Caveat Lector:

This, like most of my RPs, is intended for an adult reader. There is some stuff that will be considered objectionable by some members of this board. Let me know if you find it to be objectionable.


Praetor Richard Varius, brother of the Consuls, lasciviously ran his fat finger down the sheer shirt of the new boy that the agency sent. The youth smelled of cinnamon, just as Varius request. They had picked a good specimen this time.

The boy tensed a bit as the finger progressed down the tender flesh of his belly. The Praetor savoured the way that his youthful muscles contracted. He was really going to enjoy his night- his mind raced in delight as the potential excesses of the evening played out in his mind. He should send his wife away to the ballet more frequently.

He offered the boy a chalice of resinous white wine. The boy nervously sipped at the wine, and the Praetor used this time to press his fat frame against the boy. With terrible speed, the Praetor shoved the glass out of the boy’s hand and shoved him to the couch. Wine seeped into the tiger fur that lined the jet-black floor. The boy was trained well enough not to cry or resist, he went limp. The Praetor forced his tongue into the boy’s mouth and let his hands wander.

Varius immediately recoil in fear.

His tongue was pricked.

He wasn’t able to see the small needle that protruded from the boy’s teeth, because his eyes ran with tears. The Praetor’s muscles twisted his face into a death mask. Bodily fluids soaked his expensive garments and he crashed heavily onto the couch.

The boy squirmed from under the corpse and ran. he smiled! He was told that he was to be a citizen when he got home.

***

“…Really? How awful.” Praetor Grimson doodled with his pen on a pad of paper that he kept on his desk. The implant in his ear and throat picked up seemly sincere concern, but his face was blank.

“Was the… visitor… caught on tape? Executed, you say?” a faint smile danced across his lips. He already had video footage of the whole night. This was another trump card up his sleeve. “Censure whoever did that! This was an assassination, and the guards just killed one of our only leads.”

He feigned to sigh.

”I want an immediate investigation of this whole thing! I demand to know what sinister power has the ability to kill a most exulted and noble Praetor such as Richard!” The guard was a recent hire, and was perhaps a bit trigger happy still. It was curious that this guard was right on the boy’s escape route from the Praetor’s chambers at the time, that the investigation would be derailed and stalled until the public forgot all about, and that in eight month’s time, around 300,000 Gemetrian Standard Aureii would be transferred between two Swiss bank accounts.

“Keep me informed as this develops. I’m going to visit the family and offer my condolences. Good evening, Questorae.” Click.

Grimson hardened his face again, and ordered his official military uniform. It would be hard to keep a somber façade when his heart was singing so. He was going to skip dinner, the Consuls’ tears would serve as his repast.

***

A server from the telecommunications relay throw some data to the central Tree. The Tree mulled over the new information, and some of its higher-dimensional branches shuffled and the vectors that made up its leaves jumped to cluster on new limbs.

The Ordo Anshanti would be called in sound, and their Priests would be scouring the security tapes for any useful information. The Tree carefully moved and unlinked some leaves, adding them to recondite structures that lay deep in the Tree’s heart.

The expected utility of Praetor Grimson suddenly just surpassed the expected utility of the Consuls. The Tree always was careful about these matters. A great shift was coming, and the Tree knew that it needed to make the shift as painless as possible.

Tycho Varius stormed through gates of the Phoenix Corporation Enclave, their head office which was located in Southern Narn. His boots clicked on the polished black floor, and his white suit smartly matched his indigent stride. Twenty Praetorians followed a few steps behind him He crossed the smooth circular emblem of the phoenix that lay in the middle of the massive cylindrical atrium.

Mosaics and friezes covered the walls. There were fourteen alcoves positioned almost symmetrically around the round atrium, with the exception being the security desk and the elevator room at one end of the room, and the main entrance at the other- they formed points fifteen and sixteen. It was difficult to see, but in the walls behind the security desk, there were two 35mm cannons and four 12.7mm machine guns, all mounted in automated turrets hidden in the wall. There were two more 12.7mm guns in the desk for manual use. Though really if someone made it through the 25 meter triple-reinforced concrete walls of the Enclave, the exterior automated cannons, and the nearly 2,200 strong security force armed with everything from assault rifles to missile launcher to an entire private tank battalion- such small arms such as these were probably going to little to dampen the ardor of the invaders.

The doors of the elevators opened before Tycho even got to them. The men at the security desk stood and saluted. Tycho entered the elevator. His bodyguards did not. They fanned out on the outside of the door.

