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Pax in Bello

"The great heart of the galaxy." That was the words Ristin Fleman had first heard the Nexus described as. This great beacon of civilization that once held aloft the great power structures of the Galactic Commonwealth. While one was no more, the structures had held, as had the resiliency of the Nexus. For 10 years it had served as a solid basis for his people to maintain a dialogue with the United Roman Reich, as well as several of the other, minor powers that were beset against both themselves and the Empire. At this critical junction of galactic history, it was vital that peace should be properly established and maintained galactic wide, and he knew all too well the importance the Emperor had given his mission.

All too lost in his thoughts, he barely noticed that he had wandered up to the bridge of his transport vessel, the ISV Venaris, a specialised diplomatic transport vessel for him and two new guards for the embassy, while two were to be taken back home to Aruthian space.

"Proceed to platform X-92- for docking. We will have your ambassador moved through immediately." The sound of the communication from the NexSec docking control sounded. The ship quickly made its move down towards the designated docking facility. They descended slowly, as the pilot stretched lazily letting the automated docking procedeures take hold of the ship instead of opting for a manual dock. Turning away from the bridge, the ambassador grabbed his bag, and moved towards the ramp of the ship.

The ship shook slightly as it descended towards the platform and the large struts extended to hold it in place. The ramp descended, and the blue lights of the station docks were the first thing he noticed, then the noise, so many ships bustling in and landing on varios platforms and other docks. The sound over the intercom came next "All new arrivals please be aware of technical difficulties on basic navigation signs on the X docks are currently non functional. Please approach an officer for assistance."

Ristin looked around and immediately recognised a customs kiosk for arrivals, despite the non functional signs. As he approached customs, he couldn’t help but marvel at the diversity around him. Humans chatted with Malsari , an Umon laughed boisterously with a Tekkinian, and a group of Gaim were in the midst of a haggle with an Lareshian merchant, who seemed to be growing exasperated at their constant bartering. The Nexus was the heart of galactic space for millenia after all, its no wonder that it became something of a melting pot of cultures and species, each with their own customs and traditions.

Approaching the security kiosk, Ristin coughed to get the Lareshians attention, which was focused solely on whatever was on her monitor. “Identification, please,” the Nexus Security officer requested without taking her head off her computer.

Ristin handed over his credentials, which were promptly scanned with a blue holographic light. “Ambassador Ristin Fleman, Aruthian Empire,” the officer read aloud, her face unmoving as she input some information.

“Everything seems in order,” she said after a moment, handing back to Ristin his ID. “Welcome to the Citadel, Ambassador. I trust you will find your stay productive. We can arrange for you transport or escort."

“Thank you, Officer,” Ristin replied with a nod. "A transport will do, to the Embassy district I believe?" he asked.

"Thats correct, if you just direct your attention to the Shuttle Bay, one will be waiting for you there. Officer Byron will escort you to the embassy while we register your replacement staff." She stated, gesturing to the two soldiers."

Ristin nodded and proceeded into the shuttle with the human officer, who led him to the automated shuttle. The door shut, and sealed itself as it veered off through the station. Sitting back on the leather chair, he turned off the shuttle digital curtains and looked out. The shuttle exited one of the navigation tunnels and entered into the park district. Large gardens, lakes, fountains, statues and memorials dotted across the park district, as well as the various embassies. Large towers dotted the sides of the park, pouring out the purified water that was in the lake.

The shuttle slowly came to a halt outside of the Aruthian Embassy building, directly facing the Roman one. Further up was the Azhanian, Thaullen and Adotov in their own respective buildings. Exiting the shuttle, he was greeted with two squads of Aruthian Marines, their armor gleaming white under the artificial sunlight, and all were standing at attention as the ambassador entered. The gate to the embassy opened, as the soldiers stood at attention, their ceremonial capes sat at their backs as the Aruthian flag flew in the artificial breeze. Entering into the front doors, he took in the site. A grand foyer, made of black marble. At the centre of the foyer, a large bronze statue of a man, with a flame head, The beacon and sigil of the emperor.

"Sir." The receptionist remarked. "Welcome to the embassy ambassador. I believe your presence is requested in your office."

This shook him. "My presence is requested? By whom?"

She didnt answer, just gestured towards the office on the left. He proceeded into the dimly lit room that was to be office. A normal sized office, complete with a self contained archive of imperial information, digital documents and a perosnal terminal linking it all together. Perfectly normal for an office of an Imperial Ambassador, save for the large black figure standing in the centre of the room. He had heard of these, a Rasul. Usually as a means by which the Imperial Council or Chancellor issues sensitive information or commands, but this one looked...odd. Altered, with a long black and gold tailored cloak and a hood that looked like it stared deep into the void of space.

"Hello?" He asked to the Rasul.

The Rasul said nothing back to him, but slowly lifted its hand, and pointed towards the door. With a raised eyebrow, the ambassador closed the door tightly and locked it.

"Better?" He asked. After a moment, still nothing happened. The Rasul stood as silent as the grave as it reamined stationary at the centre of the room.

"Can you relay-"

"Do you recognise my voice?" A deep resounding voice came from the Rasul. Old, and distinguished, yet soft at the same time. Anyone who studied even the modicum of history in the Empire would recognise it immediately. Ristin immediately fell to his knees.

"My Emperor, what an honour it is-"

"If you do, then you are aware of the importance that I have given your mission, ambassador Rowland. You must see that the Aruthian Empire is poised to become the greatest civilization in the history of this galaxy. We have created an Empire that spans eternity."

Just a message he thought to himself, but still to have warranted the attention of the Emperor himself was an honour few if anyone ever recieved. He was in awe.

"We cannot proceed with our plans as they are. Peace with the galaxy for now is my desire, and something you must bring about. Something greater lies in store for my Empire, your people. Your task is simple. Secure the peace and the alliances that we need, by whatever means necessary. Is your mission clear?"

Picking himself up by his fleet, he spoke "Yes, my Emperor. I shall see to it immediately."

"Then go, and serve." The voice spoke. A response based on his answer, he thought to himself. He didnt want to think what would happen if he refused such a task.

The Rasul acknowledging his response, moved to exit the room, by unlocking the door, and powering itself down in an empty room behind the reception desk. A monumental task indeed. Sitting down, he let out a massive breath, This assignment had just gotten alot more complicated than a prestige job like he originally thought. A task from the emperor himself was not to be failed, and he would need to work hard on the Nexus to achieve this.

The Sydonian Waltz Part 1

The Lord Protector sat on a chair made of the fine leather of a Churi-Churi beast, on the side of his foyer, gazing upon his family fields.

“Quite comfortable.” he thought while sipping his wine before his servant droid. “Could you summon the Lord of the Admiralty for me?” He requested.

“Yes your Lordship” the droid stood still for a moment. “The Lord Admiral sends his regards to your Lordship, he will make his way post haste.”
The machine spat out quickly before giving a bow and proceeding to clean the Lord Protector’s cup and refill it. “Will that be all for now your Lordship?” the bot asked politely.

“Yes that will be all, recharge until the Lord Admiral arrives so we may greet him with full enthusiasm.” Jiro said heading to his study, sitting down and studying records of the Volstrian front. Specifically the first battle of Volstrix, in which Jiahao Mao the first Lord Protector appointed by the assembly following the outbreak of the Dissolution war had died defending evacuating laborers and civilians. Mao had been far more eager to fight the Romans, sending fleet after fleet into their space bleeding them yes, but with every slash the Roman’s sunk a sword deeper into the heart of the Sydonian people. His successor continued this, letting the sword sink until it drew the deep red of the estates, many a knight of Sydonia dying in his or her mech against the Roman hoard. Jiro had other plans using the last battle 15 years ago to hold an uneasy ceasefire with the pigdogs.

While many of the systems along the border call for a continuation of the war, Jiro wanted to rebuild the ailing estates seeing the destruction wrought from this brother’s war. His consciousness was brought back from the turmoil of war and peace by a knock on the doorframe, stepping into view was a portly man in the white and gold dress uniform of the Admiralty, a red sash adorned with medals draped across his chest. To his left was the servant droid who bowed. “Your Lordship introducing. Lord Admiral Lapunov Zinon Yanovich, Duke of Volstrix, and head of the house of Yanovich.” The droid said in a performative tone

Lapunov bowed to the Lord Protector who nodded, motioning for the Lord Admiral to sit. “I see you are doing well, your lordship.” The Volstrian said as he sat, the droid quickly serving him a glass of Concordian brandy.

“Peace does that to a man, no matter how uneasy it may be.” Jiro said, noticing a slight twitch in the Lord Admiral's eye. “I hope our efforts to help your house rebuild have been proceeding nicely?”

Lapunov chuckled. “As well as they can, picking up a shattered home that has been ravaged by the barbarians you leave at the gates, where is your honor my lordship if I am to be so bold as to ask?!

Jiro thought for a moment weighing his words carefully to not upset the man across from him. “Lord Yanovich, I understand more than most about the ravages against your people, I have seen them firsthand. I landed with knights to relieve your home from the secessionist dogs myself did I not?” He took a sip of his wine before continuing. “A wounded soldier must not charge head on against a larger foe, we must rebuild and strike when the time is right. Remember the Kalakar, those who lost their homes and fled to only find themselves fighting another war. Do they and our own not deserve an ounce of respite from this hellspawn war?”

There was silence in the study for a few moments before the Lord Admiral took a sip of his own drink, taking a deep breath before speaking. “You speak wisely, but wisdom is no replacement for honor, while I may disagree it is not my place to decide though I warn you some amongst the Assembly have begun to whisper.”

Jiro raised his eyebrow. “Whisper of what?”

"Incompetence, lack of drive to fulfill our oaths to the commonwealth and our fellow loyalists to wipe out the roman threat!” Yanovich said with spite. “You must act Jiro. I cannot dissuade them forever.”

The Lord Protector nodded, taking in the barrage of allegations and insinuations. “Let me be clear, Duke Yanovich, the war is not done, we have not laid our swords down quite yet. We have only wintered ourselves for the moment. We must rebuild what we lost and prepare. If the Romans come we will be ready to resist and bite as we have always done.” The Lord protector said with a sigh. “Have you anything else to say or report?”

