Post by EmperorMyric on Dec 16, 2017 20:18:45 GMT
“Our chief weapon is surprise...surprise and fear...fear and surprise.... Our two weapons are fear and surprise...and ruthless efficiency.... Our *three* weapons are fear, surprise, and ruthless efficiency...and an almost fanatical devotion to the Pope.... Our *four*...no... *Amongst* our weapons.... Amongst our weaponry...are such elements as fear, surprise.... I'll come in again.”
--Monty Python
(suggested music: youtu.be/Q1UAjpQVeFc)
--oOo--
“Tojo Yashimota was arrested over a month ago,” Mortimer Whyte said calmly to the host, “on dubious charges of aiding terrorists. Since then, he has had no access to a lawyer or the outside world, and there is no sign of any sort of a speedy trial. No evidence of such activity has been presented. He has, as far as I understand, had none of the common rights assured by the Tenebraen justice system. No legal counsel, no contact with friends or family, and the authorities are permitting him to be viewed as guilty by the media. The Union of Worlds, whose team raided his home without a warrant, are outright describing him as a terrorist. Now, this is not at all justice—“
--oOo—
“These Phoenix Sigils, provided to us by SHEATHES-10, are a miracle beyond our comprehension.” the man at the podium said ponderously. “They are the stuff of legend. Through them, you will become the stuff of legend. You will enact the stuff of legend. You will cause the righteous Tenebraen Empire to pause and think on its sins.”
A man in robes is blessing the massive body of armoured cars, tanks, mechs, soldiers, sand bags, barbed wire. Is he praying for us? Is he casting a spell?
“You know your objectives. You have trained for this. You have seen what they have done to your brothers and sisters at Ambrosius. It is this hour where you have the chance to prove yourself. Do not prove yourself to be cruel. Prove yourself to be just.”
We are not standing at attention. We sit, stand, crouch by sandbags, against armoured vehicles, guns drawn, hands on our equipment.
“Through you, we shall end this war.”
The lights are dimming, fading into obscurity. The man steps away from the podium and jogs quickly towards his position. Darkness is reaching equilibrium. Where we’re going, it’s going to be dark as night.
The place is Purgatory Station, deep within the Immortal Empire’s territories. The time is six months ago. Moments later, an army dies.
We are the stuff of legend.
We are the army of the dead. We are Lazarus.
--oOo--
“—but on issues of colonial security, don’t we sometimes have to take exceptional actions to defend ourselves from exceptional threats?” The host inquired seriously, his face reflecting on the round frameless glasses perched above Mortimer Whyte’s nose. “They did after all capture a foreign agent in his apartment. There’s a certain suspiciousness to that, you must admit that surely, and—“
“—oh yes, suspicious of course.” Whyte interrupts smoothly, watching his own reflection in the host’s eyes. “And I am for one very thankful that our people’s defenders are so competent in their work. But justice for all is a key tenet of any democratic people, and Yashimota hasn’t had the fair treatment he deserves. It’s one thing to detain a foreign national with a gun in his briefcase, and then it’s another to arrest the man of the house he broke into. It’s fear. It’s all fear, and the government is utilizing the fear of the populace of whatever these bogeyman may be planning to usurp your rights as citizens.”
--oOo—
Six months have passed. Men with briefcases creep across borders. Men talk about ending the war. Other men chose to sleep on the matter.
While they sleep, the sharp dressed men come creeping. In dark places, feet walk quickly. The sharp dressed men are moving now, patiently, thoughtfully moving. Their numbers though finite and scarce are infinite in their potential. They are flesh and blood, yes, but their hearts and minds are clockwork and mechanized with efficiency most unreal. They are an unseen flood, a keen cold thin wave of ideas spilling down dark alleys and through bright bazaars and well paved streets. They are clean men, cold men, thin men with thin eyes and clear ambitions. These men, these immaculate inhumane men, they come with purpose.
They are going to end the war. They and the things they carry are going to end this war.
One of them is caught, at Exceion. He sacrifices his life so as to preserve the sanctity of a good surprise.
