final instructions to his team. Then, together, the two of them headed for the banquet.
Scelene always felt out of place at banquets, galas, and other black tie events for the wealthy and well connected. Schmoozing with rich people just wasn’t her scene and it never had been. She’d have rather been slumming it in jeans and a flannel shirt, getting fucked up on cheap whisky and cheaper beer. But Scelene had made it to her position in the SIS by being good at faking it. Regardless of how she felt, she could look comfortable in an expensive gown, do her hair in a trendy style, and be all fake smiles and easy laughs for an evening.
Turner was less comfortable. He was dressed formally, with a concealed weapon, and an armoured vest that didn’t show beneath a white button down shirt, but no amount of coaching from Scelene was going to make him seem like anything other than a security detail. But that was fine she supposed. Other dignitaries would no doubt have their own security, so no matter how out of place he might seem, he’d be out of place in a way that still belonged.
She scanned the crowd at the banquet, making note of who was there and who was speaking with whom. She made a mental checklist of all the people she’d need to talk to. She’d need to speak with the powers that be of course. The new president, and the leaders of the opposition parties of course. She could get a feel for each of them, their temperaments and ambitions, and of course push the company line… after that she’d have to play it by ear. Make the rounds, play the part of the charming executive, and see what happened.
For the moment she didn’t approach anyone. She was still contemplating the information she’d received, wondering just what their financial advisor seemed to be involved in and just who was in the power armour. She was already beginning to feel like she was reaching the limit of what she could learn from surveillance alone. If she wanted answers she’d have to question Cerwyn… but that posed its own questions. Whether to treat her like a potential source and ally or a hostile agent of an unknown power? What leverage she could apply to compel the truth from the woman, and how to make contact?
She mulled it all over as she did her first round of the banquet, engaging in pleasantries and soaking up the vibe while Turner trailed after her like an obedient hound.
Velkna's Plackart
Serashee's day up to this point was unpleasantly eventful, which served to do nothing more than vindicate her and redouble her efforts. The remains of her compatriots had been recovered and brought to the troop-marshaling area of the Velkna's Plackart, now filled with the grieving many. The search teams were able to recover what was left of Vinta and just a few of Korv's personal effects. Jin was still missing; presumed either killed in the blast or captured by the cult. Instead of a somber progression, the crew and company aboard the vessel were preparing arms and equipment, the elected leadership studying maps and plans. Presumably, she had hoped, the captain and general leadership were coordinating with local authorities and military commanders before doing anything too brash.
She had spent a short time in her quarters, her pondering over the day's events quickly devolving into an episode of angry tears. The primal feeling of cheating death and accepting the reality of those killed had hit her like a solid cross to the nose. She had scant moments of legitimate privacy such as this, and even fewer moments dedicated to wallowing and rage. The Minevan collected herself in a short time, convincing herself that this behavior was uncharacteristic of her and bottled it all down.
Sera dressed herself in a traditional adornment sporting the usual Minevan colors; a deep, regal purple served as the base material in the reaches of the conservative dress, accentuated by the same golden décor and sigils of their union that was sewn into the crew’s everyday clothing. The garb was little more than sleeveless robes of a fine material sporting a hood, showing her bandaged arm publicly like a badge. It evoked the image of a travelling sage or guru rather than some dignified sort. A deep sigh followed a long gaze into her mirror, ending her preparation for the formal banquet. Once the hint of tears and fury had left her face, she made her departure.
-
YEFIMOVICH DOCKYARDS, HORNQVIST
“I got the boys together,” The Celvian spoke plainly. He was unaffected with the loss of one of his arms, the non-fatal wound dressed but still no prosthetic replacement in the short amount of time.
“Send them back to their families,” Sera strode past Mantiya towards her vehicle. Her driver, a colossal one-eyed Malikan, silently squeezed into the armored car as she approached.
“Excuse me?” Mantiya shot back, pausing as he was ignored, “Woman, are you mad?”
“Do not chide me, Mantiya,” Sera stopped at the passenger door and glared back, “You mean to bring all these guns to a democratic convention?”
“And the other invitees don’t have security, I’m sure,” Mantiya’s sarcasm managed to escape his heavy accent.
“Pax here will be more than enough,” Sera nodded her head towards the driver, “Go inside and make sure no one goes into the Underways until we have a real course of action.”
“Sera,” The Celvian was pleading with her, “You’re being rash.”
“No,” She clenched her jaw, being well past the mood for an argument or debate. She knew very well that the people around her would make their own decision at the end of this discussion, but she made a very clear demand, “I must not go with a large escort. I do not mean for us to appear weak in the face of adversity.”
Mantiya only stared at her, not able to formulate a proper response as she had evidently little regard for his reasoning. He knew if the Jade prince was there, the venue would certainly be protected enough. As much as he hated it, Mantiya respected her decision. “As you wish. You call and we are there in minutes.”
They exchanged a nod. Sera flipped up her hood and mounted the vehicle. Mantiya flashed a hand-and-arm signal, the troops collectively groaning and complaining whilst packing up their equipment.
BANQUET TO INVEST THE FIRST GOVERNMENT OF THE FEDERAL REPUBLIC OF MARCHAND
Sera took slow, deliberate strides and walked with a dignified air about her. She had adorned her outfit as well with her psionic latency with a lately adopted Jade custom; behind her followed up several small, glowing orbs she had conjured up via force of will. This was a deliberate move. She intended to gain the attention of those around her, as if challenging those who had most assuredly been entangled with the deadly plot earlier that day. She was still alive, and she would illuminate what hid in the seedy corners.
The party the Minevan activists had been aiding was predominantly the Workers’ Unity and Labor Front; on a brighter day she would have embedded herself amongst them to build rapport. Instead she took the time to brush past the leadership of the Marchand Dignity Party and offer a silent glare that could kill. If she could work to unravel the cult and its fearful influence, the election was surely to go only one way.
Mitsuyoshi was not a hard person to identify. After partaking in a small drink, Sera made her way over to his gaggle, eyeing the dignitaries and various officers. She took note of key individuals, trying to recollect what she knew of an Admiral Nighthorse, before turning her attention to the prince.
“Thank you for the invitation,” Sera spoke informally; very few of her kind spared formalities for dignitaries and nobles, “An interesting ensemble you have assembled here.”
After her remark, she placed a hand over her heart and introduced herself, as to not create too much unnecessary offense.
Poleisi Enclave
"And yet, you and your predecessors knew enough to be concerned and summon League aid when it was stolen?"
More sputtering and protestations ensued before Melina raised her hand, cutting him off curtly. "Enough. Do you have any leads on who might've taken it?"
Calming after a moment, the priest cleared his throat. "Ah, yes. There's a collection of street gangs that occasionally hire their services out. During the fighting, they took the horn, but the guards killed members of two separate gangs. Perhaps the local authorities might have more information, I wouldn't know. I and my acolytes mostly stay within the enclave here."
Nodding, Melina took her leave, pausing outside the enclave and sighing, pinching the bridge of her nose. Immortals of sea and sky, why did this keep happening to her? One mess spiraling into five. Taking a deep breath, she straightened, as her earpiece chimed. "Envoy Tyrallicus speaking.
There was a slight crackle before the response. "Shieldmaster Alixus of the Endless Gale, at your service, Madam Envoy."
"Well, there's some good news at least. Listen, I have something of a situation down here..."
Near the Braet Forest
"Minadoma, Disumena, go to the other side of the road, we need to terminate them." He said, pointing at the patrol vehicles.
-"Roger!"
"Edinema, you have a grenade, right?"
-"At least one, sir."
"Understood, then that might be the wisest way out. Prepare to throw."
As the group moved around the barn, the patrol came closer. Two of the Furrelians were able to quickly cross the road and jump into a bunch of trees and shrubbery, guns pointing out to release a flurry of disruptors upon the patrol when they came close enough. From an open window in the barn, another Furrelian was preparing to throw a grenade. The deep breaths of the soldiers overtook any other sound in the stress they were in.
KORSE
Despite her looks, Korse did not receive much attention, the majority of the attendees being Marchanders who thought her smooth skin was disturbing and weird. The odd offworlder gave her a lingering look, however, other businesspeople and foreign diplomats mostly, many of whom were used to inhabiting a world where attractive women just sort of appeared by default at gatherings.
Ipatiev, the hulking Marchander in charge of the WULF party, suddenly appeared beside her, staring out at the crowd. "So the results are in. UDP only got 39% and the MDP only took 8%. That means his nibs has to deal with me if he wants a coalition that gives him a simple majority, eh?" he said with a chuckle.
He turned to glance at her. "So I'm the person to know today, it seems. And just who are you, beautiful alien?" he asked, offering a smile that bared his sharp, yellowing teeth.
Behind him, perhaps unnoticed by Korse herself, Cerwyn arrived in a burgundy cocktail dress that set off her bottle green skin quite nicely. She was officially there as part of a small deputation from Goldwing Finance, who had helped the financial situation of the new FDR quite a bit...
SERA
Mitsu visibly brightened as Serashee approached. Those around him followed his lead, welcoming the pale-skinned Minevan.
"Thanks for coming," replied the prince, before going through the motions and introducing a gaggle of people. A minor Pordish diplomat, a couple of Ingenious embassy officials, an executive from the KanshoCorp mining conglomerate, an officer from the 203rd regiment.
"Ms Krisra and her compatriots have been doing good work in the north of the city, charitable stuff, you know. They've even faced down members of the Cult. If only everyone were so dedicated!"
