Infinite Possibility: A Space Opera GSRP

[Weygand]

VIII - The Vessel
​

"Why now?"

Archimedes Suno stood atop a gilded crescent which bore the sun and moon of his Great House as its sigil: its embossed gold reflected the light of ten dozen candles arrayed in their procession, his father's weary face looming from atop a lectern. There was no great stained glass exhibition, here, and though this was a chapel, it was vacant but for them, the soldiers who had brought him traded quickly for hushed, robed acolytes, who themselves disappeared into the vast shadows cast by the columns to allow this moment to happen.

"You wonder why, after so long confined in that tower in Antioch, I have sent for you? What my plan might be?"

His father's voice was heavy with what he hoped might have been regret. He could not make out his face, beyond the faintest trace of his beard and the wrinkles that were heavy around his mouth.

"In all your fifty years, Archimedes, did you not wonder whether your confinement was not by design?"

Archimedes bristled, indignant: "I am your son. My place was here - by your side. You well understood this, before this surrender to fanaticism, before your embrace of this servant's faith."

A sharp breath out. "Ah, my Strength-in-Weakness: I kept you there, away, for I knew what would come of you. I have kept you isolated, save for favourites and passing fancies, for I wanted you as you are now - untouched, unblemished by the prejudices and petty hatreds which govern."

"You cannot temper a person like metal. I am not yours to shape."

He only nodded.

"You are no one's but your own. All is as I wished."

"But why?"

Slowly, he pulled down his hood - he was an old, frail man, on the cusp of some three hundred years. Archimedes well knew there had been children before him - their lineages scattered across Earth. He was the youngest, and, here, he alone remained. Luwain Suno was isolated from Earth, from his life's work, for this inscrutable embrace of religion.

And in that moment, it made a little sense, for he said:

"You, the last of my progeny, shall rule."

 

[Weygand]

IX - In The Booth
​

"Good morning, Empath-2405. We will be running a few routine tests today in order to determine your level of acclimatisation to the subject."

"Very good, sir."

"Excellent. If you could don your headset-... thank you. We've initiated the neuromancy protocol on our end."

"Confirmed."

"Good. I will start simple: name, occupation."

"Hazen, Magda. Khagan."

"Repeat."

"Hazen, Magda. Khagan."

"Again."

"Hazen, Magda, Khagan."

"Define your duties."

"Military-political leadership of the clans that comprise the Golden Ordun."

"What is your society organised under?"

"Varnas."

"List them and their functions."

"Khastryia, military. Vaishya, trade. Shudra, industry."

"To which do you belong?"

"None, I am a Brahmin."

"Pronounce that three times."

"Brahmin. Brahmin. Brahmin."

"What is the great taboo?"

"To intermingle outside my Varna."

"Who were your mother and father?"

"Irrelevant. I was raised communally."

"Do you miss them?"

"I do not think about them."

"A 1.2 second hesitation indicates emotional baseline. Another such error will terminate this test and require re-immersion in the saved memory template."

"Understood."

"Good. Describe the operating procedure of the Arkad prototype."

 

[Furrybacon]

Formation of
THE AZNABLE CLIQUE

PAILSEN NAVAL MOOR, CENTERPOINT OFFICERS LOUNGE
​

"You trust this kid." The Rear Admiral asked, voice quiet but stern. "Especially if there is a war?"

Several Other officers of the fleet leaned in, waiting for the response. Unfazed, the Pailsen National Assembler was nonchalant, swirling their Tea before drinking it. The silence seemed to deepen their attention. These Officers, all of Pailsen birth, were ostensibly not bound to the opinons of their Assembler, or anyone, really. But there were quirks that came with the region.

"I do." Xiulan Teng said, placing her tea on the table. Slowly dragging her eyes into contact with the Common Navy officers. "Jinhao Aznable is the next step of the Revolution.'

One of the Officers, A Commodore, dared to lean back, questioning. "That's a high claim." they said, stroking their short beard. "A High price too. Aznable gets away with saying more CounterKogon shit in a week than the saltiest NCO could in a decade. What if..."

"We loose" Teng scorned, chiding "We won't. The Galaxy yearns for liberation. Burns from tyranny. Strains for a Revolution. The Contact era is over, what comes after is up to us, and the Dynamo is the best way forward."