“Patriarch Elevator Room”

The elevator slide imperceptibly downward. Half a minute or so later, the doors opened up on another room. This room had no decorations. A vault door at one end started unlocking itself. The whole building was run with it’s own heavily constrained AI system. The majority of the constraints were hard security rules.

Tycho removed the white leather gloves that covered his hands, stuffing them in the pocket of his Consular purple and gold coat. He used his hands to briefly smooth the curls of his blonde hair. He also impulsively drew his fingers along his jaw, feeling his stubble.

The vault doors swung open. They were metal, and as thick as the doors on any bank vault. On the other side was another elevator door, which was already open. Tycho walked through and turned on the spot in the elevator.

“Patriarch’s Room”

Down, down, down. Nearly a mile into the ground. The facility could take nearly a 40MT blast before the Server Room and the adjoining Patriarch’s Room could be breached.

The door slide open, and Tycho walked into the darkened room. There were several red lights burning in black. He dropped to one knee and touched his fists to his shoulders in an ‘X’- the traditional Gemetrian salute.

The room was quiet save for a brief hum.

“Stand, Tycho”

The voice was computerized. A pretty good approximation to how Tycho remembered his great-great-grandfather’s human voice.

“I know your news, so don’t bother repeating it”. Tycho could barely make out a figure leaning forward in the minimal red light. Plastic tubes fell away from where the jaw used to be, carrying the fluids and gases that sustain what remains of a human body after 189 years. The red lights shifted- they were now the Patriarch’s eyes after his biological ones became useless masses of tissue.

“But let us muse together, dear boy. Who. Why.” Pause. “What next.”

“The why is the easiest, I think. Our family has long been in power. We have used our might to secure all of our tomorrows for us. We are powerful beyond conventional force, our family’s nuclear, biological, and chemical weapons ensure use that no one will try a direct show of force, we have the power to slaughter millions and destroy entire countries if the whim suited us. So our enemies go for our back, slice at our joints, stab at our chinks. This has been the pattern for a while.

“But this latest attack is bold. Not the move of a craven rodent who envies our strength, futilely. This is the strike of a wolf. This is a bite to our hamstring- Richard was a powerful force in the senate. He had his fat fingers around a lot of necks. And his destruction was complete, not only killing him, but soiling his name. This move was calculated, not flavoured by emotion. It was a masterful use of pawns. This move is the start of something more dangerous.

“So then the question is who. Not a traditional enemy, I think. Our old enemies are relics of a by-gone time. They are martial families like the Orsia, the Buccus, the Vespus, or the Atia that hate how a merchant family like ourselves has become supreme in power. They hate us because they hate themselves, for not being able to adapt to a world where the ultimate powers are money and technology- not a worn out system of military values and honour. True, these families were the backbone of the Republic in the day when a legion WAS its men.

“These are tired families, and not clever enough to navigate the levels of intrigue required to pull this assassination off seamlessly. So we must look for a new enemy. A modern enemy. A banking family? Another merchant family? Someone close to us. Maybe a friend. Someone with money, power, ambition, and patience.

“Someone that we need to destroy.”

“Yes Patriarch. I agree”

“Clearly, boy. Bought the consulship for you for a reason. And you and you sister have cultivated your appearance of weakness for a reason. You are the bait to lure out this wolf. They will expect you to be as your image: a foolish figurehead ready to be toppled. But watch, now. They are coming. Be as alert as you pretend not to be.

“Now go. You have my, and the family’s, love.”

“And you have my love and loyalty, Patriarch. Until death.”

Ferrien tapped his finger against the tiny Padd, the ticks and slashes of Defective scrolling across the screen. He turned from it, then, to glance from the plasteel window into the massive, twisting forms of a dozen central nexuses. Beyond were the Spires, hundreds of them, housing hundreds of thousands - millions - of Defective citizens. Above was a sloping, curved roof of blackened steel, and thousands of tiny spotlights that gave some semblance of sunlight. The illusion was imperfect, though the people of Defectiveness had been living within their massive subterranean cities for more than 150 years, and had more or less become acclimatized to the slight scent of oil and machinery, and the slight staleness of air as it sat within the massive hollow in the Earth.

Turning once more to the Padd, his thoughts were brought back to the matter at hand - assasination of a leading political figure in Gemetria. Though the actual movements of Gemetria, ruled entirely by the enigmatic Tree, were impossible to determine, he believed it better to have some idea of the internal politics than to be totally ignorant of the greatest threat to Defective sovereignty.

