Return on Investment

by OneHundredCanucks

Although the Lighthouse War is over, Princess Rosa Cossette D'Elise's problems are only just beginning. Together with her companions, she must forge a new path in a shattered Usea, gripped by strife and disorder. But they are not alone. Sensing opportunity, new powers have emerged from the shadows - each with their own plans for the ailing continent...

6. Hostile Takeover

Return on Investment

---

The Story So Far...

▪ Princess Rosa Cossette D'Elise, desperate for help in the ongoing refugee crisis at the Space Elevator, had reluctantly accepted an offer from Gilbert Park, of General Resource, to alleviate the strain. As General Resource moves in, she remains outwardly amiable, but is inwardly suspicious of their intentions - and has nominally counterbalanced their influence by convincing the powerful Osean Federation to maintain a stake of their own in the Elevator...

▪ Doctor Schroeder had also been highly suspicious of General Resource's intentions. However, unlike Cossette's multilateral approach, Schroeder has decided to take matters into his own hands; recalling his old connections in Gründer Industries and the EASA, he has spent the past few chapters amassing a new coalition of soldiers, pilots, scientists, and engineers - including the Belkan War veteran Lorenz Riedel - to stand as a rival faction to General Resource...

▪ Abyssal Dision, General Resource's chief pilot, had been ordered by Gilbert Park to recruit agents to General Resource's cause, achieving mixed results; his first target was Yoko Martha Inoue, who he refused to recruit after falling in love, instead sending her back to the Space Elevator for her own safety. However, his next recruitment was successful - the former Osean fighter pilot Clown, who agreed to join on the condition that he be allowed to seek justice and closure for his old wingman, Trigger...

▪ Prescott F. Marshall, 50th President of the Osean Federation, has maintained an isolationist stance since the end of the Lighthouse War. Recently, however, he has been convinced by Princess Cossette to consider starting to think about planning for the event of corporate warfare...

▪ Wit and Seymour - leading the Sol Squadron - continue to uphold their national restoration, putting them at odds with General Resource's "investments" in the land of Shilage. Eventually, they joined an uprising that successfully ousted General Resource from the country, and are now heading towards the Space Elevator...

---

Chapter FOUR - Hostile Takeover

"Violence is never the answer. Violence is the question, and the answer is always 'Yes'."
— Belkan proverb

---

Tyler Island, Southwestern Usea
1 June 2020

Doctor Schroeder walked down the path leading out from the old drone factory and into the island's southern airfield. At his side was Simon Orestes Cohen, the bespectacled young apprentice to whom Schroeder had taught everything he knew, and Georg - the reluctant former mercenary and systems engineer.

Climbing atop a raised dais placed at the end of the main row of hangars, Doctor Schroeder could finally see the fruits of his months of laborious preparation.

It truly was an impressive sight.

Almost a thousand men and women had gathered on the old flightline, assembled like the great political rallies of his hometown of N rnberg, Belka. Their numbers were drawn from all corners of Schroeder's vast network of associates. There were ranks of heavily-armored mercenaries, recruited from the lethally-radioactive wastelands of Holy Nordbelka herself, as well as former fighter pilots - some in regular flight garb, others in bulbous COFFIN suits. Off to the side were an eclectic mix of ex-Gründer scientists and EASA engineers, about half in standard white labcoats and the other in ochre robes, their bodies fitted with enough cybernetic augmentations to make them more machine than man. Bringing up the rear were Air Erusea officials and executives, dressed in business suits and modest polo shirts.

Behind them all were gathered row upon row of newly-built combat planes, seemingly stretching from one horizon to the other.

Every single one were completely new designs, with designations and reporting names to match; from the jagged, forward-swept lines of the XR-45 Cariburn, the stuffed-goose body of the YR-302 Fregata, and the sleek, next-generation lines of the YR-99 Forneus. Doctor Schroeder had spent the past several months journeying to all the wartime drone factories that still lay dormant across Usea, reactivating them, and retooling away from producing the unmanned, uncontrollable ADF-11 designs and towards these newer, manned-COFFIN prototypes.

Now, finally, Schroeder's New Army had been gathered. Everything was in place. All that was required now was...

'It's dangerous to go alone.' said Simon, proffering a microphone. 'Take this.'

Schroeder accepted his bespectacled apprentice's offer with a curt nod. Then he brought the microphone to his lips, sweeping the crowd with a glance. A strange feeling was stirring in his chest.

'My friends,' he began, his voice ringing strong and determined as the loudspeakers carried it across the airfield. 'You have been gathered here today because you are the best. Because you know, as well as I, the stakes of the enormous task that lies ahead of us.'

The gathered assembly listened in anticipated silence. A gust blew in from the ocean, a pleasantly-salty smell that rushed in and invigorated Schroeder's lungs.

'The Space Elevator is the beacon of hope for all mankind.' Schroeder continued. 'This, I believe now with all my heart. More than a mere energy source, it has also become a rallying point for the lost and the wounded, for the countless war refugees who have lost their homes - refugees created from the consequences of the actions of men like me.'

A murmur ran through the crowd.

'Yet, even after all I had done,' he went on. 'Princess Rosa Cossette D'Elise of Erusea took it upon herself to forgive me of my past transgressions. She knew what I had wrought, all of the suffering I had inflicted - and the further suffering that I was going to inflict. Yet, she and her companions, all of whom had endured the worst excesses of the war - the war that I had started... They gave me the chance to leave that all behind, and to make a new beginning.'

More murmuring.

'The era we live in now is one marked by great suffering and great strife. But, for the Space Elevator - the one small spark of goodness in this broken world, shining like a lighthouse against the raging storm - I shall spare no expense to ensure its protection. I owe them that much. And so I have called to you, my friends and colleagues, to assist me in this noble endeavor, and have compensated you well for your services.'

The crowd hesitated for a moment, before some began to snarl out their assent.

'Your service is not merely necessary.' Schroeder said. 'It is also right and just. Because now, the Space Elevator finds itself beset on all sides by the predations of the greedy and the mad. General Resource, the IUN, and all of the other fools... they would seek to twist its potential to serve their own vile ends. And they would keep people like us down to see their goals realized. I know this, because I was like that too, once before.'

More assent rang out as the crowd worked itself into a fever pitch.

'... But no longer!' Schroeder declared with a clenched fist. 'Now I am reformed. Now I stand against those like my older self, who would wish harm against the good and honest people of this world. We will not - we cannot - allow that to happen. Instead, we will fight!'

There was a roar of approval.

«Oom-pah!»

Simon beside him held a blank expression, while Georg bowed his head somberly, slowly shaking it.