“I do not, your Lordship.” Yanovich said standing and giving a bow before excusing himself from the study

Jiro shook his head in frustration, what do the fools of the assembly want? A galaxy of blood and carnage? A age where every son and daughter of Sydonia know only war? He would not let this come to pass but he would not stand for talks of dishonor when none of these so called nobles would turn their backs on Volstrix and everything the Estates stand for if they believed it would bring them more power. “Foolishness and Pride, a toxic duo in any situation but especially in politics.” He thought to himself, but perhaps he could use this as an opportunity to unify his people to a larger goal, to unify Sydonia into more than just squabbling and performative politics. For that he would need the support of a few of the houses and the assembly itself, which unfortunately meant he would have to play their game

He stood for a moment looking at the large portrait of himself he had painted upon his appointment as Lord Protector, studying it for a moment the memory of his oath to the Estates and the commonwealth ringing through his head. “My oath remains true.” He said with a determined tone before sitting back down and beginning to type.

Maiden Voyage

The Fabricator Command Deck of the dockyard was a chaotic hub of technicians, programmers, and Celestial Forces Command observers that included the robotic formed overseer coordinators of Sphere Laam-tyr overseeing the finalizing construction of dozens of ships stowed away in bays with plasma sparks flashing.

The human traffic controllers and instruments coordinators hunched over their consoles and holopads, looking out through the glass to one bay in particular. A great ship, at least a kilometer and a half long and half that wide.

“Airlocks clear. Clean separation of umbilicals. Unlocking clamps.”

A voice from the ship-to-shore intercom came over the system, directed from the ship

“Engines primed. Navigation online. We are go for launch.”

“Engage thrusters. Prepare stations to clear the dock.”

The rear engine thrusters of the carrier began to glow a dull blue that slowly became brighter and brighter, and navigation lights across its hull came to life and blinked on and off.

Ever so carefully, the vessel inched forward away from its securing clamps, airlocks, and suspension beams that had held it in place for weeks now at the drydocks, and out into open space.

“Looking good. Course steady. No deviation.”

“Engine readouts nominal.”

“Communications online. No life support anomalies”

Eventually, the ship cleared its housing system and found itself in the open yard.

“Dock cleared. Increasing power to engines. Activating inertia dampener system.”

The engines glowed even brighter and into a path of pulsating lights. Ships buzzed around the dockyard, but still maintained a healthy distance.

“Yard cleared. Arrestor beams disengaged. We are away.”

The carrier stood out in open space now, and the engines cooled back down to a minimal output.

Below, the world of Tanidar spread out like a great pastel ball of perfect oceans and perfect islands, teeming with life and health. Around it spanned three great rings, each brilliant and perfect as they orbited at different angles. The Armillary Rings they were called, and were the source of Tanidar’s wealth and power.

in the deep interior of the ship was a secured and shielded section lined with panels and computer interfaces and was a cacophony of activity. It was circular in design, and at the center was a raised platform built around a singular large glass tube, itself surrounded by a series of varying sized panels perpendicular to the surface of the tube. The interior was filled with a strange green blue liquid, and suspended within, connected to organized wires and cables, was a small mass of non-flesh around a nucleus of coalesced orbs.

Lights around the room turned on and the perpendicular panels began to move up and down and sideways and rotate around the whole of the tube as wave of purple energy began to emanate from the sphere in the center, and a voice could be heard

“This is the Core Command of the Laam-tanin class carrier flagship Zajaak-khad. We have cleared the dock and request permission to conduct drive activation and generate Quantum Wave Front. Destination of Pasadin marshaling yard.”

“Request acknowledged, you are clear to engage and commence assigned operations. Good luck Zajaak-khad.”

The ship began to fire its maneuvering thrusters and angled itself out towards deep space and the near light of the planet in the system.

The space around the ship began to expand and contract, and in a flash of light, it sped off into space.

The crew of the Command Deck clapped and cheered in celebration, at least the human and joined members while the robotic formed Dae remained stoic, with the launch of the Zajaak-khad, the latest in the line of new carrier command ships designed to operate as the pride and joy pieces of the Fleet.

In attendance of particular note, aside from the Coordinators, was member of the High Command in Harmony with Laam-tyr and one of the Joined, Admiral Vadek Balor of Sphere Talin-ton.

He was a middle aged sort of man with clean black hair and pale skin with the telltale spreading veins of blue on the back of his neck and beneath his hair of the symbiotic Dae worm joined with his mind.

“Another completed ship joins the fleet,” he said as he turned to face his fellow commanding compatriots. “I see a bright future for the warship named Zajaak-khad.”

“As pleased as we are sure that Laam-tyr is for the growth of the fleet, there are segments of the Chorus, in particular the Consonance of Concord in Par-nad, that are concerned with this frenzied approach to the expansion of our forces,” explained one of the synthetic-joined Dae, Aria Dalar of Sphere Man-zir, coordinator attached to both the Consonances of Resolve and Foundation. “Aria Salar expressed great reservations of their own before departing to the Nexus. That the galaxy is on the verge of a new age of peace.”

“As respectable as the notes of Aria Salar are and a great need to the Chorus, the peacemakers of Par-nad do not quite seem to grasp that the galaxy is very much still a dangerous place. Warriors of Adotov die everyday, the skirmishes of Azah along the border, and who knows when the Thaullens will decide to turn their gaze back towards us. The Dissolution and the betrayal of the Admirals is still fresh in the Living Memory of Resolve. We were unprepared then, and we will not be again.”

“The songs of Laam-tyr and the other Spheres of Resolve are both loud and righteous, Aria Dalar,” added another human-joined member of their group, Vilet Fara of Sphere Jada-koz, also of the Consonance of Foundation as part of the Hymn of Innovation. “Due to the mere size of the Communion’s territories, many do not take us seriously. With our industrial and economic capabilities thanks to the Armillary and our location, we are growing our military forces at an exponential rate. Even should the likes of Azah turn their backs on us and Thaull or even the Dread Admiral were to come for us again, we will be ready.”

“Perhaps we are indeed short sighted, just we must not appear as grand standing. The attitudes of Azah and the Clique are nuanced and fragile. If we are to maintain our position as an indispensable industrial-trade center, we must not devote too much of our voices to armament.”

“Noted, of course,” the Admiral nodded. “But that is a matter for the greater Chorus and the other Arias to discuss. We merely follow the Grand Design.”

RP ~ Changed Lives ~ 6772

When the Supervision forces had first arrived on his home planet, Narmer was but a young boy(5). His own people were hardly worthy of being called starfarers, having never set foot on another planet, satellites being the extent of how they explored other celestial bodies. In contrast, the outsiders brought awe inspiring warships that blocked out the sun, possessing weapons greater than any his kind had ever developed.

But that was 130 years ago, and during that time Narmer had seen, with his own eyes, many more impressive ships than that first Supervision cruiser, and had heard of battles involving thousands of vessels. The aging Siiaw didn’t even live on his own native planet anymore, which his kind had previously inhabited for their entire history.

From having lived on an icy planet as a child, the leap which that singular encounter had set the Siiaw on was immense. Now Narmer strode through Xopis-II, a relatively advanced space station. Even though it was heated, the Supervision forces were able to accommodate the Siiaw through the use of cooling suits. In Narmer’s eyes, the changes had been an overall positive.

But the aging Siiaw knew that not all agreed with him. Neither his father, nor his mother, nor his siblings agreed with him, for most of the Siiaw were still traditional, and clung to their nature. They especially were less keen on ties with the Fremenilians, who treat their young without love, as resources, for this attitude clashed with their culture directly. But Narmer didn’t see it the same way. He considered himself capable of recognizing the sacrifices needed to maintain a relatively efficient state on the frontier of what had once been commonwealth space, especially when warmongers lay nearby.

- - - - - - -

Narmer was old, he knew it, everyone knew it. Even though the Siiaw didn’t seem to show many signs of aging, it caught up with them rapidly and without mercy as they reached around forty, until an inevitable death occurred during their 140-50s. As a loyal servant of the Supervision Army, Narmer had willingly chosen not to retire. Regardless, he was moved away from being a proper diplomat, and turned into a teacher/examinator some ten years ago. In this role, Narmer proved a valuable asset, as he knew his own culture better than any Fremenilian, human, or even Gamalian, and thus was able to connect with the Siiaw trainees far better.

One important task was to determine how, and where, the Siiaw trainees could serve. While the idea of a diplomat had become the common conception of the Siiaw throughout the Supervision controlled systems, it would be more appropriate to consider them as mediators. Most Siiaw would never interact with a foreign state, but would help keep tensions low internally. Only the most loyal Siiaw could be trusted to be external diplomats.

Of course, neither Siiaw, nor anyone else, immediately jumped into meeting with other states. Raising diplomats to foreign powers wasn’t his job, though Narmer did secretly hope that at least one of his students would achieve such prestige. For now, he simply determined where the Siiaw would be sent, both in position and planetary location.

Walking into a nursery, Narmer began to talk about how it functioned to his ten Siiaw students, which were split evenly between males and females. “As you are surely aware, the Fremenilians have no love for their children. But they do have a great love for their state. Thus, the raising of fitting generations does still hold some place in their heart, but just not one of affection. But do you know how a fitting child is assured by the cold hearted lizards,” Narmer would ask.

Of course, Narmer already knew the answer. He had for many decades. But to see how his students reacted would provide a good way to sort them in a natural, and fairly reliable, manner. Of course, Narmer also knew that these students didn’t know. They were still wet behind the ears, and couldn’t have been much older than thirty, maybe forty. So it was no surprise to him when none of the class volunteered to answer, preferring silence to unfounded guesses.

“Those young which are deemed unhealthy, or weak, are weeded out. Not in their youth, but before then, as eggs. In the days before civility, nature took its course in destroying them, or so the lizards claim. But now caretakers do it in nature’s place. They claim it avoids accidents. But their claims are not our concerns,” Narmer continued, picking up from the silence of his students. He didn’t exactly support the practices of the Fremenilians, but in truth he did not care much about them either.

As he expected, many of his students already looked distraught. But the mere knowledge of how the Fremenilians sorted their spawn was not enough to prepare them for seeing an example. The Siiaw students were able witness as the eggs were inspected, and the machine culled those which were subpar.

Surveying his class, most of them seemed either disgusted or horrified. This, of course, was a normal reaction for even humans to a degree, much less the Siiaw. However, a singular student of his didn’t seem to have too much of a reaction. Narmer noted this, perhaps she could serve in Tuat, Wusa, or Sahkmi. For the rest, they would likely have to serve in systems such as Anoup, Neit, or Khnum.