Steering her away, he scooped up a couple of glasses of Suedian brandy and handed her one.
"Bad news for your guy, I'm afraid. It looks like the MDP are out and the WULF are in. If the MDP aren't part of the ruling coalition, it's going to be much harder to get them to help us with the search."
He sighed, taking a sip. "It's going to be much harder dealing with the government at all. The MDP might hate us as foreigners, but the WULF hate us as capitalists and apparently that's worse."
He paused for a second. "You look lovely, by the way." he said with a smile.
POLEISI ENCLAVE
BRAET
The grenade went off squarely beneath the cab of the transport truck, knocking it out as it rolled to a stop roiling flames. Soldiers poured from the back, some cut down by disruptor fire as they disembarked, whilst ahead the jeep opened up with its heavy repeater. Unlike the Cult, who preferred to use less powerful but harder to spot gunpowder weapons, the CPA primarily used big, loud, bright plasma weapons. Blasts of green fire raked Minadoma and Disumena's position, trying to suppress them, even as the jeep reversed, bouncing as it rolled over debris from the truck behind it.
The surviving patrol members, perhaps a dozen men scattered into the nearby fields, some jumping into a drainage ditch and beginning to return fire. Two simply didn't stop running, fleeing through the fronds of the hardy apple-like fruit field.
In the jeep, an officer was screaming into a comms unit, even as he and his men scrambled to escape the ambush
SERA
"Ah," Sera's face fell flush, not so used to casual conversations nor compliments. Being blindsided frustrated her, but she stifled it for the time being. "I do try my best."
Learning a hundred new names and faces always was disorienting, but her entire life up to this point was dedicated to collecting and organizing an indefinite amount of information that befell her. More names, faces, and contacts expanded their network that much more. The Minevan pulled her hood down, rubbed the back of her neck, and accepted the drink before partaking with him.
"The WULF victory may at least partially be my doing," Sera admitted openly, "Something told me that the MDP was not going to be very forthcoming, regardless. I understand some of their people are in bed with some bad actors."
She did not expend energy being particularly quiet or discreet with the prince, trying to make a statement out of it but still slightly nervous just below the exterior. "At least we all tangentially share an enemy, I hope. The fair and free elections is what this was all about... right? I will find Jin, alone or with a Pan-Marchand Coalition behind me."
She cleared her throat, not about to discuss political intricacies at this political banquet, for sure. Sera looked about, meeting the eyes of the same people she had passed or been introduced to. "It does not bother your confidants, to waltz off with a random foreigner?"
VELKNA'S PLACKART
Mantiya himself was not dressed or prepared for the occasion. Still, as he approached an assembly of Shortfin tanks and Mako IFVs, an ensemble of young-faced team leaders approached him.
“Mr. Talakka,” Representing the group was a young Valkarian; a tall and hunched carnivorous creature with spines running out down his head and back through his armor, “We’ve elected you as raid leader.”
“Of course, how thoughtful,” Mantiya remarked, unimpressed. It was not that he had expected this; he was elected to head the majority of outings, but more that he had left for not a quarter of an hour and his mentees were far too eager to jump the gun. “Is it a raid now? I’m sure there is a planned exfiltration then?”
There was a pause, filled only with the nervous shuffling of feet and the nervous glances between the young adults.
“I’m certain someone coordinated with local authorities? The provisional government? The Jade Marines?” The Celvian jumped a glare between the individuals before him, “Confirm any of the intelligence at all?”
The continued silence was the only answer Mantiya needed. Their initiative always impressed him, but their indiscretion always angered him. He ordered them to complete their pre-mission responsibilities more thoroughly and they were off, scattered to the winds with his guidance.
Surface
"Fuck!"
Melina spun on her heel, panicked, and bolted back towards the embassy gates, while her guards formed up into a pitiful approximation of a shield wall, the energy barrier from their shields wavering and flickering as enemy fire hammered into it. Raw and untested, one of them decided to try and follow the Envoy...right as someone in the alley pitched a grenade out and through the hole in the line that had just been opened.
The blast rang through the air, and knocked Melina through the doors which the enclave militia had opened for her. Shaking her head, and fuzzily trying to get her bearing, she saw two soldiers slam the gate closed, while several more took positions on the ramparts and leveled their spears outwards before returning fire. Streaks of flickering red light rained into the attackers to the sound of screams and curses, followed by a sudden resounding BOOM as another rocket impacted the gates. When the world stopped shaking, Melina could see where the reinforced metal was dented inwards and damaged.
Panting, she fumbled for her comm. "Shieldmaster, come in!"
The even smooth tones of the warrior filled the line. "Ma'am?"
"The local enclave down here is under attack...with me inside. I need a full deployment, immediately."
She didn't get a response as such, but the sharp burst of yelled commands before the comm cut out was more than sufficient.. Jumping slightly as another rocket was fired, she looked back into the enclave, where the locals were also mustering. The Diakos would be able to drive the attackers off without a doubt, it was merely a matter of holding out until they arrived. Turning, she hustled inside, brushing past several sprinting troopers as they went to go help someone haul out an onager so the enclave could start returning fire properly.
Orbit
Snapping out commands, Alixus pushed, kicked, bullied, and shoved his fighters into shuttles for deployment before opening a line to Marchand Orbital Command. "Attention, this is the Resolve to Power. We are deploying shuttles to the surface due to an attack on the Poleisi enclave by unknown assailants. Please clear the descent path."
KORSE
Scelene was used to strange and judgmental glances, this wasn’t her first time working on an alien world, and she had often found the strange looks aliens gave her was not too dissimilar from the looks she’d received anytime she’d turned up in an upscale part of Levitsky in gang colours and flowing tattoos. Cerwyn went unnoticed by Scelene for the moment, distracted as she was with her mental checklist of persons of interest and then the rather sudden appearance of the large marchander at her side.
She recognized Ipatiev immediately, from both the non-stop election coverage and the intelligence briefings she’d been given before being packed off the Marchand in the first place. She couldn’t help but wonder why the leader of the WULF would have singled her out for his personal attentions, but she pushed away the thought a moment later. He’d been on the list of people she intended to talk to anyway and there was no time like the present
“Well congratulations certainly seem to be in order then Mr. Ipatiev,” She said, turning toward him with another of her easy smiles. “You’ve successfully positioned yourself as the king maker in your brave new republic,”
She paused momentarily before holding out a hand.
“Scelene Korse,” She introduced herself. “I’m a senior executive with the Voss-Ulrich Combine,”
SERA
Mitsuyoshi waved a dismissive hand and grinned. "Probably. I annoy them because I flout tradition but to criticise me would be to flout tradition, so they're hooped. Admiral Nighthorse has been a breath of fresh air - she's a Neusattran and they just don't give a shit."
He glanced at his Holo briefly. "I know it's not much, but I spoke to her earlier today. She refuses to send marines down into the tunnels but she did dispatch a squadron of Karogan combat Frames. If they die they just wake up in a fresh Frame back at base. I also rounded up some local troops to help out - they should be heading over to your base soon enough."
He rubbed his eyes with his free hand, sighing as if suddenly exhausted.
"Why are you here, Serashee? I know why I'm here. I have to be. We shouldn't be here, but Toshi and Minowara decided we should be and now here we are, millions dead already. But you," he said, pausing to let the bitterness ebb, a rare slip in his seemingly uncaring and casual facade, "...why would you choose to spend a single second in this pit?"
SCELENE
"Ahh," rumbled Ipatiev, shaking her hand with clumsy force, "another offworlder here to profit off our people's labour? But of course I'm sure your Vosselrich Combine only has our best interests at heart?" he said with a theatrical wink, mangling the pronunciation.
Cerwyn appeared from the crowd, a wry smirk on her face as she listened to the Marchander harangue some poor offworlder for daring to support the capitalist cause.
"Nikolaj, please, there's no need to be vindictive. Nobody likes a sore winner." she said, her tone clearly playful as she offered him a bise, kissing the air by his cheek in the Suedian manner. She turned to offer her hand to Scelene.
"Constance Cerwyn, Treasury Analyst with Goldwing Finance." she said politely, wondering just who this woman was and whether WULF were making contacts beyond the Conclave...
ENCLAVE
There were shrieks and wails as the defenders began picking off Cultists on the street. Despite the initial success of their attack, the Cultists were largely not as well-trained as regular militaries and made simple mistakes, one by one as the spears of the Poleisi began to grind down the attack which washed at the edges of the compound like waves on the shore.
There was a rumbling in front of the gates, however, and the cobbled street ripped open as if a mine had gone off underground. From the plume of dust and rubble emerged a vast, crab-like being, the size of a tank, dripping with pale ichor and waving a hideous selection of tentacles and pincers as it stormed towards the gate, filling it with its huge bulk. Underneath the rugged dark shell, a mouth made of a ring of teeth that opened up into three smaller rings roared from three throats, no eyes visible. The stench of decay and watery filth washed over the defenders as the beast came on, whilst behind it, using it like a battering ram, a flood of Cultists tried to storm through the gates.
ORBIT
The small Jade presence in orbit was mostly stationed at the dockyards, focused on restricting travel in and out of the system. The CPA's scratch fleet, a mismatch of older vessels and appropriated ones, augmented by only a small number of modern, standardised vessels, was slow off the mark and even as they bleated for the Resolve to stop, a duo of sleek bottle-green fightercraft slipped either side of the League ship.
"Resolve To Power this is IJN 7th Fleet, transmitting a flight path now. Do not deviate. We'll take you in."
