The shuffle of feet on marble reminded Deputy Chancellor Voskol of papers being sorted. The War Hawks behind him were unusually quiet. No muttering about military matters, no complaining about procedure. Amazing what the prospect of Marix in chains could do to shut them up.
The Doves weren't much better, practically strutting. They'd learn eventually that victory required dignity, though probably not today. And then there was everyone else, tense with the extremely likely possibility that Marix is indeed a traitor, and that they’d been inadvertently contributing to the Empire’s downfall.
But Voskol knew he was hardly one to speak. He’d been complacent, complicit, and everything in between. And it nagged him.
At least Klieger knew how to handle himself. The old man had seen enough political theater to understand that history cared more about presence than presentation. Probably not something as dire as treason against the Imperial Family, but he’d probably weathered enough storms to brace for this.
The chamber itself hadn't changed since last week's trade legislation, but the mood certainly had. Gone were the drowsy afternoons of tariff debates, replaced by the solemn gravity of Marix’s alleged crimes. The Imperial Seal above the judge's bench had been freshly polished – a detail that would have irritated him if he hadn't specifically ordered it. The very Empire was watching. Best not to give them any symbols to misinterpret.
His fellow senators filed into their assigned seats with varying degrees of grace. The chosen arrangements would keep the War Hawks and Doves from glaring at each other across the aisle, though that hadn't stopped them from trying. Thankfully, there were more than enough Senators who stood in the middle, more concerned with the fact that the Emperor had been betrayed rather than ousting or retaining Marix.
The side door opened. Marix looked smaller than when he had assumed power. No chancellor's regalia today, just a plain uniform that hadn't been pressed properly. The guards moved him toward the defendant's box, his legal team assembling with whispers.
Strange, seeing him like this. The man had spent years climbing through Senate ranks, carefully building his influence, only to throw it all away on a few months of playing emperor. Even so, the man didn’t seem to care much, as if this were only a minor roadbump; a matter his defense team might easily handle. Prideful and stubborn, even to the end, it seemed.
The only other party missing was the Imperial Family itself, though likely for good reason. If they were to appear, it’d be after the entire trial was over with, once they’ve assured their own safety.
As they settled in, the judge finally decided to grace them with his presence. The traditional call to order felt perfunctory; everyone had been silent since Marix's entrance. Voskol sunk into his chair. Might as well get comfortable. The judge had that look about him, the one that meant they'd be hearing a very thorough explanation of very obvious matters.
With a tap of his gavel, he spoke. “I, Wern Reimardt, Chief Justice of the Imperial Court, acting under authority of His Imperial Majesty, hereby convene this extraordinary session of the court. In accordance with Imperial Statute seventeen-dash-four, covering crimes against the sovereign power, this court is now in session.”
Protocol demanded they all rise. Again. Voskol caught Klieger suppressing a wince as his joints protested the constant up and down. They'd be doing this dance all morning.
"Guinea Marix, former Chancellor of the Gra Valkas Empire, you stand accused of high treason against His Imperial Majesty." The judge's voice boomed through the chamber. "Specifically: orchestrating a violent coup against the Imperial throne, the attempted murder of Emperor Gra Lux, conspiracy to imprison the Imperial Family, falsification of military records, and willful suppression of information vital to the Empire's security."
Marix sat strangely still through it all. No outbursts, no defiance. Just that same look he used to get during budget debates, like he was tolerating lesser minds until he could implement his own solutions. Even now he probably thought he was the only one who truly understood what the Empire needed.
"The Senate's duty today is twofold, as prescribed by Imperial law for cases of this magnitude. First, you must determine whether the evidence warrants permanent removal from office: what our law terms as impeachment. This requires a clear showing that the accused has violated his sacred oath to the Empire and is no longer fit to serve.
