LotS/The Story/Politics of War/Intro

Silence descends upon the room, a quietness so forceful in its totality that it seems as if the air molecules themselves are party to it – frozen in shock, unable or unwilling to vibrate and thus allow passage to waves of sound.

Talia’s eyes are wide. Telemachus stares with his mouth agape, his expression so piscine it would bring a laugh to your own lips were you not equally stunned into noiselessness. Ragnar has the beginnings of a lurking grin on his face, though it somehow fails to take hold – as though the rest of his features are threatening violence against those muscles should they dare to give way to such inappropriate amusement. Even Lu Bu’s impassive metal face somehow betrays a combination of amazement and awkwardness in its angle and bearing.

Your TALOS allies are faring no better. Wilex’s gaze is darting about the uninhabited reaches of the room – as though seeking for something to fasten itself upon. Ambassador Pellor, projected larger than life across the holographic screen, raises his hand to his mouth and emits a cough so slight it doesn’t even manage to scratch the surface of the silence, let alone break it.

In all the time you’ve known Princess Illaria, you don’t recall ever hearing her utter even the mildest of swearwords. If the thought of her doing so had crossed your mind, it would have seemed an absurdity – almost a blasphemy. Akin to an old master painting or marble sculpture of an ancient goddess coming to life and spewing forth a torrent of abuse. But the litany of profanities which has just poured from the Princess’ lips was equal to any you might have heard in the slums of Drekchester.

Had she so much as whispered those invectives at the imperial court, several of its sedate and sophisticated denizens would likely have spontaneously combusted. Others would surely have ritually disemboweled themselves on the spot, their ears and mind defiled to hear such words from their Princess. You can only imagine what the Emperor himself would say.

If Illaria is paying any heed to the effect she’s had, she betrays no sign. Her face is a mask of beautiful rage, her gleaming eyes those of a vengeful fury seeking some victim to eviscerate. And you can hardly blame her. The same anger surges in your breast at what Pellor has just related, though your incredulity at her words managed to eclipse it.

The ambassador, TALOS’ representative at the UHW Assembly on Earth, has been at the forefront of those making the case against the Centurian Collective. That diplomatic effort had been forced from your mind during your exploits on Drekchester and Hyperia. Even a tear across the very fabric of the Milky Way and the destruction of a million worlds would have seemed trivial to you while the Princess was in danger. But the moment Illaria came aboard the cruiser, her first thought was of the war and her people. She requested a full debriefing, and when a communication came from Pellor you all gathered to hear his report.

“What about the Besalaad alien?” the Princess asks. Her voice sounds cold and dangerous, like a weapon being drawn back in preparation for a fatal thrust. “How could they deny that when you presented evidence?”

“They…” Ambassador Pellor coughs once more. His diplomatic eloquence appears to have failed him in the face of her fury, as though she were some vengeful goddess about to smite him for his failure. But he recovers his voice at last. “The Centurians didn’t deny that the alien was aboard the Zenith. They couldn’t, after we’d presented footage from a robot’s memory banks.”

Lu Bu gives a slight nod of his head. And it occurs to you for the first time that everything he sees is stored within his computerized mind, as your memories are in your organic one. The difference is that his can not only be retrieved at will, but may also be distributed as with any other form of data. You’ll have to be careful not to do anything embarrassing around him…

“An examination would have shown it to be genuine rather than doctored,” Pellor continues. “But… Well, their ambassador said that the alien was simply Rahn’s personal bodyguard. The Collective claims to have no diplomatic relations with the Besalaad whatsoever.”

The Princess’ eyes blaze. Sounds of anger and incredulity come from around the table.

“That’s a lie!” Telemachus yells.

The words are superfluous. You know full well that the Centurians are trying to deceive the Union of Human Worlds. But the pure outrage in his young voice encapsulates your feelings. You never anticipated that they might be so brazen in the face of the evidence, and that irks you.

“The UHW can’t be that naïve,” says Talia. “What about all the advanced tech we found?”

“According to the Centurians, it’s the result of their own scientific research and their trading arrangements with other species.”

Pellor looks somewhat uneasy as he gazes at the angry faces before him. He’s probably glad to be so far away from you all right now, lest you attempt to shoot the messenger for bearing such frustrating news.

“I always thought politicians were a bunch of cunning snakes ready to rob people blind and take whatever they could get their grubby little claws on,” Ragnar says, with a cheerful disregard for zoological verisimilitude. “Turns out you’re just idiots.”

The ambassador frowns at this pronouncement. He opens his mouth for an angry retort, but you see him biting back his words as though they were physical things attempting to pass through his fence of teeth. Even from so many millions of miles across space, he doesn’t seem willing to answer back to the Niflung.

“The circumstances are somewhat against us,” he says after a moment’s pause. “Our attack on Rahn’s cruiser was an illegal act under UHW law. The Centurians are arguing that we’re putting forward these accusations to draw attention away from our own crimes.”

“The recording of Fabricatrix Vespasia…” the Princess says. But there’s resignation in her voice.

“Her dying words prove nothing, I’m afraid.” Pellor sighs. “The Grand Fabricator was convinced, under the circumstances, as were the rest of us. In the eyes of the UHW, however… Well, her mention of the Centurians was far from persuasive. And some of my counterparts rather disapproved of the way the information was acquired…”

“Acquired?” Talia asks.

“The… The Niflung gentleman was rather brutal in his methods… Some used the word ‘torture’ to describe his actions.”

“Torture?” Ragnar gives a bellowing laugh that undulates across the slabs of muscle on his chest. “They think that was torture? Give me five minutes with them and I’ll show them what real torture is!”

“Do we have any supporters at the UHW?” you ask.

“Some are sympathetic,” the ambassador replies. “The powers who have historically been opposed to the Centurians are naturally more ready to believe the accusations against them. And of course I’ll continue my efforts to persuade the others…”

“With the greatest of respect, ambassador,” says the Princess, “I don’t believe you’re best suited to that task. Most human factions distrust TALOS, and that places you at a disadvantage when it comes to winning their support in the Assembly.”

“She’s right,” says Wilex. “If the evidence we could offer isn’t enough, and it comes down to persuasion, we’re not in an ideal position.”

“Perhaps not,” Pellor replies. “But what alternative do we have? I’m working closely with the Sian Empire’s own ambassador, but the two of us are faced with a difficult challenge.”

“Then we need a more powerful weapon at the UHW.” The Princess meets your gaze, and for the barest fraction of a second a smile crosses her lips as you read her intention.

“What do you mean?” the ambassador asks.

“I’ll come to Earth, and make the case against the Collective myself.”