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DAWN CAME UPON Rovato, the buzzing capital of Cogitatio, with only a slightly increased brightness in the air, and the chiming of the Cycle Tower, to alert its residents that it was time to wake. Watching his city from his study, Taranis was filled with disquiet. Despite the massive strides in science since his seizure of the Convention, the body of technocrats which ruled the world not a decade ago, and the resultant leaps in the quality of life for his people, the atmosphere was still damnably toxic and hostile. It was more than an aesthetic problem; it harmed the health of the people and reduced their life expectancy, and it wrecked havoc on travels to and from orbit. For Cogitatio to become prosperous once more, trade was vitally needed, and that was impossible as long as the raging clouds in the atmosphere posed a threat to shipping. 

He sighed, and turned away from the view, the heavy steps of his augmented legs making audible clanks against the polished metal floor as he moved. He was tired; he was always tired, to tell the truth. His augmentations meant he required little sleep, only a few hours a week, but his damnably organic brain was still convinced that its physiological functions were not being fulfilled. Sleep was inefficient, a wasteful expense of his time. He made a silent note to himself to look into technologies permitting its elimination completely as he sat back down on his chair and began reviewing the previous day's reports. 

Since his assumption of power, he had established a firm network of agents and informers, who reported to him all that he required to know. These reports ranged from the dramatic plots against his rule, to the mundane production levels in factories. A normal man would be swamped by all this information, but he was never a normal man to begin with, and with his extensive augmentations his capacity to retain and analyze such things was great indeed. Nevertheless, he had arranged set up a program that filtered the reports according to importance, and that day the most urgent missive was one from the observers who scanned the cosmos with their powerful sensors. They had detected a large force entering the system from the warp, it seemed; upon further investigation they identified it as an orc WAAAGH. And it was heading straight for Cogitatio.

Taranis stood up abrubtly, and left his study, passing the marching forms of his personal guard, and entered the relay center. He inputed the appropriate override code at a console, and at once, all radio communicators, all televisions- in short, every form of electronic media- interrupted their regular projections, and displayed instead their leader.

"People of Cogitatio," he began, booming in his voice, which rang louder and deeper than any other man's, "Two hours ago, a fleet of at least thirteen vessels, of unkown origin, entered our system. Since then, they have been positively identified as orcs."

In the metropolitan square of Rovato, the people gathered in their thousands in front of the giant projector, in spite of the sulfurous air. In manufactures across the world, and the settlements beyond, their kin did likewise, listening with creeping dread. "This is the largest such force we have seen on our world since man first walked it. Have no illusions; we are now in a crisis. We must deploy every means at our disposal to survive the coming storm."

"Keep calm, prepare, and follow all official instructions to the letter," he finished firmly, "And we shall overcome it. The future beckons."

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