"Following the impeachment vote, this body will then serve as jury in the criminal proceedings. The burden of proof here is absolute. Treason against His Imperial Majesty must be proven beyond any reasonable doubt. There can be no uncertainty in your minds when judging an offense of this gravity.
"Let me be clear about the sequence. You will hear all evidence presented by both prosecution and defense. Only then will you vote on impeachment. If impeachment passes, we will proceed immediately to deliberation on the criminal charges. Should guilt be established, Imperial law is clear and unwavering on the consequences of treason against the throne."
The War Hawks started to fidget. Everyone knew the stakes – that Marix would face execution – but hearing it spoken aloud, in the moment, felt far different to simply acknowledging it as a procedure on a document. Perhaps those words were like a reminder of the only possible outcome from this trial.
"Your Honor, honored Senators." Deitmann's voice carried the weight of his office. "We stand here because one man decided his ambitions outweighed his duty to Empire and Emperor. The evidence will show that Guinea Marix orchestrated a coup that left His Imperial Majesty with injuries that persist to this day. That he fabricated medical reports to justify his illegal seizure of power. That when our fleets suffered devastating losses – more than twenty fleet carriers, hundreds of thousands dead – he buried the truth and threatened any who dared speak it."
Some of the War Hawks shifted in their seats. He knew the looks on their faces: shock, confusion, betrayal. They'd spent months defending these reports in committee meetings, arguing against the Doves' calls for transparency. Now they were learning exactly what they'd been defending. The worst part was that Marix hadn't even trusted his strongest supporters with the truth; just used them as unwitting props in his theater of lies. Made them stake their reputations on numbers that were pure fiction.
"The prosecution will present medical staff who will testify that His Majesty's alleged tuberculosis diagnosis was fabricated. We will show documentation proving Marix ordered the construction of this lie. General Siegs and Admiral Karlmann will testify not only to the alteration of military reports and the true extent of our naval losses, but to their own knowledge of the coup itself – and how Marix's careful consolidation of power left them unable to prevent it. Additional officers will describe their reassignment or removal for daring to report accurate casualty figures."
"But most damning are Marix's own words. We possess his signed orders rejecting a joint recommendation for ceasefire negotiations while knowing our fleets were being decimated. His written threats to charge military officers with treason for reporting actual battle outcomes. His directive to the Imperial Broadcasting Corporation to suppress all news of defeat, no matter the cost to our war effort."
Deitmann hadn't once raised his voice or gestured. The facts were explosive enough without theatrical flourish.
"This is not mere incompetence or poor judgment. This is treason of the highest order. A calculated betrayal of Emperor and Empire, driven by a man who would rather see our nation burn than admit defeat. The prosecution will prove beyond any reasonable doubt that Guinea Marix is guilty of every charge, and that his actions merit the maximum penalty our law demands. Thank you, Your Honor."
Perfect timing. Just long enough to outline the case without testing the judge's patience. Now for the theater of evidence presentation. Though given what Voskol had already seen in the preliminary documents, they wouldn't need much theatrical enhancement.
"We begin with evidence of the falsified medical diagnosis," Deitmann said, gesturing to his aide. "The prosecution calls Doctor Heimholtz, Chief Physician of the Imperial Medical Corps."
The medical testimony that followed was exhaustively detailed – charts, documentation, dated records establishing the Emperor's actual condition versus the fabricated tuberculosis diagnosis.
"And this document?" Deitmann held up a folder bearing the Chancellor's seal.
"Written orders to alter His Majesty's medical records, signed by Chancellor Marix himself."
Some of the recently-shifted War Hawks were taking particularly thorough notes now. Validation, perhaps, of their change in loyalty.
It seemed even the defense was at a loss; they hadn’t even bothered to cross-examine or counter. Whatever they might have said probably would have backfired, though with the mountain of evidence at Deitmann’s disposal and the backing of the Prince’s announcement, anything more simply would have been icing on the cake.
"We now turn to the military situation." Deitmann's transition drew Voskol's attention back to the present. "General Siegs, please approach."