Narmer would spend the rest of his “day”, or what counted for a day cycle when floating through space, examining the singular student which had shown promise in terms of working in Fremenilian space. The rest he had allowed to rest early, since he already was sure of where they couldn’t serve. The rest of the day went well, for the final Siiaw student showed promise. But only the coming week could prove if she would pan out.

Iron Resolve

The Ardent Resolution was a colossal ship. Built in the grand shipyards of Iser, the Super Dreadnought was filled to the brim with guns, state of the art targeting systems and a high intensity Titanic Beam weapon, which could blow a hole through anything it came across, it was the pride of the Fleet of Imperial Peace, one of the ten battle ready fleets in Aruthian space. The ending of the war with the Romans had allowed time for the fleet to return to full strength, yet the Emperors will drew Admiral Aadark Reson in an entirely new direction. Turmoil reigned in the stars in the Dasharian Quadrant of space. Infecting parasites were bearing down hard on the hyperlanes, eviscerating all in their path, infecting, growing, infecting, attack after attack and attack. They were even starting to bear down on the Thaullen, the Umon Technocracy. Even Trifecta couldnt escape their growth, and it was becoming time to take action. War was on the doorstep of Aruthia once again, and it was once again time to pick up the sword and head off to war.

As the leader of Task Force Red, his fleet was to secure several key points in preperation for the land incursions which would have to be brought to bear against the parasites. This war would require extensive planning and communication. The Dar-Hesh were known for infecting any sapient species which crossed its path, which made them a risk in any close range environment. The maintaining of an extensive support structure and communication would be key towards achieving victory in this fight. Fighters and bombers were the key element of this, with extensive ordinance and facilities being implemented for bringing these with them. Fast and ready atmospheric support would be the key to pushing the Dar-Hesh back. All the while, some fleets would be securing the hyperlanes in order to ensure a fast and ready line of support to and from Aruthian space as more and more transport fleets would be needed as the war intensified. This was not a war he was hoping for in his lifetime, but the collapse of the Commonwealth had left anarchy in its wake, and it was time to begin to put down the monster they had inadvertantly helped create.

"Flag Secretary Burtz!" The Admiral barked. The flag secretary was a young man, barely in his 20's, but was competent, and had trained extensively for a position in the Admirals staff. "Send an alert for all ships to open their communication channels." he stated.

"Aye, Aye Admiral." The flag secretary announced. "Sending out a 3 light salute to the fleet, fleet wide comm channels should open within sixty seconds."

"Man all stations, all communications live." He ordered.

The flag secretary approached his terminal and typed in the order. "Man all stations, all communications live." He repeated the admirals order. "Ready in 45."

The time held tradition of an Admirals speech before he set off from port was an important tradition indeed. The Admiral would rarely be seen outside of to specific captains and commodores of the fleet, and even then only in battle. Much of his tasks were delegated amongst the vice admrials and the rear admirals who would attend to their specific functions. It was important for each Aruthian fleet to be flexible in combat so that the changing situation of battle could be properly managed and accounted for. The lack thereof proved disastrous in the opening phases of the Dissolution War, and allowed the Romans far too many victories in the early stages of the conflict. Brute force meant only so much in warfare, it was how admirals wielded their fleets that took the day. 109 combats Admiral Reson had seen, he wished to see 109 more, and so learning from mistakes were vital. A good fleet was one that could properly react to a changing situation.

"Comms open now sir." The flag serviceman announced.

"All hands at attention." His flag lieutenant shouted. All men of the room stood from their stations, sharply turned and stood at attention for the Admirals Address. Admiral Reson tooka deep breath, and began the speech that he had practiced for hours on end.

"My fellow Servicepeople of the Aruthian Empire, and the Fleet of Imperial Peace,

We stand on the precipice of a new conflict, the likes of which our Empire has not seen in a decade. I address you not just as your Admiral, but as a fellow sentinel of humanity’s enduring spirit.

We are about to embark on a campaign that will test the mettle of our Imperial Fleet against the encroaching darkness of the Dar-Hesh. These parasitic entities, devoid of empathy or reason, threaten the very fabric of our Empire, and the galaxy as a whole. They expand, consuming worlds, leaving behind a void where once thrived life and culture. Peace, has become a solemn forlorn hope by those they enslave for nourishment. Terror rules over every planet the Dar-Hesh take. We must put an end to it.

But let us not falter in the face of this existential threat. Let us instead remember who we are. We are the descendants of Theia, the children of the Emperor, the guardians of the Eternal Flame. Our legacy is one of resilience, innovation, and indomitable courage. Of Duty, Valor and great feats of heroism.

The ships that now stand ready to launch into the void are not mere vessels of war. They are the embodiment of our collective will, our hopes, and our unyielding determination to preserve the light of civilization amidst the encroaching shadow. The great shield of our Empire, is to become a great shield of our galaxy.

To the brave souls who man these ships, know that you carry with you the trust and the gratitude of every free being in this galaxy, even though they may not know it or thank you for it. Your mission is clear: to halt the spread of the Dar-Hesh, to protect our homes, and to ensure that the free will we hold dear remains unextinguished.

We do not seek this conflict, but we will not shy away from it. The Dar-Hesh must be met with a force equal to the peril they pose. And so, with the blessings of the Emperor, our fleet will advance, not for conquest, not for personal glory, but for the survival of all that we hold dear, so that now sapient being is forever enslaved against is well, reduced to a husk or flesh puppet.

In the words of our once great Chancellor Vala, “History does not give free the right to exist. It is born out of struggle and triumphant will.” Our Emperor imbues us with this will. As we set forth into the unknown, let us carry the banner of the eteral flame, its unyielding strength, and let our resolve echo through the stars.

For the Empire, for our future, we go forth to meet our destiny. May the Emperor guide us in our journey."

The communication line cut, and his staff snapped off a heavy imperial salute. One war ends, a new one begins. Aruthia was once again off to war.

Hukrus and all it was
Sala Colony, Hukrus System

A hail of bullets came like a wall through the neighborhood, the rapid crack of hypersonic shots sending hundreds of rounds down range every millisecond.

Lira hunkered down beneath the windowsill, her arms tight around her legs, her knees tucked under her chin. She did not know where her parents were, her father had left to join the war effort nearly four months ago and whether he was alive or not was a guess to be answered by god. Her mother, though she had no way to be certain, had probably been buried beneath the rubble of some building that had collapsed. She could only wonder, Lira dared not leave her home.

Tears began to well in her eyes as she thought about her mother and father, she quickly snatched up her stuffed animal, it was in the image of one of the deer-like creatures that lived on Sala. She had named her toy Sirit. She hugged the toy to her chest, it activated immediately.

“Hi, Lira! Do you want to play, today?” Her toy spoke in a sing-song voice, its eyes lighting up with every syllable.

She did not speak to her toy, instead she simply held it tighter as her tears began to soak into the soft faux fur on the toy’s head.

“Would you like to sing instead? Birds fly in the sky, fish swim in the sea, the sun looks down on me!” Sirit sang, the toys electronic words accompanied by its own music.

Lira shushed the toy, “Be quiet, Si’it.”

As she hugged her toy tight, she rose just enough to peak over the edge of the windowsill, spying down at the street level ten stories below. There she spotted a battalion of Thaullen drones, painted in black and orange livery. She had seen them on the holo-display in her living room, and her parents had discussed them frequently, though this was the first time she had seen one in person.
Lira raised her head higher, so that she could see the entire street, there were hundreds of the drones below. Some of them had detained her neighbors and were in the process of executing them, others were piling bodies in the street.
As she looked down over the horrors, she noticed one of the drones was staring back up at her, its eyeless face penetrating deep into her soul.

Lira quickly ducked back down, squeezing her toy even tighter to her chest, she began crawling along the floor towards a nearby hall closet. She quickly hid in the small space, snuggling herself behind a box that had been stored there on the floor. Lira sat there, quietly sobbing, waiting for anything to happen. She hoped that at any second her parents would arrive to save her from this fear.

Minutes passed until she was startled by the sudden loud crash as something smashed in the door of her home, followed by heavy but regular footsteps.
A shadow loomed in the hall, and then there it was, she could see it through the slats of the closet door. A Thaullen drone standing before the closet door, Lira hugged her toy close, she cried.

---

Lord-Marshal Hirith brushed aside the rubble and pulled from the pile of broken concrete and twisted steel a small stuffed toy, in the shape of one of the deer-like animals that belonged to this world.
Hirith held it out in his palm and brushed concrete dust from the face of the stuffed animal, using his silvered thumb to do so. Curiosity briefly washed over him and so he pressed on the toy’s stomach and its eyes lit, “Hi, friend, my name is Sirit! What’s yours?”

Hirith remained unamused, a crude toy for a crude people, he let the toy slip from his hand and fall back to the earth.

The Thaullen surveyed the rest of the surrounding area, looking across the many destroyed buildings and great piles of rubble. He was keenly interested in the effectiveness of his automated troops, the performance seemingly pleasing to him.
A drone joined him, this one not a military drone but a service model, its cover plates made of engraved silver. It was his own personal butler.

“Commanding officers confirm effective campaign in this region. Minimal personnel casualties, with drone losses within acceptable parameters.” The drone said, its voice in a proper Thaullen accent.

“Most excellent, call the Ascendant, I wish to update him on our success.” Hirith commanded.

The service drone stepped a meter in front of the Lord-Marshal and from its silver head it projected a beam of light. Present now, before the Lord-Marshal was a hologram of the Ascendant.

The Lord-Marshal bowed to the hologram and then spoke, “My Lord, I am pleased to inform you we are nearing the end of the initial stages of our military campaign in the Hukrus system.”

The hologram of the Ascendant remained starkly still and unemotive.

“Yes, we have captured their capital and annihilated most of their other major population centers. Elements of resistance remain, though mostly in more sparsely populated areas of the planet, my Lord. We will no doubt need to station a number of drones to wipe any rebellious elements remaining.” Hirith continued, “Have you considered whom might rule this world in your stead, my lord…?”

The Ascendant’s head turned ever so slightly, “Your service is commendable, Lord-Marshal. Consider your station intact.”