--oOo--
“Again for our newer viewers, Mortimer Whyte is the vice sector director for Halcyon Dynamics’ Tenebraen branches, and is acting sector director on account of Tojo Yashimota’s arrest earlier last month. Now, do you imagine that the Tenebraen’s investigation of Halcyon Dynamics will affect how your company does business with that nation?”
Mortimer Whyte smiles slightly, laughs slightly, leans backwards slightly into the chair. He realizes via his reflection in the host’s eyes that his tie is slightly crooked.
“In the long run, I don’t think so. We’re committed to the private sector predominantly, as a business model. I mean the private citizen, historically speaking, will always exist, will always be reliable as a consumer. Once the administration sorts out the matter, I’m certain we’ll be able to continue a mutually beneficial relationship with the government.“
A pause.
“Though between you and me, I’m awfully curious about what they’re looking for.”
--oOo—
They mostly come at night. Mostly.
The sharp dressed men, the men in the shadows, the cold clear thin inhumane men with their Pandora’s boxes slow to a stop in the dark. Like some great clock, the hands are lining up on midnight. Their hour is coming. No.
Their hour has come. Their hour, though we do not know it, has always been here.
One lights a cigarette. It briefly illuminates his face, and as he inhales the smoke he sets the briefcase down on the curb of an empty plaza. It is two in the morning for these midnight men on a world with long, long nights.
But our eyes are ready for the darkness, and he spins the locks to their proper number.
--oOo--
The interview ends. Further stories are broadcast. The peace conference at Mirarch is fruitless; the Immortal Empire calls for surrender, and the Tenebraen Empire defies. The war rages, the war is waged, weapons are staged, boys play their games of war in the streets, ships are launched, the machine turns—
The signal cuts short.
WE ARE EXPERIENCING TECHNICAL DIFFICULTIES. PLEASE STAND BY.
--oOo—
Six months have passed midbreath, and the sharp dressed men speak the words required do open the final inner latch.
Without flash of light, without sound, without detriment of warning, we take breathe again. Our eyes are already ready for the dark, and with choreography we move by the tens of thousands. We pay no attention to the sharp dressed men.
We come into being prepared to bring justice. In one breath, we exist; we are sandbagged, fortified around the plaza. Glove hands grab nanowire and begin to spread it like a spider web throughout the plazas, the wayfares. Checkpoints blow into being. Armoured convoys abruptly rumble into existence, and without pause begin to rumble away down dark, empty streets.
The gunfire is scarce. An occasional colonial security asset is unfortunate enough to have duty tonight, and we outnumber these lone guards immensely. We are like an army of ants, swarming out of our tunnels, crawling out of those briefcases.
Lazarus has risen from the grave.
--oOo—
THIS IS AN EMERGENCY BROADCAST BY THE COLONIAL AUTHORITIES. PLEASE STAND BY.
(The anthem of the Tenebraen Empire plays. There is no jamming. No static. All screens show the same image.)
THIS IS AN EMERGENCY BROADCAST BY THE COLONIAL AUTHORITIES. PLEASE STAND BY.
There is no panic in the streets. The armies appeared when the good people on these worlds lay in their beds with their loved ones and no woes in their minds. Some beds are warmer than others. Someone in gritty Exceion rolls over, their slumber only slightly unseated by the sound of boots moving rapidly down the street outside their window. Checkpoints spring into existence in the blink of an eye. Few people appreciate this, for most are resting. Some are not.
A policeman in Asticus turns a corner to find three platoons of Immortal Empire infantry rushing the otherwise empty street. His eyes widen, but he does not have time to draw his gun. Quite frankly, drawing his gun would not have been a wise move anyway.
The armies move precisely. They do not attempt to occupy vast swaths of land overnight, no, no that would be madness. What is madness, what would be madness, what could be madness, all seem blurred tonight. Madness is an army appearing at once out of the briefcases of mysterious men. Madness is the dead rising from the grave. Madness is not reality.
So if madness is not reality, then is this reality at all? For after all, the minds of the invaded are dreaming. What is dream and what is reality on a night so strange as this is separated only by a thin, illusive line.
THIS IS AN EMERGENCY BROADCAST BY THE COLONIAL AUTHORITIES. PLEASE STAND BY.
