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Thuranni
Firmament, Firmament Sector
Ascendance Fédérée
3 January 3401



Central Thuranni was a shambles. The nuclear device concealed in the Lady Ascendant's lectern had been weak, by the standards of interstellar combat, but vastly greater in power than all but the largest pre-space weapons. An estimated 305,000 people had been killed by the explosion and by the the huge amounts of shrapnel it created - the glass-faced buildings common in modern architecture had proven deadly, as every window turned into a thousand knives hurling at terminal velocity into the crowded streets below. The carnage had been extreme; the whole Central Avenue was splashed with blood and strewn with gore, at least in those parts where the detonation had not vaporised the ground and everyone standing on it. Horrific scenes abounded, affording a human's-eye view of an international tragedy: people vanished entirely, leaving only a shadow on a wall or sidewalk; trees turned instantly into torches along with the children perched in their branches; a mound of charred corpses where a monument had shielded the victims from the blast, but not from the intense heat that followed it.

As in every tragedy, there were scenes of inspiration and heroism as well: Emergency personnel scrambled to remove debris from bodies, heedless of radiation and razored shards alike. Combat medics from the units which had been parading grimly treated every injured person they could find, ignoring their own terrible wounds. In an act of random chance, the flag of the 7th Division of the Lady's Guard had survived tattered but intact, and planted itself upright on the very lip of the bomb's crater. The silver stars and tree waved in the harsh wind, a vivid reminder that the Ascendancy, despite the tragedy, was still alive.

The same could not be said for its ruler. Lady Sikala had been at the very epicenter of the blast; there was absolutely no chance that she had survived. Rescue personnel had searched anyway, digging desperately amongst bodies and rubble, but no trace had been found of anyone who had been on the reviewing stand. Apart from the humanitarian tragedy there was the political nightmare: among the dead, both confirmed and presumed, numbered half the Admiralty, two of the eight Grand Dukes and Duchesses, twenty-five other members of the high aristocracy, and a large number of business and political leaders. No one could even begin to predict what the effects on the social structure of the Ascendancy would be.

The Ascendancy was a young nation; just recently past its second century, all of which time had been spent under the guiding hands of the ir-Virtu family. Sikala II had no heir, though - the next Lady or Lord Ascendant would have to be chosen by the Convocate of Nobles, and there were no clear frontrunners for the position. The whole federation might collapse; the Formics, particularly, had never been very happy with their place in the social order and might take the opportunity to break with the government, as might any number of small groups previously held together more by enmity towards the French and the charisma of the ruler than by any genuine national feeling. What would happen now... was entirely unknown. There was a chill of foreboding in the air of Thuranni that almost matched the searing heat of the bomb that had claimed so many lives.

Somewhere over the Feeeleepenes at 65,000 feet.

The Shepistani robotic combat drone tore through the night sky, it's ceramocarbide liquid-metal deforming skin as black as the skin of a dead whore.

It's formal designation was EDI (Extreme Deep Intruder) Unit #3214. But everyone in the 69th PNIS called it Dragonlord.


File photo of an EDI unit freedomizing a random building.

It was listening to Bragulan death metal in one subnode of it's 'mind' as it scanned the hyperspectrums of the land below it.

Bragulan death metal was the result of a former IBGV agent using the secret microphones the IBGV had planted all around humanspace to spy on non-Bragulans. He screened the hettobytes upon hettobytes of audio the IBGV had recorded on bragsteel gramophone records stored deep within the giant jukeboxes that were the IBGV's central dataplexes.

The agent carefully collected only those records that had crashes followed by pitiful moans from the vehicle wreckage and released it under the underground Bragtown record label using a pseudonym.

The Bragulan public loved it. They fucking loved it, and the agent became filthy rich.

Unfortunately for him, he had not covered his tracks (ha!) well enough, leading to him being executed by the IBGV for misuse of Byzonist resources.

Ironically, a week after his execution, an official decree came down designating BragMetal as Byzonist-sanctioned music, as the IBGV wanted to recover some of that revenue stream -- a music tax on the Bragulan public that could be used to fund further IBGV penetrations of non-Bragulan space with ever more microphones.

Dragonlord loved BragDeathMetal. The screams of the people in their crashed cars and aircraft as their life fluids bled out was music. Fucking music.

As it passed near the Centrality embassy, it's radiation detector meters spiked, and it quickly flew a search pattern which locatorized the radiation source to a specific room in the Centrality embassy below.

It's Effect of Cause subroutines ran until it successfully correlated the recent theft of irradated gold from the Feeleepini banking system to the radiation source in the embassy below.

Clearly the Centrality was using the stolen money to fund unhealthy communist activities within the feeelepens, judging from communist symbols such as religious missionary schools and hospitals in disadvantaged areas it had found during it's last couple of flights.

Within Dragonlord's AI brain, signals were sent to weapons systems and it banked hard over.

The Effect of Cause subroutine finally correlated the recent bomb threat announced regarding the Centrality Embassy and saw the perfect opportunity.

The starboard weapons bay opened up and the C-SMARM munition was released.

Covert-Smart Malingering Anti Radiation Missile.

The C-SMARM rocketed down towards the embassy below; executing it's covert action subroutines.

When the C-SMARM was within two meters of the ground, it executed it's IRAN-CONTRA manouver and turned 90 degrees in less than one meter, while it's speed increased to Mach Six point six six.

Through the transparent titanium window in the missile's nose, optical sensors saw the embassy garage ahead of it and its brain selected one of the vehicles as the target for the TOM CLANCY terminal effect mode.

Two stories above the Garage, the CIS agents were feeding the corpses into the Embassy's classified material de-moleculerizer, which would reduce them to their constituent electrons and get rid of the evidence when the C-SMARM's sensors registered contact with the vehicle.

The C-SMARM's casing was made out of plastic C-431, which was intended to be a totally distengratable casing for secret covert operations such as this. Billions of dollars had been expended in creating the wonder-plastic.

C-431 was also sold outside of Shepistan as Greenstic; the miracle plastic that lasts decades in the sun, but once in the ground degrades in five years. Business was brisk due to environmentalists demanding it's use to minimize landfill space galaxywide.

Due to the Centrality embassy being evacuated due to a made up bomb threat, casualties were limited to the five CIS agents on the grounds as part of the emergency clean up team.

Three Hours Later

The Ambassador sat at a cheap fold-up desk inside one of the CIS safehouses nearby.

"So your fake made up bomb threat actually somehow managed to save us from an actual bomb? What are the chances of that?" he muttered to the head of CIS operations in the feeleeepens.

"Yessir. We think it was an attack by the Moro Sultanate Party..."

At that moment, a CIS agent burst into the room.

"Sir! Look at this!" he shouted, throwing the front page of the MAYNILAD BULLETIN onto the table.
{photo showing half-full weapons bay on Shepistani EDI drone taking up 1/4 of page}

MAYNILAD, Luz - A photo taken by the Bulletin's arts and society photographer Pewterschmidt Perker while exploring the nearby Shroomarcos Central Nature Preserve shows undisputably that Shepistan is operating combat drones in Feeleepini aerospace. What's more, the photos show that weapons have been expended by the Shepistani drones, possibly linking the Shepistani illict operations of heavily armed combat drones to the recent explosion in the Centrality Embassy among other places.

The Shepistani government has flatly denied that any drone operations exist...

"Those god-damn cocksuckers! They think they can blow up our embassy in Shepistan and then do it again?!?" shouted the ambassador, his face turning beet red, with a notable vein on his forehead pulsing.

One Hour Later

Pewterschmidt Perker smiled as he walked down the steps of the Maynilad Bulletin's building. It had all happened quite by accident. He'd been out trying to photograph the elusive Red-Banded Throapshucker with his DIKKON 500mm SHROOM-ZOOM lenses, when the drone had flown right over him. He had followed it until he reached a ridgeline that rose above the terrain enough for him to see the whole secret Shepistani airbase.

That'd gotten him a transfer out of the Arts and Society beat towards the more attractive foreign policy beat. He was already looking forth to covering places other than the shitty run down so-called social scene of Maynilad.

In fact, he was so engrossed in thinking over the possibilities of his future that he totally failed to notice someone walking up to him wearing a heavy tan duster.

The Shepistani Intelligence Service Operative saw the goddamned reporter responsible for this whole fucking mess, just like their inside source in the Maynilad Bulletin, one Beddie Frock -- had told them.

Goddamn reporters, the SIS man repeated internally as he pulled the grenade out and tossed it in an overhanded throw.

It bounced off Perker's head before exploding in a white cloud.

As the SIS agent quickly exfiltrated, dumping his tan duster in the process, he could hear Perker's screams as the white phosphorous burned him alive.

Just like all goddamn lieberals deserve. the agent thought.

Recommended Listening
Aboard the NSAS Turtles All the Way Down

Obi-Wan Wilton stood in the sparring room trying to not act as nervous as he was. After all, he was about to meet the legendary combat master Yogurt!

"Oy! You there! You're Obi-Wan, right?



Wilton gasped as he saw the diminutive...uh...man. Or whatever he was.

"Yes, yes I am. I'm ready to begin training, sir."

"Excellent. We don't have much time, so I'll have to give you the advanced lessons and hope they stick."

"I'm a good student, so they sho-OWW!"

Wilton fell to the ground, clutching his knee, which had been struck by Yogurt's thick staff.

"Why aren't you ready to train?"

"I am! You could have told me we were starting now!"

