[center][h2][u]Xakloant System - Local Command Station[/u][/h2]
[i]Spleen x Iso[/i][/center]

Tucked away inconspicuously in one of the modest stations ship berths was the SAR Shalim, a Foch class corvette that was more or less identical to any of its many siblings in the system.  That was, of course, the point.  While the Shalim certainly didn’t lack the extensive sensor suite native to its class, it had a number of other systems hiding under its skin that’d make it the envy of its peers.  If they even knew it existed, of course.  The Shalim was entered  into the records under a different name, and with arguably the least important job any Foch class corvette could have, border system monitoring.

That alone, usually deflected any attention.  The persistent ‘encouragement’ to drop the issue commanding officers directed towards particularly curious subordinates generally did the rest.  The Shalim was, in truth, not a Spaceborne Arm ship at all.  It represented one of the secretive and heavily modified ships used by IOD as mobile command centers, and the IOD did their best to ensure nobody knew that.

Kaisa Lahti leaned against the side of a corridor aboard the ship, tapping her foot against the floor rhythmically as she impatiently waited for the Astranan special operations force her sister had dumped on her.  Standing straight enough that any normal human would think he was at attention, the imposing figure of Mustafa Bahar glared at Kaisa, “Must you be so irreverent captain?  I understand the IOD doesn’t demand much of its officers but you [i]are[/i] this vessels commanding officer.  Would it be too much to ask for you to act like it while our friends are here?”

Kaisa brushed a lock of white hair away from her face and shrugged, “Mustafa how many times have I told you to loosen up, you don’t need to act like a soldier when you’re not…  Soldiering.  Or spying.  Or whatever we happen to be doing.  The IOD cares about performance, not appearances.  Nobody is going to reprimand you for taking a load off when we’re not on a mission, least of all me.”

Kaisa straightened up and patted Mustafa on the shoulder, “And that’s exactly what I intend to tell the Astranans!  God help us if they insist on formality for the duration, we already suffer you.”

A happily whistled tune announced the arrival of the Astranans. A lieutenant and master sergeant stepped through the airlock that connected the [i]Shalim[/i] to the station. The female master sergeant stopped whistling only after her superior officer halted and rendered a sufficiently polite salute. “Lieutenant Diets. Requesting permission for my command to come aboard.”
Kaisa returned the salute and smiled broadly, “Captain Lahti, and you have it Lieutenant.  We’ve cleared space for you, not that we have even close to a full complement aboard.  I’ll get someone show you to your quarters and the storage space we’ve set aside for you later, hopefully you’ll find everything suitable.  With that said!  Just as I was reminding my friend Ensign Bahar we don’t keep track of every scuffed floor here, so if you’ve concerns just let somebody know.  It’ll get sorted out.”

“We’ve dealt with worse than a few scuffed floors” The Astranan master sergeant commented. She and her lieutenant could not look more different if they were from different species. Lieutenant Diets had a bland look about it, the sort that caused one to not even notice him if he were in any sort of crowd. And yet at the same time the way he wore his uniform and how he held himself seemed to scream ‘career officier’. The master sergeant, on the other hand, looked like she should be a model instead of a soldier. She drew gazes towards her simply by being in the same room and, despite wearing the same uniform as her commanding officer, somehow made her normally conservative and bland outfit look attractive. But more than anything there was a look in her eyes, one that only the most experienced of soldiers would notice, that promised that anyone who crossed her wouldn’t live to do so a second time.

“I suppose we have” Diets agreed after a moment. “Still it's always nice to enjoy better accommodations before taking to the field.”

“That it is.” The master sergeant turned to Lahti and gave her the laziest salute that she could possibly get away with without being insubordinate. “Master Sergeant Marphissa at your service. If you’ve got any questions about us ask me.”

Kaisa regarded the two and scratched the back of her head, “I’ve got to be honest, I don’t even know what to ask.  There are other IOD officers who know more, but we’ve been operating in the warzone for a few years now.  There’s not been much cause to keep apprised of other nations best.  You do have my apologies for that.”

“Well I’m here if you need me ma’am.” Marphissa said with a shrug. “One thing I will offer to you is that we should not be used as ‘elite infantry’. Can we do it? Certainly, but that’s not really the best way to use us. Lots of frontline commanders make that mistake though.”