The hologram of the Ascendant quickly cut thereafter, leaving Hirith without a clear answer. He cursed under his breath and looked down at the stuffed toy still looking up at him from the concrete dust.
The Lord-Marshal placed the toe of his boot over top the little toy and crushed it under foot, leaving the sight of destruction quiet and empty.

The Smuggler and the Thief
Influence: Trading Guild

Orbit of Rasigon V, 6772

“Stop being so fidgety about it. You’re already involved, and we’re already here,” the human captain of the freighter said dismissively to the nervous looking Gaim that stood before him, cautiously eying his crew members that stood guard and were looking over the metal crates being transferred through the docking port.

“You do not understand what I risk in this relationship,” the Gaim protested. “Do you have any idea how difficult it is to get this cargo? And now you like to take your time looking it over. I thought you were professionals.”

“We are. But more importantly, we don’t like to be screwed over when we risk even more than you do. Skimming off the Guild’s stock and selling it ourselves. I’ll tell you, Smugglers don’t get better treatment than thieves who steal from their employers.”

“Yes yes, but please…”

All in all, it was a very tense situation. A simple clerk from Rasigon, the Gaim had made another living on the side as a small-time pilferer of big-time goods from warehouses in the system. Energy banks, plasma batteries, engine cores, and high end tools transported and used by the Guild. And on the other end, a long time practitioner in the art of suberfuge and the discreet transport of illicit goods to buyers the sector over.

At the agreed time, the two ships, the small transport shuttle of the thief and the worn down freighter of the smuggler, met within the ring fields of Rasigon V and were hidden within the dust and rock. A popular meeting place for people not wanting to be caught.

“As we agreed upon,” the gaim stuttered.

“We’ll be the judge of that,” said the human captain as he turned towards the crates when one of his men gave him a nod. He hovered over the keypad of the crate with a finger and looked back at his fellow conspirator with a raised eyebrow.

The gaim sighed. “1134779.”

The captain nodded and input the code onto the pad, and the top of the crate clicked and opened with a hiss. Leaning forward, he peered inside and saw the stacks of small arms small arms particle pistols and scores of their energy cells. He opened another and saw much the same.

“My my my. You actually came through for us. Even better than I might have expected.”

“I deliver what is asked for. Do you have the payment?”

“I’m nothing if not a man of my word, my sticky fingered friend.”

With a snap of his fingers, another of his crew brought forth a hover trolley with a medium sized crate.

“Your commission fee. As agreed.”

The gaim skittered forward and brought out a small data slab and knelt, holding the device up to the crate to confirm its contents. After a few moments, it chirped and displayed a green light. Seemingly satisfied, the gaim stood up and took hold of the control panel of the trolley.

“Our business is concluded. Have a good day captain.”

As he moved to leave, however, the intercom of the freighter cracked on, and the voice of the ships’ first hand came over.

“Captain, we have a situation”

He placed a hand in front of the gaim to stop him, and though the thief gave his protestations, the captain did not listen.

“Go ahead.”

“Captain, a Communion Patrol ship entered into the planet’s operation space and is holding a course following the rings.”

“Why am I just hearing about this now,” the captain demanded.

“We think it jumped in on the far side of the planet, Captain, and took in a low approach along the ring. Didn’t know anything was there until we registered a ping from their scanners.”

“Do we think it has spotted us?”

“Not sure, sir, but it does seem to be on an in-”

The ship suddenly rocked, and every bolt and piece of metal creaked in agony and protest, and the lights fluctuated and nearly shorted out themselves. The captain and crew members stumbled and the thief fell over on top of his spoils. There then came a distinct vibration. The conjoined ships were locked into a tractor beam.

“Bridge, status report,” the captain demanded, but there was no response. “Bridge!”

He turned his attention to the gaim that tried to stand back up from the hovering tool, but it remained awkward and he slipped.

“You,” the captain spat, “you were followed! You ratted on us!”

He charged and picked the gaim up by his collar.

“Answer me damn you.”

The intercom clicked on once more, but a different voice came over it.

“This is the Communion Patrol Ship Ram-sadan. In accordance with Communion and Galactic Laws, you are all under arrest for the theft of Trading Guild property with the attempt to smuggle and sell. Do not resist and prepare to be boarded and remanded into our custody.”

Rasigon, Trading Guild Corporate Office

Director Radin placed the dataslab down on his desk and leaned back in his chair, taking in the pleasure of another thief captured, another smuggling outfit crushed.

“They are growing more bold, Fadan. I will have to give my thanks to Tasad in person for loaning the patrol ships on such short notice. I shudder to think how far this might have gotten.”

The lithe robotic form nodded their head. “How long exactly have you noticed the missing inventory?”

“A few subcycles now. We didn't make the connection to the clerk until we looked at the employee travel records, and cross referenced with surveillance footage. Then with the mind-audit by the Truthseer, it was confirmed.”

“I was glad to assist in that regard, Radin. While I’m sure the Guild finds the Communion inspections chaffing, I’m sure it can appreciate it in this regard.”

“Believe me, the Guild has its rules, and this is a case of people not understanding the most important one: Don’t steal from the Guild.”

Unification Day
Written in collaboration with Azha, Thaull, The Dae and Sydonian Estates
***REPOST***

Arch Lector Tol Zuhida, Ambassador to the Nexus from the Holy Conclave of Adotov gazed through false eyes at the preparations being made at the Adotovic embassy. The main hall of the embassy was in the midst of a full renovation as the space was cleared for the hundreds of guests they were expecting, and from his office high above the grand hall Ambassador Zuhida had the perfect view to oversee the affair. Offhandedly he turned his gaze at his desk and the manifest of food and drink that was being delivered for tonight's festivities, and he winced slightly as his augmetics quickly tallied up the total expense the celebration would cost them, which came to almost a sixth of their quarterly budget.

He offered a silent prayer of thanks to the Machine God that his senior aide, Lector Sapand Reylus was the one handling the minutiae of preparing for the event, for while he understood the importance of such events, Zuhida had no interest in overseeing such pageantry. Sighing through mechanical lungs, he turned back to the mounds of routine data work that had accumulated on his desks storage drives, and he segmented a part of his vast processing power to handle the tasks while the rest of his mind continued to ponder.

Days like this, days consumed with the endless tedium of data-work and the annoyance of planning parties and functions made Zuhida nostalgic for his days as a Ploiarchos on the Osmorian front, when his only responsibilities were his ship and the crew who elected him to lead them. He sometimes regretted his election to the rank of Navarchos, and the series of decisions that led to his appointment as Ambassador to the Nexus. He had been Ambassador for a relatively short period of time, just sixteen standard years, and he doubted there would be much fuss if he suddenly announced his resignation and returned to Conclave space. Such thoughts were unproductive and a waste of processing power, he thought as he disdainfully purged them from his mind.

With nothing else worth processing, he devoted the majority of his mind's power to the data-work, until a sudden chime and a yellow light at his office’s entrance drew a fraction of his attention. Not knowing who stood on the other side, he unified his mind and returned all his processing power to the present as he straightened in his chair and opened the door with a data-signal.

“Enter.” He vocalized, and in walked the Envoy from the Tendrakkian Clans, Rolor Varnike. Ever since the fall of the Storm Host fifteen years ago, the Tendrakkian clans that swore loyalty to the Conclave elected a special Envoy to be attached to the Adotovic embassy and fulfill the role their ambassador once held. Relaxing by a micro fraction, Zuhida returned a sizable portion of his processing power to the data-work, thankful that no one important had interrupted him before he could finish the day's work.

Varnike himself had only been Envoy for seven standard months, and he was from one of the minor clans of the Tendrakkian assembly that rarely received such lofty honors as a prestigious position on the Nexus. From what Zuhida understood of the rumors that sometimes made their way off Tendrakkia, Varnike was a compromise candidate elected to keep either of the major factions in the assembly from gaining an influential position in the Envoy to the Nexus.

Rolor was odd, even for a Tendrakkian. His clan was one of the few to outright embrace the worship of the Machine God, abandoning the ancient religion of their people in favor of the creed that broke their nation and chained their planet. Varnike still wore a retracted spear at his waist that no Tendrakkian would be caught dead without, but that was the only concession he made for his species. All six of his limbs were augmetics, and though the outer layers of his torso might remain flesh, his internal organs had all given way to the machine. Surprisingly, his face and head remained almost completely free of augmentation, which Zuhida found disconcerting as he watched an organic mouth speak with a voice made from mechanical vocal chords,

“Honored Ambassador,” Varnike spoke in his false voice, “my thanks for seeing me on such short notice.” Zuhida gestured to the sole chair placed at the front of his desk, and waited for the Envoy to sit before replying,

“Envoy Varnike, my door is always open to you and your people. What can I help you with today?” He had said that damned phrase so often that he had ceased forming the sentence consciously anymore, he simply played a recording he had made some time ago instead. His vocalizer made no difference between a recording and an original vocalization, and judging from how the Envoy eagerly leaned forward he could tell that he had not noticed the deception.

“It is to do with the matter of the celebration at the embassy tonight, Ambassador. I regret that my knowledge of Theian holidays and celebrations is woefully lacking, and I want to patch the holes in my knowledge, so as not to embarrass myself in front of our allies.”

Several minutes in a mind prison with a database of Theian history could rectify his ‘issue’, Zuhida thought, thankful that he long ago did away with the remains of his organic face, the expression on his engraved faceplate giving off a wonderful sense of neutrality and stoicism as he vocalized,

“I believe I can help you with that. Are you needing a general overview or is there something specific that escapes you?”

“I think a quick description of today's event is all I require, I shouldn’t want to waste any of your valuable time, Ambassador.” Zuhida would have laughed, had he retained the autonomic functions that would have triggered laughter. Instead he nodded a fraction of an inch, pretending to be in deep contemplation as he composed the most concise description his mind could come up with, so as to prevent the Envoy from going on a rambling tirade about Tendrakkian clan honors. Finally, when Zuhida grew bored of watching the slight hints of irritation flicker in Varnike’s eyes, he answered,

“Theian Unification Day, when all the wayward children of old Theia come together and celebrate the day when our forefathers united our species into one nation, and took to the stars in peace and friendship. Of course, eight thousand years of separation have eroded much of the values of brotherhood and unity that our ancestors fought so hard for.” He had adopted a tone of solemn reverence, which Zuhida found was best used in speaking to those unfamiliar with the subject the Arch Lector spoke of. Some ignorant laymen had unkindly compared his voice to the information vendors on the Forum Park, but the opinions of unenlightened infidels mattered not at all to the grand calculations of the universe, and were thus beneath notice.

