The Coalition Empire

; It would be different for any other person who names themselves of the Coalition’s own, to be on Scatter. For Regievko, though, Scatter was a planet of homey warmth and seclusion, of protection. The wind biting at him was enough to remind him of the childhood spent on the planet in isolation, years spent in training to lead the nation that had ordered the planet evacuated and depopulated so long ago. He knew the men and women around him now, and had known them since he was a child. Some of them had knew Regievko longer than he knew who he really was. He made a note of the environment skin’s exhaustion as he was ushered through a great entrance dotted by candlelight and whispering prayers.

“Thank you, Squire. “ While Regievko pulled the breathing helmet from over his head, the large cold-weather coat was helped off of him by a young Scatterran garbed in the similar, but much lighter and cleaner, environment equipment before Josef looked up to see a Deacon approaching Regievko through the atrium.

“Prime Minister, so good to see you again ... your friend, the Belkan, he has arrived.” The man replied, walking to the Hykan and shaking his hand with a beaming smile before Regievko looked forward to two large doors leading to the Scripture Hall.

“Very good, Deacon. It’s been too long.” Regievko said, following the Deacon and entering the great hall with the Deacon in front of him. As he entered, the lighting did little to reveal the true glory of the hall, great paintings of the historical foundation of Scatter lining the halls before reaching the podium set in front of a statue, a titan carrying a great blade, that rose up into the dark ceiling above.

An otherwise unremarkable patron entered the ancient hall, the stone walls and arches, despite their age and strength, seemed to buckle and bow in the slightest hints as he slowly stepped by - black boots polished to a sheen slithering from beneath the skirt of his onyx overcoat with each step. Row by row of pews passed by until the Scatterran reached the third from the first, nary a noise coming from his form as he moved to sit, white-gloved hands pinching the fiber visor of his cap to reveal a healthy head of Austran hair, parted professionally from years of practice.

Lightly did the cover find itself sitting in the man's lap, his left leg crossed with his right. A quick glance from one of the nearby holy men was soon silenced and sent back to its place with a cold glare, his hands concerned with drawing the cherry rosary from his mantel's breast pocket as he returned his gaze to what lay before him - an artifact of the time before. One of the many relics the churches so proudly held in the days before the Exodus, proof that God's Empire was once mighty.

Once powerful enough to rival his own.

Silently did his fingers rub the wooden beads, the gilded triangle hanging from the bottom of the cord jostling slightly with the effort.

; It would be different for any other person who names themselves of the Coalition’s own, to be on Scatter. For Regievko, though, Scatter was a planet of homey warmth and seclusion, of protection. The wind biting at him was enough to remind him of the childhood spent on the planet in isolation, years spent in training to lead the nation that had ordered the planet evacuated and depopulated so long ago. He knew the men and women around him now, and had known them since he was a child. Some of them had knew Regievko longer than he knew who he really was. He made a note of the environment skin’s exhaustion as he was ushered through a great entrance dotted by candlelight and whispering prayers.

“Thank you, Squire. “ While Regievko pulled the breathing helmet from over his head, the large cold-weather coat was helped off of him by a young Scatterran garbed in the similar, but much lighter and cleaner, environment equipment before Josef looked up to see a Deacon approaching Regievko through the atrium.

“Prime Minister, so good to see you again ... your friend, the Belkan, he has arrived.” The man replied, walking to the Hykan and shaking his hand with a beaming smile before Regievko looked forward to two large doors leading to the Scripture Hall.

“Very good, Deacon. It’s been too long.” Regievko said, following the Deacon and entering the great hall with the Deacon in front of him. As he entered, the lighting did little to reveal the true glory of the hall, great paintings of the historical foundation of Scatter lining the halls before reaching the podium set in front of a statue, a titan carrying a great blade, that rose up into the dark ceiling above.

The minister's counterpart remained still, not seeing the need to move from his position; the Belkan having proven far too engrossed in his concentration to really mind the happenings of the church and its inhabitants. No, the obsolete establishment was of little concern to him, unlike the artifact. When Scatter was his again, when Belka once again knew the feet of her children, it would be his, and no others'. Already some part of his fair skin crawled knowing that the land, this once-holy place, was now considered the dominion of the heathen Coalition.