“That,” Kaisa chuckled, “Is certainly not what we’ll be doing.  While Mustafa here might be an old soldier, our merry little crew isn’t in the business of fighting the enemy up front.  Our mandate for the last year has been precision strikes paving the way for future actions, hitting targets deep in enemy territory and getting out before a proper response can be mounted.  We do it right, we never have to hit more than a minor garrison.  There are teams doing more subtle work, but the goal is the same, we make sure the Scorpine don’t have a chance when the fleet comes knocking.”

“Excellent” Diets said. “Looks like we’ll fit in perfectly.”

[u][h2][center]Core Worlds of the Resurrection - Alcesetra[/center][/h2][/u]

If the Resurrection had a beating heart, Alcesetra was it.  The erstwhile capital of the Northern Cygnus Republic, and the birthplace of the movement, while it had never been designated as more than a mere 'regional administrative centre' it was here that all the highest councils held court.  That fact alone had turned this planet into hub of just about everything.  It was no ecumenopolis, but more than a few urban planners were working towards that goal, enough that the lofty proposition was starting to look like an inevitability.  

From his vantage point about a quarter of the way up one of the planets space elevators, it was already a sight that defied human comprehension.  The lights never seemed to end, and even if he saw this sight every day Lucien Gulliot would never fail to marvel at the enormity of it, both in scale and meaning.  What had started as a loose ideological alignment had evolved into this, a city that housed untold billions, a planet that held thousands of others in its tow, a government that might one day dominate the stars.

How so many failed to see it, Lucien would never know.  The Military Council was so focused on its war it never considered what that struggle had precipitated back home, and so long as men and ships arrived at the front it never would.  The Ideological Council saw it, but only as a caricature; centralization, with all its rewards, was their greatest fear.  Some in the Economic Council facetiously considered themselves a part of some secret cabal, as if they were a conspiracy working towards their end against unfathomable opposition.  Joke or not, Lucien knew better.  The Economic Council was no cabal, it was merely an alliance of those who saw the potential of what their forefathers had wrought.  The opposition they faced was far from insurmountable, in fact it was so fractured that the only dangers his fellows faced was in the uncoordinated flailing of their foes.  Of course, that could well be a greater danger than any dedicated opponent.

He was waiting for one of his compatriots that understood that.  A soft pinging from his speaker system announced their arrival, and without moving from his window vantage point he instructed the system to open his doors.  Footsteps and an eventual amused scoff announced the arrival of Evi Mayer, “Mister Gulliot, as dramatic as ever I see.  Will you be investing in a swivel chair next time?  Or a roaring fireplace?”

Lucien grinned as he turned around, some lost their sense of humour as they aged, but he dreaded the day he wouldn't be able to poke fun at himself.  After all, living more than a dozen kilometres up was melodramatic enough to warrant a joke.  He made his way over to her and shook her hand before gesturing to the open kitchen space, “A drink?”

Evi nodded and Lucien filled two wide glasses with wine, the straining at the bottom of one spoke to his own recent indulgences.  Handing Evi the other Lucien asked, “What tidings do you bring, my friend?”

Evi cocked an eyebrow, the lithe woman smirked before he face soured abruptly, “Not good.  It's as we suspected, Markus Lahti sent orders to his daughter to reveal the offensives start date.  We didn't manage to intercept the details, but it will be soon.  Worse yet, the man is taking rejuvenation drugs like candies.  Addictive or not, the doctors I consulted were emphatic on the dangers of doing so.”

Lucien sighed, “The old fool.  There's a reason I wear my own wrinkles.  This offensive is preposterous already, thirty years of judicious and circumspect progress and now he looks to end the war in one fell swoop like a conqueror of old.  It seems our dear leader has done his damnedest to lose his mind, with considerable success.”

Evi sat on one of Luciens kitchen stools before speaking again, and when she did it was without a trace of mirth, “So we prepare the contingency, then?”

In a single motion Lucien downed the rest of his wine and furrowed his brow, “We prepare the contingency.  What a waste, though.  The man was, is, a hero.  He already could have declared himself king a dozen times over the last twenty years, had he even considered it.  If not for his vain obsession with total victory he'd have been the perfect candidate.”

Evi sipped her own wine, “The work of building a proper state isn't meant to be easy, Lucien.  You said that.”

That brought a little smile back to his face, “True enough Evi,” Lucien took a seat beside her, “But this will meant a direct conflict with the Ideological council, and if we botch that we all know the consequences.”

The two of them spent a moment in silence before Evi finished her own drink and spoke, “Then we make sure we're ready.”

Lucien could only nod.  Sometimes he wished he'd opted for one of the dozens of procedures to preserve his youth, for in times like this the burden of what was to be done weighed heavily on his old bones.