A path down to the Enclave lit up on their nav consoles, along with a fainter secondary path should the Enclave landing pad prove compromised. On the ground, the CPA were still waking up to the problem, scrambling to assemble a force to send out....
VELKNA'S PLACKART
The one in front turned to look at the Minevans.
"Karogan Platoon, three-seventy-seventh. We have been detailed to assist in the search for your missing soldier." it announced bluntly, its voice synthesized and devoid of accent.
Behind them, on foot, a ragged group of men in the blue uniforms of the CPA were heading down the street, the promised assistance from the local government. Equipped mostly with shotguns and SMGs, they looked prepared for a trip down into the Underdepths.
SERA
“I may not have an obligation out of duty or other intangible,” Sera smiled thoughtfully, much rather used to this line of conversation to varying degrees. She could sense his negativity, unsure if it was directed at her, or for her sake. She continued, “I stay because it is, as you say, a pit. There are those who wish to make it worse, and us who should leave it better. The people here, they suffer; victims of dark powers.”
Sera looked around, gauging the glances aimed their way. She was trying to get a read on how many important folks were taking note of them; she had intended for her presence alone to make a scene, let alone walking straight into the pocket of arguably the most important and controversial man in the room.
“Two or three of my friends might have died earlier; gods know how many Marchanders as well. Because of what, theocrats and old money afraid of voting and public opinion?” Sera scoffed, putting on a paper-thin veil of bluster. Not usually keeping the company of others, she made an active effort to be less awkwardly verbose. Her eyes met his again, sympathetic to his plight and concern, “Your friends, too. I’m sorry. I guess I’m here for the real answers.”
VELKNA’S PLACKART
They did not immediately depart, instead getting a headcount of their assets and incorporating the locals into their formations. They assigned billets, roles, and conducted various drills and rehearsals to completely integrate their units. The first thing they would need to do was establish their forward patrol base and work from there; most of their work underground would have to be on foot, so finding their initial defensible position was a priority for the main body.
In tandem, several individuals went about the city in small groups, finding their most relevant contacts to find their jumping off point for their investigation. Without a proper lead, they wouldn’t find a single trace for the next ten years. Sera had trusted her contacts to Mantiya. All they had to do was triangulate all the leads they could find and run recon. A psionic tracker would be able to find Jin if he was close and alive; all they needed was a locale and a little bit of luck.
KORSE
“Scelene Korse,” She said taking Cerwyn’s hand and shaking it. “Senior executive with the Voss-Ulrich Combine.”
She released her hand and for a moment said nothing, studying Cerwyn with her slate grey eyes. Once more she wondered at what Cerwyn’s game was. She was cozy with the WULF, which was another point of interest to add to an ever growing list of interesting things. Yes, she’d have to speak with Cerwyn. Question her, that much was obvious… though not here. There were too many people who could overhear, and she hadn’t the slightest idea what sort of surveillance the Marchanders or their Imperial overlords may have set up to spy on the dealings at the banquet.
She shifted her gaze back to Ipatiev a moment later.
“Ah but Mr. Ipatiev, given your newly minted position in the government I would imagine you have the pull to make sure any arrangement between Marchand and the company will be suitably beneficial to the people of Marchand,”
She gave another of her easy smiles and then turned her gaze to Cerwyn.
“I gather you two know each other?”
Marchand, low orbit/high atmosphere
Five minutes later, there was a thud that shook the craft as the shuttle landed. Collecting his thought, Alixus led his men out to gather with the rest of the host. Then he gestured at the younger man who had followed him, carrying a large horn, chased in brass, and set with old, rusted iron. Taking a breath, the man set the horn to his mouth and blew.
The Enclave
Further shouting ensued as more militia (and these were definitely the greener troops of the lot) rushed forward to set up a defensive line in front of the gate. More explosions followed as the onager crew adjusted their aim, before there was a deafening thunder right outside, and an enraged roar from the crab-thing.
The bombardment didn't seem to do much to slow it down from what she could tell though, as it continued to better at the gates, bending them apart through sheer bulk and hatred.
And then...she heard it. The deep bass rumble of a League warhorn. It might've been a pale shadow of its elder cousin, but even just hearing it was enough to lift her spirits. The same could not be said of the increasingly panicked defensive line, so she cleared her throat and put her oratory skills to use.
"Warriors! Fighting-men of the People! Hold fast! The tide comes to wash you away, to wash away your halls and kin! But the Shield is here! They are coming, but you must hold. Hold, then! Hold, and drive the filth at your gates back into the pits!"
A defiant cry rose up as they locked shields and the glimmering blue light of a barrier flashed into existence.
BRAET FARM
"Fuck, fuck, FUCK! Stay with me for fuck's sake!" Disumena shouted out loud in Sylenti, as Minadoma slowly passed out of consciousness. He tried to grab a part of his medical kit but had to buck down to avoid incoming plasma fire. As he approached the kit, he could hear another shot hitting Minadoma, and that one was the fatal one. A last rasping breath was the final sound Minadoma made, and then he passed away. The squad was brought down to five. Disumena was in dilemma on what to do, but duty came first. He grabbed his gun, and a few seconds later, the disruptor shots returned to the action. Disumena targetted the soldier using the Jeep's repeater.
On the other side of the road, organised firing was better. Priorities were set on the officer shouting into the comms unit, and the unit itself. While Edinema, the soldier who originally threw the grenade, had run down to the motorbikes and was using its own disruptor to return fire on the soldiers of the patrol running away. Another Furrelian noticed the two soldiers running towards the apple-garden, and had run to the back of the barn, shooting at them from there.
SERA
The pair were certainly drawing attention - there were clearly a few furtive conversations as the elite tried to place and gauge this unknown newcomer, some artificial smiles and some outright glares. Mitsuyoshi seemed not to notice, but closer inspection hinted that it was an engineered ambivalence, one carefully placed over his true attitude.
"It baffles me that they let themselves be corrupted by...well, Corruption, but they're so violently opposed to democracy. I guess our system doesn't have the option to use such brutal methods to export its beliefs.."
He caught Sera's eye, and added with a smile "Which is a good thing, don't get me wrong."
Glancing over at Ipatiev, Cerwyn and Korse, he offered a wan smile. "Now see there, I should really do something about that. There's rumours the Neusattrans are in bed with WULF and that doesn't help squash any rumours. But if honest, I find it hard not to sympathise. Ever since the Annexation, the Neusattrans have had a rough go of it. There has never been a Neusattrandaimyo* outside of Neusattar province, and only one fujin-daimyo either. The military relies on them, but we've never had a Neusattran Jade Admiral, Shogun, or head of any other branch. Independence I don't think is do-able, but their desire for suffrage, and an end to the feudal landhold system?"*
He winked. "Come on."
KORSE
"Oh yes," said Constance lightly, "in fact WULF are a valued client of ours. Campaigning costs money, but it looks like it was money well spent in your case, Mr Ipatiev."
"Yes indeed," chuckled the Marchander, "and you are quite right Ms Korse. But remember, everything I do, I do for the people! Mutually beneficial is a dangerous term, don't you think?"
They were interrupted by the arrival of Mitsu and Sera. Cerwyn's eyes widened, whilst Ipatiev simply cracked an even larger grin. He appreciated shit-stirring when he saw it.
"Ah, my prince, good evening," he said, bordering on the irreverent. "May I introduce Ms Cerwyn of Goldwing Finance and Ms Korse of the Voss-Ulrich Combine, both fine ladies here to help rebuild our beautiful country, out of the goodness of their hearts of course."
Mitsuyoshi smiled. "It's always good to see international trade blossoming. Hopefully Marchand can grow back a better place for everyone. This is Serashee Krisra, a Minevan doing charitable works here."
Cerwyn seemed taken aback, her normally suave demeanour lapsing into silence as she was confronted by the Crown Prince of the nation that was her sworn enemy.
VELKNA'S PLAKART
ENCLAVE
The beast roared and squealed in a hideous, ear-splitting wail as the onager's fire hit it, the stench of burned, rotten flesh wafting through the air, but the rest of the monster simply kept coming. Outside, the Cultists began to swarm in earnest, even as accurate fire from the hoplites above punched down one after another. The waves broke against the wall aimlessly, suffering needless casualties from Poleisic weapons until the monster finally wedged itself through the gates, screaming furiously.
Exposing itself, it was immediately subject to a direct-fire shot from the defenders onager, which cratered the gruesome morass that was presumably its face, spattering noxious gore everywhere in a miasmic cloud. By the time the defenders had recovered from the sheer stench and foul sensation, they saw that the beast was dead, but swarming over and around its corpse through the broken doors, firing from the hip and rushing to get into close combat with the defenders.
A block away, a small group of a dozen Cultists were waiting in ambush towards the docks, hoping to catch out whoever came to help the beleaguered Enclave. Unseen by them, atop a radio tower perched the bizarre form of the Bishop, the Conclave warrior that Selene had seen debarking after Cerwyn's meeting with Melina Tyrallicus. Hefting a long rifle chased in gold, he sighted on the little rat-man that was sighting in a TOW weapon just as Alixus' band rounded the corner. There was a boom, and a burning spike of flame punched down to pierce the Cultist through the chest, sending him tumbling to the ground with a shriek as his dropped weapon rolled into the street, betraying the ambush to Alixus' warriors...