The Commodore presented a pained smile. "I don't know if I agree, but I don't think you're wrong either." They took a drink from their flask, before tapping on the desk. "I have total faith in my Stealth Destroyers. I have considerable faith in our Cosignatories. I have no question of the Sacred Founder. My only point of concern is him."

Teng nodded, pretending to understand. This was a conversation she'd had two dozen times since falling into the orbit of Jinhao Aznable, caucusing with officers to get them behind the Dynamo. "I do." Xiulan said, cooly, eyes squarely on the Commodore. The rest of the Officers would need to wait their turn. "You haven't had the chance to meet the man, to see his Fire. Intelligence. Dedication. I have been in National Political Circles since I was born, and no one in the Party or without has ever inspired this confidence in me. If you're skeptical of Aznable, are you skeptical of me?"

The coup de grace. Teng was most of these men's political patrons after all. "No Comrade, of course not."

"Excellent. All for Aznable." Xiulan finished, once more drinking their tea.

FORMOZzA, ANNUAL CIVIL SERVICE DINNER
​

Bureaucrats from across the ThirdSphere milled about the large reception. A orchestra quietly played the theme song to 'Armor//Killer Revolutionary Century', while well dressed Party men and women working in Government enjoyed themselves. Politics was never absent at the dinner, but they were rarely so lively.

"Wesker!" a voice cried over the crowd, as a Bureaucrat maneuvered through the crowd, champagne in hand. "Comrade-Wesker! I've been trying to meet you! I finally got a chance to read the Dynamo's Reform package."

Dyson Wesker had joined Jinhao Aznable early. He was not the smoothest or most charismatic political operator, but he was hard working and loyal, and that gave him a pretty commendable reputation that Wesker was entirely willing to dedicate to the Dynamo. "Wonderful. What did you think."

Finally reaching Dyson, the bureaucrat smoothed out their suit and took a swig from their drink. "Its good. A little too Green for my Golden taste." Another drink. "But I'll back it. For now."

Wesker smiled. He felt out of his element, but his marching orders from the Dynamo were to rally support for the Aznable and see where the line is drawn. Dyson would follow those orders. No matter what. "For now? Is there a problem Comrade?

Like a snake the bureaucrat began to negotiate. "Well, even the Sacred Founder admitted that you can't always expect a member of Public Service to act against their own best interest."

A Silent rage welt up inside Wesker. It was scum like these which polluted the ThirdSphere, which slowed its joins and poisoned its fruits. It took all of Dyson's energy to not cry out about how Jinhao would show his ilk no mercy, but it was worth it. Dyson had a job to do. "But you don't oppose anything else? I'll talk to Comrade Aznable, I'm sure we can make things amendable."

The sickly greedy smile made Dyson want to puke. But it was only 80 days to the election. 80 more days, and the Dynamo would be vindicated. Dyson Wesker could stomach this sick counterrevolutionary treason for that long. Especially if it was for the Dynamo.

HESTIANIA PLANETRY UNIVERSITY, FOWLER AUDITORIUM
​

"Comrade-Ambassador!" One of the students asked. Nearly two hundred had come out to hear from the speaker - every single International Relations Student on the entire of Hestiania - not just HPU. Such an education was only very new, not until the advent of the Treaty of El Facil was it even considered a real and legitimate study, but now that it was, it was full of the young, hopefully, and Pioneering. Hathaway Neom's favorite kind of student.

"Yes, Comrade..." "Fengtan, Comrade-Ambassador. I was wondering if you could divuldge any more information on the Treaty of El Facil's Development in regards to REVCOM? It just seems like it came out of nowhere."
Hathaway Neom had been involved with the Treaty of El Facil from the very beginning, starting as an Page for the actual diplomats, but now, Neom was the expert and head on the whole program. Quite the jump, wouldn't one say. "That's not fair. It was quite rapid, yes, but we'd sent out feelers to them a handful of times. But with the Incursion, all the cards were on the table. It happened so fast I wasn't able to sign on our nation;s behalf, actually, I had been busy with some typical Treaty Maintenance along our Rejuvenated Border. This answer wasn't helpful for your studies, I'm sorry, but I've been trying to talk Comrade Aznable into being more forthcoming about declassifying non-essential Diplomatic proceedings."