"No time!"

"FUCKING HELL!" Wilton screamed, as his other knee was soundly wrapped by Yogurt's blunt instrument.

Obi-Wan quickly started a training montage with Yogurt.




After a training montage that went on for far too long, Obi Wan hung his head.

"This is too much, way too much."

"Hey, kid, they unfroze me for this kack! Oy gevalt! I've been asleep for years and now I'm having to train you! You'll get training and you'll like it!"

"Okay, fine, just stop kneecapping meEEEEEEEEEEEE! WHAT THE FUCK! WHAT'D I JUST SAY?"

"I'm the master, I say what goes!"

Commander Djangles looked on, hoping that Master Yogurt could adequately train the journalist. He had too much promise to die by Fatty hands.

The Central Times

Centralist Rumblings in the Outlands?

There have been reports that Centralist groups have taken over a planet in Sector AA-24, on the former Outlands. The Center of Foreign Affairs has expressed that "our Centralist brethren in the Outlands have taken their first step in restoring order to the region." The Central State has declared that it will help the Outlander Centralists with "all possible means short of war." CENINTERN has congratulated the Outlander Centralists of its success.

The People's Truthful Bi-Daily Ideologically Purified Accurate Information Broadcast to the Proud Patriotic Bragulan Listeners of THE GALAXY begins thusly:

BRAGULE CONDEMNS CONNIVING CENTRALIST COCKAMAMIE CONTAMINATIONS OF OLD ORIENTAL OUTLAND ORDERS

MIGHTY BRAGULE - The Imperator's Council and the People's Department of Limited Foreign Interaction and Human Affairs has issued a warning to the Centrality, regarding the spread of Centralism in the former-Outlands, stating that "foreign interferences in the regions near Bragule and its allies will not be seen kindly, for they have the potentiality to upset the precarious balance of post-Outlands states."



Minister of Limited Foreign Interaction Volydimyr Putyn likewise stated that the introduction of a foreign and predominantly human ideology in the multi-speciestic region of the former Outlands infringes upon the rights of the beings dwelling there and prevents them from choosing their own destinies and deciding their fates, for their already unfiltered ideologues may be further contaminated by unwanted human influences.

Another concern raised by the Imperator's Council and the People's Department of Limited Foreign Interaction and Human Affairs is the spread of militant Centralism and fundamentalist humanism in third world planets, which threaten the democratic states of the former Outlands and the freedoms they uphold.

As the Imperator Darvyl Sagatantron Byzon himself said in his Quotations:

"The danger of fundamentalist and extremist humanism is most evident in impoverished third world planets. After all, were not the home worlds of humanity themselves bankrupt third worlds of the worst kind? And did those third worlds not spawn an even greater threat to the galaxy and all its freedom-loving species? Indeed they did, and this must be why we must be vigilant in protecting our great societies from the barbarism of these furless fanatics."

Force Lord wrote:The Central Times

Centralist Rumblings in the Outlands?

There have been reports that Centralist groups have taken over a planet in Sector AA-24, on the former Outlands. The Center of Foreign Affairs has expressed that "our Centralist brethren in the Outlands have taken their first step in restoring order to the region." The Central State has declared that it will help the Outlander Centralists with "all possible means short of war." CENINTERN has congratulated the Outlander Centralists of its success.

Constantinople Times

Ecumenical Patriarch Gregorios Innokentii declares that Centralism must be countered

When news of a world in the Outlands had been taken over by Centalists reached the ears of the Ecumenical Patriarch, he was enraged. "These Godless Heretics who call themselves Centralists. continue to deny the divinity of the God Emperor and persist in spreading their Godless heretical ideology. I declare that we should counter this spread of heresy by sending missionaries with great zeal to spread the Word of the God Emperor. We must fight this threat vigorously, or risk losing people to heresy, and also risk undoing the Work of the God Emperor." It is believed that the Church has stepped up its missionary program by enlisting zealous preachers from the World of Cananaan, and charging them with the divine work of spreading the Word of the God Emperor and actively encouraging xenophobia amongst the human populations. "The Hatred of the Xeno must be actively encouraged. Fear the Xeno. Purge the Unclean. Burn the Witch," the Ecumenical Patriarch is fond of saying.

CENINTERN Conference, Centrum
14 January 3401

After Kierger finished, the CENINTERN Chairman, Francis Picard, took over.

"The Centralist situation is mixed. On one hand the Outlands situation is one favorable to us. On the other hand the Parties in Aurore and the Feelipeens are under pressure. Their representatives have come here under great danger and I doubt they can return safely. Among non-humans, Centralism is making headway, but only in the Outlands, with considerably less success elsewhere."

Some of the alien Centralists began muttering. One representative from the Reef Star Republic spoke from his microphone.

"It could have been worse, had Dovan not forseen the day non-human races would met the human race and planned accordingly. Not to mention that his successors set a precedent for flexibility," said the representative.

"Indeed," said Picard, "and so we must be thankful. Now, we must debate how to proceed with the situation in the Outlands. Should CENINTERN send advisors only, or should the members do more to help?"

CENINTERN Conference, Centrum
14 January 3401

"It doesn't look like he's particularly happy to be up there," Carey observed blithely, inclining his head slightly to the Centralist dictator. Evette Seymour didn't need the general secretary's observations to see for herself that Kierger seemed ill at ease on stage. In a way, it wasn't really surprising - the man had just recently taken power. Still, it would take an exceptional man to move the cause of centralism forward. He would need to move past stage fright if he was going to actually become that man.

"It still remains to be seen what he's made of," she observed by way of response, "I don't think we can draw much from cold feet. That other, however, is interesting," she said, referring to Redav.

"A bodyguard?" Carey opined.

Evette gave a barely-perceptible shake of her head, not enough to draw attention, "No, look at Kierger's body language. Whoever he is, he's more important than some mere bodyguard."

The two listened in silence as Picard spoke, addressing recent events in the Outlands and what was to be done about them. When the chairman paused to await a response, Evette saw her opportunity. She didn't need to look over - nor use her powers - to know that one Jerome Carey was rapidly going to go from surprised to angry. "The chair recognizes the representatives from the United Centralist Party, Humanist Union," Picard wasn't familiar enough with the Humanist party to know or perhaps even care that Evette had just taken initiative above her superior.

"We recommend a more forceful, dedicated response," mutterings from the assembled representatives; the Humanist party was known to be small, and what she suggested besides was, of course, baldly ambitious. She waited for the murmurs to die down, a polite smile fixed on her face, allowing her gaze to rove over the crowd, "The advantage here is not one of material gain - the Outlands are poor and relatively isolated - but of ideology. By engaging in enthusiastic aid, we show that the promise of security and stability integral to centralism is not so much hot air but our deliberate goal, even where relatively unimportant comrades are concerned. This will, in turn, inspire centralist movements galaxy-wide in more emboldened activity. Naturally, we cannot support all such movements, but their mere presence is a poisoned thorn in the side of the forces of anarchy and misguided government. Existing centralist movements may expect a swell in popular support by making an obvious move towards their ideals. Meanwhile, popular socialist movements - including new humanist ideology - can expect to lose prestige from their comparative inaction."

Again, muttering, and again, Evette waited, ignoring Carey's obvious fury as she did, "I do not believe that the forces standing in opposition to the spread of centralism in the Outlands are credible. The Bragulans are known just as much for empty bragging as actual action, and their virulent hatred for humanity guarantees that they will find no unpaid-for allies among the local human populations; the forces of centralism are in no such position with other sapients. Further, the Bragulans are engaged in multiple conflicts as it is, making a crackdown unfeasible. The theist Byzantine vermin suffer from a similar weakness - no sane "alien" party will cooperate with them - and they are engaged in military affairs of various description."

More muttering, but now some of the delegates seemed more intrigued. Now, of course, came the tricky part - she chose her words carefully so as not to undermine her earlier appeals to ideology, "Even if third parties do act in the Outlands to crush our efforts, the region is economically, politically, and militarily unimportant. Centralism will suffer no particular hard loss, and we may of course return later to aid our brothers in bondage," she fixed her gaze on Kierger - Redav didn't have a face to be read - and continued, "Of course, the participation of the Centrality itself will only serve to lend to the legitimacy of this move and to decrease the odds of its failure."

Evette sat to resumed murmurs, and now Carey finally spoke, albiet in a quiet hiss, "Last I checked, Ms. Seymour," he all but snarled, "I was the General Secretary, and you were the assistant. You'll overextend us, and if DII ears are listening here, you've all but guaranteed that we'll be arrested by the time we get home - if not killed before then."

Evette gave no response at first. She understood the man, even if she didn't particularly value or like him. Carey fancied himself a practical administrator, a man who could set aside ideology when reason was called for instead, the sort who managed the day-to-day functionings of a party that the ideologues didn't even know existed, let alone understood. In short, like many would-be political messiahs in the Humanist Union, he thought he was Roland Stein. What Carey was as far as Evette was concerned, was an able middle manager, a man who was in power only because he was a gray compromise candidate. Not a messiah but a good, strong workhorse, and while an animal of hard labor could be valued for its strong back and raw strength, one didn't count on its brains to lead. Rather than saying this, Evette put it in words she knew would at least calm Carey for now, "Did you disagree with anything I said?"

For a moment, he just stared silently. Then, grudgingly, he spoke, "No," his tone turned condescending, "It's just that sometimes reason must come before ambition."