“Many of our species wonder why we continue to celebrate a holiday so far removed from any modern day relevance, but we celebrate it in the spirit that it was originally founded on, that of peace and brotherhood for all mankind.” Reciting the empty platitudes gave Zuhida an intense feeling of sickness, and he cursed the remnants of his organic brain that simulated the response. He resolved to have those parts of his biomass removed the next time he got a chance.

He went on with Varnike for several more minutes, grateful for his never changing expression that could not betray him as the Envoy found new and fascinating ways to annoy him. Eventually, he was successful in evicting the Tendrakkian from his office before he even mentioned the honors his clan had won centuries ago, which he counted as a victory.

He returned his processing power to finishing the last of his data-work, and before long he rose from his desk to personally oversee the final preparations before the celebration began.

The augmetics that were appropriate for an Ambassador, much less an Arch Lector, were far different than the form fitting combat implants that Zuhida bore during his service, and even decades after his promotion and the installation of far bulkier augmentations he still found himself surprised at his own power and mass. He stood at over nine feet tall and his augmentations were all handcrafted masterpieces made by the Forge-Lectors themselves, each piece of his body beautifully decorated with gold and silver engravings that covered the awesome power of the machine contained within them. The blue and gold colored robes he wore over his mechanical body were embroidered with patterns so small that they could not be seen by unaugmented eyes, the patterns forming prayers and hymns to the Machine God written in ancient Theian script.

Thankfully, no crises had developed under Lector Reylus’ oversight, a rare miracle that ought to be treasured. The only real issue he had to address was that of security. Having only thirteen members to defend his embassy and his staff was an issue Zuhida had long chafed against, though the Sigil Guardsmen the Conclave assigned to their defense were the finest soldiers in Adotov, so he kept his complaints to quiet grumbles and hidden rants in his personnel mind prison.

In place of the squads of marines he would have preferred, NexSec had assigned squads of their own troopers to oversee security, and with the ambassadors of several major nations in attendance tonight he supposed they had that right. He knew not everyone who would be attending this evening, though he could be sure of at least a few guaranteed attendants.

The Azhani, Thaullens, Dae and the Sydonians would all be in attendance, or the whole affair would be just as large of a farce in truth as it felt. Invitations had been extended to several other missions on the Nexus, nations that had a positive or at least a cordial relationship with Adotov, and several of those missions had the good courtesy to send messages of either acceptance or declination, while others wanted to be unnecessarily mysterious, forcing him and his staff to wonder if they would arrive at all.

Invitations had pointedly not been extended to the Roman Reich and their puppet Conclave in Osmor, or the Aruthian Empire, the former two were hosting their own celebration of Unification day at the Roman embassy, while the latter abstained from the celebrations entirely, undoubtedly preferring to prostrate and flagellate themselves before portraits of their demon emperor.

After going through the final perimeter inspection with the NexSec captain overseeing security, Ambassador Zuhida returned to the main hall of the embassy and prepared to greet the arriving Ambassadors, devoting the entirety of his processing power to the here and now.

The Azhani staff were the first to enter of all the envoys expected to be in attendance. Unlike some of succeeding entourages that arrived with pomp and flare, Zossi Prannr entered with the clinical formality of a state official, spending little time on the weight and presence of himself. He was introduced as Zossi Apandi, the distinction granted by the Azhani government to its senior officials to represent their many years of service to the state ministries. Beside him entered his wife, Etena, and they were joined by a pair of treasured staffers who went by Chial and Modor, respectively. Further behind them was the figure of the malsari representative, Berakamo, who seemed distinctly out of place with the lack of his own aides. Lastly was the fleet of service droids that attended to them and served as physical repositories of knowledge and interstellar nuance.

Zossi was dressed in a thin, white kaftan with geometric patterns stylized in a dull gold appearance. Below this he wore a pair of dark baji pants; baggy except for around the ankles where the cloth was drawn to a perfect, snug fit. Over this attire was a blue tabard that hung from a hole his neck was poked through, and his head was fitted with a plain white topi hat that slouched partially in the back. His wife could not have been further apart, wearing a loose-fitting tunic made of a synthetic fabric designed to be cool and exceedingly thin. As an aisaren, Etena found the atmospheric conditions of the station often unpleasant and too warm, preferring instead her personal quarters which were kept to a cool 12C. The importance of the meeting between the ambassadors forced her out into public for appearances alone, since her husband enthused to her the importance of the festivities; less for the celebration and more for the sincerity of the Azhani position that Zossi wished to express.

Berakamo, however, was much calmer and seemed interested in the varying officials already in attendance, glancing behind him at the others who arrived soon after. He was dressed in a personal exosuit, with a mantled cape dyed in vibrant purple with red trim draped across his shoulders and trailing down his upper back. Unlike Zossi, who bore a gentle and friendly appearance, wearing a grin as he greeted the Adotovic personnel, Berakamo retained that aloof presence that the malsari were renowned for. His four eyes trailed around the room, taking in the sights as he followed behind the Azhani entourage.

Lord Yesen hardly cared for human holidays, but as Ambassador he was forced to pretend to care. Theian rituals, cultural events, holidays, practices and religions; pointless drivel of a people barely united by any of these things. After all, humans had long since abandoned the dead world of Theia, spread from among the stars and became disparate. Why an Azhani was no more similar to a Roman or Aruthian than a Thaullen was to vasuroi. Theian culture was dead, why should anyone celebrate such a thing?

Yet, he was here, for the sake of broader political appeal. The appearance of such a thing was important, and so here he was, dressed in his finery and with his entourage.

Yesen presented himself in a cape of fur carved from the back of a Churi-Churi beast, one he had hunted himself, its pelt a purplish-grey marbled by streaks of black, brown, and dull-red. He wore no shirt, or anything to cover his arms, proudly displaying his sculpted chest and his augmented arms that mimicked natural muscle in a glossy jet black tipped in claws of gold. A natural sign of his prowess. Around his waist was a woven belt of red silk, from which hung a great collection of large silk tassels and golden ornaments, which belted his black silk skirt to his form. His skirt was long, nearly to the floor in length, trimmed in a traditional Thaullen pattern of gold, though his skirt was slitted open on either side, to present his well muscled legs to the world.
Upon his face was his usual chosen mask, a polished ivory one, carved heavily with traditional patterns.

The five members of his entourage were presented in similar dress, though lacking the excess of his own, except those of his two guards dressed in silvered military armor.

It had been a handful of weeks at least since the Aria Salar of the Sphere Par-nad had arrived and been conducting their duties as the Communion’s ambassador to the station. Operations had been going smoothly, but slow to say the least. Though life on the station was fast paced, the actual duties to be performed by the people it was built for were often few and far between.

That was until the notice sent out by the ambassador from Adotov about hosting the year’s Theia unification celebration.

Even back home on Tanidar, it was a relatively important holiday in regards to the traditions of the Communion’s own human citizens. Though Salar themself was not joined to a human, instead bonded to their own synthetic armature known as Chosen Shells in Dae tradition, they felt it their obligation to partake in the festivities hosted at the Adotov embassy per their special request.

So they did, carried within their spherical robotic Shell, a clean white metallic orb with a singular glowing purple-blue glass central optic and inlaid with intricate calligraphy across its surface, accompanied by a group of human aides carrying sealed cases, and at least two other floating Shells of different color

Baron Serban entered, flanked by his servants since the pause in fighting with the Romans he had served as the Lord Ambassador of the Estates after retiring from his house's knight brigades. A position which while prestigious bored the old soldier tremendously. Though the Nexus itself was an agreeable abode.

The Old Baron wore a finely woven Chokha made of wool, along his right breast above his Gazyr was many medals from his military service during the war, under them was a large platinum and gold medal in the shape of a knight of the lost ages along a star. A ceremonial dagger of office around his waist The simple opulence of his attire contrasted with the man’s wrinkled and scarred features adorned with a thick and well groomed salt and pepper mustache. Upon his head a simple karakul emblazoned with the sigil of his house.

“I loathe these spectacles.” Serban thought to himself with a sigh, lighting a cigar and nodding to those he passed looking to one of his aides, a young lad from house Tibor. “Make ready with the drinks boy, I doubt tonight will be as merry without them.” He said with a rare chuckle.

The boy nodded, holding two bottles of spirits in his hand, one wrapped in a fine ribbon, a gift to the ambassador who was hosting for the evening making sure to hold them close so as to not lose them in the hustle and bustle of the evening's events.

Some time after getting situated in the hall, Ambassador Prannr was listening to the slow poetic caroling of a pair of poets performing some kind of Theian ballad that he was not familiar with. Especially alien to him was the language, which appeared to be something beyond what he had ever heard. The archaic Theian tongues were already difficult to parse into something even representing their modern languages, but the colony projects led to so many disparate peoples that some lexicons were abandoned entirely, or grew into an environment unique to their own. Whatever this speech was, Zossi privately found it interesting and imagined something could be more popular in Sydonia, where the planet-states had more of a rigid grounding in their many cultures.

“It’s a bit on the coarse side for poetry.” He enthused, looking over to his side of the round table where his wife sat. Etena looked disinterested in the performance, clearly agitated by the presence of so many people, and had a small electric fan on the table that blew at her face.

She glanced at him, realizing he had said something, and thinking on it flashed a fanged-smile.

“It’s an old ballad, dear. It’s not like poetry at all,” she explained, “Well, I suppose it could be poetry, but it’s not always just plain and pretty.”

Zossi bobbed his head, “I’m not saying it’s flippant or anything. I just expected a ballad to be more of a song. This is kind of like listening to a monologue from a play.”

“What did he say it was?” She asked, referring to the performers’ introduction.

“Some epic story in the authentic language of the time.” He answered, then recalling everything the performers had said, included, “A warrior chieftain traveling across the seas to a brother kingdom. Or something like that.”

Etena shrugged, returning to listening to the ballad while the fan blew cool air into her face. The two performers continued to speak in their strange tongue, doing a sort of call-and-response performance where one man would say something, prompting the other, whom she imagined was the narrator, to expound upon it and carry the story forth. It was almost interesting to her, except that she believed an interpreter would have benefitted the show.

“A kingdom? Weren’t the Theians a republic?”