"General, could you explain your role during the period in question?"
"General of the Army, responsible for all ground forces of the Empire." Siegs' tone matched his reputation. The War Hawks had gone particularly still; this wasn't just any general offering testimony, but the highest-ranking army officer in the Empire. Some probably even looked up to him. If there was any witness to command their respect, it would be the only present member of the Three Great Generals.
"And you had direct knowledge of the coup against His Majesty?"
"Yes. Several of us did." A slight tightening at his jaw – the only crack in his professional demeanor. "We were informed after the fact. Chancellor Marix had already positioned loyalists in key command posts, particularly in the capital region. Military police, garrison commands, communications centers. By the time we understood what had happened, he controlled too many critical positions. Any attempt at intervention would have fractured the army."
Whether he knew beforehand mattered little; what mattered was the fact that he was against Marix and had spoken the immediately relevant truth.
"Let us move to the military reports." Deitmann nodded to his aide, who began distributing documents. "The prosecution enters into evidence reports from the Malmund Pass engagement and subsequent operations."
The documents painted a clear picture. Original casualty figures crossed out, replaced with more palatable numbers. Tactical retreats recharacterized as strategic redeployments. Entire units struck from the records.
"General, what was your role regarding these documents?"
"I was ordered to revise any reports showing significant losses. When I objected, the Chancellor made it clear that accurate reporting would be considered defeatism, punishable as treason."
"And the actual figures from the ground forces?"
"In the Malmund Pass engagement alone, we lost an entire armored brigade. Over five thousand casualties. The revised reports showed 'acceptable losses' and claimed tactical success. In reality, it was an utter defeat, one that forced General Konnar to recommend immediate withdrawal into the mountain range itself."
Voskol noticed Klieger had stopped taking notes entirely, just staring at the documents.
"No further questions for this witness." Deitmann returned to his seat.
"Does the defense wish to cross-examine?" the judge asked.
Marix's lead counsel rose. "Yes, Your Honor." He approached the stand. "General Siegs, would you agree that military morale is essential to victory?"
"Objection." Deitmann barely needed to stand. "Relevance to the factual testimony about falsified reports and the coup."
"Sustained." The judge's response was immediate. "Counsel, confine your questions to the witness's direct testimony."
Marix's counsel didn't miss a beat. "No further questions, Your Honor."
Smart enough not to waste the court's time when his strategy had been blocked. Voskol suspected they'd save their ideological arguments for their own witnesses.
"The prosecution calls Admiral Karlmann, Chief of Naval Operations."
The admiral's approach to the stand brought a different tension to the room. The War Hawks might respect Siegs, but Karlmann was about to tell them exactly what their stubbornness had cost the Empire.
"Admiral, please state your position during the period in question."
"Chief of Naval Operations for the Imperial Navy."
"Could you describe the actual state of our naval forces?"
Karlmann's expression hardened. "We've lost four entire Conquest Fleets: the Second through Fifth. Effectively destroyed. The exact casualties..." He paused, searching for the right words. "Rescue operations are still ongoing and the records were altered so frequently that even I can't give you an accurate count anymore. What I can tell you is that we’ve lost dozens of carriers, over a hundred thousand men, and that the Americans control the entire Conshal Ocean. Our remaining ships – Caesar’s First Conquest Fleet, the Imperial Defense Fleet, and other stragglers – are essentially trapped in port, held back for homeland defense."
No wonder the IBC kept recycling footage from the early victories. Hard to show naval supremacy when there weren't any ships left to film. Though that explained the constant "technical difficulties" during the Mirishial coast coverage, didn't it?
"In response to these losses, did you take any official action?"
"Yes. On January 25th, myself, General Siegs, and Air Marshal Himman submitted a joint recommendation for immediate ceasefire negotiations."