Already, Evette imagined, Carey had reframed the past few minutes in his mind - he would be the old hand reigning in the ambitious rookie, even if he privately agreed. Evette wanted to tell him that he wasn't capable in thinking of such ambitious terms to begin with, that reason and inaction were not synonyms, but instead she gave a slight nod, mollifying him. He was, after all, the head of the party.

For now.

Tanasinn wrote:CENINTERN Conference, Centrum
14 January 3401

"It doesn't look like he's particularly happy to be up there," Carey observed blithely, inclining his head slightly to the Centralist dictator. Evette Seymour didn't need the general secretary's observations to see for herself that Kierger seemed ill at ease on stage. In a way, it wasn't really surprising - the man had just recently taken power. Still, it would take an exceptional man to move the cause of centralism forward. He would need to move past stage fright if he was going to actually become that man.

"It still remains to be seen what he's made of," she observed by way of response, "I don't think we can draw much from cold feet. That other, however, is interesting," she said, referring to Redav.

"A bodyguard?" Carey opined.

Evette gave a barely-perceptible shake of her head, not enough to draw attention, "No, look at Kierger's body language. Whoever he is, he's more important than some mere bodyguard."

The two listened in silence as Picard spoke, addressing recent events in the Outlands and what was to be done about them. When the chairman paused to await a response, Evette saw her opportunity. She didn't need to look over - nor use her powers - to know that one Jerome Carey was rapidly going to go from surprised to angry. "The chair recognizes the representatives from the United Centralist Party, Humanist Union," Picard wasn't familiar enough with the Humanist party to know or perhaps even care that Evette had just taken initiative above her superior.

"We recommend a more forceful, dedicated response," mutterings from the assembled representatives; the Humanist party was known to be small, and what she suggested besides was, of course, baldly ambitious. She waited for the murmurs to die down, a polite smile fixed on her face, allowing her gaze to rove over the crowd, "The advantage here is not one of material gain - the Outlands are poor and relatively isolated - but of ideology. By engaging in enthusiastic aid, we show that the promise of security and stability integral to centralism is not so much hot air but our deliberate goal, even where relatively unimportant comrades are concerned. This will, in turn, inspire centralist movements galaxy-wide in more emboldened activity. Naturally, we cannot support all such movements, but their mere presence is a poisoned thorn in the side of the forces of anarchy and misguided government. Existing centralist movements may expect a swell in popular support by making an obvious move towards their ideals. Meanwhile, popular socialist movements - including new humanist ideology - can expect to lose prestige from their comparative inaction."

Again, muttering, and again, Evette waited, ignoring Carey's obvious fury as she did, "I do not believe that the forces standing in opposition to the spread of centralism in the Outlands are credible. The Bragulans are known just as much for empty bragging as actual action, and their virulent hatred for humanity guarantees that they will find no unpaid-for allies among the local human populations; the forces of centralism are in no such position with other sapients. Further, the Bragulans are engaged in multiple conflicts as it is, making a crackdown unfeasible. The theist Byzantine vermin suffer from a similar weakness - no sane "alien" party will cooperate with them - and they are engaged in military affairs of various description."

More muttering, but now some of the delegates seemed more intrigued. Now, of course, came the tricky part - she chose her words carefully so as not to undermine her earlier appeals to ideology, "Even if third parties do act in the Outlands to crush our efforts, the region is economically, politically, and militarily unimportant. Centralism will suffer no particular hard loss, and we may of course return later to aid our brothers in bondage," she fixed her gaze on Kierger - Redav didn't have a face to be read - and continued, "Of course, the participation of the Centrality itself will only serve to lend to the legitimacy of this move and to decrease the odds of its failure."

Evette sat to resumed murmurs, and now Carey finally spoke, albiet in a quiet hiss, "Last I checked, Ms. Seymour," he all but snarled, "I was the General Secretary, and you were the assistant. You'll overextend us, and if DII ears are listening here, you've all but guaranteed that we'll be arrested by the time we get home - if not killed before then."

Evette gave no response at first. She understood the man, even if she didn't particularly value or like him. Carey fancied himself a practical administrator, a man who could set aside ideology when reason was called for instead, the sort who managed the day-to-day functionings of a party that the ideologues didn't even know existed, let alone understood. In short, like many would-be political messiahs in the Humanist Union, he thought he was Roland Stein. What Carey was as far as Evette was concerned, was an able middle manager, a man who was in power only because he was a gray compromise candidate. Not a messiah but a good, strong workhorse, and while an animal of hard labor could be valued for its strong back and raw strength, one didn't count on its brains to lead. Rather than saying this, Evette put it in words she knew would at least calm Carey for now, "Did you disagree with anything I said?"

For a moment, he just stared silently. Then, grudgingly, he spoke, "No," his tone turned condescending, "It's just that sometimes reason must come before ambition."

Already, Evette imagined, Carey had reframed the past few minutes in his mind - he would be the old hand reigning in the ambitious rookie, even if he privately agreed. Evette wanted to tell him that he wasn't capable in thinking of such ambitious terms to begin with, that reason and inaction were not synonyms, but instead she gave a slight nod, mollifying him. He was, after all, the head of the party.

For now.

Kierger was amused after hearing Evette's speech, not because of it's content, but due to the fact she did not wait for her GS's permission to do so. He wondered whethever Fredon would have allowed his subordinates such initiative. Perhaps not. He motioned for Picard to let him speak.

"The Centrality can, and will, help the Outlander Centralists to survive, but we are not worried just about Bragule and Byzantium. There are the Karlacks, the Hiigarans, and the Refuge to consider. While I doubt the Refuge and Hiigara would interfere much against the restoration of order in the Outlands, I'm concerned if the Karlacks decide to invade. In such an event we would be incapable of assisting due to distance. But then, the Byzantines are holding them in check, so the danger is not so high. The Centrality will send advisors to ensure the Outlander's defenders know how to fight well, as well as weapons, money, and food aid. I ask CENINTERN to spare some political advisors in order to ensure the Outlander Centralist Party to properly observe the principles of Centralism. We must defend our ideals, if they are to flourish!"

Applause met him, and Kierger felt more confident on stage. A vote was made, and approved the sending of advisors and suppplies to the Outlander Centralists.

Again Picard spoke. "Let us now turn to the discussion of the Feelipeens situation. Already Shroomarcos has sent his goons to rid his nation of centralists. We tell him that his efforts are worthless. We are made stronger when under pressure. The day is not far off when Shroomarcos finds himself hanged from a tree. We therefore support our brethren in the Feelipeens against the corrupt Shroomarcos and his savage Shepistani backers!"

More applause.

"The situation in the Feelipeens is, unfortuntely, repeated elsewhere. The Parties in New Aden and Aurore, for example, have been forced underground due to the repression of their Hijacked States. Others are not facing repression but still making little headway. Those in democratic states have different fortunes depending on their nations' economic health and national character. If the nation is prosperous and orderly, a Centralist will simply throw the towel and instead assume a low profile. If the nation is poor and disorderly, a Centralist may have a chance to seize the State with the tacit approval of the population if he or she promises and acts to be better than the previous regime. However, outside the Outlands, success has been limited. The only places Centralism has succeded so far is when the State collapses. There has been relatively few times when a Centralist Party has usurped the State from its previous holders or seized it outright. Clearly, there has been something wrong with our methods. The question is, how successful Centralism has been at the present day? Let us discuss."

Previously on SDNW4 wrote:The Central Times

President Kierger announces date for CENINTERN conference

As one of his first acts as leader of the Centrality, Dirad Kierger announced that in January 14 a CENINERN conference would start, and invited "all leaders of Centralist parties from around the interstellar community". The conference will be hosted on Centrum.

CENINTERN was founded in the early 24th century by a faction of Centralists who were frustrated by the Centrality's isolationist policy and wanted a more active expansion of Centralism abroad. They gave structure to foreign Centralist Parties and decided policy on their home nations. The Centrality's attempts to rein in CENINTERN paradoxically gave foreign Centralists more autonomy, and so less amenable to listen to Centrum's directives. Only recently did the Centrality attempt a reconciliation, which though sucessful did not give it any more control over CENINTERN's activities. The January 7 conference may be Centrum's attempt to gain greater influence in CENINTERN.

Centralist Parties from the following states have already announced their participation:

-Aurore
-Belkan Empire
-Estella Real de España
-The Feelipeens
-Emirate of Qumar
-New Aden
-Orange Free System
-Sultanate of el-Janari
-Valkyrate Matriarchy
-Kingdom of Cornelia

Parties from other nations have not yet said if they will send a representative, though there is no reason for them not to do so.

Centralist Party Headquarters/Shroomfield Family Estates, Kingdom of Cornelia

A spittake, of someone else's liquor, all over a very expensive antique statuette of solidified asteroid regolith representing the Unity of Centralism as had been popular in the 30th century. “What? No mention of us? Orange gets listed and not us? And who's half these people listed? 'Emirate of Qumar?' 'The Feelipeens?' You mean 'The' is a part of their name?” And then she (that being Royale Vinni, director of the Centralist Party of Prajuk's Horizon (in Exile)) drained the rest of the bottle and dropped it where she stood.

“That was our last bottle of Corsetti '65,” young Liane Shroomfield said sadly as she picked up the empty and shut off the telescreen. Great-Grampa Lord Shroomfield would not be pleased, for it was his favorite vintage.

