Imperial Defense Force's Story

The Oberon crew continues to stand as if under inspection, and Paul responds to the intruder's gesture by opening the inner airlock. He noticed the gravity as it pulled him rather suddenly down to the floor, but he couldn't imagine for the life of him why it had happened and preferred not to guess. He would understand in a bit. He motions toward his head and pantomimes putting on a helmet, asking the intruder if he and his crew may do so, as he assumes that they would want them out of the ship. He continues to telecommunicate with his crew, and again begins to feel slight panic that he does his best not to show.

The Marines shook their head, rather the Marine sergeant gestured towards one of his subordinates, whom nodded and moved to open the outer airlock with a sudden hiss.

The Aschen marines weren't worried as they had their hermetically sealed Cuirasse suits on, which sealed them from the outside environment.

The outer airlock door opened up, and a cool rush of air filled through the airlock, bright lights creeping inside from the Reverence IIs hangar deck.

The Marine Sergeant pointed to the lined up crew, and then pointed to the door of the airlock, outside things would become clear, as dozens of soldiers positioned themselves behind redoubts, and deployable cover. There were at least a dozen more Adepts of War as well, in addition to one officer in a dark colored uniform trimmed with dark blue, waiting expectingly. The Marines would escort them out of the airlock, forcibly if needed.

The Oberon crew cooperates with the motions of the Aschen Marine, filing into the airlock with Paul in the lead. They don't show much surprise, the exclusion being Paul, who is shocked at what he sees. They appeared to be in a hangar, but a very large one. The telecommunication of observations through their BrainPals was continuing. Despite the hesitation to leave Henry in the ship, the crew of the Discovery VII continues on and out of the ship. The crewmate known as Robert, their situational Analyst, shares the observation that the heavy ones must be able to operate in gravity after all. Paul is more focused on the fact that there's gravity on this ship. As the crew is escorted out of the ship, they take visual recordings using their BrainPals that they will send to headquarters when they get the chance.

If they get the chance.

The officer on the far side of the massive hangar bay, stood silently. The bay measured easily five kilometers in length, and had a myriad of fighter craft, equipment, and personnel moving about.

The officer, a Lieutenant took a step forward, as the Marine Sergeant led the group towards him, and saluted, bringing his arm across his chest abruptly and shouting.

"Ad Victoriam!" He cried out, and the officer nodded in return. "Ad Victoriam." He then turned his attention to the crew.

"Take them to detention block thirteen, Intelligence will be on station to conduct interrogations soon." The officer ordered, and the Marine nodded, turning back to the group, as several more Marines clenched their weapons tightly and began to close in. It was obvious now that these people were going to take the Oberon prisoner.

The officers eyes fell onto their ship, they'd wait until final disposition of the crew to dispose of the ship.

The Oberon crew stands silently. Paul has an uneasy feeling that he quickly dismisses, but he still tries to get the attention of the two Aschen, the Marine officer and Lieutenant, and he does his best to convey that there is another person on board the ship. He speaks for the first time, the words undoubtedly foreign to the Aschen, that there is someone else on the ship and tries to convey so through hand gestures, but quickly ceases as he realizes the pointlessness of it, and goes back to silently cooperating. They continue to take visual and audio recordings in the hope they can study them later.

The Officer directed the Marines to take the group to interrogation, and then he turned to leave, they would no doubt find the one called Henry when they searched the ship.

It was a long walk under heavy escort, the Marines escorted them one by one through a long tramway that ran the length of the ship, at least a twenty minute ride at relatively high speeds gave the Oberon crew a rough guesstimation on the sheer size of the vessel they were inside.

It was a long ride, but they finally arrived at their destination, the tram slowed to a stop with an audible hiss, and the doors opened up, Paul and his crew were now being led into what was obviously a brig, or a detention block, which was for the most part empty. They were separated, one by one, and shoved into a small eight by five cell.

Paul was the last one, the Marine shoving him forward into his cell, and turning to leave, while a second Marine latched the door behind him, and they all walked away, leaving the captain in a stifling silence.