Seeing the sights and sounds of his agitated audience, Schroeder now recognized the feeling that had been in his chest. It was the feeling of power. He understood how it felt for a commanding general addressing his troops on the field of battle - they needed only the order to be unleashed against the enemy. They were fighting to go, ready to make the whole Earth run red with blood.

Amidst the billowing uproar from the ranks of his New Army, Schroeder raised his hand, clenched in a fist.

'And so! While all of Usea is distracted by strife and uncertainty, we will strike! We will make for the Space Elevator, and secure it! Protect it! Defend it! For the future!'

They began to cheer - a roaring, guttural, bone-shaking affirmation. They were howling like warriors. Like conquerors.

«Oompah! Oompah! Oompah!»

Like Belkans.

---

The International Space Elevator
Selatapura Bay, Southwestern Usea
2 June 2020

The afternoon sun was gliding slowly across the sky, its stark glare strobing through the billowing clouds. The tropical air was thick and humid, slightly moreso now with the onset of summer. It was hot and muggy, faintly smelling of pollution from nearby Selatapura, offset only slightly by a pleasant southwesterly seabreeze.

From Earthport - the artificial island that made up its base - the Space Elevator cast a long shadow that rotated and distorted like the needle of a vast sundial. Its lines were clean and elegant, arching out from its base like a piece of master-crafted furniture, reaching up the main tower almost 12 kilometers high before the elevator's cables ran the rest of the way into space.

The Elevator had been at the heart of the last war, and its consequences were still being felt even now; millions of people had been made refugees by the war and its aftermath, and many sought refuge on the Elevator, clinging to its image as the portent of a hopeful future. And so, the island of Earthport had become a shanty; the Elevator's base became filled with a sea of rough canvas tents and makeshift campsites. Crowding, disease, and insufficient supplies had quickly become huge issues, one that the provisional administration - headed by Princess Rosa Cossette D'Elise and her wartime companions - had struggled to manage.

That was, until General Resource stepped in. Where the nations of the world had retreated away to lick their war wounds, the multinational conglomerate had poured money, food, and resources into alleviating the strain. Spearheaded by Gilbert Park, they had even negotiated deals with several national governments, where they would be offered access to GR's various services and technology in exchange for a mutually-agreeable numbers of refugees.

And while Princess Cossette still found their intentions suspect, they had so far been true to their word.

'The supply situation is stable.' said Yoko Martha Inoue, speaking with cautious optimism. She had been Doctor Schroeder's research assistant during their heady days with the EASA. And with Schroeder's sudden, conspicuous absence, she had very quickly filled his shoes as a technical advisor and capable administrator. And unlike the good Doctor, she was more than happy to work with their new helpers from General Resource. 'GR has moved many of the refugees out to new settlements on the mainland. For those of us still here, they've also got our supply needs completely covered.'

'The Osean government has also resumed their aid shipments program.' added Ionela Shilage. She was the young granddaughter of the legendary Erusean ace pilot and former Prince, Mihaly Dumitru Margareta Corneliu Leopold Blanca Karol Aeon Ignatius Raphael Maria Niketas Archange of Shilage. Her fair skin and soft features were accented by a regal blue knee-length dress. After the mysterious departure of Georg, the former Belkan agent that Avril and Rosa had picked up during the Tyler Island debacle, Ionela had taken on his role as the main co-ordinator of resource allocations and distribution. 'As well, several other Osean-allied countries have come forward with proposals, but it's very much the Oseans leading the charge at the moment.'

'Hmph. Figures.' grunted Avril Mead. 'They're only helping because President Asshat is trying to score some cheap political points. That, and to not to look like the dumbass he is in front of General Resource.'

Avril was Cossette's closest companion and unofficial deputy, and reserved a special disdain for all things Osean and governmental - an understandable sentiment, considering her ex-convict background. She was still wearing her favorite black tank top and baggy orange workpants that matched her dark, short-cropped hair. Completing her profile as the dour, dutiful mechanic, her face and hands were hardened from the manual labor that she still found herself performing on occasion.

'But, having said that,' Avril said, folding her arms and leaning back. 'Aid from Osea is still aid. We're in no position to turn them away. Sorry, Al.'

'Oh, no offense taken.' said Aldair Carlos Nascimento, a high-level General Resource official who had taken over as chief liaison while Gilbert Park gallavanted around Usea, smiling warmly. He was a sallow, balding man on the wrong side of fifty, yet his black suit and red collared shirt managed to retain an air of dignified importance. 'Here at General Resource, we relish the competition.' he said, sounding almost genuine. 'Let the Oseans send as much aid as they want. If it means we have more relief supplies for the refugees, then so much the better.'

Hearing this, Rosa smiled. Her most trusted companions - and Aldair - had gathered in a small, neatly-furnished conference room adjacent to the main lobby. There was only a circle of seats, arranged around an equally circular table with a telephone in the middle. Each day, they would do a meticulous review of their supplies and then discuss their allocation. These meetings had once been times where desperate rationing measures were reluctantly decided, but with the arrival and support of General Resource, had since refocused on managing their growing surpluses.

There was just one person missing; Doctor Schroeder himself, the former Gründer scientist. He had accompanied Rosa during her visit to Shilage earlier in the year to open negotiations with the provisional government of Prince Laszlo, before he quickly vanished without a trace. It was a shame - he was the one who had inspired Rosa to continue with her work, even when things looked bleakest. Even now, with everything that had happened since then, through all of the achievememts and positive changes, she still found herself worrying about him on occasion.

'It's nice that we have enough, for once.' Rosa said wanly. The irony of her words against her past life as a pampered Erusean princess was lost on no one. 'Perhaps we should work with the Selatapuran government. They have refugees of their own, and they might appreciate the help.'

A murmur of assent ran through the group. It seemed that for the first time, in a long, long while, things were finally beginning to look up.

Then the phone rang.

Smiling sheepishly to the others to excuse the interruption, Rosa leaned forward and gently picked up the handset.

'Cossette speaking. I'm in a meeting. Can you make this quick?'

«Hello, Ms Cossette, this is ISEV port traffic control. came the response from a young operator. Sorry to trouble you, but the Selatapura Coast Guard has alerted us to a developing situation in the bay.»

Rosa raised an eyebrow. 'Situation?' she said, switching the phone to speaker and replacing the handset. Everyone else leaned in to listen.

«We have several unmarked container ships approaching the Earthport landing. They're refusing to identify themselves.»

Earthport? But that's right here!

'Are they General Resource's people?' she asked, glancing over at Aldair, who responded only by shaking his head.

«The GR reps don't have this arrival on their schedule. the port operator confirmed. They're as stumped as we are.»

Rosa swallowed. That old sinking feeling was back in her gut, a sixth sense that told her that things were about to go badly wrong.

'Could they be Osean?' she ventured.

«... Not likely. You'd better come down here and look for yourself.»