Tanks are rolling down the streets of Ibarchi. The sun is an hour away from coming over the horizon that can be seen from the tall spires of the capitol, and as they move the car alarms are going off. Nanowire covers the streets, and confused graveyard shift workers coming home watch with blank faces as helmeted guards rush to intercept them. Curfew is in effect now, and all must get indoors immediately. The tanks, the armoured cars; all roll by behind the confused faces.
They move precisely. Key points are taken. Media broadcast centers are occupied. Artillery draws beads on ground based military emplacements and airbases, and snipers in the night rush to concealed positions, prepared to either dispatch infantry or order the annihilation of the forts and barracks and machine shops that support the forces called to serve and protect.
By the time morning comes, no one will be moving in the streets of Calidus. Morning will bring silence to the worlds orbiting the star they called Dozhar.
THIS IS AN EMERGENCY—
--oOo—
Field Governor Augustus Kohl consulted his reflection in the armoured helmet of the trooper sitting opposite him in the APC, and adjusted his collar accordingly as the vehicle rolled to a stop. They waited there a moment as the other vehicles in the convoy began offloading their troops, securing the environs with the extreme efficiency that was typifying this entire invasion.
As the doors opened to his own vehicle, Augustus Kohl privately mused that he looked pretty good for a man so recently dead.
The convoy had quite politely proceeded from the colonial governor’s mansion where the surrender had been officiated to a nearby communications center—the marines had already secured the facility and the route—and so Field Governor Augustus Kohl slipped out of the bulky vehicle, strolled quickly towards the building, and entered it without ceremony.
As he was walking, he was quite pleased privately by how it had all progressed though not at all convinced that it would remain such a clean affair. Minimal casualties on both sides, and a solid and legally binding surrender had been delivered as he had hoped by the colonial administrators once he explained that he already more or less occupied the planet. There was some natural confusion, of course, but answered politely and highlighted with specific examples he soon placated their concerns simply by sheer force of personality.
Before entering the studio, he paused briefly enough to glance at a small photograph he carried inside his officer’s hat.
--oOo—
“Good morning citizens. As you are beginning to notice, this solar system is now under control of the forces serving His Excellency the Overlord of the Immortal Empire. I would like to express to you first and foremost my most sincere apologies about the disruption to your commutes this morning; we’ve been compelled by the nature of our undertaking to take certain precautions so as to preserve the peace and tranquility of your streets and thus prevent unwanted violence. I expect within the next seventy two hours we will be able to facilitate a more effective means for your transportation once the groundwork is in order.”
“My name is Field Governor Augustus Kohl. I have been tasked personally with ensuring not just the safety of my men but your safety too, citizens. It is my most heartfelt hope that you will find it in yourself to cooperate with the colonial administration, who as you know formally announced their surrender within the hour.”
“I can only imagine that you find this all quite worrying; faced with an occupation by an enemy you have been told is brutal and barbaric, I would feel the same. However in any time of conflict, truth and speculation are often laid at the wayside and usurped simply by propaganda and fear. I hope that what I have to say today to you will help assuage your concerns.”
He removes his hat, and from within it holds up a small, slightly crinkled photograph. The camera zooms in on his hand.
“These are my four daughters; Anna, Marie, Helen and Beth. It was taken at our summer home in Ambrosius four years ago, and has…has sense became a memento of great importance to me. I know what hells war can be, citizens. I know it personally. Marie, Helen and Beth are no longer with us on account of the total destruction of that system by your own sons and daughters, and for that I still…still grieve, much as I imagine you grieve those in your families who were killed destroying that system. I for one am willing to be the better men, and I command my troops to be better men too: we are not monsters. We are fathers and mothers too, and as a common call to all the fathers and mothers I request, for the sake of all of our sons and daughters, your prompt and complete cooperation during these trying times.”
“As such, per the instructions of the Overlord, I am repeating to you all the communications conveyed to the Tenebraen government this morning, and repeating the offer we issued to your government at the conference at Mirarch. The Overlord is calling for the Tenebraen forces operating in territories claimed by the Immortal Empire to immediately lay down their arms in surrender within twenty four standard hours. There can be no further hopes for peace when your forces brutalize and destroy solar systems like locusts upon crops. Upon this total surrender, further negotiations may be entertained.”