He was there for about an hour, until the sound of heels on floor echoed through the detention block, the sound of heels stopped, and the door keeping Paul imprisoned slid open, revealing two heavily armed Marines, and a young woman wearing a neatly pressed suit, and white blouse. She also wore a dark pair of sunglasses, and a strange, but sleek looking device that coiled around her right ear, and went inside it.

Slowly she stepped inside, and took the sunglasses off, frowning for a moment, and then looking at Paul almost with a malicious smile, before she slid them into the inside pocket of her blazer.

"Who are you, and where did you come from." She asked, this time, in words he understood.

Paul's anxiety increases as he is divided from his crew, but he continues to communicate with them through his BrainPal.

When the woman enters his cell and speaks to him in a way he understands, he quickly makes a mental log before responding.

"I am Paul, of the Oberon. I come from the galaxy RA-619, star system Glendathu, base of operations Klendath.'

He references his mental interface before continuing with some statements of his own.

"We intend no harm towards your people. Our mission was simply to learn about you and contact you at a later point in time. I can say nothing else."

The woman offered a slight chuckle as the door slammed shut behind her. She offered a wicked grin, that seemed to twist her face to a wicked snarl, like a predatory animal while she produced a small datapad, and keyed in several words into it.

"I'm afraid that's not how this works. Right now, you and your crew are prisoners, and if you value them, you'll cooperate." Connors tapped her chin for a moment.

"So here's how this is going to work, you'll answer my questions satisfactorily, and honestly, you'll provide no resistance, and I will endeavor to make your stay here relatively manageable, and tolerable, and perhaps we can have some meaningful discourse." Connors said as she took a step forward.

"For every denial, every question you refuse to answer, I will have one of your crew executed." She said cooly.

"Do we have an understanding, Paul?" Connors asked plainly.

Paul has a quick moment of panic, and sends his recording of the questioning to the rest of his crew, before responding.

"I will answer your questions. Although, and remember this, nothing I say represents the views of my people, the expeditionary forces, or my people's government. I will answer your questions to the ability that I have in answering them. I understand your terms."

He mentally curses himself, wishing any Oberon but himself had been selected, as any other would have said nothing. He'll just answer what he can, he supposes.

Meanwhile the jungle simply watched and waited, for now it yeilded to the orders of Hanley's men and their machines. However, that wasn't to say it was without it's defenses. The jungle held dangers of it's own that these men were now subjecting themselves to, things that the locals spoke of in hushed tones for fear of bringing "la madre tierra's wrath down upon them. The locals were also fond of supersitions and rituals, anything that could potentially offer them an edge against their enemy neighbors. These were things often brought to them along with the cargo and crew of any ship that happened to stick around long enough to trade. Due to this Sky's Edge was a strange mash up of many cultures across the stars where many a young man or woman thought there might be easy fame or fortune to be had for themselves.

"You think that's going to work Cossack?" Rei asked more amused than not. Most people in her experience didn't have the guts to tell the Aschen where they could stick their gigantic troop carriers. But she had seen the trick he had pulled off, managing to bury their signal in noise of the planet and shadow generated by the Aschen ships. It wasn't something she had ever really thought of, but it so far had bought them a bit of time, and that was better than nothing. "Because I've never known the Aschen to be terribly smart in the department of leave it the fuck alone."

The warlords of the planet would more than likely take this as an invitation to use some of the worst weapons they'd managed to devise to date. Never mind the discrete, signal-less, bladder mines planted in the jungle where Hanley's men forged a path forward, keen to bend nature to their will. Instead, there were things that the Aschen hadn't yet dreamed could come out of a back water planet to be seen.

Sky's Edge and it's population had had centuries to cultivate their collective hatred against their so called lords and masters that the Aschen deigned to call themselves, into something not unlike a fine wine. And this was something that the Children of Ash had taken full advantage of. Quietly and carefully, they had taken time to refine this anger, this collective hatred of otherness, into a brilliant and crystalline suite of emotions, thoughts, and things. Things that were especially designed to communicate their hatred against those who would have left them forgotten, and abandoned.

