War Chaplain Peter Dupris knelt before an altar in one of The Chosen's secret underground chapels his hands clasped in prayer.

A slender woman in a grey skirt and blazer entered, silently walked through the chapel, and after making the sign of the cross knelt beside him.

“Has the inquisition completed their investigation?” he asked after a few moments.

“Yes, Father,” the woman replied. “It is as we feared. In addition to our former leader, Silvia Salvatore, scans of all of our bishops revealed the taint of Patricia Hu. The list distributed by Jon Wintersmith was correct. Our entire leadership has been compromised.”

“And what action has been taken?”

“They are all being held, Father, pending judgement from the senior member of the clergy.” the woman paused and then smiled. “There has been a decision concerning that as well… Your Excellency...”

“I see,” Peter replied. “Then my judgement is that they be given mercy.”

“Mercy, Your Excellency?” she asked raising an eyebrow.

“Yes,” he smiled. “Do not remove their tongues so they may repent and offer their souls to THE LORD as they are burned at the stake.”

“I see,” the woman smiled. “Most merciful, indeed.”

“And what of the inquisition?” he asked. “Have they chosen a new High Inquisitor?”

“There are several worthy candidates,” the woman replied. “The final choice has been left to you.”

“I assume you are on that list?”

“Yes, Your Excellency,” she smiled.

“So, High Inquisitor...” Bishop Dupris, High Bishop of the Chosen said as he smiled at her. “what of our people?”

“They are shaken, Your Excellency,” the woman frowned. “This betrayal and now this vile pestilence that infected us spread by that same betrayal cuts deep.”

“Have the infected been identified and quarantined?”

“Yes, Your Excellency.”

“Then I shall administer last rites and absolve them so that they may fall upon their swords without sin.”

“Most kind, Your Excellency.”

“Concerning our shaken flock,” he mused, “Are you familiar with The Proclamation?”

“That heresy?”

“Declared so by the very heretics that we shall now consign to the purifying flame,” he replied.

He turned to her with a wicked smile.

“In fact,” he continued, “I believe it to be the actual word of THE LORD as evidenced by the miracles granted to the prophet and martyr who uttered those very same words.”

“Miracles?”

“Yes,” Bishop Dupris replied. “On Red Sunday when the vile Federation launched their attack upon our foe one of the greatest of us, The Hammer of God, Michella Vasquez arose from the dead. When they made their doomed landing in New Brussels she proclaimed that all Children of GOD, regardless of religion or species were under the protection of THE LORD and if they stood against the Federation THE LORD stood with them. Then she was granted the strength of a legion. No needle or beam could stop her as she slew a countless host of the invaders. Finally, upon reaching their landers and command post she burst into holy purifying flame cleansing the field. From the reports we have gathered from that day her damaged suit of armor and its malfunctioning and leaking reactor should not have been able to detonate with such divine force. In fact she should have perished not long after powering it up. It was clearly the hand of THE LORD blessing her.”

“But she stood alongside the Saracen blasphemer! Held one in her arms as he descended into Hell!… Wept over his body! It is even whispered that she… that they...”

“It seems such things matter far more to us than they do to THE LORD.” the bishop replied. “HIS hand blessed her just the same. In fact, it was in that exact moment that she received HIS grace. It was at that moment that THE LORD spoke through her.”

“But Your Excellency...”

“Such things are not without precedent,” the bishop said calmly. “Consider Saint Peter’s Vision of the Sheet. THE LORD was quite clear then and I believe he is quite clear today. We were wrong and our lack of vision was punished first by our defeat, then by our suffering in exile, and now by this betrayal and pestilence by the same people who we allowed, through our hate and greed, to mislead us from the start. How many more times must THE LORD smite us before we listen to HIS truth? Besides...”

The Bishop stood and stretched.

“The Chosen are in disarray, shaken, confused, and frightened. They need something they can rally behind. The Proclamation is perfect. The fact that we can, even if we must stretch a little, lay claim to miracles in this day and age will strengthen their faith and revitalize their spirits. We as a people face a threat, a very real and very present threat at the hands of the Federation. We have the arms, we have the suits of power armor, and we have the skill to use them. What have we been preserving these things for if not now? Perhaps even more importantly we have never been accepted, forced to hide even now, due to our terrestrial origins and our history of strife against many of those we have been condemned to live with. We have been granted an opportunity to stand with 'our people', whether we want them to be or not, and perhaps, just perhaps, claim a place among them. Remember The Proclamation and The Vision of the Sheet. It is not for us to say that they are unclean if THE LORD has claimed them. We have been brought here by THE LORD, to HIS people, and given this trial. We shall not fail HIM,” the bishop said looking skyward. He then turned to the woman and said with a slight smirk, “..or ourselves.”

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

The woman rose as she looked at the bishop in awe.

“THE LORD guided our decision to chose you as our leader, Your Excellency,” she said in a reverential tone as she bowed and kissed his hand. “I shall inform the flock.”

“We have much to do and no time in which to do it,” the bishop said with a final stretch.

He then spread his arms wide.

“Let us begin… DEUS VULT!” he shouted.

“DEUS VULT!” the woman exulted with fire in her eyes.

***

Jessica Morgan sat in a concrete bunker somewhere on that same planet’s surface and addressed a row of faces displayed on some old two-dimensional monitors.

“… Fine...” She sighed as she took a very large gulp from a very large wine glass. “I’ll do it. I don’t know why you want me to, but I’ll do it. I lost last time! You remember that, right? I lost!”

The assembled faces all looked quite pleased… and relieved. They all just sat there silently looking at her expectantly.

“… Goddammit...” she muttered.

She took another drink. Why? Why her? And why did I agree? she asked herself as she sipped away.