Rosa looked back up at her companions. All of them were wearing the same look of anxious bewilderment. Something was not right, and all of them could feel it. One by one, they nodded in response to her unspoken question.

'... I'll be right there.' she said, and adjourned the meeting.

---

Like a pod of migratory whales, the container ships were coming in. There were eight of them, each almost 500 metres from bow to stern, sailing seemingly with the wind, their dark frames and tarpaulin covers gleaming in the afternoon sun.

Rosa and Aldair were watching them from behind the double-glazed facade of the main reception hall. Avril, Ionela, and Yoko were standing on a balcony above them. Others had also gathered, peering through the glass doors and high windows.

The lead container ship had already brushed its way past the cordon of GRDF patrol boats and anchored itself at one of the artificial island's six piers. Its hull was wide and angular, and from the lack of scorch marks and barnacles, had clearly been built only very recently. The dockworkers on the pier had paused half-confused at their unexpected arrivals, while the other container ships pulled in and weighed anchor around them.

'I'll deal with this.' Aldair said. He signalled for two GRDF security guards to follow him, before stepping outside and heading towards to the docks.

Rosa followed him. They made their way through the thronging crowds of refugees, many of whom were largely ignoring the new arrivals and still going about their days - apparently taking them as being another wave of much-needed aid. Seeing this, Rosa could only hope with all her heart that that was indeed the case...

The longshoremen at the pier hurriedly erected a ramp for the ship, whose own crew - hooded and cloaked - briefly emerged to fasten it to the deck.

Then, a bespectacled man with a white labcoat began to descend the ramp, hands in his pockets. Behind him were three other men, each standing almost seven feet tall and clad in heavy, gunmetal armor. Their faces were obscured by snarling, filtered masks. Strange cables were plugged into the napes of their armored necks, feeding a bubbling green liquid from back-mounted canisters. And they were armed - each one carried XM8 assault rifles studded with accessories and a glossy finish.

The man in the labcoat stepped onto the pier, where Aldair was waiting for him.

'What's going on here?' he demanded. 'Who are you?'

Doctor Schroeder didn't reply. Instead, he signalled at the armored giants. One of them nodded wordlessly - it raised its rifle, and shot Aldair Carlos Nascimento right through the heart.

---

It took Rosa six seconds to process what had just happened. By the time she did, everyone around her had flown into a blind panic. Aldair's two escorts were already dead. The longshoremen working on the docks had taken flight. Aid volunteers and refugees were pouring out of the shanties and struggling with children and belongings, scattering like fawns set upon by wolves. They were all screaming. For the first time since the end of the war, the peace and tranquility of the Space Elevator had been broken.

Rosa had seen this before. The panic, the smell of death, and the sounds of gunfire...

She rushed forward, struggling against the mobbing crowd, pushing and shoving from the other way. A civil engineer, wearing a General Resource patch on his shoulder, staggered back and fell in front of her - a messy, fist-sized crater had been gouged right between his eyes. From the corner of her vision, she saw one of the GRDF patrol boats detonate in a bright, incandescent fireball. Two others were on fire and taking on water, sinking. Ahead of her, more people were still coming, frantic and frenzied. Past them all, she could just see the form of Doctor Schroeder, standing with a cold impassiveness over Aldair's bleeding body.

Then there was a familiar, deafening roar that shook the very ground itself, and Rosa glanced up - jet planes were thundering overhead now. They bore designs and shapes that even her inexperienced eyes could tell were anything but ordinary.

War had come for her people again. The dreaded day that she had been quietly fearing for so long, was now upon her. But where before she would have curled up and cried, now - after everything she had gone through, the people she had met along the way and the strength she had been both received from others and found within herself - she would not give in to despair. Not again.

With a renewed, grim determination, Rosa made one final charge against the baying mob... only to burst without resistance into open ground - the crowd had pushed past her and moved on. Somehow, she made it to the pier, right where Doctor Schroeder was marshalling his forces.

'Lock down the premises.' Schroeder was saying, speaking to one of his armored giants. 'Liquidate anyone belonging to General Resource. Secure everyone else. No one leaves this place.'

The armored mercenary nodded curtly.

«Jawohl, mein Kommandant!» it barked, before turning to the others and waving an advance towards the Space Elevator. «Starte das Spiel du Hurensöhne! Ich will Unreal spielen!»

Rosa shuddered. The thing was speaking in Belkan. And, for some reason, its voice had been augmetically distorted into a robotic, inhuman garble through the speaker grille on its mask.

'Doctor Schroeder!' she called out, almost tripping over Aldair's gurgling body. Whatever the nature of the good doctor's involvement with this madness was, this was not the reunion she had in mind. 'Doctor Schroeder! Tell me what's happening! Why are you doing this?!'

Schroeder turned around, an expression of mild surprise on his face.

'Cossette... it's been some time.'

Catching her breath, Rosa demanded again, 'What's the meaning of this?!'

'This?' He glanced back at his waiting ranks of mercenary soldiers, then back at Cossette. 'This is our future.'

'Our future?!' Rosa bristled, shocked at such an absurd statement. 'What kind of future is this? With your guns and disguised ships and fighter jets... this is not our future, this is war! You are trampling over everything we've worked so hard to build! Haven't you had enough of war and fighting? What about peace?!'

'Peace will not save us, Cossette. Only my new army can do that.'

Rosa could hardly believe her ears. 'But at what cost? Schroeder, please... you're a good person. You can still turn back. Don't do this.'

'I won't lose my people again, Cossette. We are all refugees and outcasts, wandering vagrants of the world who have lost their homelands - from your Erusea to farthest Belka. But that is what unites us. If we stand together, we can build a better future for ourselves. We can make things right, make things the way we want them to be, better than anyone else can! And if we should have to fight to secure that future, then so be it.'

'No...' Rosa staggered back, shaking her head. 'No... No! Not like this! How can you say something so frightening?'

Schroeder took a step forward. 'Don't you see, Cossette?' he posed. There was something gleaming in his eyes. His armored giants were looming behind him, making for a nightmarishly-familiar backdrop that made Rosa's blood run cold. 'We don't have to be frightened about anything anymore! I have brought safety and stability to our Space Elevator. Safe from General Resource, from the IUN, and all who would oppose us! With this Space Elevator and my new army, we will have all the power in the world! The power to stand up and fight for ourselves! No one can take anything away from us ever again!'

Rosa shook her head again. Tears were welling up and dribbling from her eyes. '... I... I don't believe what I'm hearing,' she said, heart in mouth. 'You haven't changed at all. Your loyalties may have shifted, but deep down, you are still driven by revenge. And you won't care how many innocent lives you ruin to get it! Not even if it was a million lives, or ten million!'

