Post by andromeda on Nov 14, 2023 19:23:06 GMT
Lessons Learnt
16:00 hours, Yuza Shipyard 16, Yuza Shipyard Complex 3, Orbiting Yuza-5
“Sir?” The dockmaster asked, listening to the orders from on high, the warmth leaving his face. “We’re almost done with this new batch of destroyers, are y–”
His voice would be cut off, the infamous voice of the President on the other end – a harsh, heavy voice, aggressive and demanding.
“I don’t care what the hell is being built right now. I need those damn slots open, ASAP. I don’t care if you rush them or send them off to the breakers. In 2 weeks, there WILL be 20 slots open in your yards. You know what the consequences are if you don’t.”
“B-But, sir–”
The call cut, President Selia clearly done with the lengthy argument with the dockmaster. The dockmaster threw the holophone down at the table, cracking the fragile screen as he rose from his seat, looking out at a large group of ships.
They were Marzana-Class Destroyers, nearly complete with only minor outfitting required - reactors were already secured deep within the heart of the vessel, enormous sensor suites had their cavities in the enormous hulls made. All this…would need to be scrapped. The yard workers would not be pleased…
“What in the name of the Great Power does he need 20 fucking slots open for?!” the dockmaster thought, slamming his hand against the transparent bulletproof glass which made up a small viewport in his tower.
—
18:00 hours: Urgent Reading – Meeting today at 25:00 hours AnxCST. Attendance is mandatory. Main meeting room in the Presidential Palace.
“Hm?” Lainax Rezu exclaimed, seeing this notification appear in his governmental communication mail. Tapping the notification, he was stumped – there was no further details on what the contents of the meeting were. The only conclusion the aging Naval High Commander could come to was that it was of utmost secrecy. Otherwise, memos like this, which appeared seemingly weekly, would be far more…descriptive.
“I’ll deal with it later, I only have a few hours left to enjoy this…” He mused to himself, staring out at the Anxios skyline from an extraordinarily tall skyscraper, built into one of the support struts of the Anxios Orbital Complex. He was relaxing in a bar at the boundary between the atmosphere and space, observing hundreds of ships make their rounds, cargo freighters docking, unloading, and leaving to go collect more. Warships, many of which he had hands in designing, were conducting routine exercises – all according to protocol. It brought the aging Selenican, no younger than 130, much joy to see the fruits of a lifetime of effort finally pay off, even in his old age.
—
20:00 hours
“Lainax, sir,” One of his attendants would say, opening the door to his observation room, “I hate to disrupt you, but–”
“I’m aware.” Lainax said, slowly rising from his seat, uncoiling his 30 foot long body. “We’ve 5 hours. No rush.”
“Are you sure about that?! We need to get to the damn surface, then get you over to the Palace!” The attendant would murmur to himself, just quiet enough that Lainax couldn’t hear.
“I suppose we’ve got to go, then. Shall we, Rezer?” the elderly Selenican would say teasingly, trying to embarrass the uptight and, in his eyes, pretentious attendant.
“Y-yes, sir.” Rezer replied, frustrated with the old man’s…lackadaisical approach. Time was the one thing you can’t create more of, after all.
The two would slither over to a private elevator to lead them back down to the surface, incognito guards stationed all throughout the tunnel to protect the High Commander, dressed in civilian clothes and completely innocuous to anyone who didn’t know better. Inside the elevator was spacious and comfortable, a faux-wooden paneling covering its spacious floor, seats along its edges, complete with safety buckles to prevent accidents in event of a malfunction. Lainax slithered over, slowly, and reclined himself into his favorite bench, attaching the buckles around himself. Rezer briskly moved over to the opposite bench, doing much the same, although much, much faster.
The descent to Anxios’ surface would begin, a slight lurch pulling the two upwards before the increased gravity pulled them back down as they descended. The entire journey was about 30 minutes long, and inside the elevator, there was very little to occupy oneself.
“Rezer, have you ever wondered why I don’t try to live life quickly, as you do?” Lainax would begin, about to begin a long spiel.
“Being frank, I’ve always thought that it’s because you’re elderly, sir. You’ve already achieved great things in your life, and you have nothing else to prove to anyone.” Rezer would say, hoping that was the answer Lainax was looking for so the descent could continue in silence.