The War Hawks agreeing to a ceasefire? If someone had suggested that even last year, he'd have laughed them out of his office. Though perhaps if they'd known it came with Siegs and Karlmann's signatures...
Deitmann lifted the document. "And the Chancellor's response?"
"Received the very next day." Something in Karlmann's voice had shifted. "January 26th."
The response was exactly what Voskol had expected from Marix: all that nonsense about defeatist thinking and inevitable triumph. As if words alone could restore four fleets. The part about reconsidering positions wasn't even subtle as far as threats went.
At least now they knew what happened to Air Marshal Himman. "Logistics coordination in the Southern Territory" – might as well have sent him to count supply crates in the middle of nowhere. Classic Marix: couldn't execute the man outright, so he'd buried him in bureaucracy instead.
"Does the defense wish to cross-examine?" the judge asked.
Marix's counsel rose. "Yes, Your Honor." He approached with the kind of confidence that made Voskol wonder what angle they'd try this time.
"Admiral Karlmann, in your experience, has any Gra Valkan fleet ever surrendered?"
Interesting approach. Trying to paint a ceasefire recommendation as un-Gra Valkan. Though they really should have learned from the Siegs attempt—
"Objection." Deitmann again. "Counsel is attempting to argue ideology rather than address the witness's testimony about specific military losses and document authenticity."
"Sustained." Even Voskol could tell the judge was starting to get annoyed. "Counsel, restrict your questions to the facts presented."
Marix's lawyer didn't waste time arguing. "No further questions, Your Honor."
The prosecution moved on to the IBC testimony. Voskol had wondered how they'd handle Marcellon's evidence without making him appear in person – smart move, really, keeping him safely away from any potential retaliation.
Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.
"The prosecution calls for the presentation of evidence from the Imperial Broadcasting Corporation."
Deitmann's transition was smooth. He'd obviously been waiting for this moment. "The prosecution would like to direct the Senate's attention to two key documents demonstrating systematic obfuscation of military defeats." He stood at his podium, holding up his copies. "First, a January 4th directive to the IBC establishing complete control over military footage. Then, a January 24th order that reveals the full extent of this obfuscation."
Amazing how bureaucratic language could make censorship sound so routine. Though that was rather the point, wasn't it?
"The first document ordered the IBC to use only pre-approved footage supplied directly by Marix's office. No additional materials, no independent commentary. The second document..." Deitmann's tone hardened slightly. "The second document threatened death for anyone reporting actual military losses."
He paused to drink some water, then laid the final blow. "The prosecution contends these documents prove three specific charges: First, the willful obfuscation of military losses. Second, the systematic threatening of media personnel under false applications of the National Integrity Act. And third, the deliberate misleading of the Imperial Senate regarding the true state of the war."
The former IBC Chief Technical Officer might not have been in the chamber, but his paper trail told quite a story. Daily implementation of content restrictions, each directive more severe than the last. Fresh naval footage simply ceased to exist in broadcasts, replaced with carefully curated reels from the early victories. When questions arose about the Conshal Ocean campaign, they were met with vague references to "ongoing operations" or simply vanished from the broadcast schedule entirely.
Most damning were the personnel directives. The few journalists brave enough to raise questions during live broadcasts suddenly faced mysterious technical failures, their feeds cutting out mid-sentence. They'd vanish from the evening news shortly after, reassigned to remote stations or relegated to archiving decades-old propaganda reels. Voskol recognized several names from those memos, faces that had simply disappeared from broadcasts without explanation.
Then there were Marix's direct orders to the IBC leadership: "Victory requires absolute faith." The same words he'd used with the admirals. Seemed the Chancellor only had one song to sing, though he'd certainly found plenty of ways to force others to sing along.
The proceeding dragged on for several days, mostly time allotted to reviewing the evidence, and time for the prosecution to lay down their arguments. Marix's defense team had long abandoned any semblance of innocence. At this point, it was impossible to deny the coup, and Marix knew it. That left them only one option: to double down. His lawyers tried – they really did, but their attempts to twist the imperial laws to justify his actions for the sake of the empire were only met with objection after objection.