The Austran pondered how it would feel in his hands, to caress the crystalline form in his weathered palms, to hold the remnants of God's existence and crush it. What better way to prove his new dominion than to eliminate the old? The flames of jealousy licked at the back of his mind, the air of devotion and dedication contaminating the place about him inciting a light illness to him, akin to the smell of rotting flesh.

A light snap rung through the hall as he called without bothering to look at the man approaching over his shoulder.

"Good day, minister."

A clatter soon followed as the rosary hit the floor without a second thought from the Emperor.

; Regievko’s feet made a somber echo through the hall, the Deacon now following behind him with a hand around a tome in his grasp. The Belkan was the only other in the Scripture Hall, the great stone figure of Scatter reaching high above them making the men look more like specks of sand. As he heard the Belkan Emperor, he took one hand out from the greatcoat and waved to the man as he walked down the line of pews.

“Emperor Kampf, glad to see you have made it.” He said while taking the last heavy article from his shoulders and putting it onto the pew opposite the aisle. While the Deacon moved forward, opening to a page in the tome, Regievko took a seat opposite Kampf and laid his hands into his lap. For a moment he was quiet, only his breathing and the coldness of the air making fog in front of his mouth.

“I was here for a few months before the Aschen had launched their invasion, and it hasn’t changed since I was last here for a while twenty years ago ... it hasn’t changed for six hundred years.” Regievko ended with a somber voice, a hand reaching down to one of the bibles on the back of the pew.

Kampf echoed the man's movements, taking a bible from the back of the pew and opening it to the first page, looking over the printing information as he answered the man. His voice seemed as monotone as usual, though an undertone of concealed irritation did linger, "... glad to be here, minister." A flip of a page, the first verses of the scripture laid out before him, his emerald gaze quickly darting across the ancient words, absorbing their message with little concern.

"No," The autocrat commented further, "I can't say it's changed since I had last seen it either." He blinked, his left hand moving to the cuff of his tunic, digging out the edge of his leather glove. "... though I enjoy it all the same." With a light effort did his pale hand come free of the dressy gauntlet, soon sat properly beside him in the pew as it returned to the book in his lap, the leather binding squeaking with the slightest noise at the pressure.

"... and thus did he fall, murdered in his prime by the one he knew as brother."

The bass voice reverberated through the hall with little effort, the finger that had traced the words on the paper soon summoning a harsh tear, ripping the page from the book and crumpling it in his fist, a single golden wedding band sitting atop it.

"The strong shall always usurp the weak..." He paused for a moment, Josef blinking for a moment as he drew his gaze from the bible below him to the man sitting opposite, pondering momentarily just how strong the minister's constitution was as he inquired of him, an eyebrow cocked in curiosity.

"... don't you think so, minister?"

; Regievko continued thumbing through the bible as the silence around them gave way to a conversation only two men would ever remember. He followed silently in thought at the scripture, first looking to the pages with focus and then resolution. The book laid in his lap for a moment while he glanced to the statue reaching high above him, the Prime Minister seated underneath the stone carvings of large chains binding the angel of Scatter, wrapped around his body with a tight grip while the sword in his other hand was aimed back at him.

“Weakness isn’t a trait of the pure ... the truly, humane and just.” Regievko’s response was calm but specific, his voice less grand and compounding but guarded with a slight consecration.
“Strength’s a tool of wrong and right, though. It’ll say in the book right there.”

Regievko leaned back against the pew, trying for what little warmth he could find in the light coat he wore now. As he began removing large snow gloves, the Prime Minister held them both in one hand and laid them at his side.

“This planet was weak as it was left by our kind all that time ago, and now all of humanity is broken and scattered through this galaxy fighting amongst themselves for little better than scraps.”

"I'm afraid," Started the Belkan, returning to the book below him only to close the cover with a light thump, like a body falling to the ground. "That my book adheres to a different gospel, minister Regievko." A finger tapped the cover for a moment, creating a slow, monotonous beat. "Weakness is nothing more than the physical embodiment of inferiority," The matter of fact tone emerged from his lips as he rested an arm on the pew's small rest. "The visual evidence of genetic inferiority."