“More of a representative system.” He answered without facing her. “But this is a bit older, I think. Probably around nine thousand years, if not more. That’s pre-unification.” He added, clarifying to his wife the exact timing of the performance.

Eventually the ballad began to come to a close, the directness and tone of the two speakers relaxing. Losing the interest of the ambassador, Zossi looked around the room for a moment, seeing many of the esteemed dignitaries in attendance. Though many clung to his eyes, he focused especially on those of the resurgence bloc that the Azhani state was part of. In many ways—as he looked upon the Adotovic and Thaullen representatives in attendance, and then towards the strange Dae delegates and Sydonian nobles—it was of certain truth that the Azhani led the association of states. This was not from any formal policy, but Zossi saw it as a sort of ‘de facto’ establishment of the truth. The Thaullens were self-serving. The Adotovics were expressly idealistic and revanchist in their war pursuits against the Romans. The Dae were a unitary bloc, but strangled on all sides by greater powers, and on the border with the arena of former-Commonwealth fleets that battled in the galactic south. Even the Sydonians, who were in some ways the most similar to the Azhani people, were too confederal and regionalistic.

Each of these powers expressed a singular trait elevated to their entire national thinking, whereas the Azhani, forced into the political reality of managing war fronts against the Romans while also protecting their own people, embodied all of these aspects.

“The Thaullen does not look too interested in the show.” His wife noted, seeing where his eyes had trailed.

“Yesen.”

Etena’s mouth formed a silent breath.

“His name is Yesen.” Zossi clarified. “Yesen Tshi. And no, I don't think he’s enjoying the show that much.”

Zossi watched the Thaullen ambassador for a moment, though it was near impossible to make out his expressions through his mask. He assumed that the man disliked the ballad. His people were more intrigued by displays of power and vanity; perhaps a competition would have been better suited to them.

The ballad finally came to a conclusion around the same time, causing the Thaullen ambassador to look around the room and lock eyes with Zossi for a moment. Glancing away, he cleared his voice and began patting down his tabard where the cloth had bunched up.

“I need to make some house calls now.” His voice came weakly, taking a drink from the table to wet his tongue.

Etena had nothing to say. She was used to this life by now and understood her husband’s position well. Showing a smile, she tipped her horned head back towards the stage, where the crew steadily shifted out equipment for the next show.

Standing up, Zossi saw that many of the other dignitaries were doing similar acts, all taking advantage in the lull of commotion to meet and greet with the other figures. He was caught up for a few minutes speaking briskly with the various independent polities near Azha, a few of them having been considered as courting the power bloc for some time. Eventually he finished with this, and seeing that the Thaullens were still unoccupied, chose to break away in their direction.

“Honor to you, Lord Thsi!” Zossi exclaimed, relying on their translation devices to do most of the hard work.

Perhaps I should learn more of their language, he thought. He only knew a few words in Thaullen, having taken most of his foreign studies in Lareshi due to its obvious influence on interstellar policymaking.

He gave a short and curt bow of the head, tilting it partially to the side as he leered at the seated Thaullen ambassador.

Yesen subtly grimaced underneath his mask, as he tried to think of something witty to which to reply, but nothing came to mind.

“Honor to you, as well,” Yesen replied, to be frank, Yesen did not know much of this particular Azhani ambassador. There was a new one every few years, as was the nature of the revolving door that was the Azhani government, so getting to know each one on a personal level was difficult. A fact Yesen had learned by his third year of his own appointment,regardless, he had met Zossi a few times before yet Yesen was still relying primarily on the short digital dossier he brought up via his ocular implant.

“It is good to finally meet you face-to-face, Zossi Apandi. I hope you got something out of this… poetry? Chant? I am not well-versed in Theian culture, I must admit, perhaps it is a bit too archaic for my like.” Yesen leaned forward and lowered his voice, “The Adotovics love this sort of thing, but after nine years I’ve hardly developed a taste. Be kind as to not mention such a thing to the Ambassador, he’ll remember it for the next century.”

Yesen leaned back into his original position and snapped to one of his entourage, “Some glasses and champagne, a human-style vintage.”

With one of his lackeys up from the table, Yesen gestured to the now empty seat as the other members of his entourage shuffled to make room for Zossi.

“Please sit with us and once Envoy Brsa returns we’ll have a drink. I’m sure you have some interesting business on the mind.” Yesen said, a little smile curling from either side of his mask.

Zossi seized on the opportunity and took the seat, nestling beside him and casting a long look back towards the stage area as the Thaullen envoy quickly retreated to his task. “Certainly. The champagne is acceptable, though I’m surprised you like it. I prefer—I can’t remember its name right now, but it was a Lareshi spiced drink. Sort of a citrus taste too. Quite pleasant. I like to try other cuisines, if they're compatible.”

He said, making mention of the complicated restrictions and health regulations previously enforced by the Commonwealth and now the Nexus to ensure that served foods are compatible between the hundreds of species that call the station home, with warning labels and cautionaries all provided.

I should say something about the play. His mind barked, remembering the Thaullen’s comments. “It’s a traditional ballad from what I understand. Exceedingly so. The listing says there’s to be some musical acts later, personally I’m more interested there.”

“Ah, yes, I saw. I am quite excited to see him live, having tried to get tickets to see him for years. As realistic as holographics are, a live performance is a thing of difference.” Yesen said, enthused.

Serban squinted seeing the two diplomats conversing, deciding to join them, lest he be left behind in the talks later on. “Dibry dzyeń comrades.” The Baron said with a hoarse chuckle sliding his cigar to one side of his mouth as he spoke. “May I join you?”

Lord Yesen snapped his fingers again, this time at another member of his entourage, to which they responded by standing, offering the second closest seat to the Thaullen Ambassador.

“Always a pleasure, Ambassador Hoshino, please take a seat.” Yesen replied, “How’s the wife, I noticed she didn’t attend this year either? I hope she’s not ill.”

“The years have granted Charlotte with less patience for the finer parts of the Nexus.” The Baron said with a chuckle. “The Pleasure is mine Lord Thsi, could I interest you in some Concordian Brandy?” he asked, sitting waving over the Tiborian aid.

“It’d be most agreeable, I am sure Ambassador Zossi would be pleased to partake as well. Would you agree, Zossi Apandi?” Lord Yesen asked, while at the same time screaming psionically for Envoy Brsa to not report back with the champagne.

“Never had Concordian brandy.” Zossi responded, quickly adding, “But it sounds good. There is a similar drink from Acheloos, one of our planets, but I’ve not had it to compare. They’re known for many liquors. A competition, I imagine.”

Serban nodded, waving his aid to hand out glasses and pouring the drinks. “That is correct, perhaps one time we may have dinner with our wives and share such a bottle.” Serban said with another chuckle. “I hope you have been well since our last meeting?”

“Mostly well,” Zossi conceded. “Our bedroom in the embassy has been having a problem with one of the circulation vents. Keeps kicking up a terrible racket and I’ve reported it three times now to maintenance, I think. I almost have half a mind to fix it myself.”

He laughed, resting his hands on his legs. Though the Azhani and the Sydonian baron were both humans, Zossi and Serban could not look further apart. Zossi’s skin was a dark bronze with a hint of olive undertone, with hazel eyes and curly, black hair. The shape of his face, his very features themselves, were unique to Azhani space: Millenia of divergent evolution resulted in slightly shrunken eye sockets, more pronounced cheekbones and a softer jaw and chin line. Each of these expressions were minor in the scheme of humanity, but between the Azhani people and their fellow human neighbors, it revealed a deeper distinction in the political rifts between them.

“I suppose they’re just busy,” he followed. “The wife and I are fine otherwise. The Nexus fortunately provides quite a wide distinction of foods and clothing. When we were still in Azha it was a bit more trying to find more appropriate dietary options for Etena.”

“When my vents get clogged up I have the lad beat it with a stick.” The baron said with a hearty chuckle. “I’m sure that is at least a relief, if either of you need anything feel free to ask or visit me, I’m sure Charlotte would enjoy the company.” The old soldier said with a smile sipping his drink

“What a quaint solution to such a simple problem. But surely maintenance should do something, though I guess as much, considering the state of the Government sector, perhaps it is not surprising.” Yesen butted in, “Regardless, I have never left such a matter to Nexus workers, why would I debase my standing when I could pay for supreme private quality?”

As the group talked with another, the clean white orb of Ambassador Salar hovered closer, with a slight sound of puttering and purring of the Shell’s hover engine, and an emotionless glare of its cyclopic lens.

“Now that there is a lull in the events, I greet you at last, fellow ambassadors” the orb said with a flash of its lens with each word. “And a jubilant holiday. It is gratifying to see you all here again.”

“Ah, Salar, back from the homeland are we?” Yesen said, he was not exactly excited to see a parasite, but he had learned to fake the pleasantness well enough, “Was your trip enjoyable? Would you care to join us, we have plenty of room for you to take a spot.”

The orb just stared at Yesen, unblinking but its lens almost seeming to contract and zoom in. Salar then angled down to look at the surroundings from its hovering position. They then turned back.

“We would be delighted,” they beeped out in a slightly higher, more energetic voice compared to their neutral greeting, as they inched closer and hovered slightly down. “My return to the homeworld was a reinvigorating time, I thank you for your inquiry. May I pose my own inquiry, regarding your current discussion?”

“Liquor and the miserable state of Nexus maintenance, provincial things, you see?” Yesen said.

“How… quaint,” Salar replied.

Serban eyed the worm sphere for a moment with a raised eyebrow before giving a nod. “Ambassador Salar, a pleasure to see you once more.”

Zossi gave a similar expression, bobbing his head respectfully. “I hope the celebrations are treating you well, Salar? I’d offer you some of our, ah, Concordian brandy but you know, it’s the thought that counts. Hmm?”

Fortunately the Dae orb was built the way it was, since there were no other empty seating around the round table to accommodate the sphere itself.

“I appreciate your considerations,” Salar chirped, but their tone became somber afterwards, “I admit though a fear that my species' lack of ability to partake in the provided forms of sustenance leaves others, shall I say, ill at ease. The ability to actually consume ‘food’ seems to have a positive impact on interactions. I further admit that because of this, it may be more advantageous at times to assign an organic-joined Kin.”

Yesen’s brow raised, though the gesture was disguised largely by his mask, then a smirk appeared across his face, only visible from the sides of his mask.