Kathryn moved to Paul's right, her eyes staring daggers at him, she was watching his every move, something seemed off though, and it seemed her intuition was nagging at her for some reason.

She got close, close enough that Paul could feel her breath as she whispered.

"Your people, are nothing." She said, pulling away, and going back to tapping at her tablet. "Your people managed to somehow slip your vessel past our defenses, into our core systems, undetected." Kathryn said as she paced around Paul. "We will dismantle your vessel, and we will learn of it's origins. Tell me about your people, tell me about their military strength, their technology level, the location of your home world."

Paul answers.
"Our people are peaceful. We only maintain military strength in case we need it, mainly under the possibility of alien threat. Our current technology level is... Well, the most recent discovery was cold fission, and that was about three revolutions ago. Our closest colony is in RA-619, star system Glendathu, planet known as Klendath. I believe that you are misinterpreting our approaches. We are simply trying to peacefully contact your people, who are obviously much more advanced than us. I can't fully answer your question about military power, as that is outside of my department. Is this enough?"

He tries to hide his anxiety, and does pretty well.

Somewhere beyond the red line
Hastati Class Cruiser 'Scourgebane'

Deep in the blackness of space beyond the furthest reaches of Imperial Defenses, a single Hastati class cruiser winked into existence from nothing.

"Jump Complete." The Tactical officer reported, as the FTL displays synchronized back to Zero, the CIC of the Scourgebane buzz with activity, data began pouring in on displays, and the Commander, a young man in his mid thirties was having a conversation with EVE. All throughout the CIC, one lone figure stood in silence, his hands clasped behind his back as he watched the large display in front of him.

He took a step forward, and the plush purple robes followed his movements as he moved towards a display.

"What are we out here to do again?" The commander asked, peering up from the flickering holographic display. "We've recieved reports of Scatterran privateers harassing civilian ships moving in and out of the defensive zone." Kesslee replied, his gaze hardened as he focused his attention on the display. "His Majesty has dispatched me on a special assignment, that's all you need to know, Commander." Kesslee replied, as he approached the main command console.

"I'll want to enter the next set of FTL Coordinates personally." Kesslee replied, as the Commander nodded, and a tactical officer spoke up.

"Spin-Sync generators are at fifty percent, we'll be able to jump again in about half a millicenton." The officer reported, returning quickly to his station as the Commander quietly wondered to himself why the Emperor would dispatch a confessor on some classified mission.

"Are you going to do anything about the settlers encroaching on our border space, Grand Confessor?" The Commander inquired. The Confessor simply nodded in the affirmative.

"All in due time, Commander, let me know the moment the FTL drives are spooled up again."

In a distant orbit from a lonely station, spun up and rolling through the emptiness of interplanetary space, the prow of a single Ploesti class heavy frigate loomed amongst the wreckage of a smuggling ship. The cargo liner had fallen for the oldest trick in the book, a bait and switch that had left it at the mercy of the CNS Rocheaux well before it could penetrate the ALIRBADs cordon around imperial space.

One had been caught, but the patrol squadron of frigates and destroyers like the Rocheaux couldn’t be anywhere. Commander Fearghas Volodya was a maverick even by frigate commander’s standards: he anticipated some choice words from the rest of the patrol squadron, as doing a bait op so close to the Aschen Cluster was sure to spook his counterparts of the imperial navy.

“Commander, our monitor-drones’ scanned the wreckage, no life-signs. It was dead after the first Halberd impacted.”An Ensign reported from the pits below, and Volodya stretched his arms out against the railings of the crows’ nest.

“Think that’s a record, ladies and gentlemen - must’ve hard-decomped and voided the bowels.” Volodya remarked succinctly, then standing up as he studied a sweep of the various cargo blocks and containers that had been spewed from the hull of the vessel after the Mk. 18 Halberd Naval Interdiction Missile had impacted the ship. “They must’ve had quite a haul for someone in the Cluster. Wonder who in the Quorum got their fingers in a pie so far from Langara.

