[b]Telasis City Spaceport Durand Commonwealth Colonial World[/b] Durand was a pretty miserable excuse for a planet, even for a colonial world. Far into the back and beyond of the sprawling expanse of the Commonwealth, Durand had the dubious distinction and terrible misfortune of being the last world annexed by the Commonwealth before the arrival of the Ashtar. Durand had been a relatively prosperous independent human colony, far from the Federation of Nations’ borders. It had originally been settled several hundred years earlier by a group of religious puritans, who had wanted to place some distance between themselves and the sins of modern man. That puritannical streak had diminished over the centuries, but the great cathedrals the original settlers had built still dominated the skylines of many cities. They were huge structures rising hundreds of meters into the air, the intersection of piety and technology. Of course, none of them were churches anymore, not after the Commonwealth had taken over. The cathedrals were the only unique or noteworthy element of Durand, as far as the Commonwealth transstellar megacorps were concerned, so they had taken them and made them their own. All had been refitted into office towers or luxury apartments for the elite of the megacorps or friends of the colonial governor’s, and in most cities they were the only structures left over 30 stories tall. The rest had gradually decayed, then been knocked down when they became eyesores that the megacorps didn’t wish to look upon. The planetary capital of Telasil, the only remaining proper spaceport on Durand, had the largest cathedral on the planet now serving as the Colonial Governor’s residence and administrative center. At just under two hundred stories, it was a masterpiece of towering spires and flying buttresses, built of modern alloys and coated in a beautiful red sandstone native to Durand. A good thirty stories were set aside for the Governor’s personal use, while the remainder housed the facilities necessary to run the planet. It’s official title was ‘St. Fitzroy’s Cathedral’, named after the most revered figure in Durand’s local history. Everyone who actually lived on Durand knew that Fitzroy would have loathed having his name attached to the center of the Commonwealth’s oppression, so most people just called it ‘The Red Whore’. Aside from the Red Whore and a small number of other modern skyscrapers in the downtown core, Telasil was all run down slums. On the edge of the city, situated so the noise of landing spacecraft would not disturb the governor’s beauty sleep, Thomas Maclay worked his days away as counter-grav sled operator, loading and unloading the small freighters that landed on Durand, or the atmospheric shuttles which serviced the larger freighters that couldn’t withstand re-entry. At work, the Dubrovnik-Vetroyshka corporation provided the modern counter-grav sled, but Maclay himself drove home in an old internal combustion car. Today, he was helping unload pallets of grain from a Rolvian shuttle. The freighter it serviced was hovering high overhead, barely visible in the upper atmosphere. It was a fact of interstellar commerce that most freighters big enough to make a good profit were not designed to land on planets; far cheaper to shuttle goods on and off than reinforce the spaceframe, build landing gear, and install thrusters that wouldn’t burn the face off everyone in a five kilometer radius. The freighter was called the RS [i]Owakshell[/i], and Maclay knew most of its crew on a personal basis. It was a big Poltisi cartel hauler that frequently made the ‘bread run’ out to Durand. Maclay and the other workers were about halfway through emptying the final shuttle load from [i]Owakshell[/i], and Captain Ragal Poltisi had come down with this load to collect payment from the Dubrovnik-Vetroyshka accounts manager. Ragal was a good man in Maclay’s books; even though he was related to the owners of the cartel, he wasn’t above pitching in on hard work. Even now he was helping unload the shuttle while the account manager assembled his pay, idly chatting with Maclay as he helped the man shift pallets onto the counter-grav sled. Maclay laughed at something Ragal said, and was about to turn the sled around when the Rolvian said something that caught his attention. “Shame I won’t be back this way for a long while, Tom. You’re good people here on Durand.” Ragal said absently. Maclay paused, frowning. “Whaddya mean by that Cap’n? Going somewhere?” Ragal frowned in turn, then shook his head ruefully. “You didn’t hear? Right, course the corporate snots didn’t tell anyone who actually needs to know. This is my last haul into the Commonwealth, who knows for how long. One of the last Rolvian hauls period, actually. Politicians back home decided it’s time to play hardball with your politicians, or something like that. Gonna be some tight bellies in the Core worlds soon I’d imagine, but you lads have plenty out here.” Maclay stared at him blankly, jaw hanging open. No more shipments? Tight bellies in the [i]Core[/i]? What was Ragal talking about? Then it all clicked together, and Maclay snapped his jaw shut. Ragal didn’t really understand