He wondered at the nature of the assassin. Had it been an internal matter? It seemed likely, though he knew full well that two powerful Houses of his own nation - Veritas and Auris - were not only within their means to bring about such an assasination, but well within their political motivations to do so. Both were strongly in favour of a first strike against the "Gemetrian Threat", and there was much rumbling amongst the common ranks of the military that the Emperor had become "soft" since his rise to power.

Fools. Though their nation spent more on their military strength and prowess, the size of Gemetria and her economic strength compared to Defectiveness' own was enough to give any intelligent analyst pause. Further, Defectiveness simply did not have international support enough to win an all out war against the Gemetrians.

Luckily, the Old Guard still suppported him - and at almost 80,000 strong, now, the force of giants was enough to keep rumblings to a minimum.

However, the matter at hand begged his attention. He ordered a complete audit of all monetary transactions and dealings performed by House Veritas and House Auris. If he found that this assassination had been brought about by either House, there would be Hell to pay. And Hell at the hands of the Emperor was not a pretty sight.

Grimson’s cloak flapped in the wind as he stood on the Field of Tears, in what used to be Western C-Ton. His bone-white respirator mask hissed slightly, and the green glass of his eye pieces glinted in the distant winter sun. In spring time, this would be a different scene, when the snow would melt and the craters from the bombs would turn into lakes. Green would return, and life will continue. In 10 years, this plain would just be another plain in the Gemetrian Empire. But for now, Grimson savored the desolation.

The cards started fall into place quicker now, and Grimson was sure that he now held the winning hand. Still, he would not let arrogance cloud his judgment, this would be a surgical strike. And it would come soon. He knew that Richard’s death would serve as a declaration, and he hoped that it would serve as a beacon of hope for the families and corporations that looks for a way of destroying the corrupt Varii. Consuls indeed. The Republican forefathers would have wept if they saw the depravity that the Senates now had to endure.

Grimson was still worried about the plebs. They might misinterpret his actions as a simple coup d’etat. Grimson did not mean to herald in a new Gemetrian Empire, but rather to tear down the corrupt Second Republic and, with the help of the Tree, rebuild Gemetria into the Third Republic. I hoped that the people would understand. He descended into heresy for them...

And even if they did not understand, 30 of the 48 legions were now loyal to him. The Tree smiled on him. Truly, his cause was blessed.

“We depart for Gemetria. Withdraw the 5th from Incadon, we don’t need another battlefront now, and they seem to be ungrateful for our help. Create exaggerated stories of flagging moral, and redeploy 4 of the cohorts of the 5th to Soulon-Dis and the rest to Caenia for ‘R&R’. Ask Legate Fox to rotate the 21st to C-ton, near the border to repel ‘refugees’ from Incadon. They will be unable to return to the mainland in time to see the Republic fall. Shift some of the other legions and cohorts around to obfuscate our movements. Alice, make sure that your legion is prepared. They will be the front line against the counterattack by the 8th Legion at Bustraphus. Tiber and Max, Dis is yours. Contractors from Reeds will be assisting with capturing the Black Spires. Friends, this is it. Within two weeks, we will either be burned alive or be ushering in a Golden Age.”

The 18, 978th session of the Senate opened up with its usual pomp. Praetor Sucat, the Leader of the Senate, made his slow progress across the marble floor to the Pinnacle of the Senate, heading up two columns of Praetorian Lictors in their full ceremonial black enameled armour with gold trim and purple cloaks. The Praetorians bore fasces, save the two column leaders, who held Gemetrian Standards draped from long silver spears.

Sucat hobbled his way to the top of the Pinnacle, a massive white marble and gold dais that was the focal point for the semicircular seating of the senate, the Lictors turned step, and deployed to their positions. With a heavy sigh, Sucat sat down on one of the three blue-cushioned backless-seat of the Pinnacle. Sucat dabbed at his brow with a handkerchief that drew from his breast pocket while surveying the empty seats splayed in a half-circle around him. The venerable Senator returned the cloth, straightened his sash, and released the clasp from his purple cloak, letting it spill luxuriously to the floor.

Soon after, the Consuls Varii made their way up the steps to the top of the Pinnacle, selecting seats to the left and right of the Praetor. The consuls and Sucat exchanged nods. Lucia Varius drew a small glass of cold tea from a copper jug on the table in front of her. When she returned the jug to its place, it made a loud clank that echoed in the cavernous room.