Her younger second cousin, Samson Chang-Shroomfield, delicately patted the statuette dry. If it was damaged, Great-Grampa Lord Shroomfield would not be pleased, because he was very proud of having it in his collection. “I wish they'd go away,” he muttered.

“I wish they'd go away too! Damn Refugees, making refugees of us!”

Both the Shroomfields yelped in surprise. The vice-director the Centralist Party of Prajuk's Horizon (in Exile), Major Jones Vinni, formerly of the military directorate of that planet and brother of the director, had a habit of sneaking up on people and then yelling with his parade ground voice. He was wearing his dress uniform, as always, but with the medals replaced with his personal emblem.
“By Dovan's beard, they make a mockery-”

“Did Dovan even have a beard?” Samson whispered to Liane. She shushed him. If they stayed quiet enough, they might be able to escape. There was also the hope that someone else would wander in and then they could run off and leave that person to deal with him. Major Vinni's voice boomed, though, so no doubt anyone nearby was staying safely away; when he wanted attention, he latched on like a verbal leech.

How did things go so wrong so fast?
Spoiler
There was a noise of a crash outside. That had to make a mess; an excuse to escape! The two young Shroomfields ran out the door with more desperation than duty.

It was a cleaning cart/bot and the servant girl who monitored it. The bots had been so overworked recently that they were having breakdowns and each one had to be watched to make sure it didn't accidentally polish someone to death.

This bot was the source of the crash, lying in a heap on the ground. The girl, more like Samson's age than Liane's, was holding up a scrub brush and a bottle of cleaning fluid she'd pulled out of the bot.

“See! This isn't food! This isn't food!”

Oh no. It was him! The two ducked behind a plant-sculpture, hoping they hadn't been spotted.
Escaping from the major only to come across...whatever...he was. None of them were even sure of Whimpey's species. Humans could get plenty corpulent, yes, but shouldn't they still be somewhat human shaped?

They all heard his stomach growl. All of them. The Shroomfields held their breaths and hoped their heartbeats weren't too loud.

The servant girl ran off screaming. Whimpey followed. “Don't go! I'll gladly pay you Tuesday for a hamburger today!”

“Get away from meeeeeeeeee!”


The screams died off in the distance, and the major must have wandered away. The two Shroomfields sagged against the wall.

“I have an idea,” said Liane. “Great-Grampa knows about this conference and people who are going. Let's ask him to dump them there.”


Result: Worst Centralists ever!

Central Complex, Contact and Diplomacy Division, Prime Refuge


Chorus to All Stars was livid, a bright ultraviolet of rage. Her bodies bounced up and down on her mobile platform. “I AM THE HIGH DIRECTOR OF COMMUNICATIONS FOR CONTACT! LET! ME! IN!”

But of course it was a Modular guard in the way, Taupe-something something. Taupes were the worst.
Instructions: not to allow any to pass to the audience chamber until told otherwise.

“I am telling you otherwise! I have an audience scheduled for a tenth of a shift ago! AND the doors are open!” Her platform arms pointed at the blast doors to the chamber, which were indeed wide open. There was a very clear path inside, excepting the mass of Modular in the way.

Instructions: not to allow any to pass to the audience chamber until told otherwise.

“Ugh!” The legs stomped petulantly and her bodies grew new tiny appendages to wave in ultraviolet anger. “Time is precious and must not be wasted! We already have too much to do and never enough time to do it all, and now you're making me squander it!”

Instructions: not to allow any to pass to the audience chamber until told otherwise.

“The Minds can handle my petition along with whatever other business they are conducting. Let me by and say my piece and then I will leave them alone again!”

Instructions: not to allow any to pass to the audience chamber until told otherwise.

The platform paced back and forth several times, then started to turn away.


Later, in the future to come, Chorus to the Stars would explain her jumbled thoughts as going something like this:

Just like an Aggregate. Timid Aggregates. 'Cautious.' Hard methodical workers, adaptable at many tasks, etc etc etc. But scared. I am an Aggregate, and therefore a coward.

I want to be different. I want to be better so I can do better. The Refuge needs courage now, beings who can face the frightening Unknowns of Outside

There are always outliers.

Freaks. Sports. Abnormalities. We get taken apart and our bodies carefully joined with others to keep what is useful but destroy what is wrong.

We do that anyway, all the time, swap out and switch around and the fears get smeared across our entire population.

But I have been Chorus to the Stars a long time. Oh sure, I budded off a self just before I took this name and worked my way up, but that doesn't really count. My position now is too high to allow anyone else to get any of my memories, and I haven't taken a body in since...Third Eaters, seems so recently but so long ago.

Too individualistic to let my thoughts get muddled by someone else. See? I am an outlier. I can be brave like the Avians and Mechanicals.

...no one said I couldn't go in...

What? Disobey orders?

I haven't been ordered to stay out.

Taupe wants me to stay here. The Minds presumably ordered...'presumably'? Just like that mysterious person who doesn't like Contact? What is going on?

This is dangerous and wrong. 'Thought is free' but only to correct bad thoughts and show what is correct. Being corrected on wrong thoughts improves the understanding of correct thoughts.

What if the new ones are correct, but against the orthodoxy?

If it is correct, then it must be spread to improve us all. Would that not take courage, to not hide but stand the tests?

Fulcrum! Phoebe-o! Sapphire! That's not courage! That's stupidity! The ambassadors leave here and immediately start going crazy!

Or maybe they are just faced with the Unknown. It is New out there. They have instances where correct thoughts are not known and must be found. Also two out of three suffered no consequences.

No, Fulcrum did too, though in his mind being sent to a giant galactic party would be fun instead of a horror of Unknown.

That's based on gossip!

True, but...what is the correct thought here?

...to wait?

Waste more time. Just like with the Lost. Be idle until we shrink away from fear, again. I cannot simply allow that to happen again. I will have my audience.

This is Unknown. Now it is time to learn, for the sakes of everyone. I will do this.

I am an outlier. I am Chorus to the Stars.

But at the time, as her platform turned away as if to leave, there was only one coherent thought in her group-mind: To Hells with it.

SPROING!

Her bodies shot out in all directions. She had coiled them as tightly as she possibly could in that moment and now all that energy was released for one task: getting past Taupe-something something. Some went directly at gaps. Some flew towards the walls, hoping to ricochet through gaps. Modulars could react quickly - if they knew ahead of time what was coming. They were usually a tad slow when dealing with complete surprises.

BOING!

The bodies bounced off the corridors. Communication between them had gotten a little shaken up, but three of them together held the thought: This is so stupid. They couldn't remember why, though, because the two bodies that contained the memories of this sport were hidden past the mass of Modular. Those two bodies also remembered how very long it had been since Chorus had played this game.

SPLUT!

Not good. Taupe caught one of her bodies! That never would have happened when she was still in practice, but oh well. Nine was still a good number. She gathered her thoughts and made sure she could still remember her mission: Locrians waking, gotta talk. Check, good enough. Hopefully that one wasn't carrying anything critical for that, but no time to worry about that. Her little bodies rolled and jumped down the way to the audience chamber as fast as they could. Chorus was in too much of a hurry and too tired by the exertion to notice that the blast doors were not being shut.


Result: Chorus to the Stars thought she didn't have any balls, but then she realized that she IS balls!

Force Lord wrote:

Code: Select all

CIS ENCODED MESSAGE
RECIPENT: SHINRA REPUBLIC
SUBJECT: CLASSIFIED

WE HAVE DETECTED LARGE INCREASE IN MESSAGE TRAFFIC. CONTENTS ARE UNKNOWN TO US. OUR INVESTIGATION REVEALED SIMULTANEOUS ACTIVATION OF WARP GATES FROM SEVERAL NATIONS. FURTHER SEARCH REVEALED REPEATED USAGE OF WARP GATE IN YOUR SPACE. WE SUSPECT YOUR GOVERNMENT IS PLANNING SOMETHING. WE POLITELY ASK FOR YOUR INTENTIONS. CENTRALITY CAN KEEP A SECRET. ANXIOUSLY WAITING REPLY.

[END MESSAGE] 

Midgar, Shinra Republic
The message from the Centralists had been received and reviewed. And the President asked for opinions.

"Tell them to mind their own fucking business?" ventured the Director of Shinra Intelligence.

After a good laugh was had by all, the Secretary of State coughed into his hand. "Perhaps we could be a bit more diplomatic about it."

"Indeed. But we shouldn't reveal too much of our plans. Not at this early stage." This was the President's order, and it would be carried out.

Central Complex, Contact and Diplomacy Division, Prime Refuge

Some of Taupe slithered over to the fallen mobile platform and righted it. Then the one body of Chorus to the Stars that he caught was set on it. It was confused since it was alone, but it found the nutrient tap and settled down to drink and rest. Taupe too settled down, because of the secret instructions not to pursue or shut the doors if anyone got by.


The audience chamber was always shifting in size and shape to accommodate any and all who wished to speak directly at a consortium. It wasn't truly necessary for anyone to come for petitions could be made directly to Minds or to the consortium. The consortium didn't even 'meet' there, but simply kept debating cores close enough to not have communications lag; some of them were in orbit around Central Complex. It was inefficient to bring people there instead of simply speaking at a distance. But the Thinkers believed it was important to have an utmost place of appeal, an absolute of the last resort, that it filled a psychological need for symbolism and as they decreed this place was built.

It should always be noted with any mention of their decrees that the Thinkers were completely insane.