Day four brought the same tedium. More documents. More witnesses. More objections. Voskol had memorized every crack in the marble floor trying to stay awake through technical testimony about communication protocols and chain of command procedures. Even the War Hawks had given up their furious note-taking, instead staring blankly as yet another aide confirmed yet another obvious fact about Marix's coup.
Then the defense counsel stood. "The defense calls Chancellor Guinea Marix."
Strange how a single sentence could make the room feel smaller. Voskol watched Marix rise, still carrying himself like he owned the chamber. The man hadn't slouched once during the entire proceeding; probably thought it beneath him.
"Chancellor Marix." His lawyer's tone was carefully neutral. "Could you explain to the Senate why you felt it necessary to assume emergency powers?"
"The Empire was being gutted from within." Marix's voice hadn't changed either – that same tone he'd used to lecture them about military spending. "Our Emperor, who should have been our strength, had become our greatest weakness. The GVS Revolution proved it. He ordered our own ships sunk rather than face the enemy. Patriots murdered by their own Emperor for daring to show proper Gra Valkan spirit."
Some of the War Hawks nodded before catching themselves. Old habits.
"And the military reports? Why hide the losses?"
"Hide?" Marix actually smiled. "I protected the Empire from the poison of doubt. Victory requires absolute faith. The moment you admit defeat is possible, it becomes inevitable. A true Gra Valkan would rather die fighting than live in shame."
"Even with the Americans on the verge of controlling our waters?"
"Either we win or we deserve to burn. There is no middle ground. No compromise. No surrender. The Emperor would have us kneel. I chose to let us stand."
Voskol had to admire the strategy, in a perverse way. He was out of defense. He couldn’t hide from the coup when it was plain as day who orchestrated it. His final hope, as insane as it was, remained in doubling down. When the facts are against you, embrace them. Turn treason into martyrdom. Paint yourself as the last true patriot.
Yet, Marix was no patriot – far from it. He was simply delusional, and in his subverted idea of ‘patriotism’, ended up doing more harm than good. How much better off would they be if he’d agreed to a ceasefire? If the Emperor had never lost his throne?
"No further questions." The defense counsel sat, probably relieved his client hadn't been even more explicit about his contempt for the Emperor.
Deitmann rose slowly. "Chancellor Marix, you spoke of protecting the Empire from doubt, of requiring absolute faith in victory. I would like to examine the practical outcomes of this policy. When American missiles struck our fleets, what tangible protection did this enforced faith provide?"
The War Hawks who'd been nodding earlier suddenly found the floor very interesting.
"Our faith in the Empire was essential to maintaining morale and unity in our darkest hour. Without absolute conviction, we would have crumbled from within," Marix said.
"The court records show Admiral Karlmann's reports detailed catastrophic losses. In your professional judgment, what strategic advantage justified continuing the campaign after receiving these assessments?"
"Better to die with honor than live as slaves to foreign powers!" Marix declared.
"Chancellor, as the head of state, your primary duty was to preserve the Empire and its citizens. How do you reconcile that duty with the decision to proceed despite clear evidence of inevitable defeat?"
Marix's mask finally cracked. "How dare you insinuate defeat! I did what was necessary! The Empire must survive at any cost! Better to sacrifice millions than to see our civilization fall!"
"Thank you, Chancellor. The prosecution rests, Your Honor."
Perfect timing. Let Marix's outburst be the final note. Voskol could already see heads nodding among the moderates. Time to vote, then. About bloody time.
The judge's instructions felt perfunctory at this point. Everyone knew which way this would go, but tradition demanded proper procedure. They filed out for deliberation, though 'deliberation' was perhaps too strong a word for what followed.