"Strength is an attribute - a quality of character - not a tool." The Emperor's voice provided a counter-balance to the Minister's: boisterous, bombastic, but certainly no less self-righteous, if not even moreso. "A rifle, a word, a man - those are tools, means of accomplishing goals. Strength is simply a concept used to drive the means to an end."

Kampf's gaze lingered on the Hykan, watching as an example of an otherwise hardy race lay near shivering. Ironic, in a way.

"Scatter is far from weak, minister, in its own right." Josef contradicted him if only for the sake of it, abandoning the bible as a target for his tapping, instead drawing his fingers over the smooth wood of the pew's arm. "You take it out of context, like so many other things, cousin minister. Scatter has recovered, and will always recover."

Josef blinked, looking up to the statue before shifting his even gaze to the Coalition's leader again, "But in comparison to a single Scatterran, it's nothing more than a ball of dust." A light smile crept onto his hawkish features, a face seemingly perfectly controlled, abnormality absent.

"I can burn worlds as easily as bibles."

; Regievko finally let his arms loose and put them on the back of the pew around him, letting his jacket out while letting the warmth from two little heat packets flow through him, knuckles clutching around a small synthetic packet in his palm while the statue reached up above them. Regievko’s placid features were obscured by the faint light around them, but his breathing was an audible whisper through the hall before he ever began speaking.

“Quite true, though, of how much we are truly capable of. Wasting worlds of beauty and wonder for matters we only form in our ideologies ... “ He began flexing his palms lightly to grant himself better heat, his liveliness beginning to return to him.

“But not this planet, though, not us. You and me both know, as men of the same stock -- nothing about our nations and our people changes the fact we are of the same earth.” Regievko said with an almost sympathetic hint, taking his hands towards his body now.

“Scatter has recovered because we have been the ones watching it recover. The Coalition has been the foundation with which the only remnants of our people in existence has remained. The Aschen ... Terrans ... these other things that call themselves human ... are not aware of what it is to call themselves man, Kampf.”

"Because, cousin, they are not; they are vermin."

Kampf declared such a matter as fact, for it was of no doubt in his mind. "They dare to consider themselves on par with you, Regievko, you - the spawn of demons compared to a son of God." The Belkan made no move to raise his voice, rather simply placing emphasis on his words. "They can never hope to compete with you, to declare themselves your equal." There was no doubt in his mind what was meant by this statement, but whether the Coalite would know that he spoke of the abomination that now inhabited the child named Raphael McGregor.

Rogue lieutenants had no place in his Hegemony.

"I know you believe we are here to show them what it is, cousin, it is your crusade. There is no questioning you or your people's devotion to seeing it to the end, but..." Kampf raised the question, a single finger raised, "Were that they were destined to survive, to exist in the tumultuous realm that is our galaxy, why are they so easily exterminated? So simple to outwit and decimate?" The green eyes lay on the Hykan for a moment, gauging his mentality.

"I know I didn't forge the Belkan race to stand by as the proverbial uncle of incompetent, inbred invalids tarry about the stars thinking themselves the greatest gift that I or any of their heathen Gods had bestowed on the galaxy. No. Belkans, Azriks, Scatterrans exist for no reason other than to dominate; to prove the masters of these pitiful creatures."

; Regievko glanced to the statue looming above him when he put both his hands in his lap, eyes closed for a moment in thought while the Belkan spoke. Regievko’s gaze came back to the Scatterran across from him. While he listened the Hykan was silent in contempt, but made his best to stand by until he was ready to speak in return.

“This is all painfully true ... six hundred years this galaxy, the pinnacle of human existence, has been the playground of ignorance and tyranny.” Regievko said, a gesture with his hand reaching up to the statue in front of them.

“No architecture of non-Scatterrans will last two hundred and eighty thousand years to be discovered by another generation of great ancestors. And no other race of man will say they sent brothers and sisters into the darkness of space with the home so broke around them.”

