It was, not, in fact, time for Ashwood to practice diplomacy again. Not yet, at least.

The Colonel was led along with his entourage to the guest wing of the palace, where a few servants helped them settle. They would meet with the king in the evening, much more quickly than the first time around. No guesses as to why.

Ashwood had to admit that he felt a bit curious about how the locals perceived them now and how much they knew of the… confrontation. From his perspective, the entire thing was an unmitigated disaster, only alleviated by the fact that he technically was a mere bystander. He could imagine several possible interpretations the locals could have arrived at, not many of them favourable.

The servants led them to luxurious-looking rooms, the same ones he had stayed in previously, before ever having the pleasure of meeting the Custodian. The room was meant for foreign dignitaries, with the surrounding ones meant for servants and guards. It looked appropriately gaudy. A large king-sized bed sat in the middle of the room, with a life-size portrait of the royal family straight in front of it. The king looked much younger than Ashwood knew him to be in real life, with black hair, broad shoulders and a stern face. Beside him stood the dead queen, matching her partner’s height, if not his mood. She, like her three depicted children, was smiling. The three children looked quite similar to each other, with black hair and sharp facial features much like their father. Only Marcus, the oldest prince, though he still couldn’t have been more than thirteen in the picture, stood out thanks to his height. The other two, George and Violet, must have been around ten. Ashwood idly wondered whether he'd meet the princess this time. He had not met her last time and had not cared enough to ask about her whereabouts.

Ashwood removed his gaze from the painting, examining the rest of his room.

A mirror about as tall as him stood in the far left corner of the room, with a few dressers and wardrobes covering the walls. An ornate round table that could comfortably fit four people occupied the side of the room not dominated by the bed. Two additional doors led to a walk-in closet and a bathroom. There were no windows.

Ashwood sat on the bed. It felt as disappointing as he remembered. Modern technology was a blessing, even for the mundane. He looked at the stern face of the painted king again. It stared straight into his eyes, his expression indicating Ashwood’s unworthiness. The Colonel would never admit it, but he found the painting quite humorous. It was just so… blatant.

He closed his eyes, grateful for the moment of calm. The past few days had been hectic, his fate uncertain. While he was hardly out of hot water, his situation could be considered stable, though still time-sensitive. While a full-scale civil war had not erupted before the departure of Erinyes, it was only a matter of time. Code Zeta could not be called off.

A few beads of sweat started running down the back of his neck. He had only two options. To continue, and hope Renard would not have them all killed when the news broke. A good chance, especially since there were bound to be many more loyal to the cause hidden amongst the task force.

The other option was to run away and hide on Eigos, leaving his soldiers and hoping for Athena’s eventual victory.

Which meant that he really only had one option. Abandoning his people to hide for possibly years or more amongst primitives was both distasteful and short-sighted.

His best bet was likely to stay on Eigos. Every other place in the system belonged fully to Renard. He doubted that the Admiral would be so willing to bombard the moon either. Not with how things had worked out for Song. Should things turn sour, he’d have a much better chance of survival down here. Perhaps he could even befriend the stoic Captain Grimsson, his unsubtle minder down here.

The Colonel nodded his head, much calmer. Clear objectives and planning were vital for good mental health.

A knock on the door interrupted his thoughts.

He stood up with only a mild frown and schooled his face before reaching the door. Lieutenant Jane and Captain Grimsson greeted him on the other side, both still in the dark blue infantry armour, their helmets under their arms. He hoped Jane was not too annoyed with having to wear the inferior armour.

Ashwood himself had not taken off his suit either. Two of Renard’s soldiers flanked the door, fully armoured, ostensibly guarding him. Their faceless helmets briefly looked at him, before returning their eyes to Grimsson.

The Captain was a large, broad-shouldered man with short brown hair, brown eyes and a square, kind-looking face. Teddy bear was not too bad of a description, though Ashwood doubted that Grimsson would approve of it.

This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

Ashwood did not bother speaking before motioning the two of them into his rooms and walking back inside. As he was turning, he caught Grimsson giving one of the guards a small nod out of the corner of his eye. The Colonel resisted rolling his eyes.

The two followed him inside, Jane closing the door.