THE FARM
He had little time to ruminate, however, as the corporal on his pintle gun was hit in the chest and fell dead before he hit the ground. Scrambling up to the gun himself, he checked at the last minute, realising the enemy were probably waiting for just that. His hesitation saved his life as Disumena fired again, just clipping his shoulder. He tumbled from the jeep and rolled into cover in a ditch by the road, taking stock. He had no way of telling, but he could see at least eight of his troopers, though at least one other than himself was wounded. Things were not going well...
OVERHEAD
Yuye Park completed her last pre-flight checks and then flashed a ready gesture, thumb and pinky extended as she waggled her hand at the deck chief who nodded, returning the gesture and then bellowing for launch. The senjin class snubfighter jolted as the elevator lifted it into a launch position, and she gunned her engines, roaring out of the hangar and into high atmosphere. Beside her another snubfighter carved through the sky, whilst behind them came a lumbering raijin bomber-gunship, to be used only if the engagement became protracted. Word was another CPA patrol had got itself ambushed, only a small number of suspected insurgents, so the mission was almost certainly going to consist of a couple of atlatl attack missiles and a flyby to intimidate them into retreating. At least that was what she thought until the updated satint feed came in....
KORSE
Scelene’s grey eyes flicked first from Ipatiev to Prince Mitsuyoshi, then Sera, and finally to Cerwyn. The woman’s sudden change in demeanor was not lost upon Scelene. She’d been charming only a few moments earlier but at the Prince’s appearance she was suddenly silent. She hadn’t seemed to have the slightest trepidation over implanting herself into Scelene’s conversation with Ipatiev either, so she was clearly used to dealing with power players… strange. Everything about Cerwyn was strange. She made a decision and with a touch of mental fingertips sent a message to Turner to relay on to the security detail that had remained with their vehicle.
Find Cerwyn’s vehicle, She instructed him. The mercenary behind her made no reaction upon receiving the message, using his own implants to contact the team without any outward sign that he was doing so. It was time she engineered a… serendipitous encounter with the financier.
“Prince Mitsuyoshi,” Scelene greeted the man with the same easy smile she’d worn all evening. “It’s an honour to find myself in such esteemed company. The three of us were just discussing the merits of a mutually beneficial arrangement between the company and Marchand,”
She glanced at Serashee, giving her a nod of acknowledgement.
“And good evening to you Ms. Krisra. You’ll have to forgive me but I know very little of the Minevans, only what tidbits trickle through the networks about the Free World’s anti-piracy operations,”
That wouldn’t be the case for long. The SIS was always eager to fill more filing cabinets in their basement, and with the Minevans here and operating with the Free Worlders she imagined it wouldn’t be long until several cabinets were devoted to the Minevans
“What sort of charity are you involved in?”
SERA
While Sera flourished in crowded spaces with her wandering troupe of vagabonds, she tried to bury he discomfort of associating in a large circle in a formal event that was already unnatural to her. She stood aside the Prince, shifting ever closer in a subconscious standoff from the group before her.
Financiers and political leaders aplenty; certainly this would help her with her original intent of making her name and survival well-known.
"My apologies once you finally learn more about my people," Sera offered a joke to break the ice. She finished her drink and offered a gentle smile. "I suppose you can call it more accurately refer to such as mutual aid. We try to create safe, stable communities, and in return we receive friendship."
Sera's studious eyes traveled all around their circle, trying to snipe the intricacies of their demeanor. If Sera's discomfort was a noticeable ripple, Cerwyn's was a typhoon. Her eyes narrowed and her cunning smile widened momentarily giving off the visage of a snake driving hidden prey, before bringing her gaze back to Mitsu. "Some on this world don't share my ideals of building friendships, however."
'PARTICLE ACCELERATOR'
The Celvian was dressed in loose casual wear and a wide-brimmed hat, doing well to obscure the figure of his short form and to only leave hints that he had four handguns holstered under his arms. Mantiya had ensured he was properly licensed to prevent extended questioning.
He had worked his way to the bar, hopping on a stool with a bit of effort, and ushered the keep over.
"Something on the tap for insectoids?" The Celvian looked up, expression blank as usual, "Those mammal brews'll kill me."
At the Farm
“Where’s Minadoma?” Kanedame asked, gasping for air as he ran towards Disumena, continuing to fire.
“Minadoma has been eliminated from action. 2 Shots to the chest.”
“Fucking…” He mumbled, an elimination was not preferred during a mission, especially not during high-stake missions like these. “Take care of the body for now, we need to get moving as fast as possible. Terminate any survivors too, wounded soldiers on their side are not an option.” He ordered, loud enough for the rest of the squad to hear. A few ‘Rogers’ and the likes were shouted in response, but the combat continued.
THE ENCLAVE
The maddened howling of the cultists filled the air as they charged the line, met by defiant yells from the emboldened militia and the sharp snapping noise of spear fire. The screams and clangor of battle was punctuated with the periodic blast of the onager's munitions as the defenders struggled to hold the tide back.
From her position by the artillery, Melina could see where the filth was swarming up the walls to assault the troops who had been cut off when the gate was broken. Shrinking in on herself, she flinched as the guttural screams and chants of the lunatics swelled and the shieldwall buckled, the attackers pushing forward across heaping mounds of their own dead. From the distance, the great horn sounded again.
THE BANQUET
After some spluttering and fiddling, which robbed the moment of its grandeur and import, Kuraly called for silence, squinting at a teleprompter. He spoke in Marchander, but a holoscreen behind him showed a translation in realtime into Common.
"Citizens and friends," he began, his voice hoarse and gravelly, "it has been a long road. Our people have suffered through much, too much, but today is the first day on which Marchand can truly claim to be in charge of its own future. The people have spoken through the polls, and now it is time to formally announce the first democratic government of Marchand.
The People's Democratic Republic is bound first and foremost to uphold the will of the people. I will now confirm the results of the election.
He coughed again, taking a sip of water before continuing, the candidates shifting behind him uncomfortably.
"United Democratic Party; five thousand, four hundred and sixty one seats."
There was muted applause. This was around 40% of the total 14,000 seats available, a seat for every million Marchanders. It was less than the UDP had been expecting, but still made them the largest unless the polls had been wildly inaccurate
"Marchand Dignity Party; one thousand, two hundred and fifty four seats."
This elicited a gasp. The MDP had been expected to take more seats, closer to the two thousand mark, and the quickest mathematicians realised that this meant a UDP-MDP coalition would not have a majority.
"Worker's Unity Labour Front; two thousand, nine hundred and eighty-eight seats."
This provoked boos and jeers.
Many of the political elite were leftovers from the GMGC and, even though officially they repudiated the Cult of Carcaros, many of them were far more sympathetic to the 'traditionalist' MDP than the reformist WULF, despite the MDP's rumoured links to the Cult. For some, those rumoured links were even a selling point.
Kuraly droned on, reading the results of lesser parties, a scattering of a dozen fringe and lesser parties who would no doubt disappear by next election once people realised that the first-past-the-post system had rendered their vote futile.
Mitsuyoshi turned to the others. "A victory for the collectivists, it seems. Perhaps Marchand's future is a little more proletarian than we thought. Cerwyn, that can't be good news for you?" he asked with a feigned concern, his expression hinting just slightly at mockery.
Cerwyn was flat-footed, so concerned with the thought that Mitsuyoshi might suspect her of being a Conclave member and WULF sympathiser that his allusion to her cover story, as a financial analyst, took her by surprise.
"I uh...no, it's...I'm sure it's a good result," she stammered, cursing herself before taking a sip of her cocktail to buy a moment's reprieve. Outside, Korses' agents found Cerwyn's car far in the underground parking lot, a sleek rental.
THE PARTICLE ACCELERATOR
There were chuckles from elsewhere in the dingy room as the locals watched the strange little alien. Their distaste was temporarily overcome by curiosity, and besides, how scary could such a small creature be?
As far as Mantiya could tell, the woman was young for a Marchander. She plunked the faintly sweet, watery mug down in from of Mantiya. "10 Roubetsk,"* she said, holding out her hand expectantly...
ENCLAVE
The surviving ambushers fled, the Bishop watching them in silent contentment as Alixus' host continued their advance, no obstacles now between them and the Enclave other than the corpse that had fallen into the street, which was trampled beneath their feet. The Bishop crossed to the other corner of the roof to watch the battle at the Enclave itself. The dead littered the street outside, heaping at the gates whilst inside the defenders were slowly being pushed back, screams, howls and gunfire echoing out...
Inside, Cultists began hurling themselves at the shieldwall, heedless of injury or death. Whenever the weight of the suicidal cultists caused a ripple in the shieldwall, more poured themselves into the gap. Meanwhile, others attempted to jump over the wall, springing from the backs of their colleagues to land and lash out in a frenzy or scurry deeper into the building, seeking places to hide....
AT THE FARM
The ground rolled away beneath them as the sleek fighters screamed into position. Coxswain Park's HUD began painting targets, the friendlies glowing green whilst the opponents were a flickering red as the feed came in. She splashed a target point with the touchscreen on her console, checked and then fired. The atlatl missile screamed out of the sky even as Park thundered overhead, shaking the ground with the passage of her fighter. The missile punched into the farmhouse, which erupted in a cataclysm of fire, sundered into a cloud of superheated debris which blew outwards. One of the CPA troopers, separated from the others, ignored the officer's call to take cover and was lifted from his feet by the shockwave, burned and shredded in mid-air despite his distance from the farmhouse across the road.