“Not quite.” Lainax would reply, snickering to himself as the young man across from him, only 25 years old, was very obvious in his intent. “Y’see, Rezer, you’d be right for most old men. We’ve already proven everything we’ve needed to in life, so what’s the point in trying to impress you young folks?”
Lainax went quiet for a time, interested in Rezer’s response.
“Go on, sir.”
“Well, for me anyways, I take it slowly as I know there’s nothing that’s a threat to me anymore. And frankly, that applies to you, too, you know.”
“Hm? What do you mean, sir?”
“You’re part of my entourage, in fact you’re the main attendant. If someone actually wanted the Republic to fight back they’d go after me, if not Selia himself. You’ve nothing really to worry about in terms of status or score, in fact, you’ve one of the most enviable positions in the country.”
Rezer would remain silent, trying to process what the old man said. It wasn’t anywhere remotely close to what he’s been told by everyone for his entire life. For years on end, he’s been told that everyone had a place, a place they earned, and they always had to defend that place from others seeking to take it.
“That look on your face is funny to me. Many young ones like you, having what they learned in school and their early jobs questioned and broken. It’s one of the reasons I’ve been cooped up here for so long – Selia doesn’t like me talking.”
Rezer wouldn’t respond, letting the rest of the elevator ride continue in silence.
—
24:30 Hours – Anxios Presidential Palace, Meeting Room 4
“Why the Hell do they keep these damn meeting rooms so dim…” Selia mused to himself, entering the room. It was enormous, easily able to fit up to 50 Selenicans stretched out, with faux-wood flooring and comfortable beige walls all around, multiple feet thick with soundproofing, insulation, and various backways through the Palace in case of an emergency. Hanging from the ceiling and rafters of the extremely tall room were plants – plants everywhere. In planters along the sides, hanging from the ceiling. Selia was never a fan of them, but they were very comforting for the vast majority of the population, so he tolerated it.
Selia was alone in the enormous room, sat down behind a table with a closed front, papers neatly organized on its top with a holophone set up to provide a pre-recorded speech. Selia…would be ignoring that. He knew precisely what needed to be said here.
Sifting through the papers, they read like parts of a script to his mind, despite just being documents citing performances in many, many situations. Davos - 90%, Cirex - 20%, Yetia - 40%...all of these were casualty numbers. Simply lines on a graph or points on a data plot to him. Shifting the list of casualties aside, he saw the graph – an overall decrease of losses by 50% compared to past engagements. A staggering improvement, but…the achievement of operational goals was still middling at best. Only 35% of all operations, especially in Corona and against battle hardened SD warships, were successful. Another 40% were stalemates or pyrrhic victories, and the remaining 25% were outright defeats. Utterly unacceptable.
Data wargaming against the Sax proved vital – while the ships of the Selenican Republic were definitely their most powerful asset, there needed to be just that extra push. Saxheelian cruisers could be defeated with a success rate of about 20%. Compared to the expected 5%, this was wonderful. However, this was not reflected in data against other nations. In projected engagements against likely opponents, such as those of the Laptev Axis, success rates only came out to 30-40% – much lower than deemed acceptable. The massive amount of shipping required to be set aside for MITA’s defensive operations were hindering the war efforts against the SD and various Coronan powers.
Frankly, Selia needed Lainax for this. Despite being…an unwieldy ally, he was the only one who had the knowledge to come to a better solution.
An alarm rang on Selia’s watch. “25:00 hours. They should be here within 30 minutes.” he thought to himself, set up and ready for the meeting.
—
25:00 Hours
The many top officials of the Selenican Republic, about 50 for this particular meeting, filtered in slowly, much to Selia’s chagrin. Five, ten, fifteen minutes, all of it passed by at a snail’s pace, every second feeling 5 times its normal length. Despite supposedly leaving late, Lainax and Rezer were some of the first to arrive, only 5 minutes behind schedule.
“I told you we’d be here on time, Rezer.” the old man would say, chuckling to himself. “Barely anyone’s here. Selia’s gonna be a little upset, hah.”