'If that's what it takes.' Schroeder replied without even blinking.

'Whatever happened to those words you told me before? That all we need to do is the best in our circumstances?'

'But I am doing the best in my circumstances, Cossette. I am giving you the best that I have to offer.'

'And what part of that involves endangering innocent people?!'

'That's not important.'

'Yes, it is!'

'Cossette, I owe you my life. Because it was you, and your companions, who accepted me and took me in, even after all the evils I had unleashed on the world. You forgave me, and allowed me another chance to make things right. So I am putting the full extent of my talents and expertise in the service of you, and our new nation. I won't waste your kindness. Just as you did your best for me, so shall I give my best to you.'

'But now you're going to repeat your old mistakes all over again!'

'No!' Schroeder snapped. 'This time will be different! Because... Because this time, my cause is right and just!'

'... I-I don't know you.' Rosa stammered. She dropped to her knees, weeping with grief and powerlessness. 'I don't know you anymore. You're insane.'

'Aren't we all?'

'You're going down a path I can't follow!'

This generated a brief reaction from the Doctor. He paced around for a moment, surveying his troops, the Space Elevator and the refugees still desperately trying to squeeze themselves inside, before finally looking back at Rosa. Then he took off his glasses.

'... That is a shame.' he said, with a heavy sigh. 'Because this is the path you are going to take. I will drag you and all of your friends to our radiant new future, whether you like it or not. You may not be happy, and you may not be free. But you will be safe. And in this fallen, broken world, can you really ask for anything more?'

Rosa didn't answer. She couldn't.

'That's what I thought.' Schroeder said coldly. He put his glasses back on and motioned for his troops. 'Secure her. Then, the others.'

Snarling in affirmation, the armored Belkan mercenaries surged forward, weapons raised and chanting their augmetically-distorted battle cries,

«Haha, Schnellstart! Jetzt gehts los, jetzt gehts los!» one of the them buzzed.

«Wenn es lädt, dann muss man immer so lange warten!» screeched another.

Two of them seized Rosa by the shoulders with their huge, armored gauntlets and began to drag her way. She kicked and twisted and screamed with every fiber of her being, but her efforts were nowhere near strong enough to break the vicegrips of her captors.

But she didn't give up. She kept trying. Then, as though irritated by her continued defiance, one of the guards struck her on the forehead and Rosa went limp. The last thing she saw before blacking out was Doctor Schroeder ordering more of his men forward.

---

Selatapura International Airport
Selatapura, Southwestern Usea
2 June 2020

His orders were simple: Discourage the curious.

Lorenz Riedel swept in low at wavetop level, turbulence from the YR-101's wake whipping up a misty trail of foam and seaspray on the water's surface.

Flying the YR-101 was unlike any aircraft he had ever flown before. Nestled snugly in a huge, bulbous flight suit, neither his age nor his past injuries had any bearing on his ability to fly - all it demanded was a stable, neural connection to the aircraft's COFFIN system. So long as his mind was sharp and intact, the YR-101 - in all of its sleek, futuristic glory - felt like an extension of his own body. Every maneuver, every impulse, all of it was guided by the power of the human mind.

The coast came rushing up to meet him. Sweeping over a row of beach houses, he saw his destination; Selatapura International Airport. He could see rows of airliners, still parked at their terminals. Airport staff and their tugs were still milling around like ants, completely oblivious to Lorenz's low-level approach. And beside a row of hangars on the other side of the main runway, he spotted a line of F-15E Strike Eagles in the colors and markings of the Republic of Selatapura Air Force.

Lorenz willed the throttle, and the YR-101 jolted upward and rapidly ascended. Reaching about 5,000 feet, he levelled off and began to plunge back down. Instinctively bracing for a rush of vertigo that never came, a line of circular reticules appeared on his HUD, and Lorenz maneuvered and tweaked his approach until they ran the length of the runway. Then opened the YR-101s internal weapons bays - where mechanical arms gently deployed a pair of anti-runway bombs.

He released them and pulled up, jetting past the end of the runway before coming around. The bombs detonated, gouging ugly craters of shattered tarmac and powdery debris in wide arcs. No plane could use the runway now.

Lorenz came back around. He wheeled in low, skimming the top of an apartment complex and shattering its windows, switching to guns as he set up for a pass at the waiting row of parked Strike Eagles. He could almost see their ground crews below, scuttling for cover like the rats they were.

He fired. The heavy rounds stabbed through the air, tearing up the helpless Mudhens in a spray of shattered glass and broken bodywork. One caught fire and exploded, sparking a chain reaction that quickly swallowed up the remainder in a roaring wash of flame. It was over in seconds - only twisted metal and charred framework remained.

With the main RSAF fighter base out of action, and the city's best runway rendered unusable to any would-be reinforcements, Lorenz's job was done. The whole sequence had occured within the space of a minute. Several more would pass before the people of Selatapura would even realize that their city had come under attack.

---

The International Space Elevator
Selatapura Bay, Southwestern Usea
2 June 2020

'Holy mother of shit!'

Avril tried to focus. Something had happened on the docks, something that nobody had understood until it was far too late to do anything. Someone had pulled the alarm, an ugly, bone-shaking klaxon that no one had heard for a very long time.

The people were screaming. Men and women were scrambling into the lobby where Avril was waiting, shoving and tripping over one another, shrieking like the damned. Many had been bruised and bloodied. Children were wailing.

'It's war! War!' someone squealed. 'The war has come for us again!'

'I should have figured this place was gonna get attacked again!' someone else shouted. 'Now we're trapped here like fish in a barrel! We're all gonna die!'

Avril looked around. She saw Ionela and Yoko, huddled together no more than arm's length away. Yet, they seemed almost unreachable amidst the pandemonium.

'What's going on?' Yoko yelled, barely audible above the chaos. 'What's going on?!'

Battling her way through the gibbering crowd, Avril reached them.

'We've got to get out of here!' she screamed at her two companions. 'The maintenance tunnels! Get to the tunnels!'

'What good is that?!' Yoko gasped.

'Don't argue with me! We have to get over there and hunker down!'

Then, Ionela grasped her by the shoulders. There was a frantic look in her eyes, and it didn't take long for Avril to guess why.

'Alma... Where's Alma?!' Ionela demanded. 'I need to find Alma! I can't leave her alone all by herself!'

Avril gave her a pained look, before she swore loud and long.

'I'll get her.' she assured Ionela. 'You and Yoko, go hide. I'll find you both later!'

'But I still have the-'

'Go!'

There was a sudden crash of broken glass, and the panic rekindled. Armored men were pouring into the lobby now. Everyone flinched and ducked, screaming. The crowd scattered with renewed fear, and those that couldn't flee threw themselves behind crates and benches, clapping their hands to their heads and loudly wishing they were anywhere but here.