“Yes, that seems to be a considerable disadvantage to your current situation,” Yesen said, his words laced with playful venom, “Indeed, imagine if you had the ideological strength to actually command, take that which should belong to you. To simply enforce your will would improve your experience of the world tenfold.”

Salar’s lens squinted at Yesen, and the color of it seemed to take on a more purplish tone.

“While I’m sure you are joking, the exertion of will and domination oft does more harm than it does good. Take the Commonwealth, whole practices of forcing the hands of others to join its enlightening bloc brewed resentment, and I’m sure that Thaull has its fair share of rebellions. And my own Radical Kin, who pervert Truth and have abandoned the sanctity of the Living History and Greater Reason.”

Serban scoffed. “I’ll hear no sympathizing with the separatist cause in my presence if you may Ambassador Salar.” The old general said, taking a sip of his brandy.

With the last of the Ambassadors arrived and greeted, Tol Zuhida made his way through the crowd, his unnatural bulk clearing the way as he walked towards the far end of the main hall, where a small stage had been raised so that musicians might perform for the assembled dignitaries. He spoke a few words to the musicians already on stage, who had been performing a few old Theian ballads as the ambassadors arrived, but they quickly cleared the stage as the main event prepared to begin. Zuhida himself withdrew from the stage and watched it apprehensively, eager to see just what a third of his quarterly budget had paid for.

On the stage quietly appeared a live band, an unusual and lavish expense since most musical performances on the civilian sectors of the Nexus were pre-recorded holographic displays, with a tendency towards virtual avatars and extravagantly edited performances. Here, however, the Adotovics spared little expense in order to present the appearance of a welcoming holiday to all of the various dignitaries and embassy staff in attendance, and provided for the presence of renowned Nexus performer Nexus az Chisjae. A best-selling musician and hip-hop artist with multiple platinum hits, Chisjae, who went by his professional stage name Chisjae Kral, was renown for his approach of combining Theian musical motifs with Lareshi synthetic riffs, often combining and threading together various genres and instruments into high-tempo, rhythmic performances. His last two albums, Livin’ Like an Outcast and Malsari Blues were far-reaching hits, enabling Chisjae to take an extended leave of production for two years to work on his most recent development, remixing Theian traditional popular performances into modern media.

It was due to this sudden turn in genre styles and approach that caused Chisjae to be hired for the celebration, and the rare live performance did not spare a moment of intensity. Chisjae was carried out on a small wheeled-platform, the short gaim wearing a green coat in the appropriation of an old duster, and his exosuit and helmet were colored in bronze and black trim. He stood with a stout posture, his arms akimbo and resting on small hook-mounts built into his suit. Holographic smoke and lighting filled the stage as the live band kicked off the performance, opening with the riffs to a pre-stellar age Theian performance which Chisjae had personally remixed into a complex heavy drum beat with alternating hi-hat sequences; an artificial enveloping decay was introduced, reminiscent of songs from Theia, but had been familiarized with modern audiences by introducing a quicker, underlying synthetic tone alongside the drumming.

In the midst of this, Chisjae sang in a high-pitched voice, rendering a performance at a steady rate of one hundred and eighty words a minute, synthesized by his helmet’s modulator. In a mixture of Lareshi and decrepit universal Theian that would have agitated any linguistic experts in the nonsensical usage of Theian words, Chisjae enthused a wonderful reimagination of ancient human performances for a modern, multicultural audience. As the hasty chorus came to a close, and a line of back up singers behind Chisjae, ranging from humans to Lareshi, vasuroi and even a zevron baritone trilled a non-lexical backing track, the gaim artist took a step forward as his maneuver platform brought him to the edge of the stage.

“Good day all my esteemed guests of the Nexus embassy staff!” He exclaimed, pointing his arms upwards. “And a shout out to our most gracious hosts, the Adotovic staff here that made this possible. You know Theian music… it is my passion, it really is something else. Just something wonderful! You all have a great party, keep it honest!”

And with that he rode the platform back into the center and resumed his performance.

A little over an hour later at the end of Chisjae’s performance Ambassador Zuhida took the stage, ignoring the thoughts that had begun to flood his mind of firing Lector Reylus for hiring the gaim and wasting a third of their budget on whatever that was. Instead he purged those thoughts from his mind and instead offered a polite nod and led a final round of applause for the performer, who bowed graciously, and he began his speech before the gaim could be convinced to begin an encore.

“The Adotovic embassy once again extends its thanks to Chisjae Kral and his performance here tonight in celebration of Theian Unification day!” The tone the Ambassador used for public speaking was much louder, and, in Zuhida’s own opinion, far too expressive than any other tone he regularly used. Like all his other voices, it held echoes of his original flesh voice, but here they sounded wrong, emphasizing the wrong chords that he had never favored before he underwent his original augmentations. To his ears, this was the most false of all his voices. Still, it was the loudest and thus must be used to cover such a titanic space as the main embassy hall.

“On behalf of the Conclave of Adotov, I want to thank you all for celebrating this Unification day with us, as we remember the values that our forefathers first sought the stars with, those of brotherhood, peace and unity!” Again the platitudes triggered a foul response in his brain, but it seemed to go over well enough with the crowd, who offered cheers and raised their glasses in a toast.

“Let us strive to honor the original Theian unifiers as we pursue a new age of peace and unity for the galaxy and the Commonwealth, and as we continue our fight against those who would deny us these values, let us raise our glasses in celebration of those who hold the line against tyranny and facism and who will never rest until the light of freedom shines across the galaxy!” The room roared their approval as they downed their drinks, and they cheered and clapped as Zuhida stepped off the stage and the musicians began a new round of songs.

As the crowd refilled their drinks and listened to the musicians perform old Theian ballads, Ambassador Zuhida pulled aside an embassy staffer and delivered instructions that Ambassadors Prannr, Yesen, Salar and Serban were to be invited to Zuhida’s personal study for a private drink. The truth behind the invitation was that he had sensitive information concerning the war against the Romans to share with his nation's allies, and he had used the Unification day celebrations as an excuse to get all their Ambassadors under one roof without arousing too much suspicion from their enemies.

The Ambassador’s study was a large space, more out of necessity than any personal preference on Zuhida’s part. The walls were decorated with darkly polished Tendrakkian oak wood panels, and the floor was covered with carpets imported from Heldulain. Behind the Ambassador's desks were shelves piled high with various data pads and digital imprints, and his private mind prison interface was atop the desk, loaded with the collected writings and works of the original Forge Lectors that Zuhida had been working his way through for the better part of a month.

As he sat in a sturdy metallic chair behind his desk he debated entering the mind prison and spending a year finishing the personal prayer book of Forge Lector Heldarax that he had started this morning, but he decided against it. Emerging from the mind prison always left him delirious for hours afterwards, and he needed his wits about him as he met with the Ambassadors.

He waited impatiently as the four Ambassadors filed in one after another, and set themselves down in comfortable chairs that had been retrieved for this situation. Thoughtlessly he issued an order for his thirteen Sigil Guardsmen to protect this room alone while the Ambassadors were meeting, and he indulged in a moment of quiet pride as he noted the Guardsmen confirm their orders through the data stream and move to positions surrounding the study.

He returned his mind to the present and addressed the assembled dignitaries, using the tone he noted most closely resembled his original flesh voice, what he might call the most personable and human as he said,

“Gentlemen, thank you for agreeing to join me and private, I know you all must be eager to return to the party, so we’ll make this quick.” He produced from the desk five glasses and a bottle of vintage Hyperkos brandy, the finest in the Conclave. He poured precisely equal portions into each glass and placed them in front of each Ambassador, even the Dae Ambassador so as not to potentially cause a diplomatic incident by refusing to pour their representative a drink. Zuhida quietly devoted seven cycles of his processing power, a mere fraction of a fraction, to silently recite ten thousand binary prayers, in a vain attempt that he would soon be relieved of the Ambassadorship.

He raised his own glass high and toasted,

“To Adotov, Azha, Thaull, Dae and the Sydonian Estates! May they stand unwavering till the blessed day of Restoration.” He drained his own glass into his ‘mouth’ and waited for the Ambassessors to finish their own before continuing,

“As I’m sure you’ve all already guessed, I did not ask you gentlemen here just for the honor of your company, there are matters of state to discuss.” Zuhida took his seat at his desk and pulled a data slate from a locked drawer and held it aloft as he spoke, “What I am holding is the strategic overview of the Adotovic front against the Roman Reich, and it goes without saying that this is highly classified information that is not to leave this room, save for your official superiors.”

He placed the slate upon the desk and activated it, and immediately holographic displays of several dozen stars burst into life, individual fleets and their movements highlighted as Zuhida zoomed in on planet after planet, each one contested by the Romans and the Adotovics.

“This is the current state of the war as of two weeks ago. There hasn’t been a significant change of territory in almost six years. Adotovic ground forces are engaging both Roman regulars and Kalakari remnants on their worlds of Bingwen, Tuxuan and Nuwa III, while they have invaded our planets Zagros Alpha, Versios Gamma and Themon Rho. Fleet actions are sporadic, neither ourselves or the Romans are willing to risk major assets in an actual confrontation, so both sides stick to skirmishes while running supplies to armies on both sides of the border.”

“Gentlemen, it is the opinion of the Lector Dogmatix and the Conclave in its entirety that this situation is no longer acceptable, that the stalemate must be broken and the Romans expelled from our space. To this end, my superiors have asked me to formally request that you make recommendations to your respective governments in favor of renewed offensives across your own borders, to spread thin the Roman fleet and relieve pressure from our own front.”

“As much the Emperor loves pointless wars with no sign of glorious victory, is this a request of a full on offensive or merely materiel support?” Yesen asked, clicking the golden claws of his cybernetic arms on the table, “It is a simple task to provide ships, drones, and guns. I’m sure his Emperor would even be pleased to authorize a number of Thaullen fleets and armies to engage in raiding and various tactical movements along the Roman border with our block, but winning a war is another matter altogether. If the Conclave demands a war of movement, then we expect a plan on how you intend to win this war.”

Lord Yesen leaned back in his chair, briefly glancing at his now empty glass, before settling his attention on one of the holographic projections, “One must even consider our situation, should we wholeheartedly throw in against the Romans, the Aruthians may see our block as being vulnerable and believe it now time to strike and cement their last victory while we are stuck in a two-front war.”