“Whatever you say, sir.” Rezer would respond, the previous 4 hours proving to be either mind-numbingly dull or filled with Lainax’s poor attempts at humor. Thankfully he had access to this meeting, if nothing else.
—
25:30 Hours
Finally, everyone had arrived. 30 minutes behind schedule…What a shameful display of laziness. Selia rose from his chair, with his pension for the dramatic following suit.
“Greetings ladies and gentlemen,” the president began, an acted bravado in his voice, “thank you greatly for coming. As I’m sure all of you know, the memo I sent out to call for your presence was disparagingly vague.” His tone, carefully selected to inspire emotion, began to turn somber. “For that, I apologize. This meeting must be conducted in great secrecy, and I am delighted in your showing. Let us begin, then, generals and designers alike.”
Like a theater’s curtain falling on the play’s actors, a holoprojector screen descended from the ceiling, an ancient piece of memorabilia that Selia maintained in this room for no apparent reason. On this screen a photographer’s view of a nameless battle in Corona appeared with a flash, showing numerous Selenican vessels badly battered and one sunk.
“As you all are aware, the rushed Generation Three Program has produced abhorrent results in dealing with peer-level threats.” Selia spoke, a twinge of false remorse following. “Against our wargame partners, the Meta-Sax, we’ve achieved a remarkable win-loss ratio of one to five.” A feeling of seemingly genuine rage coated his face and body as a long pause was heard across the room, with Selia’s act dropping for a mere second. “However, against those wretches of the Second Dawn’s navy, we’ve achieved a practical thirty-five percent victory rate, with forty percent stalemates and twenty-five percent losses. This rate is unsustainable, and so I ask you, my dear analysts. Why?”
This was not a rhetorical question, but no one spoke. Everyone was too busy deliberating in their heads, or in Lainax’s case, snickering at the obvious act his president was putting on. Selia was most displeased at this act of playful insubordination from Lainax; It would be so much better if he could axe that man they call the Liar. However, he was exceedingly popular as the “Architect of Victory” among the people, so any sudden accidents were…off the table.
Suddenly, a member of the junior officer core, the youngest present beside Rezer, spoke, doubt in his voice. “Sir, a-a suggestion – perhaps our performance is due to…volatility.”
Selia, most impressed this officer came to his same conclusion, was eager to encourage such trains of thought. “Pray tell, young officer, when you say ‘volatility,’ what do you mean?”
“W-well, from studying the schematics I’ve access to, e-e-especially our capital ships…” His voice would trail off, intimidated and willing to concede the point to another.
“Speak up, youngster. We haven’t all day.” Lainax spoke, irritated. “You had something you wanted to say, yeah?”
“Sir.” Rezer said, shushing his ward. “You-know-who’s listening.”
“W-well. A-As I was saying,” the officer began, his pride wounded by that treacherous old man, “our capital ships, and especially their munitions, have shown to be extremely prone to detonating with very little outside interference. We’re in the belief that the antimatter warheads are to blame.”
“Thank you, officer.” Selia replied, clearly pleased as he slithered around the room, his chest and head held high. “In fact, that too is the conclusion I reached. And so…”
He said, clicking a button held in his pocket, staring daggers at Lainax despite his presence being required.
“I am offering to you, my dear architects and analysts, a proposition; Generation Four.”
Lainax’s face rose from the slumped displeasure he held himself in before, looking at the aged holoprojector, deeply concerned. “I don’t believe it.” He whispered, one hand held over his mouth.
“Simply put, ladies and gentlemen,” the President would begin, triumphant, “We are assembling an elite force, built to task. Its purpose? To be our spearhead, our ultimate decisive weapon. The information we’ve gathered from our many battles has coalesced into this.”
Another click of the button, and a smile spread across Selia’s face as he saw Lainax’s disbelief. A program of naval development he wasn’t involved in, and…an aggressive weapon. The opposite of what the Generation Three Program was supposed to be. The antithesis of this man’s values. Regardless of the pride the President felt, it was glorious to finally be able to provide the tools for an offensive.
“I don’t intend to keep you in the dark…”
—
29:00 Hours
Lainax was left deeply troubled by the events of the meeting. Despite on paper being nothing more than a simple unveiling of forces, it was more than that – Lainax knew Selia’s game, at least to some point. He knew this was an attempt at scrubbing away his name in the eyes of the public, forcing a public icon into obscurity more than he had already been.