The armored mercenaries advanced, guns raised, running after the crowd, barking to each other in their barbaric, garbled radio language.

«Generalressourcekörperschaft schweinhunden! Töte sie alle!»

«Ich bin ein echter Gangster; Ich habe mal gewichst.»

A GRDF security guard appeared atop a balcony overlooking the lobby, shouldering an MP7 submachine gun. The Belkan mercenaries shot him down in a second - the guard tumbled over the railing, hitting the ground in a crumpled, bloody heap.

'Shit!' Avril spat, flinching momentarily. 'Alma? Alma! Where are you? Answer me if you're here!'

She wouldn't be kept searching for long.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw an armored mercenary seize one of the fleeing refugees by the arm. A small child, clutching a small bear plushie with her other arm. She was screaming, and seeing her face, Avril's stomach dropped.

It was Alma.

'Let me go!' the younger Shilage granddaughter wailed, pulling and twisting to no avail. 'Please, let me go!'

«Schau, kleiner Kind! Ich habe kostenlose Süßigkeiten!» the mercenary snarled through the augmetic speaker grille attached to his helmet.

'No! Ionela! Grandpa! Help me, I'm scared!'

Avril barrelled into the mercenary's chest, sending them both crashing to the ground. Screaming, roaring in a blind fury, she slugged the mercenary's armored face, again and again with her greasy fists, each strike eliciting a choked, distorted howl like a defective toy. Her knuckles were bleeding, but she still kept on punching, swept up in a wave of raw, uncontrolled anger.

'Get away from her you bitch!' she yelled, punching again so hard that the merc's visor cracked. Through the gap, Avril could see a single, murderous eye glaring back at her.

In the next instant, a huge, horny gauntlet struck her across the face, the sheer force walloping her onto her back. Her whole head felt as though it was on fire, and her mouth and nasal passages were rapidly welling up with blood. She choked and gagged.

By the time Avril had blinked her vision clear, she found herself staring down the barrel of an XM8 rifle.

«Die Oscheaner sind schwach,» The mercenary growled, with a voice that sounded like grinding concrete. «Und ihr beliebteste Präsident ist ein verkohlter Skelett!»

Avril glared right back at him over a bruised cheek. There was nothing for her to say - this was the end of the line. A life of loss and hardship, one that survived a whole war, destined to end at the hands of a deranged Belkan maniac.

Well, there were probably worse ways to die than fighting to save someone she cared about. She just hoped she could work enough blood and saliva to spit in the merc's exposed eye before she died.

There was a sound of running footsteps. Ionela sprang between Avril and her would-be executioner, sweeping in below the armored mercenary's hulking arms. Before anyone could react, she produced a P250 handgun and rammed it up the mercenary's chin. Without even a moment's hesitation, she squeezed the trigger.

The shot made everyone flinch. The armored giant, spurting blood from the crack in its visor, went down without a word. His body jerked and twitched on the ground for a few moments, before finally going still for good.

A moment passed. Ionela began to shiver, a blank, distant look suddenly appearing in her eyes. She dropped her weapon, and gazed mutely at her trembling hands.

She opened her mouth to scream, before Avril grabbed her by the arm. People were still running all around them.

'Come on!'

Suddenly, they were all thrown to the ground. More armored mercenaries had surged in around them, pushing all three of Avril and the Shilage sisters to the ground in painful vicegrips.

«Hände hoch, Oscheaner schweinhund!» barked one of the mercs. «Wir sind Beulkschländer! Woher hätt isch sonst diesen verrückte Umlaute?!»

One of them twisted Ionela's arm until it broke, and then bashed her unconscious with the end of a rifle. Beside her, Alma could only scream as another held her down, snatching away her plushie as it did so.

'Motherfuckers!' Avril spat, struggling with all of her adrenaline-fuelled strength against her captor. 'Let them go!'

But his grip remained firm.

«Lass mich darüber nachdenken... Nein!» it snarled.

Two more mercs dogpiled on top of her, and a pair of armored glaives wrapped around her neck. Choking up blood and rapidly losing oxygen, Avril's vision began to fade. She could vaguely make out more mercs sweeping into the lobby chasing the fleeing civilians in the background. The last thing she felt before blacking out, was the scraping sensation of being dragged along the ground by her heels.

«Was? Ein Oscheanisches frau? Ach du Scheiße! Sie riecht schlimmer als ein Hoffnunger Puff!»

«Was soll ich sagen, außer "du bist willkommen".»

The hopeful, peaceful days they had once enjoyed... they all seemed so far away now.

---

They had told her to hide in the maintenance tunnels. That was the last Yoko Martha Inoue had seen of Avril and the others.

But now she could only hear the scratching in the dark. She could hear distant thumping and muffled screaming, punctuated by the occasional gunshot, reverberating even through the deep, grumbling walls of the Space Elevator. The occasional clamp of boots on metal frames, seemingly drawing closer with every step...

She told herself that it was all her imagination. That it was just the wind, or the sound of her own shoes amplified by the dark, claustrophobic tunnel she was squeezing through. The further she went, the further away she got from the madness, so the thinking went.

Dision sent me here. she reflected. He told me I would be safe here, that General Resource would protect this place.

But deep in her heart, she knew she was not safe. Nowhere was. The armored gunmen were filling the Space Elevator like termites in a loft, and it was only a matter of time before the place was under their complete control. And Yoko could not hide in the tunnels forever - as much as they offered a measure of sanctuary, so too could they easily become her tomb. Her greatest fear was turning a corner, and running into the faceless visages of the Belkan-speaking monstrosities now stalking the halls.

Still, she pressed on with renewed speed. I'm trapped here anyway, she reasoned. And I know Dision will come for me. I just have to hang on and survive until then.

She arrived at a section of hallway where some of the lights had been punched out. Yoko passed by a door stenciled with the words; "COMMANDES DE BOUCLIER D' NERGIE POUR ARSENAL BIRDS - D FENSE D'ENTRER SOUS PEINE DE EX CUTION PUBLIQUE PAR ALLIGATOR". The same text in English had been printed below in a contemptuously small-font.

Curiously, the door had been left ajar. Someone had clearly come this way once before and disregarded the ominous warning, but from the dust and visible disrepair, that had apparently been some time ago.

Carefully descending a nearby ladder, a wiry steel frame almost invisible in the gloom, she dropped down a floor and continued on, soon reaching a bulkhead door with a crank wheel. Working the handle with some difficulty, she used her bodyweight to push the door open and slip through. The tunnel dropped again, before widening out into a large circular chamber.

Yoko breathed a sigh of relief. She had found what she was looking for.

There, in the center of the chamber, was an emergency landline telephone hanging off a concrete pillar, bathed in the light of two crimson chemical lamps.