As Regiekvo played a silent tune on the leather of the book in his lap with a finger he shook his head and a sense of pity came upon him while trying to find the words and speak again. He looked to the great obelisk one more time and saw a break in the chains holding the titan’s arm.
“And that is why no race can be what we truly are yet, not without us realizing where we belong.”

Josef drew an arm about him, gesturing not to the church, but the space that surrounded the two titans on the pews. "The ore lays all about us, cousin." The galaxy was there for the taking, held in the hands of incompetent and foolish races, machinations and automatons of beings long-forgotten and obsolete. "All it needs are Scatterrans hands to shovel it into the furnace of war, the crucible of conflict. Through it, cousin Josef..."

He paused, smiling as his expression softened, "... we can smelt it into something truly beautiful." A Scatterran galaxy, in their name and no others'. That was what Kampf desired, save for one detail - that it lay under his dominion alone. "There is a reason why we recovered the archives, why we are here and they are not." Kampf paused in his quiet verbal assault, sighing as he considered the state of affairs, how his nation stood ready to plunge this galaxy into the fires of war the likes of which it had not seen for millions of years.

"Then minister... where do we belong?"

; Regievko took a deep breath while he digested the topic between them and the gravity of the weight now forming upon the men of government who heralded the lives of trillions, countless more in masses so far removed. As he thought his eyes narrowed and his nostrils flared just a bit, the ideas of the galaxy as a place greater than it now was enough to blind him at the words that came around it.

“The Union of Prosperity will have means for war, Emperor, but we will be clear and irresolute with this military. These oars will be commanded by men of heart and thought that will see the prosperity of our cousins that are so dirty and beneath us, as you grant.” He said while he put his hands against the back of the pew in front of him, adjusting his legs while looking at a mural at a near wall of a man upon a great beach of sand; at a small plaque below, ‘the Kopenhein Peninsula, 1392‘ was written in several different languages.

“This McGregor ... the one you’ve just so happened to have killed a while ago ... under another auspice of war ... has earned the Aschen a punishment that must be administrated, that is not debated.” Regievko remarked, a wave of his hand to the Belkan near him.

“A Scatterran galaxy is a human galaxy, and Scatterrans are the allies of people deserving a chance to redeem themselves like the Terrans. A Scatterran galaxy is where supremacy lays with a just and powerful figure.”

"The hands of the Empire will not take up these oars without reason, minister." Most certainly not. No God-fearing Belkan or Azrik would take up arms in a war that would see them humiliated by allowing the beings they 'liberate' to remain free. That was not the way of the universe, that was not the way of the Hegemony. "The ship would lack a Belkan wind in her sails."

The God-King paused for a moment at the mention of the creature's name, a light twitch striking his nose for a moment causing a flicker in his expression. For a moment was the calm look of professionalism and imperial regality in his eyes, instead usurped by a vision of utter hatred - the evil that festered and grew inside the man, if he even was that anymore, and his once-mortal coil. But after that moment did it vanish, the monster having regained control over his body and the composure he so often exuded. "He will pay for his insolence... it is agreed, cousin."

Kampf's steely expression made that a point never to be doubted. "We will drink their blood from the skulls of our foes."

The man allowed his gaze to linger on the other leader for a moment longer before shifting it back in front of him, to the statue that so dwarfed even he - a giant among his people. "Only we will guide this galaxy to glory, Josef, and we alone. There stands no other now who could hope to match us or our potential, not even the Terrans you so proudly tout." His Austran features looked over the avatar of justice, of nobility.

How it made him ill.

"Then why should we not consider such people as the Rakistanis? Scatterran blood, a noble birth, or the Trantor, a people powerful and resourceful?" Kampf inquired, blinking as he pondered.

"Or Deep?"

Reclining in the chair slightly, Petros Zhirayr stubbed away the cigarette in the ashtray and planted his hands in front of him. The table stretched out in front of him, and his disgruntled appearance seemed to have an effect on several of the younger men seated on either side of him.

Gingerly, he leaned forward with one elbow on the table as his free hand made a simple gesture to the young Terran at the far end of the table, a brown-haired young lad at the helm of a holographic console. “Sorry for the bullshit son, go on, go on.”