“Rezer.” He’d say to his attendant, who had nearly drifted to sleep numerous times during the meeting.
“Yes, sir?”
“Get me in touch with the DOE, we may be in danger.”
“Why?” the young man asked, seeing Lainax delusional and paranoid for…seemingly no reason.
“I can’t explain why.”
—
33:30 Hours
Lainax and Rezer returned to his penthouse-like home, the view of warships and civilian vessels alike never stopping with the dim orange glow of the Anxios system coating everything in a sickly tone.
“So, Rezer, to explain what I meant all those hours ago.” Lainax began, locking the door behind the two, dimming the lights and allowing only the ambient glow into the room, “Selia, that bastard, is trying to disappear me. I knew he didn’t like me, I knew he wanted me gone, but this is is strategy – make me not exist in the eyes of the people, so when the time is right—”
“SIR!” Rezer shouted, fed up with the man’s rambling, “Selia has no reason to do that! What threat could you possibly pose to him? Is it just because you’re old? Is that it?”
“Precisely, actually.” Lainax replied, that playful tone he possessed most times disappearing like gas in the vacuum of space. “He’s scared of the knowledge my age comes with. We need to run.”
“Nonsense.” Rezer replied, incredulity in his voice. “Why in the Shepherd’s name would we need to run from a threat that isn’t real?”
“Are you so stupid to believe the lies that man spews from his mouth?”
“I have no reason not to believe them.”
Lainax didn’t respond, shuffling off to his private room with a great lack of haste.
“Damnable fool. I’ll see for myself.” Rezer murmured to himself, exiting the home he and Lainax shared. Doubt had begun to creep in, ever since that conversation earlier. He had to know if Lainax was a crackpot fool or…of if he was right. Selia…might not be able to be trusted.
_______________________________________________________________________
37:00 Hours
Blood. Blood coated the president’s hand, coughed up from his own lung. His time was limited, he always knew his body was frail and weak. But why now, in such a time of crisis?
Selia remained in his office extremely late daily, so today was no exception. Hunched over in his seat, his hand and mouth was soaking with his own blood, his own body weakening and becoming more ill by the week. His time was running out, but…there had to be another way. A way to be immortal. To be…everlasting.
“SIR?!” Selia’s trusted secretary slithered by, noticing her president in pain. “W-What’s hap–”
She saw his blood. She saw his weakness, his fragility. He wasn’t Selia, the President of the Selenican Republic, the Shepherd to his people. He was a weak, sickly man, dying. Her words were choked, reaching for an emergency phone on the President’s desk. The word couldn’t escape. She couldn’t be trusted, now that she knew.
“D…Don’t.” The President said, his voice trembling with rage. Inside one of his desk’s compartments was a ritual blade, one restored from six thousand years ago. It is believed that it belonged to the original Shepherd, kept sacred and in pristine condition by the Eyes of Amber, through to Selia’s life. He reached for the blade, as long as his forearm, and lunged at the secretary.
“W-what are you doing!?!?” She yelled, wrestling the madman she once trusted off of her. “I–”
Before she could speak more, her throat was cut by the blade, Selia seizing an opportunity, a chink in the woman’s defense. Blood was stemmed by a cloth he held over the wound, the woman collapsing to the ground.
“My dear Secretary,” he spoke, the tremble in his voice gone, standing tall above his victim, “Thank you for your years of service.”
“Do you know what it means to be immortal?” he said, with no theatrics, no prose, only monotone musings. “Death is not of the body, but of your memory. It doesn’t matter if your body dies. If you are remembered, if your impact on society is known forever, you never die. I, the shepherd of the Selenican people, shall be its final shepherd. Its final leader, its final guiding light in the damnable darkness. You, my dear secretary, will not live forever. Your name will be forgotten, and your impact never felt again.”
She had stopped moving long ago, the President standing over a barely lucid body.
“It doesn’t matter if my body is weak. A shepherd can only appear strong to his flock, regardless of his true health. You knew too much, and those who know too much are punished. Our people shall be forever under my guiding light.”