Closing the door behind her, she made for the phone and picked up the handset. She dialed the emergency number stenciled on a helpful note, and waited.

Dision... please hear me...

Within the space of a microsecond, an SOS signal travelled from the phone into a cable that ran down the side of the pillar and into the floors below. The cable descended the elevator, burrowing deep underground and through the power distribution chambers that lay below the superstructure. The cable then levelled out, following the path of the undersea tunnels that connected to the Usean mainland.

Traversing the length of the tunnel and emerging at a relay tower at the exit, the SOS was broadcast to the wider world.

'Hello...? This is Yoko Martha Inoue. I'm at the Space Elevator. Can anyone hear me? We're under attack! Armored gunmen... Airstrikes... They're tearing this place apart... Please, help us...'

---

GRDF Aircraft Carrier 'Exactor'
Skully Islands, Southern Usea
2 June 2020

The General Resource-flagged carrier; the 'Exactor', an Izumo-class Multipurpose Destroyer, plowed through the crystal, glittering waters of the Skully Islands. Seabirds were circling overhead, cawing and preening in huge flocks. On the flight deck, tiltrotors and STOVL jets were parked in two neat rows, ground crews milling around - some performing maintenance tasks, others trying to look busy as they stole glances at the picturesque, tropical landscape around them, feeling mightily proud of their career choices in that moment.

On the mess deck, deep within the brightly-lit interior of the vessel, a crowd had gathered around a television hanging off the wall. Playing on the screen was a young maid with frilly blonde hair, and an ugly bastard wearing nothing but a leather mankini that showed too little and yet too much at the same time. They were engaging in graphic acts of sensuous depravity, with equally graphic sound effects echoing all throughout the bowels of the ship.

'I don't believe that's physically possible.' grumbled an off-duty engine technician, her eyes glued to the screen even as she crossed her arms and scowled. 'No one's that flexible.'

'Well, it's on TV... it must be real!' said her slack-jawed colleague, a skinny radar officer with a face ridden with acne scars. His loins were quivering. 'Th-this is just like in my doujins!'

At a table in the far corner of the mess - well away from the mind-numbing idiocy playing on the television - sat the former Osean Air Force pilot known only as Clown, nursing a bottle of black, sweet-smelling beer in a quiet melancholy.

Clown was a new hire in the General Resource Defense Force, and he had just completed his first mission. It should have been a moment of celebration. But instead, he could only sit there in complete dejection. Somehow, he only felt a dark, crippling void inside of him, seemingly consuming more of his very being with each passing moment.

'You alright?'

Clown looked up. Abyssal Dision had appeared in front of him, his head cocked with an expression that looked like mild concern. Sighing, Clown gestured for him to have a seat.

'Yeah... I'm just sad.' he said, his eyes distant. 'I've done a lot of things I'm not proud of. I could die, and not even care. But right now, I just want to find out what happened to my boy Trigger. If only I could find out what, then I could at least die happy.'

'We'll find him. Don't worry.' Dision assured him. 'I know it's been hard for you, and you've endured so much to get here. And I know you still don't fully trust us. But I promise you this; General Resource will help you find your man. One day, this company will rewrite the entire world order in our image, and no one - not even this 'Trigger' - will be missed.'

Before Clown could respond, there was a howl of outrage from the crowd gathered at the television. The program had been interrupted just before the eighteenth money shot, abruptly cutting to the dull visage of a flat-faced news anchorman speaking in a robotic, straight-faced monotone, prompting many in the audience to hurriedly withdraw their hands from their pants;

GBS interrupts this episode of "Lusty Belkan Maid" to bring you an urgent newsflash: the International Space Elevator in Selatapura has been attacked by an unknown group of armed assailants. All General Group employees in Selatapura are advised to stay indoors and avoid all non-essential travel. Further updates to follow, stand by...

'The Space Elevator occupied again?' said the off-duty engine tech. 'What the hell is wrong with that place? Everyone seems to want a piece of it these days.'

'That place is cursed, I'm tellin' ya,' chipped in a pot-bellied crew-chief, nonchalantly playing the knife game with his hands without even looking. 'Anything Osea touches always turns to shit.'

There was a gaggle of laughter. But the anchorman was still speaking.

Communications with the Elevator - including with the three hundred General Group employees known to have been on-site at the time of the attack - have been cut-off. The provisional refugee administration of Princess Rosa Cossette D'Elise could also not be reached for comment.

This time, the mention of fellow GR colleagues generated a murmur of deep concern and hushed gasping, as the magnitude of the situation finally began to dawn on them.

'My partner's an aid worker at the Elevator. I hope he's alright...'

'A lot of good GR people from our Selatapura branch were there too, including my pen pal from elementary school.'

It wasn't long before deep concern bubbled over into anger and frustration.

'Why hasn't corporate given us the order to deploy yet?!'

'The execs have never dealt with a situation like this before. They're probably scared, and don't know what to do.'

'Great. The one situation where this trillion-dollar paperweight might come in handy, and our bosses are too busy fingering themselves to react.'

Breaking update: the anchorman said. We've just received an emergency SOS sent from inside the elevator. This is the message...

The room fell silent as the recording was played on the screen.

Hello...? This is Yoko Martha Inoue.

Hearing those words, Dision jumped up and suddenly focused his attention on the screen. Noticing this, Clown raised an eyebrow, but continued to sip his drink.

I'm at the Space Elevator. Yoko's recording continued. Can anyone hear me? We're under attack! Armored gunmen... Airstrikes... They're tearing this place apart... Please, help us...

The message ends there. the anchorman returned. Our records indicate that the individual named "Yoko Martha Inoue" is an employee of the Erusean Air and Space Administration, and had been an associate of Princess Cossette's refugee administration before the attack. No further details are available at this time. Stay tuned.

Dision sat back down, interlocking his fingers and leaning on them, as if in deep contemplation. News of the attack itself hadn't registered as especially important in his mind. The whole Space Elevator could sink into the sea for all he cared.

No, his thoughts were dominated by a burning concern for the health and safety of one person...

'Yoko...'

As if coming to a sudden decision, Dision abruptly stood up and left the mess.

Clown watched him go. Sensing that something was off, he stood up and followed, leaving his beer behind. He caught up with Dision in the narrow, pipelined hallway.

'And where do you think you're going?'

Dision stopped and whirled around. 'To the Space Elevator.' he replied. 'There's... someone there I have to protect.'

Clown's brow twitched. 'Someone you have to protect...' he echoed, the words triggering a distant, yet vivid memory in his mind.

'I know it's unprofessional, even irrational.' Dision said, clenching his fists. 'And I might even get fired... But I'm still going to go save her. I have to. I must protect her smile...!'