"Good hit good hit," called Park to her wingmate, following behind, as they waited for the battle damage assessment from overhead. She hit her hardlight profile modifiers, temporary wings of pink hardlight flickering to let her halt her forward momentum and execute a graceful turn in midair
The Enclave
Just then, a hulking brute lunged forward and seized his shield, and the arm holding it. With a grunt of effort, it tore the limb off, and dragged the screaming captain out of the line before beating his skull in with his own arm, still bound to the shield. Roaring in victory, it gathered a group behind it and charged...right into the tip of the late commander's spear. Panting with adrenaline, Melina twisted the spear and yanked it free, before grabbing a discarded and bloody shield from the ground and restarting the program for the shield emitters. She'd had basic militia training, but that had been decades ago, and it showed. She was just a little slower than she should've been, staggered a bit more by impacts on the shield. Gritting her teeth, she held on as the fiends battered away, aiming an overhand stab at one particularly ugly specimen.
Forcing her dry and dusty throat to work, she called out, hoping to rally the troops one last time. "Hold them here! Hold the line!
From the shattered gates, there was a combined shout, and the rumbling thunder of two hundred feet as the Shield company arrived and gave voice to the ancient refrain. "THE LINE HOLDS!"
With that, they advanced, a hail of lasers scything into the enemy from behind, and the gleaming mass of armor leaving the dying and panicked cultists nowhere to flee.
KORSE
Future problems for a future Scelene do deal with. She had gathered, mostly by Cerwyn’s reaction, that the current group dynamic was ‘tense’. Scelene couldn’t help but wonder just what the Prince may have already known about Cerwyn. After all, her people had picked up a great deal and they’d only been looking for one day. How long might the Empire have had Cerwyn under surveillance? How careful was she really being?
“It’s better than the alternative,” Scelene concurred, picking up where Cerywn had awkwardly trailed off. She fixed her eyes on the Prince and gestured dismissively with one hand. “The MDP were protectionist and isolationist. I cannot claim to speak for all the godless capitalists on this planet, but I’d much rather negotiate with labour organizers than xenophobic isolationists. Better yet, labour organizers playing second fiddle to a more amiable majority.”
Finally she was able to finish composing the message she sent off to her man in the garage. He read over them a few times before setting to work with a sigh. She’d ordered him to sabotage Cerwyn’s car. Not so bad that it couldn’t e repaired, not even so bad that it couldn’t be easily repaired… but the sort of thing one might not be keen on repairing while recently rattled and wearing a cocktail dress.
New notifications were hitting her uplink from Hands and the surveillance team, but she couldn’t read them now. She kept focused on the conversation and for what it was worth made an attempt to shift the focus away from the faltering Cerwyn.
“Mutual aid is an interesting term to use,” She commented turning her gaze once more to the Sera. “It’s a term I’m more accustomed to hearing thrown around by protest organizers and political activists as opposed to charities. What exactly is it you do?”
Hands, meanwhile, had split up his surveillance team after Cerwyn had departed the house where she’d stashed her associates. One vehicle had stayed on Cerwyn while Hands in the other remained to watch the house. The team on Cerwyn had remained on her only until it became apparent she was headed for the banquet. Afterward, they had returned to the house where they had remained.
In the meantime Hands had followed Cerwyn’s associates when they departed for the docks and once more had found himself strapping on armoured plating and readying a weapon. He supposed it shouldn’t have come as a shock that people in power armour would be looking for a fight.
They’d managed to avoid the street fighting and remain at a distance, observing the battle taking place between a group of offworlders (apparently supported by Cerwyn’s associates) and a group of dissidents.
“Fanatical,” Hands said aloud watching Bishop from afar through a telescopic photography lens.
“Huh?” The technician murmured, looking up from her directional listening equipment.
“That’s how I’ll characterize the crowd in my report. ‘Fanatical dissidents’. Does that seem fair to you?”
She glanced at him, then out at the crowd, back to him, narrowed her eyes and shrugged.
"I don’t know dude. I just make shit work.”
SERA
Sera was absent in the conversation for a moment, taking note of her surroundings and drinking in the mixed reaction of the crowd. She was trying to put names to familiar faces, gauging individual reactions, and try to snipe anyone stealing a stare their way. It had appeared she had tuned out of the group's conversation, but it was rather the opposite; she was actively listening and drinking in their information."Hm?" She grunted at the sudden inquisition, although she had heard the question quite clearly. Sera took her time to finish looking about, before nodding at Scelene. "Oh, me? I would hate to bore you with the specificities. We currently specialize in the distribution of necessities and cleaning battlefield debris, it would appear," Sera remarked, putting a hand to her chin and gazing up; while she caught herself being verbose, she spoke slowly and smoothly in her usual heavy accent. "I suppose a bit of ordnance disposal and education, we have been doing as well?"
Her speech, as usual, was unnaturally long-winded. Sera was no stranger to turning a normal conversation strange, more concerned with the information than the social precedent.
THE PARTICLE ACCELERATOR
Mantiya could feel the eyes and remarks bearing down on him from all angles. It was a response to his presence that he was decently familiar with. He allowed them to have it; he may have even shared in their laughter had he been able to.
"Of course, ma'am. Thank you," Mantiya said blankly in typical Celvian fashion. He paid his server and began to partake in his drink.
"Crazy stuff out here. Has the reconstruction been treating you well enough?"
At the Farm
Just seconds before the Atlatl missile hit, Kanedame noticed something was wrong. He ordered the troops over the comms to seek cover, most of whom did. Kanedame could feel the heat from the missile’s engine behind his back, and then it became black. He could feel his place in the galaxy slipping away, a long fall was to come. Yet, he did not slip away. A rough force pulling him back from the endless abyss of death, and back to the battle. He awoke, his view grey and white. He noticed something, his helmet had been broken in multiple places, showing parts of his face to the outside world, a world now filled with fire. He counted to ten, he was awake. Now the colours had returned to the world around him, and he could see the chaos. It was indeed true, a missile had hit the shed, the shed in which Edinema had used his motorbike had been turned into nothing less of an inferno. A second man down. Kanedame duck into cover, considering his options. 2 soldiers had been lost, maybe more, his mission had passed the 20% casualties rate that the FAHS had in place for missions, the mission was a failure. He took a deep breath, counted to ten once more, and barked an order into the comms.
“Attention, all who are still alive, check in!” he shouted, a moment of silence followed, but then the responses came.
“Disumena checking in, still alive.” the Furrelian shouted through his communications unit.
“Konidema here, near Disumena and alive.” another Furrelian came in, the background sounds betraying that he was still firing.
“Esadema here.” A final Furrelian said, his accent being thick.
Kanedame took a sigh of relief, there were still 4 in his squad, including himself. He thought about an order as a plasma bolt flew above his improvised shelter.
“Alright, listen up! We’ve passed 20% casualties, you all know what that means.”
-“Sadly enough, who were it?”
“I’ll tell if we survive, but we’re having a change of plans. Do not shoot to kill, we need to stun them, that’s our way out! If the Jade bastards realise their allies have been captured by us, we can negotiate a deal out, for the terrorists of the FFR of course. Once we’re off-planet, we can give our catch back to the sea, but we need them, ironically enough, now.”
A moment of silence followed as the Furrelians were taking the plans in.
“Copy that. Disumena said, with the other 2 Furrelians repeating the same words. Before they came out of their hiding spots, they switched their heavy disruptor rifles, the guns which they had been using for all this time, with a lighter but less efficient stun gun, more specialised for medium-to-short ranged combat, exactly what was happening now. The Furrelians were acting more aggressive now, having lost another ally, instead of confirming that the enemy had been terminated, like how they’d do it with the disruptor, they aimed at whatever soldier was in their path, pulled the trigger a few times, and move on to the next, hoping to terminate them all and be able to communicate with the bombers above before the next bomb strike.
THE ENCLAVE
Like a neap tide, the attack began to fade away as the Cultists caught in the courtyard crumbled. Attacked in the rear, panic quickly swept through the horde, their tight mass shattering as some turned to fight the newcomers and others scrambled to escape. Within moments, the new hoplitae led by Alixus were trampling a swathe of corpses underfoot, to the relief of Melina and her people, and the surviving Marchanders fled, pitifully few in number compared to the tattered bodies scattered across the street outside and heaped in sad clusters throughout the courtyard and gateway.From his perch across the street the Bishop watched approvingly. The Poleisi's tactics were simple but effective. Against the ill-trained and frenzied cultists they were particularly ideal, and now the glinting metal of helmeted soldiers shone brightly in his viewfinder. The Bishop began making his rifle safe, his impassive helmet watching as the last few Cultists fled shrieking into alleyways and boltholes
HANDS
A duo of Cultists, one with blood streaming from a shoulder wound, scrambled down a tenfoot alley and almost by surprised came out in front of Hands and his technician. The injured Cultist gave out a terrified shriek, whilst the other lunged forwards out of instinct, waving a machete-like weapon that was coated in fresh blood.
THE PARTICLE ACCELERATOR
She turned to move a tray of glasses, then glanced along the bar before offering an appraising look back at the little alien in front of her.
"What are you doing here?"
BANQUET
Godless capitalists!" laughed Mitsuyoshi, "you and Ipatiev are going to get along just fine!"
He turned to watch as Ipatiev, Sundin and Kuraly huddled in a corner, clearly bashing out a drumhead agreement prior to any kind of formal announcement of a coalition. He suspected Ipatiev was just as surprised as the other two, but he knew for a fact that Kuraly's CPA had severely underestimated the impact of Conclave activity on the planet. This was partly because the JIAN, the Jade Empire's military intelligence service, had pointedly kept them in the dark, not wanting to give their unofficial vassals reason to doubt Jade power.