“My prayers are with you and your families. Gods bless you all.”
--oOo--
--Monty Python
(suggested music: youtu.be/Q1UAjpQVeFc)
--oOo--
“Tojo Yashimota was arrested over a month ago,” Mortimer Whyte said calmly to the host, “on dubious charges of aiding terrorists. Since then, he has had no access to a lawyer or the outside world, and there is no sign of any sort of a speedy trial. No evidence of such activity has been presented. He has, as far as I understand, had none of the common rights assured by the Tenebraen justice system. No legal counsel, no contact with friends or family, and the authorities are permitting him to be viewed as guilty by the media. The Union of Worlds, whose team raided his home without a warrant, are outright describing him as a terrorist. Now, this is not at all justice—“
--oOo—
“These Phoenix Sigils, provided to us by SHEATHES-10, are a miracle beyond our comprehension.” the man at the podium said ponderously. “They are the stuff of legend. Through them, you will become the stuff of legend. You will enact the stuff of legend. You will cause the righteous Tenebraen Empire to pause and think on its sins.”
A man in robes is blessing the massive body of armoured cars, tanks, mechs, soldiers, sand bags, barbed wire. Is he praying for us? Is he casting a spell?
“You know your objectives. You have trained for this. You have seen what they have done to your brothers and sisters at Ambrosius. It is this hour where you have the chance to prove yourself. Do not prove yourself to be cruel. Prove yourself to be just.”
We are not standing at attention. We sit, stand, crouch by sandbags, against armoured vehicles, guns drawn, hands on our equipment.
“Through you, we shall end this war.”
The lights are dimming, fading into obscurity. The man steps away from the podium and jogs quickly towards his position. Darkness is reaching equilibrium. Where we’re going, it’s going to be dark as night.
The place is Purgatory Station, deep within the Immortal Empire’s territories. The time is six months ago. Moments later, an army dies.
We are the stuff of legend.
We are the army of the dead. We are Lazarus.
--oOo--
“—but on issues of colonial security, don’t we sometimes have to take exceptional actions to defend ourselves from exceptional threats?” The host inquired seriously, his face reflecting on the round frameless glasses perched above Mortimer Whyte’s nose. “They did after all capture a foreign agent in his apartment. There’s a certain suspiciousness to that, you must admit that surely, and—“
“—oh yes, suspicious of course.” Whyte interrupts smoothly, watching his own reflection in the host’s eyes. “And I am for one very thankful that our people’s defenders are so competent in their work. But justice for all is a key tenet of any democratic people, and Yashimota hasn’t had the fair treatment he deserves. It’s one thing to detain a foreign national with a gun in his briefcase, and then it’s another to arrest the man of the house he broke into. It’s fear. It’s all fear, and the government is utilizing the fear of the populace of whatever these bogeyman may be planning to usurp your rights as citizens.”
--oOo—
Six months have passed. Men with briefcases creep across borders. Men talk about ending the war. Other men chose to sleep on the matter.
While they sleep, the sharp dressed men come creeping. In dark places, feet walk quickly. The sharp dressed men are moving now, patiently, thoughtfully moving. Their numbers though finite and scarce are infinite in their potential. They are flesh and blood, yes, but their hearts and minds are clockwork and mechanized with efficiency most unreal. They are an unseen flood, a keen cold thin wave of ideas spilling down dark alleys and through bright bazaars and well paved streets. They are clean men, cold men, thin men with thin eyes and clear ambitions. These men, these immaculate inhumane men, they come with purpose.
They are going to end the war. They and the things they carry are going to end this war.
One of them is caught, at Exceion. He sacrifices his life so as to preserve the sanctity of a good surprise.
--oOo--
“Again for our newer viewers, Mortimer Whyte is the vice sector director for Halcyon Dynamics’ Tenebraen branches, and is acting sector director on account of Tojo Yashimota’s arrest earlier last month. Now, do you imagine that the Tenebraen’s investigation of Halcyon Dynamics will affect how your company does business with that nation?”