The secretary died in the President’s office, the final noises she heard being the ramblings of a man doomed to die.
16:00 hours, Yuza Shipyard 16, Yuza Shipyard Complex 3, Orbiting Yuza-5
“Sir?” The dockmaster asked, listening to the orders from on high, the warmth leaving his face. “We’re almost done with this new batch of destroyers, are y–”
His voice would be cut off, the infamous voice of the President on the other end – a harsh, heavy voice, aggressive and demanding.
“I don’t care what the hell is being built right now. I need those damn slots open, ASAP. I don’t care if you rush them or send them off to the breakers. In 2 weeks, there WILL be 20 slots open in your yards. You know what the consequences are if you don’t.”
“B-But, sir–”
The call cut, President Selia clearly done with the lengthy argument with the dockmaster. The dockmaster threw the holophone down at the table, cracking the fragile screen as he rose from his seat, looking out at a large group of ships.
They were Marzana-Class Destroyers, nearly complete with only minor outfitting required - reactors were already secured deep within the heart of the vessel, enormous sensor suites had their cavities in the enormous hulls made. All this…would need to be scrapped. The yard workers would not be pleased…
“What in the name of the Great Power does he need 20 fucking slots open for?!” the dockmaster thought, slamming his hand against the transparent bulletproof glass which made up a small viewport in his tower.
—
18:00 hours: Urgent Reading – Meeting today at 25:00 hours AnxCST. Attendance is mandatory. Main meeting room in the Presidential Palace.
“Hm?” Lainax Rezu exclaimed, seeing this notification appear in his governmental communication mail. Tapping the notification, he was stumped – there was no further details on what the contents of the meeting were. The only conclusion the aging Naval High Commander could come to was that it was of utmost secrecy. Otherwise, memos like this, which appeared seemingly weekly, would be far more…descriptive.
“I’ll deal with it later, I only have a few hours left to enjoy this…” He mused to himself, staring out at the Anxios skyline from an extraordinarily tall skyscraper, built into one of the support struts of the Anxios Orbital Complex. He was relaxing in a bar at the boundary between the atmosphere and space, observing hundreds of ships make their rounds, cargo freighters docking, unloading, and leaving to go collect more. Warships, many of which he had hands in designing, were conducting routine exercises – all according to protocol. It brought the aging Selenican, no younger than 130, much joy to see the fruits of a lifetime of effort finally pay off, even in his old age.
—
20:00 hours
“Lainax, sir,” One of his attendants would say, opening the door to his observation room, “I hate to disrupt you, but–”
“I’m aware.” Lainax said, slowly rising from his seat, uncoiling his 30 foot long body. “We’ve 5 hours. No rush.”
“Are you sure about that?! We need to get to the damn surface, then get you over to the Palace!” The attendant would murmur to himself, just quiet enough that Lainax couldn’t hear.
“I suppose we’ve got to go, then. Shall we, Rezer?” the elderly Selenican would say teasingly, trying to embarrass the uptight and, in his eyes, pretentious attendant.
“Y-yes, sir.” Rezer replied, frustrated with the old man’s…lackadaisical approach. Time was the one thing you can’t create more of, after all.
The two would slither over to a private elevator to lead them back down to the surface, incognito guards stationed all throughout the tunnel to protect the High Commander, dressed in civilian clothes and completely innocuous to anyone who didn’t know better. Inside the elevator was spacious and comfortable, a faux-wooden paneling covering its spacious floor, seats along its edges, complete with safety buckles to prevent accidents in event of a malfunction. Lainax slithered over, slowly, and reclined himself into his favorite bench, attaching the buckles around himself. Rezer briskly moved over to the opposite bench, doing much the same, although much, much faster.
The descent to Anxios’ surface would begin, a slight lurch pulling the two upwards before the increased gravity pulled them back down as they descended. The entire journey was about 30 minutes long, and inside the elevator, there was very little to occupy oneself.
“Rezer, have you ever wondered why I don’t try to live life quickly, as you do?” Lainax would begin, about to begin a long spiel.
“Being frank, I’ve always thought that it’s because you’re elderly, sir. You’ve already achieved great things in your life, and you have nothing else to prove to anyone.” Rezer would say, hoping that was the answer Lainax was looking for so the descent could continue in silence.