"Well," he said as music struck up, surprisingly upbeat, "someone has to get this party started. Care to dance, Ms Krisra?" he said with a grin, nodding towards the empty dancefloor.
Whilst Sera and Mitsu were talking, Cerwyn glanced at Scelene.
"Mas Pronocheis," she muttered in Poleisic, her suspicions about this strange new woman aroused, wondering if Scelene would recognise the informal password the Conclave and League had agreed upon.
AT THE FARM
"Stop! Stop! It's done!" he gasped, not realising his last four troopers had been stunned, not killed, cursing the overbearing Jade fighters who had fired so close to his own position.
Overhead, Park arced around. SATINT had confirmed that there appeared to be no AA assets on-ground, so she slowed her craft into a holding pattern overhead.
"A thousand spirits curse it," she swore as her vehicle's optics picked out the scene on the ground below with outlines to clarify it. The surviving attackers had pushed up and finished off the local patrol, and at least two of them were still up and moving, being taken prisoner even as she watched.
Her wingmate said nothing, knowing that there was little they could do. Their armaments were not precise enough to do anything about this. She alerted the gunship to settle into an overwatch pattern, its long guns a little more useful for anti-infantry operations but still not neat enough to risk the lives of the CPA prisoners...
PARTICLE ACCELERATOR
Mantiya did not avert his eyes, though he did give her pause as he finished his serving of juice. If he wasn't on a manhunt, he'd be more keen to compliment the quality. One of his antenna twitched.
"I'm trying to get to The Wheel. I was told this was the place to go," He was blunt, figuring honesty was key, "Just figuring I'd ask to gauge what you or our eavesdroppers thought about that. I'm looking for my friend, you see."
BANQUET
She strode backwards towards the empty arena, extending a hand towards Mitsu. This was going to piss a lot of people off, she was certain. Sera smirked.
KORSE
Scelene kept her gaze first on Sera, and then on Mitsuyoshi as he laughed and walked off with Sera. It was an odd pair. A very odd pair. In fact the more Scelene thought about it the odder it seemed. On one side was a jade royal, the epitome of power and prestige and an easy poster boy for the Empire’s occupation efforts on Marchand. On the other, a Minevan charity worker engaging in mutual.
Building communities, education, and ordinance disposal… She frowned. Parallel power structures were usually the objective of the mutual aid programs she’d been aware of in the past.
The goal is typically to undermine the authority of the governing body by reducing the public’s reliance on them. She recalled the bored monotone of an underpaid TA as Sera and Mitsuyoshi broke away for the dance floor. Was Sera building parallel power structures for the Empire? Put mechanisms in place so that they could undermine Marchand’s government if the need arose? No, that didn’t really make sense. The government was an Imperial puppet, why would they undermine their own puppet?
She was torn away from her rumination by Cerwyn, glancing in the other woman’s direction when she spoke. Her audio-implants caught the phrase, and identified the language, but failed to translate it. But knowing what language she was speaking was enough for Scelene to guess at what the financier was trying to do. And it confirmed her suspicion that Cerwyn wasn’t being careful enough.
She fixed her gaze on Cerwyn and let the pause following the phrase hang thick in the air. The two of them were alone now, but once again she found herself concerned about what recording or surveillance devices might be monitoring the banquet.
“You’ve mistaken me for someone else Ms. Cerwyn,” Scelene said finally. “We can talk later,”
“Aw for fuck’s sake,” Hands said as the cultists appeared. Conventional wisdom said they were too close for either Hands, or the technician crouched over the microphone, to grab the guns off their hip and shoot him before they got cut up. Hands, for his part, didn’t even make the attempt.
The technician was grabbing for her gun, but Hands stepped in front of her, fists up. Hands had been in more than his fair share of bar fights and pub brawls. Fists up, he moved to block the cultist from getting to the technician. He found some solace at least in the fact he didn’t need to win this fight, just buy enough time for his compatriot to get her gun out. Even so, this felt like a real great way to lose some fingers.
ENCLAVE
As the last cultist in the enclave was gutted and the surviving militia started dragging bodies into piles to be burned, Melina wearily handed her armaments over to an aide and went over to speak with Alixus. He turned as she approached and bowed slightly. "Good day, Herald. My apologies for the delay, it took some time to reach the surface."
Smiling halfheartedly, she waved him off. "I'm happier that you arrived at all. We'd have all been dead but for that rear charge."
He grinned with her. "Any chance we could bargain that gratitude into additional funding and recruits? We've been looking into a campaign against some corporation-backed pirates to the west from here, but we're rather underequipped for it."
Beckoning him to follow her, she led him inside the main building and around a corner before stopping. "If it helps, the boule was aiming to try and raise another three Shield companies from this cluster. At that point, you'd have the senior command. But there is something more delicate afoot. The temple here was guarding a Polerko."
The commander's eyes went wide with shock at her words, and his voice seemed to tremble slightly. "A starhorn? Here!!?"
She nodded grimly. "Or rather, it was. It was stolen during the initial fighting, and the priests aren't sure which of the gangs around here took it. There's a banquet going on right now that might get me access to someone who can help narrow the search, but the attack stopped us. I have my suspicions about that, mind."
Alixus frowned. "Indeed. Someone is pulling strings from behind the scenes, and I like it not. I'll see if I can't requisition a transport to get you to the banquet while my men stay here and help with repairs and clean up." He looked back over his shoulder. "I'll give them this much at least, their gate was solidly built. We'll have some good tactical data to hand over to the Defense Council once this is all over."
About half an hour later, Melina laughed and shook her hair out, before thanking the hoplite who had given her ride. Taking a breath, she slipped inside the hall, and paused to scan the crowd of diplomats and politicians before she saw Cerwyn. Ah. Fixing a smile in place, she slipped over, and stepped behind the yokari before clearing her throat. "Greetings, madam! I'm so sorry I'm late, I had some pressing matters to take care of that demanded my attention first."
PARTICLE ACCELERATOR
BANQUET
The music was oddly catchy despite being a little dated, one of those timeless classics. On the way to the floor Mitsu snatched and downed a cocktail from a passing waiter, who stopped in surprise, leaving the tray exposed for Sera as she followed by. Surprisingly informal, Mitsu broke out almost immediately into a lackadaiscal dance starting with the grapevine, arms all over the place, just having fun with it. Almost immediately, Nighthorse emerged on the other side of the dancefloor, dragging a stranger Sera didn't recognise, and a couple of more daring Marchanders joined moments later.
Cerywn almost gave a sigh of relief as Melina appeared. She made her excuses to Scelene and took Melina aside. "Did you hear? The elections were called...WULF got more than 20%, they're going to form a coalition with the centrists!"
NEAR THE ENCLAVE
The second Cultist barely had time to process all this before Hands' technician managed to get her gun levelled and popped him three times, spinning his little body around and dumping it to the floor. As Hands looked up, he spotted the armoured figure they had surveilled at the spacedocks earlier, perched atop a low apartment block nearby, watching them....
BANQUET
Melina nodded and stepped closer to the other woman, before settling her hands on her hips and moving Cerwyn about in a slow dance to cover any suspicions about their conversation.
"That's good to hear, but I'm afraid we have far more pressing concerns at the moment, namely being that someone has stolen an ancient artifact of immense power from the local enclave."
Leaning in close, she whispered her next sentence. "What do the Ingen know of the Asteros Polerkó?"
HANDS
Hands flinched as the cultist’s chest exploded and showered him in gore. He muttered curses, swiping a hand across his face to clear away the blood while the tech finished off the second cultist. It didn’t take him long to spot the armoured figure above them. He spat some of the blood out of his mouth with a final curse.
“Let’s clear out,” He said to the technician, pausing long enough to check the corpses for ID. “We’ll take some turns to avoid tails.”
She nodded and the two headed back to where they’d parked, eyes open for anyone who might be following them. While they walked Hands sent off the information to Scelene and then warned the other surveillance team that the other foreigners at the house may sweep for them in the not-too-distant future.
KORSE
Scelene didn’t even get the opportunity to greet Melina, nor say goodbye to Cerwyn before she spirited the financier a short distant away. At an ordinary party she might have been annoyed by the rather abrupt end to their conversation, but this was no ordinary party.
As at the Bar she once again adjusted the settings on her audio implants, directing her hearing toward the two women even as she turned her gaze toward the dance floor, putting on the appearance of watching the dancers while she listened in on the conversation.
The break in conversation afforded her the opportunity to review the updates pouring in from her other teams, getting caught up on all the goings on. Cultists attacked an enclave, their armoured foreigner was apparently involved, and now here was Melina again pulling Cerwyn away for a conspiratorial conversation.
Her man in the garage finished sabotaging Cerwyn’s car and returned to the vehicle to await further instructions. She doubted she’d need him for anything else before the banquet concluded… but best to keep him around just in case. Once the banquet ended she’d ‘happen’ upon Cerwyn and her vehicle which, with a bit of charisma, should afford her the opportunity for a private conversation with her. For now it was back to waiting. She listened to the conversation, watched the dancers, and ruminated on the implications of everything she’d learned so far. It was shaping up to be an eventful day, and seeming more and more likely that Marchand was going to be a far more interesting post than she’d initially suspected.
That’s a curse isn’t it? She mused silently. ‘May you live in interesting times’
She chuckled to herself at the thought.