Mortimer Whyte smiles slightly, laughs slightly, leans backwards slightly into the chair. He realizes via his reflection in the host’s eyes that his tie is slightly crooked.
“In the long run, I don’t think so. We’re committed to the private sector predominantly, as a business model. I mean the private citizen, historically speaking, will always exist, will always be reliable as a consumer. Once the administration sorts out the matter, I’m certain we’ll be able to continue a mutually beneficial relationship with the government.“
A pause.
“Though between you and me, I’m awfully curious about what they’re looking for.”
--oOo—
They mostly come at night. Mostly.
The sharp dressed men, the men in the shadows, the cold clear thin inhumane men with their Pandora’s boxes slow to a stop in the dark. Like some great clock, the hands are lining up on midnight. Their hour is coming. No.
Their hour has come. Their hour, though we do not know it, has always been here.
One lights a cigarette. It briefly illuminates his face, and as he inhales the smoke he sets the briefcase down on the curb of an empty plaza. It is two in the morning for these midnight men on a world with long, long nights.
But our eyes are ready for the darkness, and he spins the locks to their proper number.
--oOo--
The interview ends. Further stories are broadcast. The peace conference at Mirarch is fruitless; the Immortal Empire calls for surrender, and the Tenebraen Empire defies. The war rages, the war is waged, weapons are staged, boys play their games of war in the streets, ships are launched, the machine turns—
The signal cuts short.
WE ARE EXPERIENCING TECHNICAL DIFFICULTIES. PLEASE STAND BY.
--oOo—
Six months have passed midbreath, and the sharp dressed men speak the words required do open the final inner latch.
Without flash of light, without sound, without detriment of warning, we take breathe again. Our eyes are already ready for the dark, and with choreography we move by the tens of thousands. We pay no attention to the sharp dressed men.
We come into being prepared to bring justice. In one breath, we exist; we are sandbagged, fortified around the plaza. Glove hands grab nanowire and begin to spread it like a spider web throughout the plazas, the wayfares. Checkpoints blow into being. Armoured convoys abruptly rumble into existence, and without pause begin to rumble away down dark, empty streets.
The gunfire is scarce. An occasional colonial security asset is unfortunate enough to have duty tonight, and we outnumber these lone guards immensely. We are like an army of ants, swarming out of our tunnels, crawling out of those briefcases.
Lazarus has risen from the grave.
--oOo—
THIS IS AN EMERGENCY BROADCAST BY THE COLONIAL AUTHORITIES. PLEASE STAND BY.
(The anthem of the Tenebraen Empire plays. There is no jamming. No static. All screens show the same image.)
THIS IS AN EMERGENCY BROADCAST BY THE COLONIAL AUTHORITIES. PLEASE STAND BY.
There is no panic in the streets. The armies appeared when the good people on these worlds lay in their beds with their loved ones and no woes in their minds. Some beds are warmer than others. Someone in gritty Exceion rolls over, their slumber only slightly unseated by the sound of boots moving rapidly down the street outside their window. Checkpoints spring into existence in the blink of an eye. Few people appreciate this, for most are resting. Some are not.
A policeman in Asticus turns a corner to find three platoons of Immortal Empire infantry rushing the otherwise empty street. His eyes widen, but he does not have time to draw his gun. Quite frankly, drawing his gun would not have been a wise move anyway.
The armies move precisely. They do not attempt to occupy vast swaths of land overnight, no, no that would be madness. What is madness, what would be madness, what could be madness, all seem blurred tonight. Madness is an army appearing at once out of the briefcases of mysterious men. Madness is the dead rising from the grave. Madness is not reality.
So if madness is not reality, then is this reality at all? For after all, the minds of the invaded are dreaming. What is dream and what is reality on a night so strange as this is separated only by a thin, illusive line.
THIS IS AN EMERGENCY BROADCAST BY THE COLONIAL AUTHORITIES. PLEASE STAND BY.
Tanks are rolling down the streets of Ibarchi. The sun is an hour away from coming over the horizon that can be seen from the tall spires of the capitol, and as they move the car alarms are going off. Nanowire covers the streets, and confused graveyard shift workers coming home watch with blank faces as helmeted guards rush to intercept them. Curfew is in effect now, and all must get indoors immediately. The tanks, the armoured cars; all roll by behind the confused faces.