“Surely, Minister Zhirayr -- “

“Call me Petros, kid.” With another gesture Petros laid his hands back onto the table together. In front of him a series of images projected into the air. A world spun in the inky cosmos, other images juxtaposed alongside it. A military convoy rolled through a dense, sprawling city and vehicles sat in a motorpool beside an image of food lines: a parent stood with a blanket around an emaciated child and took a small plate of food, it if could pass for that.

“ -- the consideration the Federal government is facing now is a … double-edged sword so to speak. While aid and funding to the Terran government has continued we’ve seen no improvement in the human development of the planet, instead … “ The young Terran folded his hands as an image of the TAF overwhelmed the others. “The Terran military has been quickly modernizing, without the same considerable advancements in the civilian sector. Foreign military forces, extragalactics, like the Varden have been safeguarding the infrastructure of the government and insulating them.”

“We poured billions into aid that’s been squandered on a military, with the express request modernization be forgone to focus precisely on the situations the Terrans have been neglecting since they gained independence. Other foreign actors have stepped into our former position, when the Terrans realized we wouldn’t arm them for a vengeance strike against the Aschen and Taiyou.” Chairman Kalimos was only a few seats away from Minister Zhirayr, fingers clutched to a cigar while he looked up from the tablet device on the table in front of him.

“Because we wouldn’t give the Terrans their shot at blood-for-blood, a less amiable group has. Now, we all know beyond the Garden things are less black and white but, simply walking on the condition that we assume these other actors will act with the same restraint as we did won’t serve us very well.” Kalimos continued as he set the cigar down to raise a glass to his lips.

“The Chairman is correct,” The Terran remarked quietly as the images disappeared and a readout of countless report filings filled a holographic box in the air. “Of course the Federal government has acted under the auspice that, legitimately, the government in Sol has a true right to build a military and coordinate with non-Coalition states for its mutual defense.”

“An extragalactic has no suitable reason to intervene simply ‘for the sake of helping Terra’.” The Chairman interjected as he finished the glass of scotch and placed it on the table in front of him. “If we’re to be held in contempt for garrisoning the planet when the Sol government has a military capable of defending its territory, the other state actors can be held for empowering the Terrans to utilize their aid in contradiction to what it was provided for -- rebuilding infrastructure and sustaining their civilian population, not arming and equipping a military for a tit-for-tat war of reprisals.”

“Regardless of their wrong-doing though, the Terran military may only be used for what the Terran government decides.” The young man stepped away from the command prompt at the far end of the table. “To quantify, it’s the Federal government’s obligation to suggest the Terrans use the aid they are being provided correctly.”

“Since independence, the Terrans have made it well known they will only cooperate when it suits them -- and specifically, at the expense of the Aschen or Taiyou. Unless we can convince them, in some way, it hurts the Aschen or Taiyou, the TNG doesn’t buy it.” Zhirayr said with a curt shrug, before looking more intently at one of the files on display in front of him. “You can’t be angry at someone who feels disenfranchised because we haven’t provided them the means to ‘level the playing field’.”

“We can be angry that they didn’t rise to their elected duties, however.” The Terrans remark made a few of the other Scatterrans in the room perk at the brass words of the nameless adjutant.

“True kid, very true -- they had the opportunity to take the highroad and instead they choose to get even. What does this mean to us, though?” Zhirayr met with a dry statement of his own. Eyes narrowed politely and a hand dismissed the report from in front of him.

“The Empire, plainly. As a guarded protectorate of the Coalition, and the largest UCON memberstate beyond the Garden, the consideration of Terran reprisals is a legitimate, clear and present threat.” The Terran replied.

“Affirmative, but the Empire isn’t one lonely planet like Sol. They can take care of themselves, without the Apparatus even, if need be.” Zhirayr knew what the adjutant would likely say next, however.

“Of course, but when the Terrans launch a vengeance campaign and the Empire is left high and dry the Federal government will be facing an outcry from the Garden nations. No matter how far away, we protect our own.”

“I like this one, where’d you find him Marsa?” A uniformed Lieutenant General blew smoke from his nose as he killed the cigarette into another ashtray just inches from him. “They had balls like this back in Sol maybe the TNG would be a lot better off.”