A roar of interest poured over the Students. Truthfully, Neom was more than slightly annoyed that these students were so animated for Az, but not for their own interests in international diplomacy. But so be it. That was the price for being in the circle of the Dynamo.

"For those who don't seem to know." Hathaway began. "I've begun working with Aznable. I'm pretty confident in his chances and we both recognize the sheer importance of our Cosignatories, with respect to their individual Revolutionary paths and the shield wall we all form together. Kogon Hegemony must be opposed, and destroyed, if our Revolution is to thrive. This may not require force of arms, but there is no one I trust more than Comrade-Aznable for this task."

Hands shot up through the crowd, almost invariably about the Dynamo. "This presentation is about turn of the century diplomatic progression." Neom chided. "Please keep your questions on topic." Most of the hands fell down. With a diplomatic smile, Neom moved onto the next Student.

DRAGOONER, FONG BRANCH OF THE SHANXI OFFICE
​

The mood of the Fong Branch was very grim as one suited man entered the building. An element of the Shanxi Office, the Fong Branch was an hidden headquarters for the different departments to coordinate intelligence into the nearby Kogon Hegemony, particularly from LUPE. It had not been especially active, until now. Now, it was grimly so.

The suited man spoke bluntly. "Corporate requires an update on the Investigation on the Object - 34." he said, drawing a cigarette from his mouth. A FAE Agent slowly moved to grab a file, while the local DSE head took particular interest in their shoes. Both the JSOC Officer and Local Commissar kept their cool, however, looking the man right in the eye. 'Corporate' was slang amongst the Shanxi Office's Branches and Subsidiaries for the Shanxi Office back on Formozza, and usually, the Board. The heads of the whole organization, answerable only to the President and National Assembly. This was not going to be a good day for many of the Careers on this building.

With no small amount of Trepidation, the Foreign Action Executive Agent handed a tablet to the man, who harrumphed as he took it. It did not take him long to see what had been seen. "That's all you have on Object-34?"

"We've only just begun looking, sir. Object-34 only just appeared on anyone's RADAR."

"Yes, I've been meaning to talk to you about that. Nobody at Corporate, especially on the Board, are happy with how Object-34 only just appeared on the RADAR. This will also need to be discussed."

"Yes Comrade." the Fong Branch leaders said in unison. The Commissar stepped forward. "Comrade. I accept all responsibility for the failure to identify if Object-34 constitutes a leak, and to have prevent that leak if it occurred."

The Suited man did not look up. "Noted, Commissar. You should receive a ruling from the Commissariat soon. Same for all of your respective organizations."

Frustrated with just how little there was, the Suited Man handed the tablet back. "I need to make a call." They simply said, before moving to leave. No one dared follow. Stepping out from beyond the cameras of the Fong Branch building, the Suited man drew a phone from his pocket, placing it to his ear. It rang out to a voicemail, which had been expected.

"This is Horn. Object - 34 is as bad as we thought. Please inform the Board." There was a short pause, and the man counted the fingers on his hand. After three, he spoke again. "And Aznable." before hanging up, and walking back towards the Fong Branch.

 

[Nemesis_Scar]

Ohtar Nikolas was an old man now, but by no means was the demob Khastriya weak. His experiences on the frontline of the war had left him with certitude of the frailty of things, an appreciation of how easily one could die. Some of his ancestors had been free men, Kosaks from the Krai of Kyiv. There was a certain pride and dignity they had that had transferred itself to Ohtar. It was plain to see, even amidst the Myriarchs and Khagan of the Ordun.

"I advise that we stay out of this Parzavian succession dispute," He said frankly to Hazen. "It is a quagmire, as was Khorasan and the Caucasus for our ancestors. We have spent a great amount of time rebuilding, and this would quash that."

"The Xaf - " Zelimkhan butted in. Nicholas raised a finger, and he ceased. There was respect between them still, albeit mixed with tension.

"They have reached their high-water mark." Hazen declared authoritatively. She looked haggard, and not just from age. As if something was eating at her.