The chamber was small when Chorus hopped in. The smooth and rounded walls were colored neutral shades of gray, and the room was empty except for one short plinth sitting in the middle.
It was obvious that Chorus needed to jump onto it, so she did.

It was a rush of light of thought. The Minds argued and exchanged data and made plans at the speeds of any high-level AI, far too fast for any organic to keep up, but little bits and fragments leaked through.

”Centralism, sudden rise.” Flash. Sounds. “Not created by theologically-sound means, but once made, it propagates itself soundly.” “Disturbing tests.” “The alliance is growing.” “Slowing construction? But how can we compete?” “Electronic 'hug-bot' he calls it.” “Why are we still debating this?” Flash. “Assimilation studies results are still early and preliminary but have not been promising.”

And then it cleared as the thought-link reorganized itself to accommodate her.

“She arrived,” one unidentified Mind said, and the 'she' carried all her official identity designations, names and codes.

“She's late,” came a mutter like a whisper from another one unidentified. It stood out somehow over the background hubbub-of-sorts which indicated that communications were still being held around and outside this one.

Chorus bristled (literally, grew tiny little spikes like goosebumps all over) at the insult and wondered if the Minds were making a scene for her (and then hoping that none of that had leaked through, as she hated thought-links). Then she reabsorbed the spikes and began to start to make her speech.

“No need for that,” said the first Mind, and 'that' held the thoughts of “making speeches and all that superfluous padding. Just be direct.”

Chorus felt a very weird tickling sensation, very purple, but only for a moment before it passed. “Locrians!” she blurted.

Another Mind came forth, but this one was clearly Looks Afar, who made a small explanatory data burst that was something like:
“Locrian Collective. Previously, a distant [location given] scientific curiosity. Automated repeated message broadcast [message] from systems for as long as all recorded histories found [listing of notes]. As vessels that attempted to explore or trespass tended to end suddenly by automated defenses, the area was mostly bypassed by everyone. Unknown then if Locrians had died and their machines kept running, traveled elsewhere, or were truly in stasis/sleep. Now apparently they have awoken; a much stronger broadcast akin to ours has been transmitted across the galaxy; other nations [listing] have responded. Some speculation that recent strong broadcasts by us, the Lost, and the MEH and I hate to say that may have triggered signals to awaken, but no confirmation.”

It was a strange combination of both an infodump and Looks Afar making comments and it felt odd. Chorus had talked to some who had come to consortium meetings, and they described nothing like this. It was almost like they were trying to unbalance her, but Chorus was resolute. And she was direct.

“Locrians: predating all other space travelers we know of. Also gathered information during their sleep. Both records ancient and relatively recent would be incredibly valuable. Fantastic opportunity. Example: could have knowledge of unknown dangers in these regions of space. Or confirmation on Earth-Nova Terra connection.
“Willing to trade and is in search of other information. Information trading possibilities obvious.
“Phenomenon 'ESP' unknown to them. Removes uncomfortable worries of theological-unsoundness in that regard. Other aspects unknown, so must be explored and studied.
“Language structure indicates-”

“Enough,” said another unidentified Mind. “Your request?”

“First, to respond to their message. Second, to send a diplomatic team to establish direct relations and trade information.”

The hubbub grew a bit louder, and then there was a rumble of many thoughts as one: “ACCEPTED and AGREED.”

Now she was simply bold. “Additional request: communication with the Lost.”

“DENIED.”

“Reasoning behind the denial and ban on communications?”

This rumble was smaller, not so many voices in unison: “It was decided that silence was the most prudent course of action at this time. Further information is above your level, and you are not to ask again unless given new instructions. Are there additional questions or requests?”

“None.”

“Then prepare a message for approval, high priority. You are dismissed, Chorus to the Stars.” The link cut off, and she found herself sitting on the depowered plinth.

She hadn't been expecting any of that. There was still the annoying problem of not talking to the Lost, which she still felt was a bad idea. Still, at least they would be talking to the Locrians. That was something.

Chorus rolled off the plinth in a series of small plops, then went rolling back out of the chamber.


Result: The Refuge will be contacting the Locrian Collective.

Former Outlander Commissions

The sectarian violence that fell upon the Outlands during its harsh fragmentation had further fermented the bad blood that boiled between the constituent peoples of the defunct Commissions. The ensuing civil wars that broke out in that forgotten part of the galaxy saw countless millions of lives wasted as rival factions and warlords vied for power. Among the most active participants of the slaughter were the Airaii, a race of militaristic insectoids whose culture had never moved beyond their ideals of small group and individual combat. Elsewhere in the galaxy, they had gained reputation as ruthless mercenaries, but in their home worlds they made for even more ruthlesser despots. Their societies gravitated towards individualistic arachno-libertarianism, and were contented with fighting in between themselves as much as did the factions belonging to other races - after casting out the Angmarids on their worlds to flee to the Reef Star, they almost immediately resumed warring with one another, and it was even said that the Angmarids in those planets had fled because they were caught in the middle of insectoids' internecine warfare. But whenever confronted with an even greater, external threat, the Airaii Swarms would never hesitate to band together to fight new foes, just as they did during the time of the old Outlands, when the pact of the Commissions the mutual defense against outside aggressors. When fighting a mutual foe, the warlords would even compete with one another, sending their forces to do daring raids and strikes to prove their mettles to rival Airaii.

The arrival of Centralism in the Outlands had galvanized many of these Airaii warlords, who saw the prospects of the foreigners reuniting their enemies in the other factions as a grave threat to their own continued existence as independent arachno-libertarian insectoid states. The doctrines of dialectical Dovanism was anathema to them, and the rate at which it was spreading likewise alarmed them. Something had to be done. A message had to be sent to these soft-shelled upstarts, lest they force the Airaii's claws.



Aray, Arayna Territores
Sector AA-24, Former Outlander Commissions
IN GODDAMN UNREAL TIME/Early 3401

The Airaii flagship itself, the Inmacabora, hovered above the planet Aray. It powered up its mighty laser cannon and unleashed immeasurable energies upon the target below it.

Men, women and children watched from all over the world, beholding the sight of untold carnage and destruction with horror. Their lives would never be the same. Their world would never be the same. And neither would their uninhabited moon.



The Airaii had sent their message to those who would consort with Centralism.

Imperial Chronicles
Somewhere on a World in Outlander Space

They came in the middle of the night. As cliche as it might sound, the night as always offered some measure of protection against the prying eyes. And here they were at their designated location. They were here to do service for their God and Emperor. They were here to serve Him. By serving Him, they will be granted salvation and protection against the various Horrors in the universe. These heathens who deny the divinity of the God Emperor must be punished.

At the chosen hour and time, they made their moves. They stormed the apartment complex, dragging out the heretic out from his bed. His guards had their throast slit before they could even so much as whimper. Their blood that splattered on the floor was the only evidence that any violence had taken place. But the perpetrators of the violence did not mind. Blood inspired fear in mortals and served as a reminder of what would happen if anyone defied the Will of the God Emperor.

This scene repeated itself throughout the capital city of Oblast, the capital city of a human dominated world, which was 3/4 human and 1/4 xenos. The humans had long been engaged in war with the nefarious xenos, screaming battle cries in honor of the God Emperor. They would fight and die for their Master and Lord and eventually, they would win against the Xenos. The Xenos have however proven resilient in the never ending war, even though they knew they would only delay the inevitable. But it was their way. They would not cower in fright against an unstoppable force. They would fight, even if it meant their deaths. It was the nature of their Way to fight against tide of humans. Byzonist verses kept their hearts beating and their limbs on fire. They would utter these verses before any battle with great religiousity not too different from the Byzantine scum. The Words were the source of their courage and their strength and they forever sang songs praising Byzon and asking for his intercession.

As for the Centralists, many of their leaders were subjected to long hours of interrogation. During an interrogation, in the far corner of the interrogation room, a shadowy figure bearing the sigil containing an "I" sat silently watching the Oblastian intelligence agents interrogate the Centralists in every brutal manner possible. They sat silent and were in some ways bored. They knew what the Centralists would say even before they said anything. They were after all the masterminds of the operation.

When all was ready, the Centralists were dragged up onto a hill with a heavy cross on their backs. There they were nailed onto the crosses, and then the crosses were held erect on the top of the hill. When a priest had come and asked if they would ask the God Emperor for forgiveness, the Centralists, in a moment of bravado spat onto the priest and vile heresies came forth from their frothing mouths. The priest was impassive, and merely shook his head. Then the order was given, and the Centralists were burnt alive. Many could see their burning crosses from afar; a sign and warning to all those who commit foul heresy.

Such is the Will of the Holy Inquisition of the God Emperor, and let their Will be done.

The People's Truthful Bi-Daily Ideologically Purified Accurate Information Broadcast to the Proud Patriotic Bragulan Listeners of THE GALAXY begins thusly:

BRAGULE BOLSTERS ALIENOID AIRAII ALLIES IN IMPRESSIVE INHUMANE INITIATIVES

MIGHTY BRAGULE - In keeping with the most Byzonic decrees of glasnot and bragstroika, Bragule has praised the efforts of the Airaii alienoids in the former Outlands in defending their freedoms from undue foreign influences. Meanwhile, the scourge of Centralism has been joined by that of extremist Byzantine fanaticism in the Outlands, and the People's Department of Limited Foreign Interaction and Human Affairs has issued statements condemning the destabilization of the region brought about by the actions of certain foreign actors in careless introducing foreign ideological contaminants.