“Shit.” The Ensign in sensors remarked quietly, her eyes narrowing as she then leaned forward in her cockpit and began tapping hurriedly at a series of holographic keys. Volodya’s focus was broken for a minute, as he looked down to a pair of Lieutenants gathering at the edge of the sensor pit.

“What’ve we got, another runner?” Volodya inquired, his voice carrying down into the pits below. One of the Lieutenants shook his head, and turned up to look at his commander.

“Negative Commander, it’s another Aschen vessel - just beyond interdiction-range.” The Lieutenant remarked, but Volodya pursed his lips in confusion then. This last ship he’d just splashed was Aschen itself.

“So they were paired?” He inquired abruptly.

The Ensign in the sensor pit then shook her head, reaching up to pull one of the headphones off from over her ears. “Negative sir, I’m reading a military signature.”

After that, Volodya stared forward at the massive airscreen at the head of the bridge, a rudimentary sensor sweep showing what appeared to be a rather large vessel on approach just beyond the limits of the Rocheaux’s interdiction missiles. That said nothing of the nuclear-capable Mk. 20 Reflex anti-ship torpedoes. “Well I’ll be damned. Guess they don’t want the lid getting blown off their little smuggling group.”

Volodya let a soft grin ply across his face, reaching a hand down to the rails lining the crows nest. “Spin up a Reflex, kilotonnage and ready the Mk. V/IIIs.” He barked, the crew of the ship all going quiet for a moment. Volodya clicked his tongue. “Did I stutter, sailors? Beam a line to the DVSB, tell them we’ve got one more fish to fr - “

“Uhh, ‘scuse me Commander.” The Lieutenant interrupted quietly, and Volodya narrowed his eyes down to the Lieutenant. “We’re already receiving a beam-message from the Deep Station.”

There was a single message broadcast to both the Rocheaux and the imperial vessel that had arrived. Uncoded and widely transmitted, the heavy frigate sat between both the Scourgebane and DVSB-117.

Slowly, the Scourgebane moved through the blackness of space, the Commander was quietly watching the skirmish, or what was left of it play out across a large holographic projection. Kesslee stood in silence besides the man with his hands clasped firmly behind his back, eyes fixated on the large projection before them.

Kesslee didn’t say much, hardly a word to anyone aboard the cruiser for the duration of the trip, likewise he was met with mostly awkward silence from the crew, no one wanted to say the wrong thing in front of a confessor, let along the Grand Confessor, it was as if the Emperor himself was aboard this ship. It played out, and the air of tension was quite palpable.

Quietly the commander read the deep beam message as the text scrolled across his display, before he turned his attention to the helms crew.

“Bring engine power to fifteen percent, and engage deceleration drivers to twenty percent, bring our velocity to five point two five, and maintain present course.” The Commander ordered, and the two helm operators nodded.

“Aye sir.” They said in unison, before reaching out to manipulate large console levers, drawing them back to slow the massive vessel.

“Transmit a reply on the frequency, transmit authentication codes.” The Commander ordered.

”Attention Exogarden Command, this is Scourgebane Actual, I have the Grand Confessor on board with diplomatic mission priority, we are formally requesting priority access to diplomatic, and command channels. How copy?”

Terminating his broadcast, he turned to Kesslee, as the older man craned his neck to look at the Commander.

“Prepare my entourage, I must prepare myself.” The Grand Confessor added, as he turned to leave the CIC.

As the broadcasts streamed to and fro the Scourgebane and the Void Station, the Rocheaux remained still, using its own powerful arrays to boost the transmission speed and up/down rate to streamline the effort. As the Aschen request for diplomatic channels were received, a tight-beam link was established with the ship as the automated systems of the Void Station went into action.