PARTICLE ACCELERATOR
"My lady, stay safe," Mantiya bid his farewells. He waddled off to the note of her directions, pausing only to locate this 'snooker room' and the blue door that accompanied it to make it along his way. En route, he tapped the communicator on his thorax that had the entire raid force listening in; the squad leaders and cordons were tracking his every move and were situated in the blocks around the bar in their loose checkpoints.
If anything were to arise, he knew it would likely be too little too late. His reinforcements could rush in guns blazing or some other manner of flashy presentation in retribution, but any sort of violence would leave Mantiya battered and perforated in some gutter, for certain.
The best he could do was scurry down to the Wheel and drink in his new surroundings or contacts that were sure to receive him.
BANQUET
As Mitsu pulled free ahead of her, she watched him flow ahead with none of the dignity expected of noble birth. The yokari certainly caused some heads to flush with rage; a doting parent or his embarrassed handlers, perhaps? Her smile gave the slightest hint of pronounced cuspids, the international signifier of a Minevan's uncouth demeanor and barbarity.
In a flashy sleight, she held open a hand to which a drink travelling through the air to her.
She secretly thanked the old gods for not leading this with some ballroom show. Aside from the bombings, ambushes, and crime at least it was universal among all peoples that silly dances and acting foolish were common ground they could share. While she lacked the explosive energy herself, she weaved around the floor like flowing water, brushing by and noting most and ending at the prince.
"So, what is the proposition after this ordeal?" Sera asked loudly over the music. "Unless you purchased some nice beachfront property here?"
BANQUET
Cerwyn shook her head surreptitiously, a little lost. She understood only a few words of Poleisic, although from what she knew it was apparently quite similar to Athoine, the language spoken on southern Neusattar.
"I'm not familiar with the term," she replied, unaware that they were the basis for the Sattran legends of the gjallarhorn and the Suedian olifant.
Elsewhere, Mitsuyoshi seemed a little taken aback by the question, but then shrugged it off quickly.
"There's always work to be done, but that can wait. I want to know more about you! I can't just pull up an Ancnet page and read all about your life, so you've got the edge on me already...tell me about yourself,"
Scelene, finding herself momentarily alone, was surprised to hear a high-pitched voice with almost a hint of a purr speak up next to her.
"So pleased with themselves. Throwing away millennia of tradition without a second thought."
She glanced around to see Yudina Olegovna, head of the conservative MDP, stood beside her, arms crossed, a scowl on her diminutive face.
NEAR THE ENCLAVE
Turning, they saw the same armoured figure that had helped them just moments before step out of an alleyway, his rifle slung over his shoulder. The impassive helmet took in one and then the other, before a surprisingly sibilant voice spoke.
"Who are you, and what is your business here?" the figure asked quietly.
PARTICLE ACCELERATOR
As he moved towards it, a Marchander reached out a paw to stop him. The man was halfway between muscular and fat, solid and sturdy for a Marchander, with a lumpen face and angry eyes. He was wearing a waxed jacket and a thick sweater, and in his other paw was a snooker cue.
"Hey, you. Where you going?"
HANDS
Hands cursed silently at the sound of footsteps and the appearance of the armoured figure. This had been exactly the thing he was trying to avoid. But the situation wasn’t as bad as it could be. He didn’t know who they were, and that gave Hands options. He could lie entirely, though he doubted his ability to come up with something convincing on the fly. What could you say when asked ‘why are you hanging out in a war zone?’. He could claim to be a reporter, but he didn’t have any credentials. Private investigator? Probably needed a license for that…
In the end he decided it would be best to avoid answering the question first. The figure didn’t seem overly aggressive. After all he had helped them deal with their cultist problem and his weapon was out of his hands. If that failed, he could stick to the cover story. He had all the falsified documents and history to pass himself and his companion off as corporate security.
"Could ask you the same question mate,” Hands commented folding his arms across his chest. “You’re not a Marchander, that’s for sure, don’t have the look of an Ingen, nor do you seem like you’re with the people those fanatics were attacking,”
He gave the man a cheeky grin, which was more than a little off-putting with the cultist’s blood still smeared across his face.
“How about a trade? Answer for an answer?”
KORSE
Scelene winced, ever so slightly, at Yudina’s sudden appearance. With her implants tuned to listen in to Cerwyn’s conversation, Yudina’s words, quiet though they were, sounded like they were coming out of a loudspeaker.
She adjusted some levels, doing her best to split her attention between Cerwyn and the recently appeared leader of the MDP. Silently, she lamented just how popular she seemed to be tonight. First Ipatiev, and now Yudina. Everyone seemed to want something from her this evening…
She gave Yudina one of her easy smiles and smoothed a wrinkle in her dress. She glanced in the direction of Ipatiev and then back at Yudina.
“Can you blame them?” She said finally. “Ingen looking over their shoulders and breathing down their necks after violently dismantling the previous administration… hard to fault them for wanting to distance themselves from the policies that brought them to this juncture.”
She held out a hand to the Marchander woman.
“Scelene Korse with the Voss-Ulrich Combine, I don’t believe we’ve met,”
At the Farm
"Call of the Bombers! On your knees! Any other moves and I shoot you! Do as I say and you and your men will not be hurt!"
At the same time, the other Furrelians started moving out of their hiding spots. One of the Furrelians moved to the stunned CPA troopers, restraining them before they regained consciousness. Another Furrelian ran towards the other CPA soldier who was still awake, and forced him on his knees, gun pointed at his head. Soon after, the Furrelians started communicating with each other in Sylenti.
BANQUET
Sera let out a short and loud laugh out of compulsion.
"Myself? A student and artist, I like to pretend! My parents were farmers unfortunate enough to rear a psion, so I was appropriated by the old systems, and..." She paused, using the dance to mask her visible thinking, "I was stuck in strict academia; I compensate now by getting involved in ambushes it seems."
Her smile had not faded. It wasn't as if she was speaking to a staunch and pompous nobleman, recognizing the young veteran for her relatable military experience. If she had read right, he was marginally younger than her; compensated by not his status, but the trying and drastic calls he had to make. Those days of making tough calls on a conventional battlefield were long behind her, she hoped; even having never made strategic decisions.
PARTICLE ACCELERATOR
"I have an appointment," Mantiya began, "The Curator is expecting me. I would hate to keep him waiting."
He patiently stood, likewise with his robotic delivery.
At the Minevan checkpoint several blocks off was situated a command-variant Mako; the stocky fighting vehicle stripped of its main weapons in favor of a comprehensive communication and sensor suite. Tucked away in the troop compartment was a team monitoring their leader, awaiting potential disaster or the delivery of an emergency code to interfere. The contact was known to be amicable to at least Serashee and Janka, but it was known their affiliation was not exclusive.
The armed patrols did their best to look nonchalant and unengaged, but even in an occupied city riflemen were certain to stick out.
BANQUET
The Envoy grimaced. "Surprising, give what I know of your people's history. The term translates as horn of stars. There were a number of the artifacts created by the Second Republic, but they were scattered in the Fall. The megaboule was made aware that one of them had been located here and was in the safekeeping of the local enclave."
Spinning the yokari into a bow, she pulled her back up. "Said enclave was then raided by gangsters during the fighting and the horn has vanished. Couple that with the Merger assault against the enclave earlier today, and I have concerns that the Merger, or one of their pawns, maybe be linked to this." She drew to a halt, and looked Cerwyn dead in the eye. "I cannot stress enough the damage that one of the horns could wreak if used incorrectly. Used correctly, well..."
Melina shook her head. "At that point, you'd want to just find a new planet to live on."
HANDS
The figure betrayed no reaction to Hands' comment. "My name would mean nothing to you, bàsmhor" it replied, "but you delve into matters of which you know not. Tell me your purpose here."
Close-to, there was little more to identify the figure. Although it wore white, gold and black, the colours of the Conclave, its voice was almost certainly not yokari, and the language was also not of the Jade Empire.
SCELENE
"Our customs are not to blame for this! The interfering foreigners couldn't leave well enough alone, decided they knew best, and used guns and bombs to force us into submission! Now they want to remodel Marchander society in their image, but it will not end well."
She whuffed angrily, baring perfectly white fangs.
"If those cursed Zdenii hadn't fled like cowards, maybe we could have bloodied the nose of the Jade Empire, but instead here we are, watching the idiots who led us to defeat as they make friends with the enemy."
She turned a pair of baleful eyes on Yudina, a scarlet so deep as to appear almost black.
"And what do you want here? If you are here on behalf of a corporation then surely you would support my cause?"
SERA
"Ah yes, destined for a higher purpose, that sounds familiar," Mitsu replied with a smile. "It's wonderful, isn't it?"
For a little while they just danced, taking another shot as the first song gave way to an upbeat ballad that, from what little Marchander they had picked up, told the story of a powerful courtier who had eventually been killed for his many vices and crimes. The locals seemed to enjoy it, particularly Ipatiev, who bellowed along, some of them throwing themselves into traditional Marchander dances with gusto. Eventually the song finished and Mitsu crossed to a table, grabbing two red wines.
"Honestly," he began after a sip, "I'm kind of glad I might never be Emperor."
PARTICLE ACCELERATOR
"Fuck off then," he said, turning back to his game of pool.
The door eased open quietly, surprisingly well-oiled despite its battered state, suggesting that those who used it did not want to advertise their presence. It opened into a narrow rock tunnel that led steeply down, the floor uneven and unlit. After what seemed like an eternity, it opened out on one side, revealing that Mantiya was in a natural gallery, separated from a vast chasm on his right by nothing more than a short lip of rock. Below him, clustered around an underground lake and climbing up the sides of the rocky cavern, was a settlement of dry stone buildings lit by a combination of lamps, lanterns, fires and phosphorescent plants, mostly a uniform of blues and greens. Ahead of him, the tunnel came out onto a steep, unrailed staircase cut into the rock. Even at this height he could hear voices and the echo of footsteps below. There was one building that stood out, a huge circular construction of cyclopean architecture with two storeys, from which music emanated faintly...