“Not quite.” Lainax would reply, snickering to himself as the young man across from him, only 25 years old, was very obvious in his intent. “Y’see, Rezer, you’d be right for most old men. We’ve already proven everything we’ve needed to in life, so what’s the point in trying to impress you young folks?”
Lainax went quiet for a time, interested in Rezer’s response.
“Go on, sir.”
“Well, for me anyways, I take it slowly as I know there’s nothing that’s a threat to me anymore. And frankly, that applies to you, too, you know.”
“Hm? What do you mean, sir?”
“You’re part of my entourage, in fact you’re the main attendant. If someone actually wanted the Republic to fight back they’d go after me, if not Selia himself. You’ve nothing really to worry about in terms of status or score, in fact, you’ve one of the most enviable positions in the country.”
Rezer would remain silent, trying to process what the old man said. It wasn’t anywhere remotely close to what he’s been told by everyone for his entire life. For years on end, he’s been told that everyone had a place, a place they earned, and they always had to defend that place from others seeking to take it.
“That look on your face is funny to me. Many young ones like you, having what they learned in school and their early jobs questioned and broken. It’s one of the reasons I’ve been cooped up here for so long – Selia doesn’t like me talking.”
Rezer wouldn’t respond, letting the rest of the elevator ride continue in silence.
—
24:30 Hours – Anxios Presidential Palace, Meeting Room 4
“Why the Hell do they keep these damn meeting rooms so dim…” Selia mused to himself, entering the room. It was enormous, easily able to fit up to 50 Selenicans stretched out, with faux-wood flooring and comfortable beige walls all around, multiple feet thick with soundproofing, insulation, and various backways through the Palace in case of an emergency. Hanging from the ceiling and rafters of the extremely tall room were plants – plants everywhere. In planters along the sides, hanging from the ceiling. Selia was never a fan of them, but they were very comforting for the vast majority of the population, so he tolerated it.
Selia was alone in the enormous room, sat down behind a table with a closed front, papers neatly organized on its top with a holophone set up to provide a pre-recorded speech. Selia…would be ignoring that. He knew precisely what needed to be said here.
Sifting through the papers, they read like parts of a script to his mind, despite just being documents citing performances in many, many situations. Davos - 90%, Cirex - 20%, Yetia - 40%...all of these were casualty numbers. Simply lines on a graph or points on a data plot to him. Shifting the list of casualties aside, he saw the graph – an overall decrease of losses by 50% compared to past engagements. A staggering improvement, but…the achievement of operational goals was still middling at best. Only 35% of all operations, especially in Corona and against battle hardened SD warships, were successful. Another 40% were stalemates or pyrrhic victories, and the remaining 25% were outright defeats. Utterly unacceptable.
Data wargaming against the Sax proved vital – while the ships of the Selenican Republic were definitely their most powerful asset, there needed to be just that extra push. Saxheelian cruisers could be defeated with a success rate of about 20%. Compared to the expected 5%, this was wonderful. However, this was not reflected in data against other nations. In projected engagements against likely opponents, such as those of the Laptev Axis, success rates only came out to 30-40% – much lower than deemed acceptable. The massive amount of shipping required to be set aside for MITA’s defensive operations were hindering the war efforts against the SD and various Coronan powers.
Frankly, Selia needed Lainax for this. Despite being…an unwieldy ally, he was the only one who had the knowledge to come to a better solution.
An alarm rang on Selia’s watch. “25:00 hours. They should be here within 30 minutes.” he thought to himself, set up and ready for the meeting.
—
25:00 Hours
The many top officials of the Selenican Republic, about 50 for this particular meeting, filtered in slowly, much to Selia’s chagrin. Five, ten, fifteen minutes, all of it passed by at a snail’s pace, every second feeling 5 times its normal length. Despite supposedly leaving late, Lainax and Rezer were some of the first to arrive, only 5 minutes behind schedule.
“I told you we’d be here on time, Rezer.” the old man would say, chuckling to himself. “Barely anyone’s here. Selia’s gonna be a little upset, hah.”
“Whatever you say, sir.” Rezer would respond, the previous 4 hours proving to be either mind-numbingly dull or filled with Lainax’s poor attempts at humor. Thankfully he had access to this meeting, if nothing else.