The custodian AI of the Void Station displayed a series of visiting identificators, as well as a special broadcast IFF-tagging the Scourgebane as a friendly, diplomatic vessel. The identifiers could be printed by even the most rudimentary of a molecular printing drive, while the IFF-tags soon ‘auto-dated’ to update the positions of almost five other Exogarden ships in the near AU.



The Rocheaux and another manned destroyer, the Lombardia, were then to give a wide berth to the Scourgebane on its approach to the Deep Void Station, which itself had become a hive of activity as the umbilical was prepared for the Scourgebane.

The Deep Void Stations were constructed in a similar manner to the millions of other void stations that dotted the Garden and some parts of the Local Region. Composed of a main, six hundred meter habitat module that was ringed with a rotating drive that provided the station with both power and artificial gravity, a few transiting ships were passing by a large, separate transmitting buoy as they made room for the Scourgebane.

Onboard the station, Chief Artifex Behar Dimiter stood in his office, watching an airscreen display of the approaching imperial ship. He drew a cautious hand up to his bearded chin, while the other held a rocks glass with a brown, honeyish liquid. Raising the glass of scotch to his mouth, he took a slow drink, before turning back to his desk and setting the glass down.

“Virgil, can I get an ETA on their arrival?” He asked, a soft chime coming from the ceiling as the hologram of a man draped in ancient robes materialized in the center of the room.

“I estimate within the hour, Artifex. I have taken the liberty of scheduling the summit in an observation deck of Section A, not far from their umbilical.”

The custodian remarked, adjusting his tunic only briefly as Behar ran a hand down his chin to straight out the well groomed beard he sported. “Thank you Virgil - uh, make sure the marines stay back, I don’t intend to give them an opportunity to muscle.”

“Very well sir, I will inform Lieutenant Colonel Dalton of his parameters.” With that, the Artifex pulled his coat jacket from the back of his chair and soon tossed it over his broad shoulders. Looking to a holo mirror, he made sure to adjust the tie sitting draped down his blouse before then readying the left down to Section Alpha.

While the Scourgebane docked, the first thing they’d see entering the umbilical wasn’t another human being, but a pair of automatons. One of them stood slightly taller than the other, mechanical limbs draped over what appeared to be an energy rifle. The second, smaller one was unarmed, and its head shaped to be more humanoid than the blocky optical module atop the armed droid.

“Greetings, I am Plato-473, a protocol droid in service of the Aschen Local International Regional Bureau, and this is Deep Void Bureau Station 1-1-7.” The droid’s automated voice informed, before offering a three-fingered hand back towards the bulkhead of the airlock. “The Chief Artifex will host you in a chamber on this very same deck, please follow me.”

Behar quietly set his glass down beside a tall, and most importantly unopened, bottle of bourbon as he followed in a pair of protocol droids that were busy putting the final touches on catering. With a soft snap of his fingers, he pointed one of the droids to place a platter of minor foodstuffs on the table. The droid promptly set the plate down at the far end of the table prepared for the Confessor and his entourage, but Behar was left to gawk a moment as another droid entered, this time carrying a plate of what appeared to be an entire, cooked hog.

"Virgil, I'll be sure to call the kitchen if they want a four course fucking meal." The Artifex remarked, promptly unscrewing the lid of his bottle. "What you could do, is get me some more glasses though." He requested, waiting until a small set had been delivered before setting a gracious amount of the bourbon in each. With that, he treated himself to a deep drink of his own before all the protocol droids but one left, which took place standing silently in the corner as the Aschen were escorted to the chamber. Behar stood with his feet together, hands at his side at the head of the table and ushered the imperials in with a single wave of his hand.

It took Kesslee some time to get ready, opting to wear his nicer state robes to the summit, which were like his duty robes, but a bit more ornate, with silver embroidery running along the front of the robes, and plush shoulder pads that were embroidered with ornate designs, and were a slightly darker shade of indigo. Everything was neatly pressed, Kesslee had to make a good first impression after all.

