31 June, A.D. 2070
?????
The Peace of Westphalia. The peace treaty that established the sovereignty of nations. The peace treaty that ended the many wars of religion in the seventeenth century, all (mostly) sparked by a protesting priest who pinned his complaints to a church door.
He wondered how he'd have seen the most recent movement named in that era's honor. Because it sure as hell wasn't very peaceful.
The man chuckled as he leaned back in his chair, one hand idly tapping a shotglass. Well, 'throne' was probably more accurate. He was all for independence and freedom of action, but he also very much did enjoy his creature comforts. A suit of fine silk, lavish tapestries and art, and all the creature comforts the modern era could provide. That he was able to collect them only under the banner of Westphalia?
Details, really. 'Liberation' of the Old World was all well and good, but it didn't really pay the bills. He'd found much more useful enterprises to profit off of all while technically in 'support' of this movement.
"Please excuse me, Sir," an assistant said as he walked up towards the throne. Bowing, as was appropriate, he held forth a tablet. Continuing to speak in their native tongue, the assistant continued, "You have some dispatches. One is a communications request from Mr. Koenig-"
The man huffed in amusement. More hot air, he supposed.
"-the other is a dispatch from the field. One of our products captured something of interest."
"Really, now?" The man grinned from behind a set of tinted glasses. "Well, let us not keep 'Herr' Koenig waiting. Let's see it."
"As you will." The assistant bowed once again and offered the tablet with both hands. The man, very lackadaisically, activated the communications request. To his utter lack of surprise, the communications read "SOUND ONLY."
"Pak," a guttural, digitized voice growled.
"Herr Koenig," Pak replied back with a sly grin, switching his language to English. He knew the man on the other side couldn't see it. He just didn't care. Propping the tablet onto the nearby table, he said, "To what do I owe this call?"
"That your warmachines are not living up to their promise," the man on the other line said.
"Now that's a little harsh, wouldn't you say?" Pak replied. Downing his shotglass (freshly distilled soju – he was nothing if not traditional) he sighed in satisfaction before continuing, "I sold you exactly what I promised: warmachines that the Earth Union Defense Force would unlikely be able to contend with. If your pilots aren't performing to your standards, that's frankly your problem to solve."
"Then explain how the likes of Valiant continue to defy our return."
Pak sighed inwardly. Oh, not this again. "One: I am not responsible for your pilots," he said. "Two: trying to force the return of the Old World like this is counterproductive."
"So you keep saying," Koenig replied. So far, so very standard – Pak had lost count of all the times they'd had this very conversation, and all the variations therein. "The usurpers continue to lose ground, and lose face, against the threats they face. The Kausen continue to sap at their economic strength. They continue to falter under Sheol's monsters. We have but to give them a push."
"So are you trying to push the mountain, Koenig?" Wordlessly, Pak's assistant handed him the other dispatch tablet. Pak frowned, but he wordlessly took it; if he was being handed this in the middle of a 'VIP' discussion, it was probably important. Or pertinent to said discussion.
He was not disappointed when he glanced over what he saw.
"And what's this I hear about you losing a cell in the Pacific Northwest?" he asked. Now this promised to at least provide some variation on this tired old conversation. "All hands lost, one of my tank-mobiles completely destroyed, not even any footage left over – Koenig, Koenig…this is why I don't like giving you nice things."
Pak's expression, even at that moment, was still placid and calm, if of a chiding nature. Inwardly, he had what could only be described as a 'shit eating grin.' It was so very rare he got to needle him about something new!
Koenig was silent for a few moments. Seething, or taken aback…Pak never knew. He'd never met his 'primary' customer in person. He was fine with that. "The Defense Forces established a new base of operations in that area," Koenig said. "Over the ruins of Morrison University."
Pak blinked at that revelation. "Intriguing," he admitted. "I can see why you sent a cell out there. Do you suppose they were after what he left behind all those years ago?"
"Anything is possible," Koenig rumbled. "My spies reported nothing but active patrols and a reconstruction effort before they self-terminated." Pak rolled his eyes. He never understood the fanaticism Koenig's half of the Westphalian movement displayed. "Which is why I am submitting a new order for you, shortly."
"Making another attempt, are we?" Pak asked. Pausing to accept a refill of his shotglass, he asked, "What makes you think they won't be expecting you this time?"
"The Defense Forces are weak," Koenig said. "And with time, they will be lulled into a false sense of security. It is just as well that they are doing all the excavation work for us; my forces will strike, and seize what they have uncovered."
"I do hate to blunt your enthusiasm," Pak said with every sense of false sincerity he could muster. Which was quite a bit, really. "But are you asking me to really disrupt the timetables for your other concerns? Poor old Yuan can only design something as inspiration permits, you know."
"You have until the end of the year, Pak," Koenig said. "I require equipment for a swift strike force. You will provide this to me."
"Oh, of course, of course, my Red King," Pak said, sarcasm dripping from his voice like venom. "Will there be anything else you'd like to disrupt? Your little venture is already cutting into our future operations in the European District."
When the line abruptly cut, Pak huffed in annoyance. "너 미쳤어," he muttered, reverting back to his native tongue.
Still, he calmed himself down as he looked much more closely at the other dispatch. He wasn't completely honest; his own blackboxes transmitted something back to him, though the image was somewhat undefined. Which was fine; it was more information than that bastard was getting.
His smile then grew back onto his face. Prominently on display was a robotic frame, reaching back to strike a punch at the tank-mobile unit Koenig had sent with them. And…how interesting! A robotic frame with…was that the front of a Coyote engine as the torso? Or was that the outline of a Blue Jay rover? The blurry outline made it so hard to tell, but it was definitely of Union make.
It was so...new. He didn't think the Earth Union had it in them.
He saw no reason to inform his 'customer' of the new development. He wanted enough equipment to outfit a strike force to hit an 'unprepared' foe? He'll get it alright.
Pak began to chuckle, before calming himself down again. Maniacal release could come later. "Well now," he said, "It looks like the Earth Union isn't happy with the rules…"
The lights flashed briefly against his glasses as he leaned back against his throne, still holding his shotglass in one hand while slowly developing a manic smile. "…this should be fun."