The first vote was unanimous; even the War Hawks couldn't justify keeping Marix in office after that display. The second vote, on the criminal charges, took slightly longer. Not because anyone doubted his guilt, but because some senators needed time to process that they were actually condemning a former Chancellor to death. In the end, the result was the same. Unanimous.
More shuffling at the gallery entrance. Time for the official witnesses. Trust the Imperial Press Office to have their people positioned exactly as rehearsed. Some of the newer reporters looked ready to burst, probably their first time documenting anything bigger than a trade resolution. The veterans kept to their assigned spots, cameras ready. They knew how this worked.
When Voskol and the other senators filed back in, Marix still sat straight-backed, as if this were merely another budget debate he'd eventually win through sheer stubbornness. The judge's formal reading of the verdict didn't change his expression. Even the word "death" didn't crack his facade. The scratching of pencils and clicking of cameras provided a fitting accompaniment to his downfall.
"Let the record show," Judge Reimardt began, "that on this day, the Senate has voted to remove Guinea Marix from the office of Chancellor, effective immediately. Furthermore, on the charge of high treason against His Imperial Majesty, this body finds the defendant guilty. As prescribed by Imperial law, the sentence is death."
What followed was the tedious business of justice: declarations of findings, official seals, recordings for the archive. Each senator's vote had to be entered individually into the record. The defense made their appeal motion. Naturally, the judge denied it.
Voskol noticed the subtle shift in the guards' positioning. Not obvious unless one were looking for it, but there were more of them now. And the ones by the main doors were Imperial Guard, not regular security. The War Hawks hadn't noticed, too busy looking anywhere but at Marix. The Doves were still watching him, perhaps waiting for him to finally break. But he just sat there, probably still believing he'd been right.
The judge was just finishing the final declarations when the chamber doors opened. The sudden shuffle of guards snapping to attention. The rustle of senators rising. And there, flanked by his personal guard in full regalia – Cabal himself. Not Crown Prince Cabal anymore; Voskol had to correct himself. With his father's condition and Marix's conviction, he was Emperor in all but the ceremonial proclamation. The realization seemed to hit several senators at once, their formal bows becoming notably deeper.
The judge's gavel cut through the shuffle of bows and murmured greetings. "By Imperial precedent and the gravity of this moment, I hereby yield the chamber to His Imperial Majesty." A pause, then: "The Emperor speaks."
"Members of the Senate, honored officials. Today marks not merely the end of a traitor's rule, but the rebirth of proper Imperial governance. The lawful succession falls to me – not through violence or deception, but by my father's will and the Empire's traditions.
"My father, though he survived Marix's treachery, bears wounds that prevent him from ruling in these difficult times. He has entrusted me with the burden of leadership, and I intend to prove worthy of that trust.
"The Senate's verdict against Marix is just. His execution will be carried out at dawn tomorrow. To those who served him: I offer clarity, not vengeance. Demonstrate loyalty to the true Imperial authority, and you'll find your place in our restored order. Resist, and face the consequences of that choice.
"My first act restores proper command. Admiral Karlmann will resume control of our naval forces. General Siegs returns to command of the Imperial Army. Every military unit will report through their proper chain of command, effective immediately. Officers who received battlefield authority through Marix's direct appointment are relieved pending review.
"Marix's campaign of lies has done more damage than any enemy. While our forces remained powerful, his incompetence squandered their strength. While our industries developed weapons that could reshape continents, his blindness prevented their proper deployment. This ends now. The Imperial Broadcasting Corporation will return to its proper role – reporting truth, not manufacturing it. Our citizens deserve to know the true might of their nation, not the fabrications of a desperate man.
"To all Imperial military forces: I hereby order an immediate cessation of offensive operations. Maintain defensive positions and strategic readiness. Any commander who defies this order will answer directly to me. Our diplomats will establish appropriate channels for the formalization of this directive.
