By the time the human fleets arrived in full, the combined forces of the Poslushi had balled themselves up into a pseudo-sphere surrounding their enormous flagship. It would’ve made sense for a defensive swarm–and would have, indeed, been quite prudent to use against the human missile-dominant strategy–but, as the recon craft reported, there were projectiles flying between the escorts and their mothership, as well as between themselves, and the IR feeds were just barely making out what appeared to be laser backscatter. When they got close enough, their optical sensors could make out broken hulls drifting alongside active warships, with scattered metallic fragments glittering as they spun off into the endless void.

The Poslushi didn’t get the chance to turn their guns towards CAST’s fleet, for they were too busy turning them on one another.

The first volleys that human craft let loose were the ship-to-ship nukes, blazing forth towards their targets on columns of iridescent blue flame, their world-ending payloads rattling silently in their casings from the acceleration. In less than thirty seconds, the recon craft picked up the first returns from Poslushi point-defense radar, turned on as thousands of panicked crewmen sprinted for defense guns. It wouldn’t matter; too many of them were already tied up killing one another.

As they neared the first craft, the missiles began to spin, faster, faster, and then burst apart into showers of chaff and debris, scattering their warheads away at high speed. Each one independently found its target and, with the assistance of tiny maneuvering thrusters mounted on their undersides, adjusted course to match.

Just before they made contact, the first of the coilgun rounds were let loose. Covering what had taken the missiles a minute to cross in less than three seconds, the resulting effect was that some five thousand thermonuclear warheads were deployed and initiated at almost the exact same time.

From a few hundred kilometers away, where the fleet situated itself, it looked like a whole brigade had struck matches all at once, only to immediately snuff them out. There was something strangely therapeutic about the whole ordeal, fleet command noted.

Of cowardice within the Poslushi fleet, let nothing be said. Even as atomics cleaved her in two, then three, then four, human recon craft were still picking up weapons discharges from the High Judge Sabre as it fired on straggling munitions until its power gave out. There were even a few reports of escort craft deliberately flying themselves into the paths of incoming bombs to save their flagships. It almost made one feel guilty, to know they were fighting such brave adversaries. Almost.

With the last remnants of the fleet frantically spinning up their hyperdrives or letting the white flag fly, the order was given, and the first transport shuttles began their descent towards the forested planet.

This time, they were here to stay.

—

Johann sat with his head tucked between his legs, breathing heavily and deliberately, trying to keep the stomach acid down. Meanwhile, the shuttle rattled almost incessantly as it entered the atmosphere, only further upsetting his gut.

Silently, Commander Weiss touched Johann’s arm. “Are you alright, soldier?”

“My stomach, sir,” Johann croaked out, “I’m not used to descending outside of my tank, sir.”

“Well, do try to hold it together,” Weiss remarked, “you know how important our mission is.”

“You told me that we’re here for diplomacy, sir,” Johann was interrupted by a wave of dull pain moving up his spine, “but I’ve been told the time for negotiation with the Poslushi has passed. Sir, with all due respect–?”

“We’re not talking to the Poslushi, Hauptmann Hess. You see, our assets on-world succeeded in fomenting a level of distrust between the planetary government and the fleet that was previously in orbit.” Weiss made a gesture with his hands, crossing his index fingers like swords. “Eventually it boiled over, and the planet basically declared war. After that, things... got hectic. We don’t know much, but the government evacuated someplace else, and something quite wonderful happened in the capital while they were gone.”

“What happened, sir?” Johann asked breathlessly.

Weiss simply smiled. “The right to self-determination of peoples, Johann.”

The craft lurched upward and Johann barely kept it together, putting one hand over his mouth as a last resort. Still, nothing came, and soon they were on a smooth, hypersonic glide through the night skies of Omen. Johann sighed as the nausea finally began to subside and sat up, brushing off his dress uniform one last time with his hands. Looking around, he saw that the rest of Weiss’ honor guard was doing much of the same, fussing with their caps and adjusting various buttons. Nobody seemed entirely ready to go, but then again, that was why prep time existed.

Johann was almost thrown into Weiss when the shuttle suddenly went into a decelerating burn, and had to brace himself against his own momentum for some five minutes. When they finally reached a hovering stop, the pilot steered the craft into a slow descent and, with a resounding thud, they landed. Johann grabbed hold of his cap as the rear loading door descended, sending a gust of air into the shuttle. Then, he, along with everyone else, stood and formed a protective square around Weiss as they exited the shuttle.

Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

As he stepped out into the cool night air of the palace courtyard, Johann was greeted by a peculiar sight. Some two dozen assorted Poslushi and Ovinis soldiers stood in two rows before them on the path leading to the gate, facing each other. Their armor had been repainted, the purple highlights and rank insignia recolored a vibrant red, and as the human delegation walked forward, they saluted all at once, letting them pass between their columns. Weiss saluted them back, followed shortly afterwards by Johann and the other guards before continuing. Johann took silent notice of the enormous banners draped from the palace roof, with slogans in Low Ovinisian and various symbols drawn on.