MELINA
Cerywn seemed not to notice, her attention fixed on Melina and her tale.
"Les olifants," she said under her breath, eyes wide, "we have legends of the magical horns across Neusattar, but we thought they were just old tales! You had one?!"
She glanced around nervously. "You're right, we have to find it...but if the Jade Empire gets wind of it they'll want it for themselves, both for the power it holds and to deny us our history...do you have any plans on what to do next?"
THE FARM
"Ground team inbound, stay with them," came the laconic update from above, and a cluster of contacts indicating troop transports and VTOLs blipped in the distance on her console.
The CPA officer, after recovering his wits, cast a weary eye over the Furrelians.
"What will you do now?" he asked, although his tone made it sound more like a rhetorical question than a sincere one
SERA
"It can be," Sera let out an amused grunt.
It had been a long time since she had witnessed festivities like these that wasn't in some seedy dive with reverberating bass. She wore the appropriate face for the scene; enjoyment of the mirth, appreciating the parallels she could observe between all parties who were so-recently traumatized by war and death. She wanted to scoff at how easy it was to forget one's troubles at least temporarily, given she was sharing a dance with one of the architects of Hornqvist's misery.
The drink and dance had her blood pumping, keeping her pale face flushed. Sera took a seat with legs crossed, leaning her side to the table. She made sure to still face out, studious eyes darting about to steal glances at individuals to include the political figures and the various corporate benefactors.
Sera took a drink. For a moment, she had virtually forgotten who exactly she had been talking to. It vexed her to be sharing the night with the man who had ordered the bombardment of the city and the heir to its consequences, and simultaneously for his words to be human and ordinary. The concern was evident on her brow. "Surely there are worse things to be. Sometimes the correct individual can use their station for good."
She turned his way, resting her arms on the table and offering a gentle smile. "Royalty not all it's made out to be- who needs it, anyways?"
MANTIYA
He shook the feeling of unease before descending the long stairs, one stone at a time. He took his time as the stairs weren't tailored for his legs, his light feet making small taps on the bare rock face. With one arm, he checked the fidelity of his signal to the raid force: acceptable. With another, while he assumed he was still unobserved, he attempted a sleight of hand to seamlessly let loose a handful of diminutive drones. Each were no larger than an ant, taking no time to come to life and scurry away on the slate.
"If I were a betting man..." Mantiya sighed. He safely assumed this hub presented to him was 'The Wheel' he was looking for. Now, it was to find this 'Curator', of whom he had not met and was unsure of the company they kept in the meantime.
In the meantime, he tried to look nonchalant as he confidently sauntered to the town below; he knew he most certainly did not look natural there. Every man he passed by, he tried not to keep eye contact or look back. Inversely, he offered the fairer gender a polite tap of his hat.
The music grew in volume and intensity, and he knew he was drawing nearer to his mark.
Coming up now. Standby Five.
Above ground, the Minevan in her command Mako replied with a silent acknowledgement, picking up the handset wired to the bridge of Velkna's Plackart and the Jade paramilitary force that helped facilitate the operation.
"Lead in vicinity of Objective Vagrant. Standby Five. Advise if you have or see traffic going underground."
HANDS
“Mhm,” Hands hummed, his tone incredulous at the armoured figure’s comment. He folded his arms across his chest and stroked his chin for a moment, studying the armoured visage across from him. There was nothing to see of course, that was the benefit of full-face helmets and bulky armour plating. No facial expressions to analyze, no body language beyond the rigid attention of soldiery.
“Right well I could keep this circle jerk going. Say ‘my name would be meaningless to you too’ and answer your question about why I’m here with philosophical musings on why any of us are here in this place in this time, standing on a rock hurtling through the universe etcetera, etcetera, blah, blah, blah, all that bullshit.”
He shrugged. The technician climbed into the driver’s seat of their vehicle and turned over the engine with a low thrum.
“Could go around and around and around for hours and days and weeks and neither of us would learn anything other than how stubborn and infuriating the other is,” He gave another shrug, shook his head, and fixed the figure with a crooked grin.
“Since we’re not doing names I’ll skip to your other question. I’m following fanatics so I can accurately report on the danger they present to my client,” It was a lie, but one Hands had decided was believable, and not terribly far from the truth. He had been following people, to report on the danger they presented (among other things), the lie was just in who he had been following.
“Alright now your turn. What are you doing here?”
SCELENE
It was difficult, extremely difficult in fact, to try and pay attention to what Cerwyn and her associate were talking about while Yudina railed against foreigners and the new status quo. It was even more difficult to put on the appearance that Yudina had her full attention. She ended up focusing more on appearing invested in what Yudina was saying and ended up missing large chunks of Cerwyn and her associate’s conversation. Something about a relic that both women seemed to think was important. Maybe it was a weapon? She’d missed details for sure, but she didn’t miss what she felt was the most important detail of all: gangsters seemed to have made off with it.
Gangsters, Scelene thought, were something she had a great deal of experience with.
But before she could ruminate overmuch on gangsters she’d need to make it through the conversation with Yudina without earning the marchander’s wrath. She didn’t like the idea of being pleasant with her, but she liked the idea of pissing off a party boss even less.
So she let go that ‘bloodying the nose’ of the Jade Empire would have got Marchand little more than more orbital munitions raining down on them, more leveled cities, more bodies in the street, harsher peace terms and and outcome that would have remained the same. And for what? Pride?
What the fuck was pride worth?
“I’m just a corporate executive trying to buy up mining rights,” She said when Yudina had finished speaking. “I suppose I’d support any cause that would further the endeavour, but your party’s rhetoric gave me the impression you wouldn’t want to court foreign business interests.”
BANQUET
Melina steadfastly ignored the stares and growing whispers. Small minded idiots, the lot of them, getting stirred up into a righteous frenzy because the outside world had dared to intrude on their little backwater.She nodded at Cerwyn's question. "Shieldmaster Alixus has a lead that suggests that the horn might've been sold to a collector of rare artifacts. I'll send you the details."
Giving the yokari a respectful nod, she took her leave from there.
At the Farm
"What will I do now? Blow out your brains if you do not carry out my orders!" He barked at the Officer below him, grabbing him by the collar of his uniform and forcing the officer to stand up. With firm steps, and the officer in his right hand, he walked towards the comms unit of the jeep, which had survived. Once Kanedame had arrived there, he once more forced the CPA officer to kneel.
"Call of the bombers and fighters, tell them to leave us alone, or I blow the head of you and your comrades!"
SERA
Mitsu cracked a smile. "You're getting too comfortable, hey," he said, eyebrow raised, as he stopped a passing waiter and placed a cocktail order. Once the waiter had taken Sera's order and left, Mitsu leaned forwards on the table.
"What one person thinks is 'good', another might think is 'evil'. You still hate me for bombing Hornqvist, but have you considered the alternatives?"
He paused as the waiter brought back their drinks, and took an appreciative slug of his dark and stormy.
"Not every Cultist was willing. Once the Merger shows itself in earnest, they drop the facade, or lose control or the powers they've unleashed. It's a grey area. But either way innocent people end up dragged along for the ride. The longer a battle goes on with them, the more of our people die, but the more civilians get killed too.
He trailed off, then shrugged. "The thing they never tell you is that there is no right answer. Sometimes, there...I....it's easier, just riding around on hoverbikes and shooting bad guys when they show up, you know?"
MANTIYA
The Marchanders down here were a strange mix, many of them wearing clothing the same as you'd see above ground, but the odd few wore more esoteric clothing, robes and rags that spoke of a different age. The tiny Celvian drew plenty of filthy looks and muttered comments, but it was not until he crossed the threshold of the Wheel that anyone approached him.
The Wheel was a large bar, it looked like, with a central pillar around which the bar itself ran whilst the outer edge was crammed with doors, booths, stairways and nooks. The place was crowded, with exclusively Marchanders sat at the tables or playing various bar games inbetween the hub and the rim, but as he took in the dark, dimly-lit scene two Marchanders in thick fur overcoats stepped into his path.
"You. The Boss wants to see you. Give us your guns and come with us." one said in a thick accent, clearly telling rather than asking.
HANDS
The figure tilted its head.
"I am the Druadh. Who are your clients?" he demanded simply, seemingly not caring that the technician had started the car.
SCELENE
Yudina's eyes widened, the dyed fur around her eyes making them look even more expressive.
"Are you joking? We are the party of trade! All we want, all we have ever wanted, is to continue the traditional ways of the Guild, engaging in peaceful mercantilism with the rest of the galaxy. It is the UDP and their new friends, the WULF, who are anti-business, who want a government that controls everything."
She scoffed. "Offworlders truly do not understand us. We would happily mine those materials for you and sell them to you, but the narrative has already been written. The Jade Empire's stooges are the reliable, trustworthy ones and the traditional culture of Marchand is barbaric and dangerous."
AT THE FARM
The officer muttered something into his comms radio, and after a few moments got something back in Marchander.
"They are standing off, you svinya," he spat, breathing heavily. Sure enough, overhead the whine of the craft was still just about audible, but they were no more than dots high in the sky. "You've really fucked up now."