The door to his personal chambers slid open, the moment that the Scourgebane had begun it's final docking procedures with the Void Station's umbilical, the sounds reverberating all throughout the interior of the ship.

"Looks like I should get ready." Kesslee said to himself, this was the first time that the Aschen had made formal contact with the forces of the Exogarden since the fall of the previous administration, Kesslee knew things had been silent on the Aschen side of the Red Line for a reason.

Silently the Grand Confessor moved through the halls of the Scourgebane, Imperial soldiers giving him a wide berth as he moved. Each Imperial stepping aside inside the Scourgebane wide corridors.

To say nothing of the moment the Grand Confessor reached the starboard airlock where the umbilical was attached, there was a smooth, feminine voice that greeted the Grand Confessor's ears as he was stopped.

"You didn't think His Lordship was going to let you do this alone, did he?" She asked with a soft smirk that played across her face, in contrast to the Confessor's robes, Director Angel was dressed in a simple well tailored black pantsuit, with knee length skirt, and white blouse that she left unbuttoned at the collar. A black woman's blazer finished the ensemble.

"No, I didn't." Kesslee replied, casting a glance over towards Marlene as she stepped up besides him. "Try to behave, and not make a fool of us, Director."

Marlene chortled at the fact, and cantered her head ever so slightly. "With respect, Grand Confessor, I've been dealing with Scatterrans longer than you've been alive."

Kesslee grimaced as the airlock cycled, and then let the grimace fade into a neutral expression while armored doors retracted, and revealed the interior of the station, and the protocol droid.

"Just remember, Director. I am the will of the Emperor, not you, any decisions must be made by me in his name." Kesslee remarked, and Marlene shrugged. "Your lordship, I'm only here to ensure your safety." She said, gesturing with her right hand, and a shrug. She then tapped her earpiece. "Alpha team, standby, checkin cycles every twenty centars." Offering a smile, she waited for Kesslee to step forward. The two of them almost walked in step, following the droid to the chambers where the summit would be held.

Marlene's eyes subtly scanned the interior of the room, glancing about, and committing the finer details to memory as Kesslee stepped forward towards the table, and Marlene slowly moved behind him, keeping her hands at her side, the sound of her heels clicking on the floor giving an ominous deep clack with every footstep. Marlene had chosen these heels for a reason, they offered the best sound when she walked. A contrast to Kesslee's boots which were quiet.

The pair silently listened to Behar's introduction before taking their seats, Kesslee speaking first. "I am Grand Confessor Charles Kesslee, I am his Lordship's personal representative, and I speak on behalf of His Lordship in these proceedings, and this is my escort, Director Marlene Angel. She works with the Ministry of Defense." Kesslee said, not elaborating further. Once gestured to take a seat, Kesslee and Marlene moved to take their seats, next to each other at the table. Of course, Marlene moved to help herself to the food, specifically the roasted hog, using the provided utensils to cut herself a piece of meat from the back, and place it on the plate.

Kesslee shot her a glare, as she stuffed a large piece in her mouth, and shrugged. "When in Caprica I'm starving." She said, the food muffling her words.

Kesslee stifled a groan, but turned his attention back to Behar, and inclined his head respectfully. "I am pleased that you are so hospitable, and willing to receive us at such short notice, I am sure there is much to discuss." Kesslee said.

Behar calmly took his glass from before him, welcoming the Aschen into the chamber but refusing to sit, for now. He studied the Aschen before him, and gave a dismissive wave of his hand as Marlene made a plate for herself, much to the chagrin of Kesslee. “Virgil had been looking for an excuse to get rid of some of the food stock: his cooking has had some … marked improvements since I’ve allowed him to slave the droids.” He remarked, tapping a finger on his glass as he stood at the corner of the table.

At the mention of hospitality, Behar brought the glass up to his mouth and took a swig. “I’ve been rather successful in … smoothing the appearances of the Federate’s policy here in the Local Region. Virgil, uh, a tablet, would you?” He said, looking over to the protocol droid that calmly stepped to the table and offered the Artifex a sleek, black tablet. “I’ve some briefs for the Home State government.”