"The Concordat and El-Facil will kill each other. Meanwhile, we will grow in strength. When the dust clears, the Northern Quadrant will turn to us..."

 

[plonk]

A sculptor pulls the linen from her creation. The audience gasps. One vomits. The rest applaud. Her mentor pats her on the back, and whispers "there's a seat in la Chambre about to be vacant. C'est le tien."

—

Some raindrops fall on Mo's helmet. He'd only arrived from the Parvaz a month ago, and at the border station the Officier des Réfugiés had given him a blue token and told him to board the settlement ship.

"You're in the environments team," Mo remembered the Officier telling him in accented Parvazian, "one standard cycle on-planet, you will be a LUPE citizen."

Mo and several hundred others dug their trenches. The nitrogen line had to come up across the flat plain and up to where the ocean would be. He noticed a scratch on his envirosuit. He ignored it.

—

Annette cooled her blowtorch. The last panel. A perfected work. She was the best welder here, and she knew it.

"Eyy!" said the other supervisor, Jean. "Avaient fini!"

The rest of the crew clapped politely. They'd been up an extra ten hours to finish on the deadline. They observed their joint effort, and were proud. Champagne was handed out and fun was made.

The destroyer lurched forward along the rail, slowly moving into the staging zone. Within minutes, its vantablack finish matched the void. And then it was gone forever.

—

The scientist folded up the note and put it in the envelope. Artisan paper, of course. No true LUPEian would ever do less. When they found it the next day they regretted the loss of such a brilliant mind, but Central Black Hole Station Créativité would go on without him. For without it and its works, LUPE would be naked against what is to come.

—

Basedado stepped to the customs desk. Finally, Occunair Prim. The planet of planets! Home of l'Art! In the ol' P-W, they only cared for "content" and "money". Here, your value was down to the art you made, your impact on others, the very nature of your soul-

"-and your reason for visiting?"

"To create, mon ami!" Basedado declared, with pride.

"Mmm-hmm" said the man behind the desk, stamping 'Artiste Affamé' on the permit and gesturing him through.

 

[Thiccroy]

Ong...

You're awake.

Good.

It's your turn.

Good luck, kid. Give these bastards hell.

THE PLANET OF CHARON
THE LANDS OF CLAN KAMAZ, VASSALS OF CLAN ARANAK
KAMAZ "PIT"


​

Ong breathed heavily, as he held the Hafir dagger close to his heart. He had begun his life on Charon as a soldier in a company of infantry fighting the men who now looked at him with both hatred and respect. Walking past them, he marched downcast but steel-eyed towards the entrance to the Pit's amphitheater. Hearing the cheering of both kin and 'Xanadu', Ong, once a soldier of promise, now blood-traitor his people and his caste, stopped to look at the Hafir dagger.

They said he could keep it, despite being a Veri- for he had killed a warrior to get it.
He will now fight with it for the right to be a warrior again. For it was all he knew.

Licking his lips, he came up through the large, red flaps that were like curtains for his entrance. The crowd around him in the massive arena exploded, and above him, a sort of eyelid flickered down to the center of the circle. Through it, the holographic sight of the elder of Clan Aranak, Bal'Aranak, Tribune of Charon and known as the third most powerful man of the Xaf. Of course, he wouldn't have come to an ex-Ordunite's blooding in person. It was a recording.

Ong had been trying to learn Xafian, especially now with more chances to do so and with a new alphabet being taught. But few warriors wanted to teach him and those that did had to contend with the problem of not being able to compare with his Ordunite speech, considering Ong had never really learned how to read or write. Not everything, at least. Just what you needed to know.

Then, he heard Bal'Aranak's final words, which would be spoken at the end of every speech that would begin the blooding of a possibly new warrior.
"... by God and the Eternal Blood- fight for your life--..."
"SLAVE!" The entire arena shook, even the 'slaves' joined in the blood-thirsty chant pointed at him. They said it four more times, as Bal'Aranak's cowled face disappeared, and his own younger, yet scarred face appeared above him. Looking back down, he came face to face with a Jamnal- a relic of the 'old homeworld' of Mashari.

Smirking, Ong had a flash of pride of knowing his people were at fault for their exodus. Served them right. But in the end, he took a hoplite shield alongside his Hafir dagger and vibro-spear and charged into battle.