As an emergency peacekeeping and re-stabilizing measure, Bragule has offered its support to the Airaii factions, in terms of inhumanitarian aid and supplies - from the provision of more minerals and vespene gas at diminished prices, to the shipment of unspecified materials to help the Airaii factions in their noble cause.


*click*


Somewhere in the Outlands

After making a killing in Hanson in a final fire(arms) sale right before the Hiigaran intervention, he had quickly left the Outback and gone underground. When things had simmered down, he went to the BEEEF to restock on goods and supplies, and now he was back - in the Outlands, this time, to make a profit. Centralites on one side, Bragulans on the other, all sorts of aliens caught in between and now Byzantine fanatics burning everyone they came across, it seemed as though everyone was in the business of killing - and business was a-booming.



The bald-headed, black-suited vulture had arrived. He walked into the Outlander Commission's carcass, minding his step, careful not to get any of the spent casings on his very expensive shoes. He slicked what little remained of his receding hair back and adjusted his tie. It was time to make money.

Aray, Arayna Territores
Sector AA-24, Former Outlander Commissions
IN GODDAMN UNREAL TIME/Early 3401

Inside a former Commisions bunker, the Centralist Party of the Outlands met to discuss the recent attack by the Airaii.

"We should counterattack! We cannot let this aggression go unpunished!", said the Aray representative.

"With what ships? Over half of our fleet has already been sent to reduce a Byzonist stronghold! We must figure out another way!", said the Aguamundo representative.

"We must seek out allies. The Mechanicals and the Mari are good bets. The Angmarids I'm not sure we can trust. The good news is that our propaganda is increasingly making the various human warlords and crime lords unstable in their rule. Former military members of the Commissions are increasingly flocking to our banner," said the General Secretary.

Just then, a cloaked man barged inside.

"The messenger!", cried out the President. The men saluted.

The shadow's voice was cold. "My masters have warned me that Byzantium and Bragule are now attempting to increase their influence here. Our time is running thin. Centralist control in the Outlands is limited to several Arayna territories and some scattered alien planets. If a coalition of anti-Centralists attack us now, we shall be in the greatest danger. The Prime Central State is already sending us military aid. I will not be surprised if their agents will arrive here to ensure your security. I have already met them myself."

"That is good! More aid is always needed!", said the President.

"How are the executions going?"

"Very well! We executed dozens of alien Byzonists and human Heraclius worshippers in a single day! As well as some stray communists!", said the President.

"I see. How are millitary operations going?"

"We sent a large force to destroy a Byzonist warlord. I instructed my men to make sure his subjects are given the choice to join us or face ruin."

"So that is why those Airaii managed to strike us unperturbed. I think you need an early retirement."

The shadow raised his hand, and the President was lifted into the air.

"No! I will fix it! I will-"

The shadow closed his hand.

*crack*

The corpse fell to the floor.

The shadow declared, "Recall the fleet. We must focus on building our forces until they reach a critical threshold. Any offensive must be done on weak factions for now. Do you understand me?"

"YES SIRE!"

"Very well. Carry on." Then, motioning to the guards, said, "Take the body to the incinerator."

The guards nodded, and carried the body away.

Fair Solaris Party headquarters
Greenwood Banks, Solaris



“Jesus Sid, don't tell me you agree with these people!” Lyra Saxon was beyond herself with anger. “These... these people are brutes. Animals. And we are too, as long as we continue to associate ourselves with them!”

The special emissary wore a pained expression. He realized that not for the first time he actually agreed with the FSP leader, but was still going to have to be the one to defend the unpleasant – even unsavory - realities of galactic politics. He sighed. “Lyra, calm down. Have a seat. Please?”

Saxon stopped pacing, looked at him, brushed a hand through golden curls. She sat down. Her shoulders sagged a little. “You're going to go realpolitik on me again, aren't you?” Her glare was accusatory.

“It's my job. Look- for what it's worth I don't like it anymore than you do-”

“It's not worth a damned thing!” She was standing again, and working up a storm of indignation. “Did you read the same report I did? They crucified those people. And then burned them alive. And for what? For daring to have a political disagreement!” Lyra Saxon had clenched her hands into fists so tightly her knuckles went white. “And our supposed allies let it happen in the name of their zealot potentate. Egged it on, even! So don't tell me you 'don't like it'. You champion our continued association with these people, and why, well- ”

“Because the alternative is even worse,” Sidney cut her off, exasperation lacing his voice. “What do you want us to do? Cut ties? Intervene? What?”

“Putting a stop to these savageries would be a good start! Sweet lord, it's the 35th century! If ever there was a time for religious insanity then surely this isn't it?”

“So, what? Send in the marines?” Now Sidney was standing too.

“Why not?”

“Because Byzon would have a field day! Dammit Lyra I don't like the Imperium either, but you know what it's like out there! We've got a billion Bragulans and God only knows how many Karlacks ready to tear our throats the moment they sense weakness. That's before the Collectors, Pfhor, goddamn Chamarrans... The only thing standing between us and the next Zonewar is the appearance that we are undivided. We cannot afford to alienate our most important ally, distasteful though their actions may be. We simply cannot!”

Lyra Saxon placed her knuckles on the desk and leaned forward, glowering. “So tell me Sid, you coercive, amoral, Machiavellian fuck, where does that leave us? What does that make us? We're no goddamn better than them!” She slammed a fist into the table. “If we can't save ourselves without compromising our values, then let this damned Sovereignty go down the drain!”

He scowled right back. He knew his logic was impeccable. He knew it was for the best. Then why did he still feel like a bastard for arguing this?

Because your ethics routines haven't completely degraded yet, answered the digital voice in the back of his mind. As usual when operating in low-bandwidth mode the personality divide between the semi-biological avatar and the CI awareness was more pronounced. Dionysus loomed in the back of his mind, an immeasurable ocean of cool analytical detachment. The CI pulsed a reflection, and the emissary was suddenly reminded of his discussions with Nisa Tari. Parallels blossomed at speeds greater than thought, drawing consonants between the simple virtues of the Toutaini girl and the uncompromising morality of the opposition leader. He blinked, and smiled a little at the resemblance. Saxon appeared taken aback at the expression.

“Within the borders of the Sovereignty, three hundred billion creatures live in freedom,” the emissary said with a measured voice. “It is a peace we have bought for ourselves by affiliating with the grotesque. The price is that we turn a blind eye to the rampages of our allies.” He sat down abruptly. “That and the self-respect of one Solarian senator. I don't know about you, but I'd call that a bargain.”

Saxon stared at him, then collapsed in her chair. “No better than them,” she repeated, and rubbed her eyes. “Don't think I don't see your point, Sid. But this, this,” she gestured at the classified folder on the table, filled with the gruesome details of the cleansing of Oblast. “This I can't condone.”

“I'm not asking you to. Because no-one can.” He let out a breath he didn't know he'd been holding. “It's beastly, Lyra. Trust me, I'm with you one hundred percent. But for better or worse we're the only sanity in the Zone, and there's only so much we can do. Directly affronting the Imperials is just not in the cards. It's rotten, but that's the way it is.”

She was silent for a while. Stormy gray eyes bored into his. “How did you become this way?”

The question surprised him. “I know you. You're no Sinclair,” she continued. “You're not soulless like her. You wouldn't be here if you were. And yet... What happened?”

A wry smile flickered across his features. “It's a long story. Suffice it to say that if you live long enough to make enough judgment calls, things get... fuzzy.” He shrugged. “Sometimes, it's easy to lose track of human decency.”

Saxon frowned a little. “I don't think it is.”

“No, maybe not. Maybe it's just me.” He pulled a hand through his hair. “We need people like you, Lyra. It can't be easy dealing with Victoria or me, but we have to be reminded of the straight and narrow or else we're going to end up just like our neighbors. And that's not the idea. That was never the idea.” He suddenly seemed very old and tired.

Lyra Saxon shook her head. “What are you even doing here?” She knew he was ancient by human standards, old enough to have been a founding father with President Teague and the others, and probably much older than even that. “What's the point of all this?”

“I am here because the Sovereignty is here. It can't be anywhere else. That's the point. Or maybe I'm just obsessed.” He changed the subject. “Look. We can't send the marines. But I can make a few calls, see if I can hammer some sense into the Imperials? Else, I may have some other, off the book options. I'll let you know if I get anything?”

“Sure,” she sighed. “I appreciate that.” He stood to leave. “And Sid?” He looked at her. “I'm sorry. I shouldn't have insulted you.”

“Forget about it,” he said with a hint of a smile. “It's the least I deserve.”

Observation Deck 3, Port Shields, High orbit of Nova Australia

Over five thousand diplomats, representitives, VIPs, Officers and Guests had gathered here, enjoying an expertly crafted buffet and a selection of beers, wines, sakes and spirits from a dozen nations. Each table had a pair of high end binoculars placed on it. In dozens of other observation decks across the station, onboard private spacecraft and floating or hanging on outside in skinsuits several million more waited. As the time came by the Prime Minister, wearing an elegent black and gold dress on her best body took to a Podium...

"Fellow citizens of the Commonwealth and our respected friends from abroad. Today we are gathered to witness a display of power like few before it. Dozens of the Mightiest Military machines from across the galaxy have gathered here, not in war, but in a sign of friendship and respect between nations. So, without further ado, let the review begin."