"Let our adversaries understand the meaning of this order. The Empire chooses this path not from weakness. Our laboratories and factories have produced weapons that can reduce cities to ash in moments. Our military strength, properly directed, remains formidable. But unlike my predecessor, I recognize that true power lies in knowing precisely when and how to use it.
“And indeed, the Empire's strength has never relied on a single man's ambitions. Our power is absolute – Marix simply lacked the wisdom to direct it properly. That changes today. Those who stand with us will see the Empire restored to its rightful place. Those who stand against us will face the full consequence of that decision.
“Hail Gra Valkas!”
– –
Otaheit, Mu
The wireless crackled with the end of Cabal's transmission. Sinclair reached for his tea, long since gone cold. Bloody marvelous timing, this. Just when the Americans and their remarkable machines had given them proper odds, the new Emperor decides to play statesman.
He rewound the recording. "Weapons that can reduce cities to ash." Not Marix's usual bombastic nonsense about destiny, this. The recording quality was poor, but there was something in Cabal's tone that made him think of the reports from the Americans on Earth’s World War 2. Nasty business, that.
"Prime Minister?" His aide appeared at the door. "General Seneville on the line."
"Right then." Sinclair set down his cup. "General, I expect you've seen our friend's performance?"
"The Americans' surveillance confirms their armies are holding position. Complying with the ceasefire, for now." Seneville paused. "But that bit about their weapons development..."
"Quite." Sinclair glanced at the technical assessment on his desk. They'd lost too many good men learning exactly what the GVE was capable of; too many good men trying to play catch-up with technology. "Keep our forces ready. Ceasefire's all well and good, but I won't have us caught with our trousers down."
“Of course, sir.”
Sinclair stared at the frozen image of Cabal. Young face, old eyes. Not the sort to rattle sabers without cause. "And… inform the Americans we'll need expanded surveillance coverage."
"And the ceasefire, sir?"
"We'll observe it." Sinclair finally opened the intelligence report. "Let’s just hope we’ve not many rogue elements to deal with. Cabal may be more reasonable than his predecessor, but he's still Gra Valkan. Best we remember that."
– –
Runepolis, Holy Mirishial Empire
The light of the recording sphere diminished to nothing, leaving his study in the warm radiance of the lamps. Four millennia of governance had impressed upon Mirishial the particular value of such moments; they were, in their nature, much like the stillness following a tempest, or that breathless interval which arrives between great transitions of power.
"A most enlightening declaration." He lifted his glass. "Our young friend has learned much in his exile."
Liage adjusted his spectacles. "The Americans will insist upon protecting their newfound trade interests, Your Majesty. They mean to preserve Gra Valkan industry rather than exact full reparations."
"As well they might." The vintage deserved more attention than it would receive today; matters of empire left little room for proper appreciation. The Treasury's meticulous accounting of damages would signify little – no ledger could capture the true cost of lost influence, of diminished certainty. Yet their weapons and industry would prove necessary sooner than most suspected. "Our concerns lie elsewhere, I should think."
"The Ministry detained three more this morning," Birkburn reported. "Annonrial agents posing as Altaran merchants. They've developed some manner of concealment for their wings."
"Indeed." The word carried the weight of ages. "A most troubling development. If they can hide their wings at will, one wonders how many more walk among us even now."
"The timing cannot be coincidence," Pao observed, his orange-striped tail curling in thought. "They grow bold as our attention fixes elsewhere."
"Not bold." Mirishial set down his glass. "Patient. The Annonrial Empire has had millennia to perfect its methods." Such thoughts made the recent war seem almost trivial in comparison.
"Director Birkburn, what of the interrogations?"
"Nothing, Your Majesty. Three days, and not a word beyond their merchant facade. Though..." Birkburn frowned. "Their silence itself is telling. Common spies break. These ones..."
"Accept death like it means nothing," Pao finished. "Just like the last group."
"We cannot spare resources for proper investigation," Liage noted. "Not while reconstruction demands such attention."