Blood-traitor or no, he would be a soldier. One way or another.

 

[Space Jawa]

Internal Memo
From: Apex Communication Department Control Center
To: General Release
Topic: Communication Test

Reports that Apex communications systems have suffered from intermittent errors at an increased rate have been acknowledged.

The matter has been investigated and the source of the errors have been located.

Apex communications will be addressing the matter with all available speed. Scheduled maintenance to correct the errors and ensure Apex communications proceed as designed will be conducted shortly. During this time, Apex communications may suffer a temporary blackout.

Further details and specifics to be relayed soon.

For a full report on the matter, please reach out through proper channels.

-- Apex Communication Department Control Center

 

[Furrybacon]

​

The whole bridge was silent. Deathly so. It didn't actually make the CFN Death's Bright Day more invisible to the Roundship mere clicks overhead, but it sure felt like it.

"Steady." the Captain repeated, "Steady." The crew complied, motionless, holding their breaths, eyes glued to the tactical screen while they floated past a warship close enough that, had these been civilian ships, would result in a prison sentence. One wrong move, and not only would the DeeBeeDee be 'destroyed', it could end up in an accident which ends their careers - if not their lives. This was definitely not part of the Scenario, but that's the point, ain't it? Pushing the Stealth Destroyers to their absolute limit?

That was the Captain's argument when the crew voted on if they'd do his harebrained scheme. It would also be his defense when the Admiralty realized what he was doing with their billion Reqs Stealth Ship.

The Captain was a young lad, especially for a Stealth Destroyer Commander, but he was earning his stripes, that was for sure. The Ship's Commissar was actually in a Vacc Suit, standing in the airlock, looking over open sights as the CFN Maeser, escorted as a Roundship would be, practically close enough to float out and touch them. The crew meanwhile, was dead silent - watching as if frozen in place. The Gunnery Crew stood by to launch every last weapon they had, while engineers watched unblinking for any sign of malfunction.

"This isn't in the T.O.S." The Captain continued, keeping his crew, and himself cool. "They won't be looking for us here."

He wasn't lying. Per the Terms of Scenario, Scenario number 34 of the Navy's omgoing Montagne Games, the Death Brights Day wasn't even supposed to be in this Zone of Operation. As far as the Admiralty was concerned right now, the DeeBeeDee was about four AUs farther out. But forgiveness was a better offer than permission when making Common Fleet History.

"Comrade-Captain!" the Signals Officer suddenly shouted, breaking the silence. "Opposition Force has begun to form the Hunter-line. We passed right below them!"

A whispered cheer echoed across the deck. In the tight confines of the Central Operations Nexus, deep within the hull of the Death Brights Day, the mood was estatic. The Common Fleet had given Stealth Destroyers whatever they could need, with the cost that these EsDee Crews were now burdened with the mantel of the Defense of the Revolution. And with todays...creative application of the rules, they felt like they'd done in. Though still hushed, a unique habit of the Stealth Destroyer Crews, the total fear had passed and reports came closing in.

"Comrade-Commissar Gin is returning from the lock sir." One Officer Said, while another relayed "Gunnery Chief is ready to launch a full Sim-munition volley on your command."

"Belay that." the Captain immediately ordered. "We need to stalk them into the ZOO lined out by the Scenario. Both because otherwise we're liable to get shot with real ammunition, and mistaken for a forgein ship, and because you Comrades deserve a victory lap." Also, because Commissar Gin would almost certainly shoot him - it was a miracle she hadn't when the Captain had convinced their crew to break every law in the fleet book just to get one over on the Battleship crews.

"Yes, Comrade-Captain!" the CON replied, while, for the first time in eleven hours, the Captain sat down, almost collapsing into their chair. "All ahead slow." The captain ordered, half jokingly, as his vessel began to drift behind the Roundship, through the endless void of space.

​

 

[Nemesis_Scar]

Exodus

The Fin La at the time of the Exodus.
​

General Ivanovich stood on the bridge of the Fin La, its long bladed prow in cautious repose over the Earth. His hands were clasped together, turned behind his back. Below, the blue marble spun - the cradle of humanity. Pavel was not a particularly religious man; he had long been disabused of that by the battlefield's horror. But he'd long felt that the planet Earth held some special significance in the cosmos.