Sucat slowly drew the Scimitar of Paimon from a fur-lined scabbard beside his bench, which was a replica of the blade that was purported to have been used to eviscerate the last Green King in the third age. King Asmodia, of the northern Vijla tribe, was slain in the middle of his court by the Gemetrian soldier Paimon, thereby unifying the Green Kingdoms under Gemetrian rule. Paimon later became the Emperor of the First Gemetrian Empire. The Scimitar became the symbol of the Empire, and still had a ceremonial role in later governments. Now that Sucat had drawn the blade, the Senate was officially in session.

The August Party was the first to enter the empty amphitheatre, clearly having lost the draw of bones. They marched in to the center of the Senate, saluted the Pinnacle. The Consuls and Sucat raised their hands in recognition.

***

The opening ceremony proceeded until all the hundred-odd parties were seated. Consul Tycho Varius scanned the room, and noticed that James Grimson, and many of the other Senators were missing. This was hardly unusual, attendance in the winter was usually pretty spotty. It was prime vacation time for many of the Senators, who liked wintering in warmer climates. Many of the Senators lived in Northwestern Gemetria, where the pollution wasn’t so bad. Unfortunately, this also happened to be one of the coldest areas of the country, with temperatures that regularly dipped down to -40. The lack of attendance was usually the cause for celebration, as the debates were less raucous and dramatic than the typical Summer fare. Tycho really didn’t want to deal with a repeat of the Summer Senate session where Sucat had to bring in the Praetorians to break up a fist fight between the fascist Gemetrian Supremacy Party and the Centre-left Veronti Pact.

The relief was short lived however, as James Grimson strolled casually onto the senate floor, accompanied by 32 of the Legates, and a pack of Praetors and Quaestors. The Legates were in full military uniform and not in Praetorian garb.

“Hey guys… I hope that we aren’t late,” James’ voice echoed from the walls and the high-vaulted ceilings.

Tycho Varius learned over to Praetor Sucat and whispered in the elder stateman’s ear, “How quickly can you get the Praetorians in here?”

News of further unrest within Gemetria plagued the Emperor. With Heimdall desiring closer relations, and the various Houses of the Empire fighting over whether to support or crush the possible rebellion stirring within Defectiveness' closest political ally, news of the unrest did not bode well with his political senses.

Would a new government see Defectiveness in the same light as the current regime did? What about the enigmatic Tree? What role did it serve in all of this? What role did the government serve at all, in a nation like Gemetria? And would infighting and civil war result in a Gemetria weak enough to come under outside assault?

The Emperor raised himself to his full, impressive height. Beyond the plasteel window, the nexuses and secondary spires that made up the massive city of Defective. Far below him, the housing spires that served as home to more than forty million people glimmered in the emptiness of the massive cavern. Far above sat the steel dome that hid the sight of thousands of thousands of tons of rock sitting above the heads of the sixty five million people who lived within the capital. And above that still sat an entire legion (10,000) of his Old Guard, nestled in the centre of a massive expanse of closely terraced and monitored agricultural fields. Open water did not exist in this setting, but rather, moved constantly in a carefully planned irrigation system, constantly being cleaned and re-used to irrigate the massive amount of grains that fed the Defective people.

He paced for a moment, considering his options. Right now, the only logical course of action would be to sit and wait. However, with the knowledge that Gemetria may yet be torn apart in civil war, the entire Defective armed forces had been placed on high alert - maybe if the incumbent government offered a nice enough price, there might be a legion of Defective soldiers guarding their capital within three days.

The Emperor glanced around the tiny, pure obsidian table at the people seated there. Three generals, and the ceremonial Master of the Guard, the commanding officer of the Defective Old Guard. Together, they numbered five, and before them sat several dozen plans for a successful invasion of Gemetria.

Mind, the 'invasion' was not, in itself, meant to subjugate the Gemetrian nation under the Defective banner - that would be bloody, difficult, and ultimately pointless. It was easier to be in favour of an inefficient and ceremonial government ruled by figureheads - that was easy to subjugate. An entire nation, larger than that of Defectiveness, was a bloodbath waiting to happen.

The majority of the plans called for the mobilization of a full 800,000 soldiers in the first two months, with at least 100,000 coming in the first week and a half. Their purpose was to prevent civil war and crush any insurrection, should the matter come to that. He knew the Gemetrian military would be split, and hoped a large enough Defective force would be capable of destroying the matter before it spread. Insurrection was to be dealt with harshly, and he would not allow a dangerous precendent to be set.