With a loud creak, the palace gate ground open, allowing Johann to see the opulent, glittering interior. Standing confidently in the doorway was a single, rather short Ovinis, clad in their equivalent of a business suit, consisting of a flowy, almost dress-like garment made of silk. With a bow, he greeted the delegation. Weiss returned the gesture.

“Greetings, humans,” the delegate said, “I see our cause has not gone unheard of amongst your nations. Please, come in.”

Nodding, Weiss led the others into the palace antechamber, where Johann got a grasp of just how fabulously wealthy the Poslush Combine was. Every wall was decorated with murals of gold and silver depicting events from Poslushi and Ovinisian history, and the furniture was inlaid with sparkling violet jewels that Johann didn’t recognize. Hanging from the ceiling was a single, enormous amber glass sphere with smaller ones inside of it, and from each shone a warm light that basked the whole expanse in a sun-like glow. It put the greatest palaces of czars and kaisers to shame, and it was more than fit for the ruler of three billion souls.

“Sit.” the Ovinis gestured to a table in the center of the room, which sat surrounded by plush chairs. Quizzically, Johann looked at Commander Weiss. Weiss simply nodded, taking a seat himself; the chair’s cushions seemed to envelop Johann as he sat down. He could even feel its back adjusting to his spinal shape, leaving him in utmost comfort.

“So, regarding your cause,” Weiss said, putting his hands on the table, “our nations have, for the most part, given up the colonial spirit. For us, the age of empires is over.”

The Ovinis looked down. “But, alas, the greater galaxy does not share your sentiment. If you are not represented on their Council of Arbitrators, you are less than.”

The delegate seemed to be holding back considerable emotion. “Many of our people, if given the chance, would destroy that wretched institution in a heartbeat.”

“And as would we,” Weiss nodded, “we’ve gone through many of the same hardships as your people.”

Suddenly, the delegate’s eyes flashed. “Do not presume,” he enunciated, “to have had the hardships we have. Your interstellar ambitions weren’t smothered in the cradle.”

“Of course, of course,” Weiss threw up his hands, “my apologies. But, I must ask... how, exactly, are we speaking? I was under the impression that the Poslushi indoctrinated their conquered peoples.”

“And they do,” the delegate confirmed, “to those that can remember life before their rule, at least, but their conquest was nearly a century ago. Even when we fought them a second time and lost, they only indoctrinated a part of our population.”

“The Poslushi forgot that pacifying a people doesn’t start and end with one generation.” Weiss noted.

“The masks get people to work for free,” the delegate said, “that’s all the Poslushi ever cared about. The Irrilings didn’t want to pay their quota, so the Poslushi exterminated them. Even if it were the Aralu or some other favored species of the Dynasty, the imperialists on Poslush would end them too if they didn’t recruit enough soldiers.”

“The Aralu are a favored species?” Weiss raised an eyebrow.

The delegate shook his fist in a gesture of affirmation. “They were their earliest and most successful conquest. One could say that they’re as much a part of the Combine as the Poslushi. It still wouldn’t save them if they displeased their masters, though.”

“Interesting,” Weiss scribbled something down on a notepad, “but I was wondering: what, precisely, do you plan to do when the independence of your planet is secured?”

The delegate thought about it for a few moments. “The official position of the Politburo of the Omen People’s Republic is that we will first secure and reorganize our industrial base and planet under government control, and then we will move to return our pre-contact colonies–Qato, Raleisi, and the like–and hold our old land.”

Suddenly, Weiss had a somewhat hostile gleam in his eye. Still, he tried to remain pleasant. “Politburo? I wouldn’t expect to hear tenets of communism coming from an alien mouth.”

The delegate leaned in closer, his expression still genial but more intense now. “Our species has suffered under Poslushi heels for generations, making products in our factories that we could never hope to possess ourselves. We cannot allow another class to arise that would dominate us as they did.”

“Ah, I see,” Weiss smiled, but the look in his eyes didn’t fade, “say, did any of our compatriots from Zhongguo speak with you prior to your revolution?”

“Indeed,” the delegate confirmed, “your friends were very persuasive. Not to mention helpful; our revolution couldn’t have succeeded without their weapons.”

“I see,” Weiss bowed his head gratefully, and they continued their talk into the night.

“I knew it!” Weiss roared the second the shuttle got back into the air.

“You knew what, sir?” Johann asked timidly.

“They’re all commies! The Goddamn Chinese got to them before we did!” Weiss exclaimed, balling his fists in rage.

“But, sir,” Johann said, shrinking back, “they’re free now, and they’re going to free the rest of their planet soon. Shouldn’t they have the right to decide which way they go?”

“Not if they choose communism!”

“But, sir–”

“My ancestors did not get shot crossing the Berlin Wall for some upstart officer to tell their grandson that communism is something we can allow to exist!” Weiss stared Johann down, a near-animalistic look in his eye. “Do you understand?”

Johann, after a short pause, bowed his head. “Yes, sir.”

“Good.” Weiss took a deep breath. “When I get back to the fleet, I’m chalking this up as a failure in CAST’s foreign policy. God only knows how we let this happen.”