She wasn’t the same person she was all those years ago. She didn’t want this. Sure, there was a time where she wanted to rule a solar system. There was even a time when the thought of waging a war against something like the Feds would get her absolutely sopping, but not now. Now all she wanted to do was drink, smoke weed, do some blow, wander through her gardens (that she would never see again), and count her money... Maybe play some petty political power games when she got bored...

She was tired. She was old. She was completely and totally done with this shit and it hadn't even started yet.

I could have said no. I should have said no. I MEANT to say no! I WAS GOING TO SAY NO!!!

I should be loading up my ships with goodies and liquidating my assets getting ready to head over to my little hidey-hole in the Empire...

I shouldn’t be doing this!

Fuck...

She sipped as she pondered the situation. And all of those assholes were just sitting there… looking at her… waiting...

“This time things will have to be different,” she said after a little while. “We can’t have an army. We can’t have a fleet. We just need good lines of communication between the individual independent groups, good distribution of intelligence, and some decent coordination so we don’t trip over ourselves. I will provide coordination, intelligence, and guidance. As before my organization will also offer tactical and strategic planning services as requested. I may even be able to provide limited logistical support.”

She paused as she took another healthy drink.

“I should not, and will not, lead you assholes as a single military force this time,” she said, “This is a time for raiders. This is a day for tribes. You need to gather your people and take care of your people. This isn’t about winning or losing. This isn’t about conquest. This isn’t about defeating the Federation. We aren’t going to do that. We can’t do that. This is about survival, pure and simple. If at the end of the day we are breathing then that is our ‘victory’. The next day we fight the same ‘war’. Then we do it the next…. And the next… and the… you get the fucking idea.”

“And how should we-”

“I have no fucking clue,” she grumbled. “I’ll figure it out. For now scrape up every credit you can and buy yourself whatever toys you need.”

She took a deep breath, buried her face in her free hand and sighed.

“If anyone is short on creds I am prepared to issue a loan,” she grumbled. “Ask if you need one but remember,”

“The Devil always gets her due,” the group said in unison.

“That’s right! She fucking does!” Jessica snarled. “But don’t doom yourself because you are short. You can’t regret your debts, and more importantly to me pay them, if you are fucking dead.”

Everyone chuckled.

“There is one thing I am certain of,” Jessica said after a moment. “There is one hard and fast order I am making right fucking now. Listen close! Do not under any circumstances go after any Republic or Imperial targets! I’m fucking serious. Don’t do it. We are, through some fucking miracle, getting our hands on arms and supplies from them through some backdoor deals. We fuck up one time and that is gone! I still have my brass bull. I will use it! I hate the fuckers just as bad as you do but now is NOT the time. Let’s keep this a one front war.”

“What about the non-affiliated?” one crone asked.

“I feel for them, I do,” Jessica replied. “But right now we gotta take care of ourselves. We are no good to them dead or captured. I bet most of you can’t even properly take care of your own men and their bloated families.”

There were mutterings of assent.

“Let’s brainstorm,” Jessica said as she took another drink. “I open up the floor. What are we going to do about the civvies?”

Everyone just looked at her blankly.

“I’d said I’d do this but I never said I would do it all by myself!” Jessica snapped. “Ideas! Now! What can we do?”

Jessica refilled her glass as people started to talk. Then she started to take notes.

Maybe if I had done this more often I wouldn’t have lost last time, she mused as she took another sip.

***

Drifting silently through that same system a small craft invisibly orbited above the planet.

Inside a young demi-queen stared intently at a display.

“Neat!” she buzzed happily.

The drone piloting the spy craft glanced over at her.

“Got something?” he quietly asked.

“Yes!… Maybe… No!… Definitely something!,” she replied. “Strange signals… Electromagnetic... Not Federation… Alien...”

“Alien?” the drone asked in alarm.

“Yes,” the queen grinned. “Very strange. At first I thought it was just ‘noise’ from their messy electronics. That’s what the computer still thinks it is. Now I’m pretty sure it’s a transmission… maybe… No!... Definitely! It’s definitely a communications signal!… I think...”

She trailed off as she fiddled with her instruments.

“Is it the humans?” the drone asked. “What are they saying?”

“It’s probably the humans and I have absolutely no idea!” she buzzed happily perfuming the cabin with joy. “I can’t decrypt it! I have no idea what they are up to but I bet it’s gonna be fun! That Morgan person said that it would only be a few days! I can’t wait!”

“We should pull back soon,” the drone said after a few moments. “Those cruisers’ sensors are based on the shoddy technology of the accursed Kalent but still, this is far too much risk. It would be quite inconvenient and even worse embarrassing in the extreme were we to be discovered.”

“In a minute,” the demi replied. “These signals are stupidly weak and are almost entirely confined to the atmosphere! They are somehow making them ‘bounce’ back to the planet! I’m hardly getting anything as it is!”

“Is that even possible?”

“Aparently!” the demi clicked excitedly. “There’s no way those Feds have any idea they’re doing this! They have somehow developed a completely new form of communication! Humans are so cool!”

The cabin filled with the scent of persuasion.

“No.” the drone said firmly. “We are NOT entering the atmosphere! As far as the rest of the Federation knows we have no interest in these events. If we get nabbed by a cruiser it will make deniability difficult in the future, and I do NOT want to wind up in the nest trying to explain to her nibbles how we showed up on those ships’ logs.”

“Pleeeease...”

“Nope,” the drone replied crossing his arms. “and you have either molted too much or not nearly enough to pull off that ‘pleeeeease’ so just drop it.”

The demi buzzed their equivalent of a razzberry.

“Well you’re no fun at all,” she laughed.