—
25:30 Hours
Finally, everyone had arrived. 30 minutes behind schedule…What a shameful display of laziness. Selia rose from his chair, with his pension for the dramatic following suit.
“Greetings ladies and gentlemen,” the president began, an acted bravado in his voice, “thank you greatly for coming. As I’m sure all of you know, the memo I sent out to call for your presence was disparagingly vague.” His tone, carefully selected to inspire emotion, began to turn somber. “For that, I apologize. This meeting must be conducted in great secrecy, and I am delighted in your showing. Let us begin, then, generals and designers alike.”
Like a theater’s curtain falling on the play’s actors, a holoprojector screen descended from the ceiling, an ancient piece of memorabilia that Selia maintained in this room for no apparent reason. On this screen a photographer’s view of a nameless battle in Corona appeared with a flash, showing numerous Selenican vessels badly battered and one sunk.
“As you all are aware, the rushed Generation Three Program has produced abhorrent results in dealing with peer-level threats.” Selia spoke, a twinge of false remorse following. “Against our wargame partners, the Meta-Sax, we’ve achieved a remarkable win-loss ratio of one to five.” A feeling of seemingly genuine rage coated his face and body as a long pause was heard across the room, with Selia’s act dropping for a mere second. “However, against those wretches of the Second Dawn’s navy, we’ve achieved a practical thirty-five percent victory rate, with forty percent stalemates and twenty-five percent losses. This rate is unsustainable, and so I ask you, my dear analysts. Why?”
This was not a rhetorical question, but no one spoke. Everyone was too busy deliberating in their heads, or in Lainax’s case, snickering at the obvious act his president was putting on. Selia was most displeased at this act of playful insubordination from Lainax; It would be so much better if he could axe that man they call the Liar. However, he was exceedingly popular as the “Architect of Victory” among the people, so any sudden accidents were…off the table.
Suddenly, a member of the junior officer core, the youngest present beside Rezer, spoke, doubt in his voice. “Sir, a-a suggestion – perhaps our performance is due to…volatility.”
Selia, most impressed this officer came to his same conclusion, was eager to encourage such trains of thought. “Pray tell, young officer, when you say ‘volatility,’ what do you mean?”
“W-well, from studying the schematics I’ve access to, e-e-especially our capital ships…” His voice would trail off, intimidated and willing to concede the point to another.
“Speak up, youngster. We haven’t all day.” Lainax spoke, irritated. “You had something you wanted to say, yeah?”
“Sir.” Rezer said, shushing his ward. “You-know-who’s listening.”
“W-well. A-As I was saying,” the officer began, his pride wounded by that treacherous old man, “our capital ships, and especially their munitions, have shown to be extremely prone to detonating with very little outside interference. We’re in the belief that the antimatter warheads are to blame.”
“Thank you, officer.” Selia replied, clearly pleased as he slithered around the room, his chest and head held high. “In fact, that too is the conclusion I reached. And so…”
He said, clicking a button held in his pocket, staring daggers at Lainax despite his presence being required.
“I am offering to you, my dear architects and analysts, a proposition; Generation Four.”
Lainax’s face rose from the slumped displeasure he held himself in before, looking at the aged holoprojector, deeply concerned. “I don’t believe it.” He whispered, one hand held over his mouth.
“Simply put, ladies and gentlemen,” the President would begin, triumphant, “We are assembling an elite force, built to task. Its purpose? To be our spearhead, our ultimate decisive weapon. The information we’ve gathered from our many battles has coalesced into this.”
Another click of the button, and a smile spread across Selia’s face as he saw Lainax’s disbelief. A program of naval development he wasn’t involved in, and…an aggressive weapon. The opposite of what the Generation Three Program was supposed to be. The antithesis of this man’s values. Regardless of the pride the President felt, it was glorious to finally be able to provide the tools for an offensive.
“I don’t intend to keep you in the dark…”
—
29:00 Hours
Lainax was left deeply troubled by the events of the meeting. Despite on paper being nothing more than a simple unveiling of forces, it was more than that – Lainax knew Selia’s game, at least to some point. He knew this was an attempt at scrubbing away his name in the eyes of the public, forcing a public icon into obscurity more than he had already been.