how things worked in the Commonwealth. He knew that most of Durand’s food got shipped Core-wards, and that the Rolvian imports kept the locals fed, but he didn’t understand that it wasn’t a voluntary arrangement. He was assuming colonies like Durand would simply cut down their own exports, and that the Core worlds would face shortages. But that wasn’t how things worked. Not in the Commonwealth. “Damn shame,” Maclay said with a forced smile, then directed the sled out the shuttle’s large rear hatch. He stowed the grain in the designated container, then slunk off into the spaceport’s crowded warehouses. He flagged down another worker, not precisely a friend, but someone with a similar attitude. “Ted, where’s them mining lasers we got in yesterday?” Ted Polis frowned. “Why you need to know Tom?” Maclay pulled him close, looking around carefully. “Rolvians are cutting off food shipments. Just talked to Cap’n Ragal, he says it’s happening all across the Colonies.” Polis’ face paled. “They can’t do that!” “They’ll try, but I plan on doing somethin about it. The mining lasers, Ted.” Polis guided Maclay to a container which contained handheld mining lasers. They were high powered enough to melt through rock, but far too short ranged to make proper weapons. Fortunately, Maclay could make do with ‘improper’ weapons just fine. Polis circulated around the warehouse, passing word of what was happening, sending other workers to Maclay to arm themselves. Their looks ranged from desperate to determined. Many had families to feed. All understood what would happen if the shipments from Rolvius stopped. Maclay eventually led a small mob out of the warehouse. They moved fast, running up behind the far side of the Rolvian shuttle. In scant seconds, half a dozen men were inside, holding their lasers to the pilot and co-pilot’s heads. Four others held up the Rolvian cargo-master. Five followed Maclay around the front of the shuttle, where Captain Ragal was dealing with Albrecht Berthold, the Dubrovnik-Vetroyshka supervisor. Berthold saw the workers coming first, eyes widening in shock. “Maclay! What in-” was all he got out before Maclay raised the laser and blew his head clean off. His companions tackled Captain Ragal and began hauling him back towards the shuttle. “Tom! What’re you doing?” the Rolvian asked, more incredulous than affraid. “Sorry Cap’n, you’re a good man, but you don’t right understand the situation, and I got kids to feed. We’ll just keep you here with us for a bit, see if we can’t convince your politicians to get the grain moving again.” ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- [b]Whitehaven Palace Brandenburg Praetoria[/b] “No. No! No no no no no!” Castlereagh spluttered the words in horror. “This can’t be happening. Please tell me it’s an elaborate prank of some kind!” Metternich shook his head grimly. He was well and calm, having spent the past hour viciously assaulting training droids in his private gym. Telemachus was quiet in the corner, having been the first to receive the news of the Durand situation. It had come in - encrypted - over PsiNET from the colonial governor of Durand several hours previously. Fortunately, the governor had done everything right. He’d cordoned off the spaceport, and locked down the system. No message traffic aside from official dispatches was leaving or entering the system. The three destroyers on station had been deployed to prevent any ships from leaving either, including the [i]Owakshell[/i]. The ships’ first officer, Keliar, was reportedly furious, but that could be dealt with later. Otherwise, the governor was simply keeping the kidnappers contained, not making any attempt to recover the hostages. He correctly understood that the odds of losing one of the Rolvian hostages were too great. The incident was contained, but it could not be kept so indefinitely. “[i]Burn[/i] those colonial idiots! Those colossal [i]fucking[/i] morons!” Castlereagh raged, stomping around Metternich’s palatial Praetoria office. The room seemed especially huge with just the three of them in it. Like everything in Whitehaven Palace, it was sinfully ornate too. Long ago, Whitehaven had been the Royal palace of the Dragunov dynasty, but it had been given over to senior government offices when the Imperial Palace was built. “Calmly Robert. We can still manage this. Get a note off to Vannifar, physical copy on a diplomatic courier. Tell her we’re deploying special assets to get her people out safe, but we need a little time and we need this kept quiet,” Metternich said. “Cato, how do we get the Rolvians out safely?” Telemachus shrugged helplessly. “Civil Order is a sledgehammer, Lord Chancellor. We need a scalpel. We’re just not equipped to deal with this kind of thing over at Interior. Even our Su’urtugal are trained wrong; they don’t generally worry about collateral damage. I’m sorry. But perhaps Martuf can offer some assistance on this.” “That might be our solution. I’ll get to the Imperial Palace, inform her Imperial Majesty and Martuf at the same time. This is right up his alley, I’m sure he’ll have something we can do. The important thing is that for the moment, no one else knows about this.”