Besides - what better way to get a favour or two out of the powerhouse of Gemetria?

“The Senate recognizes Praetor and Legate, James Grimson.” The Metatron spoke in a smooth and cool voice.

“Thank you, Holy Tree,” James Grimson stood up from his chair.

“Honourable Senators! People of Gemetria and Her Colonies! I stand before you with a new bill, indexed under F56A42B.” James waited for the Senators to call up the bill text. The index number looks complicated rendered here in English, however the Gemetrian number system was base 16, based on their hand counting system.

“You will notice that the bill calls for the immediate resignation of the Consuls Varii and…” James smiled wanly as the eruption of the Senate interrupted him. Senators from all over the house stood and shouted. Most of the senator just sat there, however, thunderstruck. This was bold.

James raised his voice, “…And to give emergency powers to a council of senior Senators until a new pair of Consuls can be found. Too long…” again, Grimson was interrupted by angry yells, this time the voices were more numerous, as previously stunned Senators realized the magnitude of the proposal.

“…TOO LONG HAVE WE THE PEOPLE BEEN SUBJECTED TO THE CORRUPTION!” Grimson was almost shouting at this point, “To the degradation of our might nation! Too long has decay seep into our cities because of auslander influences and decadence!”

The Senator was hostage to the unimaginable cacophony of nearly a thousand Senators yelling. Grimson’s pack of Senators, previously quiet, were now yelling back. On Sucat’s orders, another four columns of Praetorians marched into the Senate.

“This is heresy, Grimson!” Orius Nestrum, of the Mercantile Party bellowed when the commotion finally started quieting down.

“Heresy? This is rich coming from you, Orius! I think that the people are already aware of your corruption, Orius, but I think that they should be insulted for how little money you sold our country out! Do you recall the scandalously small sum of money that you took from a Japanese multinational in return for awarding drilling rights in Iran?” Grimson’s glare fixed on the Praetor.

Grimson picked up a small data key from his desk and held it up for the Senate to see.

“I bring the cleansing flames. Watch…”

His inserted the key into a slot of his desk.

***

“Final result tabulated for Bill F56A42B, author: Praetor and Legate James Grimson.”

A slight pause. Every man and women in the senate held their breath. There was an uncomfortable silence. In the past two hours, James Grimson went over the highlight reel of corruption.

“Bill defeated. Result: 867 for, 1547 against, no abstains.”

A sigh of relief for most of the Senators. Still, that margin was surprisingly close.

“I’m sad to hear that, Holy Tree” James Grimson stood up again. Smiling.

Sucat banged the hilt of the Scimitar of Paimon on the side of his chair. “Grimson! You no longer have the floor!”

”INCORRECT.” Grimson roared. From the side entrances of the Senate, Legionnaires of 5th stormed onto the Senate floor. Chaos. “I dissolve the Second Republic”

“How is this possible?” Tycho thought furiously as he and his Sister ran down the steps of the Pinnacle. A Praetorian waved the Consuls into a pack of guards, ready to whisk them off. “How did Grimson get soldiers into the Senate without alerting the Tre…”

”Oh God.”

Tycho Varius collapsed to his knees, his legs unable to carry him. His sister turned to see her brother fall behind the cluster of Praetorians that were rushing them to the door. She so him get slammed to the floor as a fire team of the 5th converged on him. One of the Praetorians stop running to shoulder his rifle, but Senators were running everywhere. He couldn’t get a clean shot. The Praetorian rejoined the rush to the door.

They didn’t get too far.

***

Harold Storm was glued to the television. He was in a beach-side bar in the Mephaestrian city of Blithe, trying to figure out if there would be a world to return to vacation from.

He light another cigarette, and squeezed his wife around her shoulders.

“…it’s hard to make out what’s going on here, there is a lot of smoke and debris from the…”

There was a loud explosion and the camera shock.

“Oh fuck, oh fuck… are you okay? Are you okay? Are we still rolling? Do we still have feed?” The reported was coughing and feeling out a cut on her head that was gushing blood. “I think that was another cruise missile from the ship in the harbour… can we get a shot?”

The camera shakily panned over to the harbour of Jalphon, a Northern city. A pair of Throne-class ships were barely visible off in the distance. They were obscured by thick clouds of black smoke pouring from the broken hulls of three ships that were moored.

The show cut to a camera in the Senate.