Putting the tablet face up, he tapped at a few keys before a projector module spat out a hologram projection. As Kesslee introduced himself and the director, Behar ran a hand to straighten his jacket briefly, a surprised arch of his brow crossing his features for a moment. “Ah, Marlene Angel? Congratulations on the promotion - a surprise to learn the rumor was true. Ministry of Defense, quite a position.”

“As for these briefs uh, just some routine updates,” He began, tapping away with his free hand as a series of documents and correspondences flit across the displays. “The Exogarden task force has enlarged the patrol squadrons to maintain the humanitarian shipments, some Commodore in the Exogarden has decided smuggling has become more of a concern - I’ve yet to understand his true justification for the activities though -”

All of this, and even more, was being prepared on a special diplomatic drive to be given to Kesslee upon his leaving, but Behar had a personal policy of full disclosure. “I was made aware of the … incident that took place in the border worlds a while ago, suffice it to say that I can’t speak for the military but, their operations should not be viewed as threatening to the integrity of the Home State government - er, UAE I should say. Apologies, I’m more used to speaking with your countrymen of the Langarite Republics.”

"Somebody with half a brain has to run the organization I'm in charge of, and His majesty determined me to be the best candidate for the job." Marlene said with a hint of vagueness, of course everyone in the room likely knew exactly what organization she had been put in charge of. After stuffing another bite into her mouth, she fell silent and allowed Behar to speak, taking in his words, and quietly committing them to memory.

Kesslee too quietly listened to the conversation, before speaking up, slowly he rose from his seat to get a closer look at the holographic projection. "Admiral Nagala submitted the full brief, and I took the liberty of studying it closely before sending it to the Ministry of Defense for final notations." Kesslee replied. "It is the official stance of this Empire that, while the additional assistance in combating illegal smuggling operations along our borders, we have a capable border force that interdicts smuggling operations on a regular basis." Kesslee remarked.

Kesslee paused just long enough to pour himself a glass of water, and taking a sup before considering his next words. "While the operations should not be viewed as threatening, the recent surge in Apparatus military hardware along our borders has raised concern along several delegations within the Quorum, and the Military. While we are aware that peace terms were never formally ratified following the conclusion of hostilities perpetrated by our previous administration, many in the Quorum see the buildup as a potential precursor to invasion." Kesslee added. Though he knew that there were remnants left behind following the Garden Campaign as the Military sought to name the embarrassing defeat of the 'Galactic War' The Grand Confessor was careful not to comment, as far as he knew the 'Langarites' were dissidents, enemies of the state, and political undesirables.

"I have been sent here as an earnest attempt by our Emperor, to attempt to normalize diplomatic contact with our neighbors, and to formalize peaceful dealings beyond the borders of the Empire. We've been made aware of a situation developing within the Taiyou Empire, that may potentially jeopardize the assistance they have been providing us, so, the Emperor determined it was in the best interest of our people to move forward."

“Oh, I’m more than aware Mister Kesslee - and as loath as I am to dignify the suspicions of the Apparatus,” He began, taking his glass with a free hand and then fixing the other into the lapel of his jacket. “I’ll just have to say that they would not be here in force if the situation did not require it - that is, if your capabilities were satisfactory to the Bureau, they wouldn’t.”

Next, Behar finally decided to approach his seat. Placing his glass down, he then pulled his coat jacket free and left it draping over the back of his chair. He then stood with two hands on it, calm eyes going between first Marlene, then to Kesslee and back. “I think it shouldn’t have to be restated that the Apparatus function of ALIRBAD was due to the previous government’s … inability to abide by the peace amongst the states of the Local Region that the Apparatus, for all their faults, worked hard to achieve,” As he began, the Artifex tilted his chin just slightly and dug a finger into the center of his tie, beginning to work it loose just slightly. He always preferred to have a bit more to breath when diplomacy turned to subjects like this.