“So now the TNG has a crack military, falling on their obligations to the non-government sector, and isn’t hiding that they’ve not buried the hatchet. What … exactly are we trying to discuss here?”

As Zhirayr inquired several of the men exchanged glances with one another. Kalimos was seen rubbing the bridge of his nose before the uniformed Scatterran rose from his chair and gave the adjutant a gesture to be seated.

“What we would like to discuss, Minister, is the possible … ‘motivation’ of the TNG to back down from their aggression against not only Coalition memberstates, but states on the planet of Terra itself.”

Monika Davis-Sheffield, better known as Eos Paradigm and Liberator of Terra, remained quiet as the men discussed politics concerning her homeworld. Every time the woman thought of the state of Terra it made her furious. It had taken every ounce of her life had been given to birth the Terran National Government.

Now Eos Paradigm was ashamed and embarrassed to call herself a Terran. Many of the Federation Terrans felt the same as well. There were countless bodies beginning to call themselves 'Edenites' due to wanting to disassociate themselves with Terra altogether after absolving into UCON.

Monika was one of them.

“I agree,” said Monika after Kalimos spoke. She stood up from her own seat and folded her hands behind her back. The focus of her eyes were on her shined boots as she paced back and forth.

“There is an abundance of evidence that the TNG is not pressing forward with a focus on civilian sectors but rather their military. I have gotten reports of how insufficient this military is as well. Troops trained too fast or inadequately. The fear of oppression is still very strong in the Terran government and that fear alone is driving their motivations.

“The Federation embassies have also been quiet on Terra. There has been no outreach from the TNG to the Federation for any aid whatsoever, even though we are their big brother ally,” Monika explained to the gathering of men in the room. There was a clear distaste by the expression on her face.

“As to why the TNG has been quiet and not come seeking aid from the Federation is a mystery. There had been several reports from our embassies located in Wing City and other sectors on Terra of terrorists attacks throughout the planet. This alone shows the incapability the TNG has to even properly defending themselves despite their shiny new toys.

“So what is the TNG doing with the billions that was sent to Terra. Are they really expending it on upgrades to their military or perhaps those new developments are a white wash? I cannot really believe that the TNG would be that wet behind the ears to waste it on militant research and testing instead of proper training and stabilizing their civilian charges while terrorists run amok in their states.”

“Now, I am no politician but a tactician,” Monika confessed to the room. “I would think that after suffering the Galatic War the TNG would want to efficiently use their new military in order to quell any uprising in their states in order to solidify the foundation that was laid by my very own hand.

“The most alarming news from Terra sent to the Federation is how quiet the TNG has been since its establishment. There are rumors spreading that Terra is being run more by its military than by its politicians. The TNG has been silent despite the faulty activity of its military.”

Eos Paradigm stopped her pacing and sat down into her chair again.

“That leaves us with the question of what is happening within the TNG, if it still exists. We need to know if there is someone to motivate or if the entire federation government has fallen into anarchy due to neglect of its elected officials.”

In a cramped office room several kilometers away in Coalition City smoke hung against the ceiling, while a holographic projection against a wall ran through streams of imagery and audio on an accelerated speed. A young Americ planted his feet on the back of the chair in front of him, stubbing out the last cigarette before looking through the sheaf of papers strewn across the table amongst digital and holographic technology.

“Whoever the stupid fucks are that insist on keeping paper copies should be fucking shot.” Jacob von Rossa remarked coarsely, the Americ loosening the tie of his suit before laying the transcripts on the table. Across from him Edmund Nelson took a manila folder, clutching up the other papers as he brought them to his lap.

“Hard to believe people use a pen and paper.” Nelson’s voice was a sarcastic tone, the middle-aged administrative chairman nursing a cigar. Adjusting the reading glasses on the bridge of his nose the man used one thumb to flip through the parchments.

“Since it’s the paper this has came in on is the only reason it hasn’t reached Dauch already -- “ Another young suit, a Tarsan named Marshal Ellokt, shrugged his shoulders and dropped the handfuls of paper in both palms onto the table.