Clown crossed his arms. 'On your own? I wouldn't do that if I were you.'

'Don't try and stop me.'

'Believe me, I don't want to. That place... I've got a score to settle too. It's been almost one year to the day...'

'Then, all the more...!'

Clown shook his head. 'But take it from me; you don't wanna just charge in there by yourself. You need a plan.'

Dision grimaced. His body was shaking in frustration. The thought of Yoko Martha Inoue - the first and only woman he had even been remotely interested in - being in danger was almost too much to bear. But even worse was the reminder from Clown, of recklessly barging in and botching the rescue. He knew that Clown was speaking from bitter experience on that score, and to see something like that happen to Yoko...

'... You're right.' he said tightly, forcing the rational part of his mind to control his rising emotions with visible effort. 'We'll also need some backup if we're gonna pull this off.'

'Okay.' Clown said, breathing out. 'Now, I need you to focus.' He put a reassuring hand on Dision's shoulder, a spark of his old life as a flight lead briefly returning to him. 'Can you think of anyone with decision-making power who might have a stake in the Space Elevator? Someone who could get us the help we need?'

Dision thought about it for a moment, before answering.

'... There's only Gilbert Park.'

---

The International Space Elevator
Selatapura Bay, Southwestern Usea
2 June 2020

«Hello...? This is Yoko Martha Inoue. I'm at the Space Elevator.» Yoko's recording continued. «Can anyone hear me? We're under attack! Armored gunmen... Airstrikes... They're tearing this place apart... Please, help us...»

Doctor Schroeder saw Martha's emergency message play out live on the huge plasma television overlooking the descrated lobby of the Space Elevator, pocked with debris, scorch marks, and more than a few corpses.

He sighed.

His main goal had been to break General Resource's grip on the Space Elevator, and in that, his efforts had been wildly successful.

So far, things had gone according to plan. His secret weapon - a huge army drawn from all corners of his old Gründer contacts - had taken General Resource by complete surprise. Their meager security forces - inexperienced, unprepared, and unfit for real combat - had already been decimated. Many of the refugees had fled from the fighting, but many others had been taken into protective custody, where in time they would surely come to appreciate the security and protection that Schroeder was offering to them.

Yet, despite his good intentions, Schroeder was well aware that his methods would not be looked kindly upon by most outside observers. The success of his plan depended on speed and efficiency, achieving victory before anyone could raise the alarm.

Martha's broadcast threatened to unravel all of that. Because of her, the eyes of the whole world were going to zero in on the Space Elevator, scrutinizing and judging Schroeder's still-incomplete work with envious eyes...

Martha... Schroeder reflected. Putting aside her disloyalty, I had calculated that she was no factor in my plans. But it seems I was mistaken.

Turning up his lip, he turned to one of his guard commanders.

'Captain, take a team and sweep the Elevator's maintenance tunnels. Find Martha. Bring her to me, dead or alive.'

«Jawohl, Mein Kommandant.»

The acknowledgement had been given snappily and without hesitation. His troopers had been well-paid - they would follow any order he gave them.

As they dispersed, Schroeder sighed again. The damage had already been done, and capturing Martha - or perhaps even outright killing her - would not change that. The word was already out there, circulating the world's television networks and in homes and gathering places. A public relations disaster was imminent, and, as a Belkan scientist, born-and-raised, Schroeder wasn't even sure what the words "public" and "relations" even meant.

But he knew someone who was, and that person was already someone in his custody - all she would need is a little... persuasion.

Doctor Schroeder allowed himself a small smile. That much, at least, he felt he could handle.

---

Bright Hill
Oured, Osean Federation
2 June 2020

«Civilian SOS received from the Space Elevator!»

«This is an outrage! First a fighter patrol goes missing in the Far East, and now this?!»

«Selatapura Airport is also under attack! They've shredded the runway and destroyed the fighter unit stationed there! Many injured!»

Sixteen faces floated on the cordon of flickering monitors hanging off the draperied, mahogany walls of the Bright Hill State Dining Room. Sixteen world leaders, each representing one of the sixteen Usean nations making up the IUN-PKF.

An emergency video conference had been called at the last minute - there had been no time to organize in-person summit in a breezy hotel in the snow-capped hill country of Solis Ortus, like the last time. The leaders of the Usean nations were all trying to speak at once, all shouting one another down in an aggressive, confused war of words, made worse by the occasional lags and fuzzes in video quality from the still-partially restored global communications network.

«We should consider this situation carefully.» said the Premier of San Salvacion, adjusting his huge rounded glasses and cocking his head back in an attempt to make himself look bigger and more important than he actually was. «The people attacking the Space Elevator are still unidentified. We should find out who they are and what they want... and then reach a diplomatic agreement to leave them alone.»

This was met with a loud snort from his counterpart from the Federation of Central Usea.

«I disagree with all this needless discussion.» the President of the FCU growled, slamming a fist on his table, the sound only coming through as a dull, muted click on the video feed. «We should attack! Surely it is better than doing nothing!»

There was a collective harrumph of approval from half of the floating faces, some of them even flashing with thumbs-up emojis on their screens.

However, the San Salvacionan Premier remained firm. «There is no real proof that the assailants have done anything wrong.» he answered with confidence. «Are you asking us to send troops to Selatapura based on mere conjecture?»

His half of the conference broke out in cheers and applause.

«But our city is under attack!» said the Prime Minister of Selatapura, squeaking in from a monitor in the far corner of the room. Jeers and boos thundered at him, but he remained undeterred. «The intruders have attacked our infrastructure, and damaged our fighter planes! I fear this is the beginning of something terrible. I need the IUN-PKF's strength, and I need it now!»

Hearing this, the San Salvacionan Premier bristled and abruptly stood up in his chair, putting his head just outside the camera view.

«Stop being stubborn, you warmongering ignoramus!» his torso snarled. «Are you trying to start a war?! Think of the heavy responsibility we bear as members of the IUN-PKF!»

«We already are at war, you fool! The lives of one million Selatapurans are at stake here!»

«And I have my people to worry about too! San Salvacion is a beacon of peace for the whole world. You think we're about to send our soldiers to die pointlessly for a bunch of self-entitled Selatapuran shits who only got rich off Daddy Osea's money?! I think not!»

«Stop moving the goalposts!»

«No, you!»

'Amateurs.' said the man sitting in the center of the sixteen orbiting screens.

«What was that, punk?» the San Salvacionan torso bleated back.

Prescott F. Marshall, 50th President of the Osean Federation, downed his fifth shot of Daniel Jacks' and pounded the empty glass on the table.

'I said: Amateurs!'