They move precisely. Key points are taken. Media broadcast centers are occupied. Artillery draws beads on ground based military emplacements and airbases, and snipers in the night rush to concealed positions, prepared to either dispatch infantry or order the annihilation of the forts and barracks and machine shops that support the forces called to serve and protect.
By the time morning comes, no one will be moving in the streets of Calidus. Morning will bring silence to the worlds orbiting the star they called Dozhar.
THIS IS AN EMERGENCY—
--oOo—
Field Governor Augustus Kohl consulted his reflection in the armoured helmet of the trooper sitting opposite him in the APC, and adjusted his collar accordingly as the vehicle rolled to a stop. They waited there a moment as the other vehicles in the convoy began offloading their troops, securing the environs with the extreme efficiency that was typifying this entire invasion.
As the doors opened to his own vehicle, Augustus Kohl privately mused that he looked pretty good for a man so recently dead.
The convoy had quite politely proceeded from the colonial governor’s mansion where the surrender had been officiated to a nearby communications center—the marines had already secured the facility and the route—and so Field Governor Augustus Kohl slipped out of the bulky vehicle, strolled quickly towards the building, and entered it without ceremony.
As he was walking, he was quite pleased privately by how it had all progressed though not at all convinced that it would remain such a clean affair. Minimal casualties on both sides, and a solid and legally binding surrender had been delivered as he had hoped by the colonial administrators once he explained that he already more or less occupied the planet. There was some natural confusion, of course, but answered politely and highlighted with specific examples he soon placated their concerns simply by sheer force of personality.
Before entering the studio, he paused briefly enough to glance at a small photograph he carried inside his officer’s hat.
--oOo—
“Good morning citizens. As you are beginning to notice, this solar system is now under control of the forces serving His Excellency the Overlord of the Immortal Empire. I would like to express to you first and foremost my most sincere apologies about the disruption to your commutes this morning; we’ve been compelled by the nature of our undertaking to take certain precautions so as to preserve the peace and tranquility of your streets and thus prevent unwanted violence. I expect within the next seventy two hours we will be able to facilitate a more effective means for your transportation once the groundwork is in order.”
“My name is Field Governor Augustus Kohl. I have been tasked personally with ensuring not just the safety of my men but your safety too, citizens. It is my most heartfelt hope that you will find it in yourself to cooperate with the colonial administration, who as you know formally announced their surrender within the hour.”
“I can only imagine that you find this all quite worrying; faced with an occupation by an enemy you have been told is brutal and barbaric, I would feel the same. However in any time of conflict, truth and speculation are often laid at the wayside and usurped simply by propaganda and fear. I hope that what I have to say today to you will help assuage your concerns.”
He removes his hat, and from within it holds up a small, slightly crinkled photograph. The camera zooms in on his hand.
“These are my four daughters; Anna, Marie, Helen and Beth. It was taken at our summer home in Ambrosius four years ago, and has…has sense became a memento of great importance to me. I know what hells war can be, citizens. I know it personally. Marie, Helen and Beth are no longer with us on account of the total destruction of that system by your own sons and daughters, and for that I still…still grieve, much as I imagine you grieve those in your families who were killed destroying that system. I for one am willing to be the better men, and I command my troops to be better men too: we are not monsters. We are fathers and mothers too, and as a common call to all the fathers and mothers I request, for the sake of all of our sons and daughters, your prompt and complete cooperation during these trying times.”
“As such, per the instructions of the Overlord, I am repeating to you all the communications conveyed to the Tenebraen government this morning, and repeating the offer we issued to your government at the conference at Mirarch. The Overlord is calling for the Tenebraen forces operating in territories claimed by the Immortal Empire to immediately lay down their arms in surrender within twenty four standard hours. There can be no further hopes for peace when your forces brutalize and destroy solar systems like locusts upon crops. Upon this total surrender, further negotiations may be entertained.”
“My prayers are with you and your families. Gods bless you all.”
--oOo--