“Don’t even get me fucking started on what Dauch will do when he sees this.” Nelson wore a sick grin on his face while drawing one paper in particular and holding it underneath a light. “I’m just glad those ‘emergency powers’ are done with now -- you pussies couldn’t even handle any of this shit under Regievko.”

“Oh yeah, that’s great. Hark back to the old days when you could knife someone in the neck and just say he looked at you wrong when a fucking powder keg’s about to go up again.” Marshal ran his hands through the dark brown hair and held the back of his head. “First things first is this violates the previous protocol for the Local Region.”

“What, ‘stand back and let them all cut each other up and then we stack up the survivors and let ‘em do it again’?” Edmund’s gritty tone caused Jacob to tightly close his eyes and lay his head back.

“Hey look because you and those DM fucks thought it was a good idea to arm a bunch of hut-dwelling guppies against a fucking fascist empire doesn’t mean we’re obligated to clean up all the other shit you did outside the Garden.” Marshal pointed with a quick finger as he came away from the projection.

“What you want is the verification from Supreme Command. Shit like this won’t be moving around from a bunch of junior officer’s datapads.” Edmund replied shortly, replenishing himself with a glass of water, and continued staring down his nose. “Considering Petros was blindsided by this it’s safe to assume this idea is from the War College gameboard.”

“The War College at Tarnasius?” Jacob inquired as he laid the chair back onto its feet and turned his torso at the table. Reaching at a stack of copies he tried to look across to Edmund’s hand before spotting the heading stamp at the top of a page. The Military War College of Tarnasius still used parchment and ‘the traditional ways’ as an homage to ancestry and the past, but the ancient ways sat beside the most technologically advanced machine of war to ever fight across the galaxy.

“One and only, the Big Five under Gold Skies. Those crackpots in the Gaming Room work from all angles though, Dauch will just be flipping at guard dogs doing what guard dogs do.” Edmund said as he brought the cigar from his mouth. Placing the sheaf of paper into the manila folder he reached across the table to hand the folder to Jacob, a disgruntled Americ rising from the chair and taking a pair of car keys. “They’re still probably at the event center miling off drinks to this shit, go ahead and bring this to Petros and we’ll stay here keeping things on track.”

Monika knew that her spoken thoughts were more centered on the state of Terra. It irked the woman so much to know that she had risked everything to end the oppression. All her sacrifice had been for nothing. She had broken rules, her morals, and people. The image of a face surfaced in Monika's mind and she pushed it away.

The holographic displayed more scenes of destitute civilians being uncared for by its federation government on Terra. It made Monika's teeth grit. There were times that she had to remind herself that she controlled the entire Federation Fleet and was no longer a citizen of Terra. And yet it was far too hard for the woman to sit there and watch what was happening to those that had been her people.

An idea breached her moral compass. Monika knew that Terra could be stabilized if the planetary government was overthrown. She knew she had the power to overwhelm the fat politicians that were abusing their seats of power. Each of them were turning blind eyes and deaf ears on the citizens.

If the Federation was allowed to swoop in to seize control then Terra would finally reach stabilization. That, however, was completely out of the question. UCON would never allow the Federation to pull such a move, or at least that was what Monika believed. Due to her reputation amongst the Scatterrans and various xenospecies in the Garden, she was not about to make a fool of herself in front of them all.

A decision was made inside the woman's mind despite better judgment.

There were always groups on Terra attempting to throw Terra into anarchy and chaos. If they received funding from an anonymous proprietor it could be the edge needed to tip the scales. A shadow government could be set up but if Monika was caught then she would be prosecuted and sentenced to life in the Apparatus—not exactly a Sunday picnic at the park.

But there would be no need for a shadow government if it was seen as the Sol Terrans attempting to create war with the Federation. A motive would be easy to conjure. Sol Terrans were uneasy with Edenites. The feel of abandonment could be exaggerated and used as a factor to create—

Monika folded her hands in front of her face and stared blankly at the table in front of her. Her eyes narrowed as the possibilities rolled through her mind. What the men in the room were speaking about did not even reach her ears. She was so intent on creating this plot inside of her mind that those men were nothing but a haze in the background.