“Ah, yes,” the Azhani Zossi started, shuffling in his chair as he inspected the holographic display of the frontline. “Is this… strategy exclusively requiring the provisioning of new fronts, or would it be a viable outcome to organize reinforcements and garrison support to these besieged worlds? It is markedly easier to transport armies of troops in short notice than it is to organize comprehensive fleet actions.”

“The Navarchos’ believe that our frontline is relatively stabilized and requires no reinforcement or garrisoning at this time. And you are both correct that organizing major fleet actions requires a great deal of time. I would like to clarify that what we are asking is for the opening of several new fronts against the Romans and to a lesser extent the Aruthians, but we would not ask our allies to shoulder this burden alone as we have shouldered the brunt of the Roman attacks.”

“To understand just what Adotov is asking you to consider, I’ll explain the proposed actions our strategic command would like each of your governments to consider.” Zuhida focused the display on three systems, Adotovic Arkhuul, Roman Yuchen and Sydonian Volstrix. He gestured at Ambassador Serban and spoke,

“Beginning with the Sydonians, an offensive into the Yuchen system would deny the enemy a valuable stronghold along the hyper lane network, and it would significantly cut down on the transit time our fleets take to move across our space. If the Sydonians commit to an assault, the first, second and sixth battle fleets from battle group Arkhuul will be dispatched to assist the Estates in taking the system.” The holograph zoomed out and focused on six systems to the south the Adotovic border, colored red and labeled as ‘Enemy Fundamentalist Forces’.

“This is the Conclave of Osmor, an enemy sect of Fundamentalists that have aligned with the Romans against Adotov. Their forces mainly focus on defending their border and harassing our patrols, but we can’t rule out the possibility that they may attempt an offensive during our assault, either on Adotovic worlds or Sydonians. This is why the majority of Battlegroup Arkhuul will be remaining on the Osmorian border, to dissuade them from an attempt to link up with their Roman masters.” The display shifted again until it settled on the Azhani Roman border worlds, and Zuhida shifted in his seat slightly to address Ambassador Prannr and Ambassador Salar,

“As for Azha and the Dae, an offensive into the Haoyu and Aiguo systems would cost the Romans dearly, and in combination with our assault on Yuchen would significantly cripple Roman military effectiveness. The Neanderthal clans represent an unpredictable variable, and as the Ambassador to the nation that has had the most contact with them I will defer to your judgment when it comes to strategic decisions with them, Ambassador Prannr.” Lastly the display moved to Thaull, and the long region of border worlds they had fought over with the Aruthians.

“As Ambassador Yesen pointed out, we cannot afford to overextend our hand by focusing solely on our Roman foes, lest the Aruthians launch their own attack on Thaull. We might hope that our offensive into Roman territory will cost them enough that the Aruthians will abandon their cease fire and attack their old foes, but we cannot bet on this. They might just as easily see an exposed flank in our own alliance and attack us instead. As such, Thaullen forces would instead be used to secure the border with the Aruthians, to make themselves an unappealing target for Aruthian aggression. We are not asking for an offensive on your front, Ambassador Yesen, as you would be bereft of your allies support, but instead we ask for a strengthening of your current front against our other foe. Of course, if any of you gentlemen have any opinions or strategic objections, now is the time to voice them.”

Zossi Apandi observed the holographic display for some time, consuming all of what the part-mechanical Zuhida had expressed to them. To this effect he admired the appearance of plans within plans that the Adotovics idealistically envisioned. Ignorant of our respective positions, he thought, knowing that the Thaullens would not be so easily convinced to send large contingents of their fleets out of their own territory with the rumblings of resurgent Commonwealth forces in the Laresi Core posing a threat. Even beyond that was the personal contention: Zossi represented the Azhani Union, which had participated in pitched battles against the Romans for decades with virtually little development. The curse of apathy had settled in.

He faced the Adotovic ambassador to speak but hesitated, and in a hushed tone whispered back and forth with one of the service droids that accompanied him to the session. The droid spoke in a sweet, melodic modulation; professional yet with a tone could have gone easily with perfume and incense. Between them they consulted in whispers, and Zossi remained in this way for a time until he finally felt satisfied to speak on the matter.

“Though we fully endorse the measures of war against the URR, Arch Lector, the requests made to the Azhani are not in consideration of our previous contributions to this effort, and our also previous attempts to secure Haoyu and Aiguo. The materiel costs of engaging in these prolonged campaigns have been monumental in the last few decades alone, with very little actual tangible results. Part of these complications have come from the Roman fleet itself.”

Zossi explained, tapping his fingers softly on the table where his now empty drink was served. He had an undeniably cautious tone in his voice, but was genuine in his attempt to traverse the awkwardness of the war reality in the past several years.

“We have not managed to sufficiently occupy the battle space of either system, or prevent the Romans from engaging in their usual ‘flight and respond’ style of warfare.”

He paused here to have the service droid rattle off in its sweet voice a few statistics regarding the situation of the front. The rate of organic casualties had reached the low millions, with the destruction of entire task groups in prolonged engagements with the Roman fleets in the systems. It was not without pride that Zossi interjected to say that they had given just as harshly a similar rate to the Romans, but both nations retained the industrial capabilities of easily replacing their losses. The production of combat droids for the war effort had its own issues too, though the politics of the matter was left out of the droid’s statistical allowance and the machine only emitted a few data points regarding the difficulty in maintaining a positive or neutral manufacture-destruction rate.

“Some of our core issues rely, I think, on the… different conditions we face at these two systems.” The ambassador started slowly, “Both of them have a significant insurgency presence in the form of the Kalakari remnants, both as civilian-turned-militia and paramilitary associations that have their origins in the units that refused to accept surrender. To this date we have been unable to successfully contact and negotiate any form of agreeable arrangement with them. Our reputation does not necessarily play a conducive role either: In 6729 we made significant headway with our landings on Aiguo II, it’s an industrial world, you can pull it up on the visual again.”

He waited and then continued, “Our autonomous divisions were initially beset by various complications in carrying out a full occupation of the planet. The industrial sectors had been mostly destroyed by prior Roman invasions during the old war. The local inhabitants, whether Roman or Kalakari, proved to be unagreeable with our directives and local ground forces were authorized to apply lethal force in encouraging compliance. In retrospect… we were perhaps too eager in many of these directives since we had fought a prolonged system-wide naval engagement with Roman fleet forces for a few years to reach the point of an actual landing in the first place. These decisions resulted in the Kalakari inhabitants actively turning against our occupation authorities, and Aiguo II effectively became a strategic mess. This has reduced the eagerness of any other Kalakari insurgents to cooperate with us. Part of the reason our Aiguo II campaign was withdrawn.”

“Beyond this, Aiguo and Haoyu are beset with criminal and privateering elements that complicated many of our smaller landings, and have cooperated with both Roman and insurgent forces to aggravate our successes.”

Serban listened, watching each ambassador say their piece before he shifted his cigar over to the side of his mouth and downing what was left in his glass before standing. “First to begin, I commend your people in keeping up the fight Ambassador Zuhida.” He paused, weighing his words carefully before speaking again.

“While I fully support bringing the Romans and Aruthians to heel, there are those amongst the Estates who the horrors of the war have made uneasy about continuing it. Especially after the siege of Volstrix which neither the planet nor the nation has fully recovered from.” He said himself using the display to emphasize his words. “From personal experience the last push we did into the Yuchen system ended poorly and with many men and women of Sydonia dying on a Kalakari world for little gain, but I will speak with the Lords of the Assembly and the Lord Protector perhaps then we could shake off the stupor they seemed to have fallen into.”

“You must simply compel them to obey,” Lord Yesen stated, “A renewed interest in the restoration of the Commonwealth will surely bring them back brimming with enthusiasm for a swift victory. However, while your efforts will certainly be of great importance, and ours as well, Thaull falls in a strange position. While holding the Aruthians at bay is of importance, perhaps the Empire can do more to help in the ground war.”

Lord Yesen gestured at Zossi’s assistant drone, “If the Azhani assist Thaull in making our domestic drone industry more robust, then not only can we provide assistance in this regard, but Azhani factories will be more available to provide forces for both their front and the fronts in Adotov and the Estates. Surely Zossi Apandi will agree that this is a reasonable course of action.”

“I think the klesya would have no fundamental issues with this. I will have to speak to my superiors first, but I think it is certainly arrangeable.”

“The industrial capacities of Tanidar’s Armillary are not to be discounted either. Within only a few years, our own fleets have been bolstered and the introduction of new fabrication technologies continues to only hasten our production,” the floating orb of Salar interjected. “We are, afterall, masters of drone creation in our own right. All may simply commission our own yards for their ship and synthetic creations with the provision of schematics, and it will by no means hamper the Communion’s efforts. If it is further required, the Chorus is ready to test our fleets on the Romans and Aruthians, but still there is uncertainty here within Corespace with Laresh and its wayward Cliques, with the agreeable exemption of Kijmin of course, so more make that if it is necessary.”

Zuhida said nothing for a moment, the processing power of his mind focused on recording and archiving the AMbassadors response to what he said and the state of their own war fronts, until at last he spoke,

“Thank you all once again for your honest counsel and the information you have freely given. The next step would be for all of you to report back to your superiors, as I will relay what you have told me to the Conclave. I suspect we will all be seeing a lot more of each other in the coming months, so instead I invite you to return to the main celebration in time for the finale we’ve planned. I’ll follow in a few minutes”

He waited for each Ambassador to get up and leave, rising to shake their hands as they left and once the room was empty, he fell back into his seat and ignored the horrible creaking sound the metal chair made. The conversation with the Ambassadors had completed its digitization, and he uploaded it onto a data slate and marked it ‘confidential’, then set it aside for a courier to pick up in the morning to send it to an Adotovic ship that would take it to the Conclave. He wished he could just send it over interstellar comms, but such sensitive wartime information could not risk being intercepted, so it moved in person.

Perhaps the worst part of ascension to the blessed machine was that Zuhida could no longer engage in most human displays of frustration, such as rubbing his temples or sighing deeply. Instead he took out his personal mind prison and, checking the time with his augmetics, determined he had enough time for a three year study of Lector Heldarax’s prayer book before he would be needed for the grand finale in ten minutes. He attached the mind prison to his skull and let its gentle hum lead him away from his office and the job of Ambassador, and he smiled at the tranquility he felt, had he still the ability to smile.

May 5 2024 Map Update