“Sorry to interrupt you Trisha, but we have breaking news from the Gemetrian Senate. That was Trisha Mclaren our foreign correspondent in the Gemetrian City of Jalphon, where the Consular 8th Legion is battling elements of the Grimsonite 15th and 23th legions… now we join a speech from the Tyrant Grimson, already in progress…”

”…and the brave soldiers of the 18th and 5th have already secured Dis. The colonies of Iran, C-Ton, the Congo, and Micronesia have all declared themselves for the Tree and for Gemetria!”

Loud cheers from Senate. There was a pan around the Senate seats. Granted, the attendance was looking a little sparse now, after most of the Senators were lead off in handcuffs. Armed soldiers were noticeably positioned around the Senate walls.

“There are now only a handful of Legions that have not signed onto our vision! To any soldiers in those legions who do not support their traitorous commanders, I extend an offer of amnesty! Please, we are all brothers and sisters, let us end the fighting…”

Harold ordered another drink.

The tunnels of the Hyrocan fortress complex shook as another bomb rudely penetrated the rock of the surrounding mountain. Soldiers huddled in rooms and hallways, their tired bodies slumped over their rifles, grenades, and rocket launchers. They were hungry, cold, and alone. Their cloaks were torn, and did little to keep out the near zero temperatures near the backbone of the mountain range. They now waited for the final assault. A few of them exchanged hand signals, their headsets and optical displays long since dead. Verbal communication was muffled by their breathers, which were necessary as the atmosphere was no longer breathable.

The fortress was becoming a tomb. The consular legions now waited for their death, but were still too proud to meet the reaper without a fight.

And the reaper was quickly approaching. By the first week, Grimson had the seas. By the second week, the air became Grimson’s. And now, in the fourth week of the conflict, the consular legions in Northern Gemetria were pushed back into the mountains, far from food and supplies. Pale Horses pounded the fortress complexes that dotted the mountains at all hours of the nights, and most of the soldiers hadn’t slept in days.

Before the shortwave went dead, the consular forces still caught number stations in West C-Ton from the consular camps. Legate Fox seemed still alive and his forces were still fighting the good fight, bolstered by the C-Ton farming communities in the West. There were reports from Incadon of consular raiding parties riding into defenseless towns, pillaging them for all their food, medical supplies, and ammunition, burning the town as the left.

But these were just rumours, possibly just tales told by dead officer to keep the troop’s spirits up. But there was a fact that all the soldiers knew. It was a truth that was obvious, but remained unspoken. They were dead men either way: by not deserting their legions and joining the Irregular Legions, they were marked men. They were to die in their tunnels, and their corpses burnt on mass pyres. With their backs thrust so fully against the wall they were no longer men- just symbols. They were free from the tiring constraints of a normal life, and without food in their bellies or families at home, they found a delirious resolve.

Underneath their tattled uniforms, below their dented armor, within their numb flesh, their spirits had become unlimited. Nothing else was real, nothing else matter. Their fall was their strength. Their might was their complete ruin.

The letter that lay before the Emperor was simple, and to the point. It was addressed to the Legate Grimson, who now 'lead' the Gemetrian nation. It had been written in the Emperor's own hand, prepared for immediate dispatch by an unarmed Old Guardsman, as a sign of peace and cooperation. The Emperor knew, and perhaps Grimson did too, that while Gemetria was great, Defectiveness was hardly without influence. His eyes scanned once more across the words on the page.

"To The Legate Grimson,

On this date, and hereforth, the nation of Defectiveness recognizes your claim to lead a legitimate government of Gemetria. It is the hope of our nation that there be continued cooperation in regards to our Martian colonies, and a mutual respect of the other's autonomy and sovereignty.

Most sincerely,
The Emperor Ferrien,
Master of Defectiveness and Her Territories."

Nodding, Ferrien folded the paper in an intricate, ceremonial manner, and placed it carefully into the tiny envelope before him. With a flick of a candle and a tap of his left (the nation had been founded by a left-handed patriarch) middle finger, the envelope had been sealed with the Seal of the House of Ferrien.

He stood, and handed the envelope tenderly to a nearby Guardsman. Colonel Stap Cleese, his armour polished and his cape billowing gently in the cross-breeze of the ventilation systems, placed the tiny package inside of a bag strapped to his right arm, and banged the metallic glove of his left hand against the bronze-coloured plate at his right shoulder. With a smart turn, he removed himself about his duty.

The letter would be in Gemetria's capital in less than five hours. The Emperor smiled.