"Then we must adapt to new circumstances." Mirishial's gaze fell upon the documents awaiting his signature: treaties and agreements that would cement the new order of things. Such chaos served the Annonrial's purposes rather too well; they would hardly devise a better means of hindering the world's preparations against their Ravernal masters. American weapons, Gra Valkan industry – even diminished influence seemed but a modest price when weighed against extinction.
"Shall I arrange discussions with the American delegation?" Liage asked.
"Indeed." Mirishial lifted his pen. Whatever the Americans knew of the Annonrial threat – if anything at all – was a matter for another day. "Let us sign their treaties and be done with it. Pride is a luxury ill-suited to these times."
– –
Washington, D.C.
The same old leather chair creaked as Lee leaned back, watching Cabal's image fade from the Situation Room's screens. His third coffee of the morning sat cooling on the table – he should probably switch to water at some point. "Well, he certainly stuck to the script."
"Clean delivery," Klein agreed. "Initial reports show the GVE military accepting the transfer of authority. Karlmann and Siegs are implementing command restructuring as planned."
McCarthy nodded. "The deterrence narrative's gaining traction. Gives us the diplomatic flexibility we need."
"Speaking of which." Lee rubbed his eyes. "Gordon, status on the Mu negotiations?"
"Sinclair's amenable to the framework," Heiden said. "But we're facing parliamentary opposition on reparations and territorial compensation. Given the extent of coastal devastation, it's not unexpected."
"Present the economic assistance package," Lee said. The briefing materials had been ready for weeks. "Particularly the infrastructure development proposals for the occupied zones-"
"Already initiated," Heiden managed a tired smile. "The development framework for the Oster-Malmund corridor is particularly effective. Hard to maintain opposition when we're committing to full modernization of their transport infrastructure."
"Assessment?"
"They'll ratify by week's end. Military command recognizes the strategic imperatives, even if some parliamentary factions are still pushing for punitive measures."
"Status on the Leifor?" He prepared for complications, but Heiden's response was immediate.
"Deferring to EDI framework. Let them deal with that mess."
Lee nodded. One more piece in place. "Good. Update on containment network?"
Secretary Hill cleared through his papers. "Base infrastructure complete in Galavete, Vestal, and the Columbian Islands. McCarthy's implementation ahead of schedule."
McCarthy nodded. "Carrier Strike Groups rotating through all three AOs. We've got continuous ISR coverage of the southern maritime approaches."
"And the Conshal situation?" Lee asked.
"Meeting with their provisional government next week," Hill said. "Once we get approval for forward operating bases, it'll complete the ARTCOM defensive perimeter. Though I still say we should brief our allies on the actual threat assessment."
Coleman shook his head. "Too soon. Let's get through this transition first. The last thing we need is-"
Fitch's tablet lit up. The DNI studied it for a moment. "Sir, JSOC teams in Quila are engaged with suspected Annonrial operators. They're employing tactical barriers and sensory manipulation spells far past what our simulations have shown. Team Two took minor casualties from an Annonrial ambush."
Perhaps they’d need to work on joint training with the Mirishials. Having Qua Toynians and Parpaldians play opfor simply wouldn’t cut it when the Annonrials were basically a near-peer opponent with generations of experience. "Locations?" Lee asked.
"Quilan Royal Treasury," Fitch said. "Our team was conducting a joint inspection with their government when they encountered unidentified operators. Confirmed Annonrial by their wing structure before they employed concealment magic."
"Local security?"
"Quilan forces are establishing a perimeter. Our team maintained observation until the suspects used short-range teleportation to break contact." Fitch checked his tablet. "Two of our men injured during the initial encounter – nothing serious. The Annonrials are advanced enough to know what cameras are and avoid them."
The tablet lit up again. Fitch frowned. "Revival beacon's secure. Looks like they were probing our security measures."
"Testing our response times," Lee said. "Next time won't be a probe."