The Earth Defense Corps had yet to find any intelligent alien life out there thus far. They had mapped untold distances in their surveys of the stars, one of many functions they served. And nothing could compare to Earth. In his estimation, at least.

And now all that laid under threat.

The noble Houses, long held in thrall to the Supreme Council of the People, sought to claw back their hereditary powers. Ivanovich ground his teeth almost unconsciously. He was sworn to serve the nation, not any one House! As he went through his reverie, footfalls filled the air, hard and heavy.

"The Warwolf has lived up to her name and illustrious legacy," Sub-Commander Liza Kolchak began. "Wire from Lieutenant General Faireborne at the Neptune Defense Line is that the Omoists are in retreat across Sol. The death of Omo has broken the revolt utterly! What's our next move, General?"

Ivanovich sighed, rubbing his temples in a nervous tic. He was by no means a young man, though gene therapies had kept him in fighting fitness, and beaten back the worst of aging. "I do not know, Sub-Commander. I do not know." He looked to Kolchak, then to Earth, then back to the Sub-Commander. "We have won the war. But now comes the peace, and that is all the harder."

"Yes. The Houses smell blood in the water," Kolchak said to him. "Their headhunters are trying to poach our Arkad pilots and ship captains already. I should know - they tried to get me." Ivanovich turned at these words, and stared at her with an intent gaze. Kolchak was young, but she was bright, and her star was rising.

"All the better that you refused."

"I would hope so," Kolchak replied. "They were offering a considerable stipend." She smiled. A joke that did little to lighten the mood.

"A war is coming." Ivanovich's words pierced through. "People like you and I - the Houses will pit us against each other. They don't care about Earth; they don't care about the Republic. They just want power over one another."

"Then what do we do?" Kolchak asked.

"We take the toys away from the rowdy kid."

 

[RobespierreLives]

Iparía with its iconic 'Os Seis Supremos' stadium

A Paz Que Sonhei​

Final night of Eternal Week of Glory in Fidelity to the Commonwealth

In the capital of Curupia - Iparía - the beating heart of the Commonwealth, celebrations were held everywhere as the city entered the eighth and final day of the Eternal Week. Fireworks and huge parades through the streets had been constant. Eight great tournaments of the traditional 'Bola Vermelha' game - named after the bright red balls - were played. For eight glorious days the cities, towns, and villages of the Commonwealth were in a euphoric rush hardly seen at previous events.
In the neighbourhood of Compridái, the friends Uaio and Kriv were walking down the corridor of their floor, having started the celebrations early in anticipation of the fireworks with Iparía's famed alcohol: Resiste. As they wanted to have their friend, Iui, to join them, they went by his room. However as they knocked on his door he told them to go away. Intrigued by his response, they entered.

"Oi, what's with your mood, amigo." Kriv said. "It's the greatest night of the year, you can't just sit there being all moody." Uaio continued.

"I didn't know that you were so enthusiastic about paying tribute to the shrine of nationalism. And no, I'm not joining you." Iui responded, looking out the window at the sprawling cityscape, with the streets crowded and in the distance, a skytrain driving past.

Kriv and Uaio looked at each other, and Uaio whispered to Kriv: "So gloomy." "Yeah" Kriv whispered back "Must be because he was born in the sign of the Starving Jaguar." Uaio nodded.

"Stop being brainless," a clearly unhappy Iui said, taking a sip of an unmarked can. "You know I cannot go, maybe she'll be there."

"Who? Helia?" Kriv said, sniggering.
"In O Supremo's name Iui, are you still going on about her?" Uaio began, "Surely you won't find her, Iparía is massive, and she lives on the other side of the city."

"We venture in the same circles" Iui began, "You of all people should know, because you venture in the same."

"Well," Uaio said and shrugged, "We are going to Beco dos Peixes, Senhor Cavaleiro plays tonight. You are welcome to join of course, I hear the bar is selling cheap Bombas de Frio as well, maybe something to drown whatever sadness remains." He said and winked.

"Fine, fine, if Senhor Cavaleiro is there, I cannot miss it, he almost never plays."