He marched back to the bed and sat on it, ignoring the table.

Grimsson paused, but Jane didn’t even blink before dragging one of the chairs closer to the bed. After a few seconds, the captain followed her example.

The three stared at each other for a moment, before Grimsson broke the silence, “So what’s the plan?”

Ashwood exchanged a glance with Jane, before turning his attention to the Admiral’s lackey, scrutinizing him for a moment.

“Wait and see. We at least need to find out how they see our confrontation with the Custodian before we try anything.”

Grimsson frowned, “Do we really have to bother with such things, when, you know?”

He patted his armour suit in lieu of explaining.

The Colonel tapped his fingers on the bed frame before speaking, “I understand that your knowledge of this place is near non-existent, yes?”

Upon the Captain’s nod, Ashwood continued, “I have come to find that the familiarity of this place is nothing but a trap. A lot is indeed familiar to what we know, but there are too many hidden pitfalls for any plan depending on such guesses to be safe.”

“Like what?” Grimsson asked.

Ashwood paused, thinking for a moment, “The political situation on the continent is a good example. On the surface, it is reminiscent of the Middle Ages on Earth’s continents. Disparate countries, all competing with each other but following the same religion. It is through this lens we saw things during our first forays down here.”

“I take it that doesn’t fit?”

Hearing Grimsson’s question, Jane snorted, inviting his glare. She pretended not to notice.

Ashwood glanced at her, before answering, “It is and it isn’t. That’s where the problem lies. This place is familiar enough not to feel alien but alien enough that assuming anything is dangerous.”

Grimsson frowned, “Can you explain?”

“On the surface, the situation appears as I’ve described. Digging further, you’ll discover that the continent’s countries are strangely reverent of the Church. Then if you are lucky, you’ll find out that not only do the countries pay tithes, but they are very significant sums. After that, you might wonder why they pay and what exactly the Church spends all that money on. That one took some work. It is soldiers. The Church has a massive, ever-present military, ostensibly to serve as a sort of pseudo-police force. Quite an extreme deviation, hidden in plain sight.”

“Was this how you thought when you first arrived?”

Ashwood nodded, “None of this was secret in any way. The common people are just ridiculously uneducated and the nobles tend to dislike talking about the Church. But the real political system is more akin to a relatively loose Empire than anything else, with the various kingdoms vassalized under the Church.”

The Captain nodded, “I think I get it, but what does it have to do with us now?”

Ashwood started tapping the bedframe again, “The aristocracy here is disgruntled with the Church. This was plain to see when we first came and it is doubtful it has changed in any meaningful way. It is why we are here, after all.”

He paused his tapping, “It’d be a mistake to think them natural allies, however. The Church might simply not care about such grumblings or perhaps does not know. It is very much possible that they’ll turn on us the moment we make our intent clear in hopes of currying favour with the Church.”

Grimsson hummed in consideration, while Jane remained still and silent

Captain Grimsson snapped his fingers, “And we can’t know whether they are as helpless as they appear.”

“That is certainly part of it. Don’t forget that we are here to convince them to turn against the Custodian. A lot depends on what they know of and how they perceive our confrontation with the Church and of course, the local political situation.”

And wasn’t the ‘our’ doing some heavy lifting there.

He continued after a pause, “They took us in without protest, which could be both good or bad. If we are very unlucky, they might even try to gift us or our corpses to the Church and have the means to do so.”

Jane raised an eyebrow at his words, prompting Ashwood to elaborate, “That is not at all likely, but as I said, it wouldn’t do to assume. For all their humanity, these people are quite alien.”

Grimsson mulled Ashwood’s words over for a few seconds, before nodding.

Jane broke the silence after a moment, “What if they refuse anyway?”

“The opinion of the Church should be very similar in Kerania’s northern neighbours, Accad and Faras, so we’d try there." Ashwood said.

The Colonel watched his two companions as they digested his words. Jane’s face was as blank as ever. Grimsson appeared thoughtful. The Captain was being a lot less antagonistic than Ashwood had expected. Hopefully, that was a good sign.

“If that fails too, well. The order of succession in such archaic societies is so very exploitable.”

Ashwood patted his own armour, mimicking Grimsson’s earlier gesture.