“Rezer.” He’d say to his attendant, who had nearly drifted to sleep numerous times during the meeting.
“Yes, sir?”
“Get me in touch with the DOE, we may be in danger.”
“Why?” the young man asked, seeing Lainax delusional and paranoid for…seemingly no reason.
“I can’t explain why.”
—
33:30 Hours
Lainax and Rezer returned to his penthouse-like home, the view of warships and civilian vessels alike never stopping with the dim orange glow of the Anxios system coating everything in a sickly tone.
“So, Rezer, to explain what I meant all those hours ago.” Lainax began, locking the door behind the two, dimming the lights and allowing only the ambient glow into the room, “Selia, that bastard, is trying to disappear me. I knew he didn’t like me, I knew he wanted me gone, but this is is strategy – make me not exist in the eyes of the people, so when the time is right—”
“SIR!” Rezer shouted, fed up with the man’s rambling, “Selia has no reason to do that! What threat could you possibly pose to him? Is it just because you’re old? Is that it?”
“Precisely, actually.” Lainax replied, that playful tone he possessed most times disappearing like gas in the vacuum of space. “He’s scared of the knowledge my age comes with. We need to run.”
“Nonsense.” Rezer replied, incredulity in his voice. “Why in the Shepherd’s name would we need to run from a threat that isn’t real?”
“Are you so stupid to believe the lies that man spews from his mouth?”
“I have no reason not to believe them.”
Lainax didn’t respond, shuffling off to his private room with a great lack of haste.
“Damnable fool. I’ll see for myself.” Rezer murmured to himself, exiting the home he and Lainax shared. Doubt had begun to creep in, ever since that conversation earlier. He had to know if Lainax was a crackpot fool or…of if he was right. Selia…might not be able to be trusted.
_______________________________________________________________________
37:00 Hours
Blood. Blood coated the president’s hand, coughed up from his own lung. His time was limited, he always knew his body was frail and weak. But why now, in such a time of crisis?
Selia remained in his office extremely late daily, so today was no exception. Hunched over in his seat, his hand and mouth was soaking with his own blood, his own body weakening and becoming more ill by the week. His time was running out, but…there had to be another way. A way to be immortal. To be…everlasting.
“SIR?!” Selia’s trusted secretary slithered by, noticing her president in pain. “W-What’s hap–”
She saw his blood. She saw his weakness, his fragility. He wasn’t Selia, the President of the Selenican Republic, the Shepherd to his people. He was a weak, sickly man, dying. Her words were choked, reaching for an emergency phone on the President’s desk. The word couldn’t escape. She couldn’t be trusted, now that she knew.
“D…Don’t.” The President said, his voice trembling with rage. Inside one of his desk’s compartments was a ritual blade, one restored from six thousand years ago. It is believed that it belonged to the original Shepherd, kept sacred and in pristine condition by the Eyes of Amber, through to Selia’s life. He reached for the blade, as long as his forearm, and lunged at the secretary.
“W-what are you doing!?!?” She yelled, wrestling the madman she once trusted off of her. “I–”
Before she could speak more, her throat was cut by the blade, Selia seizing an opportunity, a chink in the woman’s defense. Blood was stemmed by a cloth he held over the wound, the woman collapsing to the ground.
“My dear Secretary,” he spoke, the tremble in his voice gone, standing tall above his victim, “Thank you for your years of service.”
“Do you know what it means to be immortal?” he said, with no theatrics, no prose, only monotone musings. “Death is not of the body, but of your memory. It doesn’t matter if your body dies. If you are remembered, if your impact on society is known forever, you never die. I, the shepherd of the Selenican people, shall be its final shepherd. Its final leader, its final guiding light in the damnable darkness. You, my dear secretary, will not live forever. Your name will be forgotten, and your impact never felt again.”
She had stopped moving long ago, the President standing over a barely lucid body.
“It doesn’t matter if my body is weak. A shepherd can only appear strong to his flock, regardless of his true health. You knew too much, and those who know too much are punished. Our people shall be forever under my guiding light.”
The secretary died in the President’s office, the final noises she heard being the ramblings of a man doomed to die.