"See, Kriv, he can be persuaded." A grinning Uaio said.
"Tsch, fine." Kriv handed Uaio a small handful of cash.
"I don't want that physical garbage you carry around," Uaio said, "Just buy me a drink at the bar."

Beco dos Peixes: well known as a prime meeting point for counterculture in Iparía, and all sorts of anti-nationalistic groupings found themselves represented in some capacity. Mostly however it was frequented by young people. At this night of great celebrations it was filled to the brim, with drinks being handed over the counter at speed to the many thirsty patrons on the warm night. The music loud and the people even louder, however as Senhor Cavaleiro entered on stage, the bar went silent. His graying hair, his light-blue zezinho suit (based on a pre-tribune piece of clothing, often associated with the Envairo Republic), his gentle green eyes looking at the crowds, his slight smile charming them all.

As he and his band started playing, the crowds were enthralled by the songs that walked the thin line of criticizing the Commonwealth whilst avoiding the quasi-censorship that existed in the Commonwealth. Songs about love, songs about avoiding work, songs about the beauty of nature, songs about Bola Vermelha legends and so on.

As the hours went on and as night turned to early morning, the crowd started thinning and Kriv and Uaio, tired yet satisfied, left Beco dos Peixes, and joined the many others to see the sun rising over the city at the Praia de Sebá. They had gotten separated from Iui some time during the performance of Senhor Cavaleiro, however at the beach among the crowds they saw the silhouettes of two persons holding hands, one looking like Iui, another one looking like Helia. Kriv and Uaio smiled as they walked into the sunset.

 

[DanBaque]

Mission Accomplished

Parvaz would not be the sole place to see a rise in revolutionary action. Such events came at the tail end of the War Against Atrophy's latest campaign. The Rejuvenated State had chosen to put even more funding behind education, searching for not only quantity but quality. This put quite a cramp on the WAA, as education was expected to lead to long term and not short term growth, but growth was growth. Furthermore, there were quiet and secretive reasons behind these efforts from the state that would not be revealed.

Another thorn in the WAA was the Breadbasket Directive, which finally signaled a possible shift to longer term aspirations from the state. It was now focusing on adequate nutrition, not only in term of caloric consumption, but importing foodstuffs and grains from El-Facil allies to make more varied crops and mealtimes. Popular as policies went, it was a little odd in its economic hopes, though restaurants were now booming.

Neither of these policies could dissuade the Templar Path* that the RJ were the seed of evil. They were misleading and mistreating their population. Shock labor destroyed life now for unsustainable growth and could not be accepted. The damage to the environment was also a crime that had to be punished. And so Rewilding Units would be deployed on urban soil.

The plan was hardly ingenious. Security across the whole of space was hard to maintain, and openness to foreign entrance had been slightly increased in the latest stage of food exports by the Rejuvenated State. A group of Templars posed as culinary experts of the Wardens, hiding the units as poisonous ingredients that needed to be kept fresh, being not that far off from the truth from a biological weapon.

That is indeed what Rewilding Units were. Developed from exotic flora, it was a fast-spreading plague bomb that spread through both contact and the air. And it was on Omo Prime**. They were put into use on a celebratory dinner holding both workers and state representatives, with the Templars declaring themselves agents of the Warden Combine's natural mission on live feed.

Hundreds died on the first day. Thousands in the first week. A total quarantine was established, and all those newly-funded scientists were immediately called upon to attempt to counteract the disease, to no apparent use. Desperate efforts to pump up the immune systems and natural resistance were more effective, and limited the death toll, but damages were terrible. Airlifts brought in food and medical supplies so that the people did not feel abandoned, but the relative living standards of the confined elites showed quickly.

Public anger was intense, and yet easily directed. The Templars made no secret of their loyalties, and their public execution (being turned into protein cubes) only fanned the flames. The people of the Rejuvenated State wanted justice. They wanted revenge. They wanted the Wardens to pay, whether grovelling in reparations or kneeling at gunpoint. They wanted war as much as they wanted safety. The State's leaders were likely to give it to them.


*Radical sect of the Warden Combine developed due to and after the invasion by the Golden Ordun, not officially state-sanctioned or -attached.
**Capital of the entire Rejuvenated State.