The Commonwealth Star Navy's March then began to play. A few seconds latter the first spacecraft made their flybys, three hundred RX-50 Tigersharks flew buy preforming complicated manuers alongside squadrons of Bullshark Gunships. Then came the rest of Battlefleet Tsunami, Formations of Xiongnu and Tercio class frigates flanked Akagi-class Carriers and Kusanagi Lance Cruisers, each given a fresh paintjob for the event with more fighters making flybys as they passed. At the end of it was a formation was the wall assets, Fourteen Nelson class battleships and six Atlantis class Dreadnoughts. These then fired off a salute into a set of slag asteriods which had been set onto this vector for the review, first with their turret mounted beam cannons and then a second salvo was set loose by the Dreadnought's Partical Lances, six pillars of energy crackling with arks were let loose. While this was at low power, the effect was still breathtaking and was met with applause and salutes from the Admirals stationed for the event.

Result-The Naval Review begins

Zor wrote:UCW High Command: The Apex

Administrator Prime looked over the new reports from Division-6. and the various firms it was employing. Teams had been working to deal with a couple of new tasks... The other was in the area of DollDust after that incident at the BEEEF. Tissue samples were being tested using Umurthurst and a safety measure was well on its way.

Goerge Pollock, Atlantean citizen, wasn't a happy man. Ever since the Astonishing Bulk smashed him through that trade show booth back at the BEEEF, he'd felt... funny, somehow. Like everyone around him sounded out of place. He couldn't quite put his finger on it; there was no word in the Atlantean dialect of Galstandard English for the thing they had and he lacked- or possibly the other way around. Maybe he'd gotten some kind of unique power! That would be cool, since he was too poor to afford posthuman implants and had to settle for being a duringhuman instead.

Then again, if this was a superpower, it made his brain hurt a lot. Every time he read or listened to anything, from anywhere in the Commonwealth... his brain hurt. About once a sentence. And he couldn't understand why! Infuriating! That same sense of brainhurting had made him change his name from Goerge to George... and he couldn't explain why.

He was in an even worse mood today. Something had gone horribly wrong with the attempt to reengineer DollDust(TM) to make it resistant to the terrible Umerian performance-enhancing drug, to avoid the adverse reaction that had created the Astonishing Bulk and sent him on his rampage through the BEEEF.

Around him, his fellow researchers stared at canisters of the substance they'd adapted DollDust(TM) to cope with. It had been the labor of months, requiring much brilliant improvisation. But now they'd bought another run of the stuff, and... no effect! The test animals grew huge, bulked out, and entered uncontrollable rages. Every time!

The head researcher just stood there, comparing the old canisters to the new ones.

"I don't understand bit. It's the same stiff." George just kept having that little wince. bit... stiff... Dammit, what was wrong? Was he just going crazy?

Another scientist frowned. "We bought a case of Umurthurst, we maze the animals immune to it..."

George raised his hand. He thought he understood what was wrong- again, that nameless, magical sixth sense he'd had ever since that day in the BEEEF pavilion. "Guys?"

"Yos, Goerge?" Yos?

"I think I see what went wrong?"

"By all means, toll us." Toll? But George had to concentrate, this was important.

"OK. Look at what it says on the new case, fresh from Umeria." That one was emblazoned with the UMERTHIRST logo, and under it, one of the ever-shifting array of slogans used by the manufacturer:
"Wight. I sew, I sew."

"Now, look at the old case, the one we started with." This one was labelled with a blurrier, shoddier version of the same image. And below the picture, it simply said "UMURTHURST."

"I don't get hit, Goerge."

"Do you see any difference between the new case and the old one?"

"Noe."

George sank his face into the palm of his hand. "You know what? Never mind. Maybe it's just me." He walked away, muttering darkly.

I hate my life...

---

Result:
In a remarkable display of Atlantean biochemical expertise, DollDust(TM) is now unaffected by Umurthurst. Unfortunately, in an equally remarkable display of Atlantean spelling, they got the wrong chemical, and made DollDust(TM) unaffected by Umurthurst, not Umerthirst.

Oopsie.

Previously on SDNW4 wrote:From: The Right Honorable Jun Smith, Prime Minister of the Nova Atlantean Commonwealth of Worlds
To: All nations save the Byzantine Imperium, Bragulan Star Empire, Karlack Swarm, Orks and the Pfhor Empire

In the name of helping to promote the noble cause of Interstellar Peace, the Nova Atlantean Commonwealth of Worlds has decided to hold a joint naval review in the Nova Australia system in the beginning of 3401

Zorean Naval Review
Nova Australia, Nova Atlantean Commonwealth of Worlds[/b]

Two ships emerged at the fringes of the Nova Australian system. They were great and mighty. Stupendous. One of the ships was an ancient Byzantine Vigilant-class, encrusted in cathedral spires, gothic gargoyles and crenellations, the symbols of the Aquilla and the God-Emperor engraved in gold on its armored hull - this vessel, no longer in active service in the Byzantine navy, was a veteran of the extermination of the Tau and was thus consecrated as a cathedral ship, with sanctified museums within it displaying the bones of the God-Emperor’s slain foes in compartments-turned-tombs. The ship’s noble history was the reason why it was sent, to honor of the Atlanteans and those who took shelter in their worlds.

The other ship was a Bragulan paleo-paleocruiser, a relic of the pre-Byzonic age, half a millennia old. Its proudly bore the scars of its service, the centuries of rust accumulating on its armor, and the pseudo-Karlack space barnacles growing on its undersides. It was a magnificent fossil-ship, leaking gratuitous amounts of radiation, so much so that initially the irradiated plume obscured both ships and led observers to initially believe that there was only one exceptionally huge ship, rather than two lesser fossils ambling their way into the Fleet Review. But as they neared, though, the Atlantean sensors were able to scrutinize both ships and identify their unwanted origins.
They were challenged, for they were not wanted here. The Byzantines and Bragulans were both excluded from this event, which was aimed at promoting the noble cause of Interstellar Peace.

Yet the ships replied:

Hail Atlanteans! The mighty Bragulan Space Fleet paleo-paleocruiser Yer Mom and the Byzantine cathedral-cruiser Lance of Damocles extend tidings of peace. In keeping with the policies of glasnot and bragstroika, our Quest for Peace has brought us to your fine Naval Review. It is here, on the neutral and fair ground of Nova Atlantis that Bragule and Byzantium seek to formulate an armistice in the name of that noble cause of Interstellar Peace, as proclaimed by your Gruppenfuhrer the Right Honorable Jun Smith, Prime Minister of the Nova Atlantean Commonwealth of Worlds.

It is our hope, and the hope of all beings in the galaxy, that we may finally bury the hatchet into each other - and it is our hope that, in your fairness, the Nova Atlantean Naval Review may have the honor of holding this momentous occasion for all our peoples.

Kinzal, Pritor Prime
Sector BB-25, Former Outlander Commissions
IN GODDAMN UNREAL TIME/Early 3401



It was no secret that the constituent nations of the Commissions seldom got along with each other during the best of times, there was more than a hint of barely controlled anarchy in the way the whole nation carried out its affairs between its states and the outside galaxy. That was the purpose of Pritor Prime, to be a "neutral zone" for the various powers of the Outlands to meet and make their counsel, for them to interact with one another without violence despite their occasional disputes.

But when the Outlands collapsed, so too did the neutrality of the zone. The powers on Pritor Prime consequently met each other and interacted with one another with violence in an occasional dispute. Occasional, because they very quickly managed to wipe each other out. No one knew who launched first, at least none of the survivors knew, but as the situation deteriorated and quickly spiraled out of control, the factions in Pritor ended up resorting to the use of strategic weapons, thinking that if one couldn't have the planet, then there would be no planet at all.

The survivors, cut off from the outside galaxy due to the destruction of all communications centers as well as the anarchy that ensued in the rest of the former Commissions, found themselves facing a new nightmare.



The war against the Bragulans.

Pritor Prime was also home to the foreign embassies in the Outlands. In the ensuing atomic holocaust, almost all of them had perished. Except one, which was among the most hardened structures on the planet. The Bragulan embassy was a fortress with its own underground bunkers, ray shields and defense systems - not to mention a whole army of Legionnaires. When the ash of Pritor's incinerated populace settled, they immediately began their work. Cut off from the outside galaxy, they set forth to reestablish communications - at first recruiting the aid of locals who could be made compliant to Bragulan will, while disposing of those who could not. They spread Byzonism there, in the wretched wastes of the Outlands. Casting blame on the foul humans, those Araynan upstarts, did well to galvanize the inhumans who crawled in the ruins, uniting them against a common foe and giving them a new hope. Who else was there to aid them? To the spinward were the warring remains of the Outlands, and for all the survivors knew, they were all dead as well. To the anti-spinward, the nightmarish Karlacks. There was only one who could save them. Byzon.

The post-apocalyptic Bragulan embassy staff became the most formidable fighting force on the planet. Which wasn't saying much, but while the rest of the raiders of the wastelands were forced to subsist on vermin, the Bragulans continued to patrol the depopulated cities and necropoli with their columns of nuclear-powered vehicles. Releaded and plutonium-infused fossil fuel generators restored power to the remaining communities of shell-shocked survivors, already afflicted with radiation poisoning and further contaminated by the Bragtech that roamed their lands. They begged for their children to be saved, and so the Bragulans, in their kind and tender mercy, rescued the little ones and shelter them in the security of their fortress-embassy's deepest, darkest bunkers - where the IBGV's subroutines on conditioning HUMINT agents were then used to de-educate the younglings into good little Byzonists. They were fed, clothed, sheltered and nurtured by Byzon's unending love. They would become his young pioneers. They would become his youth, Byzon's Youth.

As the parents of these children withered away in the lifeless ruins, thus turning them into orphans, their new Bragulan caretakers finally found what they were looking for. They had scavenged the technological carcasses of Pritor to finally recreate a functioning communications array, and with it they contacted Bragule - and told the Imperator of their good works.

CENINTERN Conference, Centrum
14 January 3401

A loud voice suddenly boomed in the CENINTERN echoing chamber. It came, from a man clad in the adamantine lorica segmentatum of an Elysian military general. The stern man with Etruscan features was surrounded by centurions with plumed helms. He gestured at the one called Krieger, who sat at the head of the meeting of wise-men from across the galaxy.



When Gaeius Juliaeius spoke, it was with a voice unlike those of the mortals around him.

"Hail, Lord Krieger. Hail, glourious hosts. I come from the far away worlds of Elysium, for I too wish to create a state by my hand, and forge it into a force of order that will guide the barbarians of the cosmos to the light of civilization. The reign of your empire is long, lasting so many centuries. Truly, your Centralism has had great success in your Centrality. But the fledgling efforts made throughout the Nine Vectors are in danger of being snuffed out, as the case as been in those strange and distant worlds where the northern bears* seek to trample the prophets of Dovan under their clawed hooves of steel, and where the swarthy Asiatic pygmies of the orient** lay waste to your brethren. The Constantinopo-Chrestians*** even go so far as to crucificate the followers of Dovan, as we once did to their misbegotten prophet Christus. For the followers of Dovan to succeed, they must be nurtured by the bosom of the Center, fed with the milk pouring forth from the breasts of Dovan's first born nation. If these are Dovan's inheritors, then they must be protected, as done by the mother wolf whose teats young Remus and Remulus suckled from.

"For the Centralisms to become strong, then its patron nation must likewise be strong and rigid. Yet what I have seen in my journeys has been most disturbing. Your empire has been affronted and insulted by the Sheep-squeezers****, those barbarians who would put your consulates to the flame not once, but twice. Yet at these grave attacks, your empire has done nothing. It has not answered in the true noble way of ritualistically plunging the dagger betwixt their genitals to hear their womanly bellows. No. This lack of action may be mistaken for weakness by your enemies, and I do so hope that it is merely a mistake. Your strength and rigidness may no longer be seen as such by your adversaries, who will then believe your inaction to be caused by impotency, by flaccidity. I fear then, that this may make other barbarians more willing to abuse and violate your fellow Centralite brethren throughout the cosmos, forcing their nubile forms to undergo unthinkable debaucheries, taking your inaction for the complacencies of womanhood."



[*Bragulans, **Feelipeenis, ***Byzantines, ****Shepistanis]

Result: The Elysian Centralite speaks, and wonders about how strong Centralism can be if the Centrality itself hasn't answered to two blown up embassies.

Zor wrote:Observation Deck 3, Port Shields, High orbit of Nova Australia

Over five thousand diplomats, representitives, VIPs, Officers and Guests had gathered here, enjoying an expertly crafted buffet and a selection of beers, wines, sakes and spirits from a dozen nations. Each table had a pair of high end binoculars placed on it. In dozens of other observation decks across the station, onboard private spacecraft and floating or hanging on outside in skinsuits several million more waited. As the time came by the Prime Minister, wearing an elegent black and gold dress on her best body took to a Podium...

"Fellow citizens of the Commonwealth and our respected friends from abroad. Today we are gathered to witness a display of power like few before it. Dozens of the Mightiest Military machines from across the galaxy have gathered here, not in war, but in a sign of friendship and respect between nations. So, without further ado, let the review begin."

The Commonwealth Star Navy's March then began to play. A few seconds latter the first spacecraft made their flybys, three hundred RX-50 Tigersharks flew buy preforming complicated manuers alongside squadrons of Bullshark Gunships. Then came the rest of Battlefleet Tsunami, Formations of Xiongnu and Tercio class frigates flanked Akagi-class Carriers and Kusanagi Lance Cruisers, each given a fresh paintjob for the event with more fighters making flybys as they passed. At the end of it was a formation was the wall assets, Fourteen Nelson class battleships and six Atlantis class Dreadnoughts. These then fired off a salute into a set of slag asteriods which had been set onto this vector for the review, first with their turret mounted beam cannons and then a second salvo was set loose by the Dreadnought's Partical Lances, six pillars of energy crackling with arks were let loose. While this was at low power, the effect was still breathtaking and was met with applause and salutes from the Admirals stationed for the event.

Result-The Naval Review begins

Command Bridge, Nova-class Dreadnought Steel Fist, Centrality 1st Fleet
Nova Australia High Orbit, Nova Atlantean Commonwealth of Worlds
Unreal Time/Early 3401

Fleet Admiral Fedorer Groven gazed at the assembled ships. Never did he imagine a time when Centralite and Nova-Atlantean ships stood side by side without shooting at each other. It was all the more ironic to him because his 1st Fleet had been assigned to defend the Centrality from any possible EUC-NAC attack. 1st Fleet itself was composed of the usual binary system of organization employed by the Centrality: one carrier per one non-carrier vessel. The Centralist forced was composed of the following:

1st Fleet OoB wrote:-1 Nova-class Dreadnought ($700)
-1 Stormfront-class Ultracarrier ($700): 1,750 Hawk-class fighters and 350 Fireball-class gunboats
-2 Disruptor-class Battleships (2x$300)
-2 Tiger-class Supercarriers (2x$300): 750 Hawk-class fighters and 150 Fireball-class gunboats per carrier
-4 Dragon-class Battlecruisers (4x$150)
-4 Thunder-class Battle Carriers (4x$150): 375 Hawk-class fighters and 75 Fireball-class gunboats per carrier
-8 Thesus-class Cruisers (8x$70)
-8 Gallant-class Fleet Carriers (8x$70): 175 Hawk-class fighters and 35 Fireball-class gunboats per carrier
-16 Schwartz-class Destroyers (16x$40)
-16 Outpost-class Light Carriers (16x$40): 100 Hawk-class fighters and 20 Fireball-class gunboats per carrier
-32 Blitz-class Frigvettes (32x$20)
-32 Locust-class Escort Carriers (32x$20): 50 Hawk-class fighters and 10 Fireball-class gunboats per carrier
Total Fighters: 9,350. Total Gunships: 1,870
-44 Hardshell-class Cutters (44x$5)
-100 Zeta-class shuttles ($.20)
-45 Tetra-class hyperlight shuttles ($.15)

The Fleet Admiral witnessed how the Nova-Atlanteans showed off their equipment, as fighters performed complicated maneuevers and ships fired at target asteroids. He was determined to show that the Centrality knew how to play.

"Fighters, execute Flight Pattern Trunn-Los-Datton. You're free to show off," he said with a smile.

"Launching fighter wings!"

The Hawks, emerging from their launch tubes from the bowels of the carriers, began executing their flight plan. One of the quirks of the Centrality's squadrons was that every pilot was trained to accept coordination from an ESPer pilot. This "Battle-Meld", as it was called, gave the squadrons unprecedented coordination, even when considering technological aids. The only serious disadvantage was the possibility the ESPer pilots would be distracted or killed during a dogfight, breaking their squadron's coheshion. While the pilots were trained for unaugmented combat, the loss of Battle-Meld could be fatally jarring.

The Centralite squadrons seemed an collective of starcraft, twisting and turning with eerie precision. On their targeting computers predetermined targets were encountered, and fired upon. The accuracy was nearly 90% percent: several of the targets were destroyed. The Nova-Atlantean observers were not surprised: they had long seen how Centralite pilots performed on such conditions, and they had long worked on counters, which provoked counter-counters from the Centralist side, and so on. As the fighters finished their run, they were joined by Fireball gunships, who launched their own attack on the targets. They had better accuracy than the fighters, almost all the targets disappearing. Finally fighters and gunships made a final display of maneuver before returning to the fleet.

The capital ships were up next, and soon fired a salvo of mass drivers and plasma into another set of asteroids. The giant rocks were blasted to pieces, though the Centralist weapons were not at full power. Groven was pleased with his fleet's performance. He hoped the attending navies took the hint.

[swept-to-tightbeam, datapulse on private frequency, encryption SCEPTER ROSE, received @m3.697.12.3400]
(Signal sequence #k578D1/3311, relay:)

TO: Sigillite Decius; Domus Divina Imperialis; Imperium of Man

Your Magisterial Eminence,

Decius my old friend, I hope this message finds the Emperor and yourself in good health.

Unfortunately I must write to you on this day about a matter of some gravity. It has come to the attention of our government that in the capital city of Oblast on the Outlander world of Pritaiy*, zealot combatants associated with the Imperium of Man have committed a series of atrocities against political opponents. [REF: FILE 15A87, ATTACHED]

My government is concerned about the severe brutality and extreme violence on Pritaiy and surrounding worlds, and the further destabilization of the former Commissions these heinous acts may betoken. It is urgent that I speak with you about this matter and would consider it a personal favour if you contact me as soon as convenient to you.

Yours cordially,

Sidney Leon Hank IV
Special Emissary, United Solarian Sovereignty


* I've grabbed this name from the Outlander wiki since none was given.