The monitors surrounding him fell silent, and the San Salvacionan Prime Minister sat back down. Every one of them bitterly detested Marshall's crass manner and unpredictable temperament, but even they knew it would be most unwise to get on any Osean President's bad side.

'Good. It seems Harling trained you all well.' Marshall said smugly, unsubtly relishing the collective consternation that his words had stoked. 'Now, ain't nobody's gonna be talking while I'm talking, and I'm talking now. So open your ears!'

He poured himself another shot, deliberately taking his sweet time while the sixteen Usean leaders glowered impotently through their monitors like neutered howler monkeys, before continuing.

'Seems we got ourselves a crisis.' he said, with a tone that was remarkably free of concern. 'The Space Elevator's been occupied, and Selatapura has been attacked.'

«No thanks to you!» snapped the FCU President. «Because of your selfish indecision and mindless troop withdrawals, our enemies saw their chance and attacked! Now look at the mess you've put us in!»

There was a round of hearty «Hear, hear!»s from all around, including the anti-war crowd - not even they would pass up a chance to dunk on the Oseans, even if that meant finding common cause with their pro-war counterparts.

The Osean President raised his hands. 'You got a point there.' he said insincerely. 'Maybe this was our fault. But riddle me this; what are you gonna do about it?'

The corner of the FCU President's mouth twitched. «That's why we're here. We need to come up with a plan of attack, together, as members of the IUN-PKF.»

Hearing this, resistance from the anti-war quarter was swift and immediate.

«Plan of "attack"?! I disagree!» flared the San Salvacionan Premier, abruptly standing up and becoming a torso on the screen again. «What we need to do, is to come up with a peaceful solution to this crisis!»

There was a murmur of assent from his like-minded peers, spurring him to continue.

«After all, we were brought together to work towards world peace by the great Vincent Harling himself, praise be his name. He certainly did not intend for us to become a cabal of imperialistic warmongers! We are a "peace"-keeping force!»

The FCU President snorted loudly again. «Then quit the IUN peacekeeping-"force", you coward!»

«Maybe we will!»

«Okay then!»

«No, you can't!» squealed the Selatapuran Prime Minister. «This attack threatens every member of the IUN peace-"keeping"-force, because the Space Elevator represents the greatest economic, industrial, and scientific investment ever undertaken in all of Usea. It concerns your people as much as my own! We have to face this enemy together!»

The other Usean leaders began chiming in, adding their own educated and informed opinions.

«I agree! If at first you don't succeed, then bomb, bomb, and bomb again! Search your feelings, hippies, you know it to be true!»

«No! Retaliating will only encourage them! If we give them what they want, maybe they'll go away! Give peace a chance! Also, I'm sure Osea made them do it, somehow.»

«Let it go~, let it go~! Can't hold it back anymore~!»

«Why are we still here? Just to suffer?»

«My wife left me!»

Downing his next shot, Osean President Marshall finally tossed his proverbial hat into the slightly-less proverbial ring.

'Man, this place is in need of reform.' he sneered. 'You guys are pathetic. Half of you are too scared to do anything without talking about it to death, and the other half are too scared to do anything at all.'

The FCU President banged his fist again, stunned. «How dare you...!» he sputtered.

The San Salvacionan torso was similarly outraged. «Oh yeah?!» he fumed. «Then let's see you do better, Marshall! What are you going to do?!»

'Us? We're going in to save the Space Elevator. By ourselves, if we must.'

The commotion fell silent.

«What?» the Selatapuran Prime Minister asked. «On your own?»

Marshall smiled wryly. 'Of course. A certain Princess reminded me that the Space Elevator was bought and paid for on the backs of the Osean taxpayer. Also, it's a source of free energy - and that's the part we're really interested in. If securing that means having to rescue a frilly Princess from the magic space tower, then I can live with that.'

«Riiiiiiight.» the FCU President said, narrowing his eyes. «And I suppose you'll be the one taking all the credit too, won't you?»

'Yes I will.' Marshall replied blanky. 'What is your point?'

«Preposterous!» The San Salvacionan torso screeched, waving his arms. «You can't just unilaterally decide these things on your own!»

'Sure I can.'

«No! There is a proper process for this!» the torso pressed angrily. «First we have to go through committee, reach a diplomatic agreement - non-binding, of course - and then sign it into law across each member state, then formally ratify the still non-binding decision at a signing ceremony in-»

'You've lost me.' Marshall cut him off with a smug look. 'Start over, please.'

Unprepared for the interruption, the San Salvacionan torso jolted as though struck with a pole-axe. «... Well then, screw you, you wretched Osean scum!» he roared indignantly, his voice breaking. «The great Vincent Harling - praise be his name - would never have stood for this!»

Marshall's smug expression vanished.

'Harling isn't here anymore.' he said coldly, provoking sixteen flashes of outraged silence from the other video feeds. 'Right now, all you have is me. We have a crisis on our hands, and I will not allow my response to be hamstrung by a lack of clear leadership. So you all can sit here with your fancy committees and diplomatic blame games until the cows come home. Or you can locate your balls, and help us get the job done. But you will not stand in my way. Any more complaints?'

There were none. Even the San Salvacionan torso had sat back down, arms crossed and pouting like a highschooler denied entry at a club, but ultimately raising no objection.

'Good. Now that we're all agreed, here's the plan...'

---

The International Space Elevator
Selatapura Bay, Southwestern Usea
2 June 2020

It was the lights that woke her. Two LED lamps were shining straight into her face at maximum power, stinging and eliciting tears from her eyes.

Princess Rosa Cossette D'Elise awoke in a daze, a powerful throbbing on her forehead from a hard, blunt impact earlier in the day. Her mind was swirling, her thoughts in a daze. She vaguely remembered being out on the docks...

The docks... Where was she now? She couldn't see anything past the withering glare of the lamps. But she could feel that she had been planted on a chair, and that her arms were bound.

She tried to stand up, only for a pair of huge, armored gauntlets to press on her shoulders and shove her back down again. She glanced behind her to see who it was, but she could make out nothing - rainbow rings left from the intense light were dancing across her eyes and she couldn't make out anything, only the apparent fact that there was a huge, faceless giant looming behind her.

Then, from somewhere beyond the lights, she heard a voice,

'Welcome back, Princess Cossette.'

The lights dimmed, and Cossette blinked her eyes clear. A white-clad figure was standing in front of her, canting the lights downward to shine on her lap. For a few moments, she wondered who he was, before it finally registered.

'Schroeder!' Cossette gasped. She jumped up again, only for the armored giant behind her to swing its heavy boot and knock her legs from under her. She lost her balance and fell straight down, like a man at the gallows, collapsing back with a strangled yelp. It was a kick on the bone, just above the ankle - the pain was brief, but incredibly sharp, and she would later discover that the blow would leave no bruises or any sign of maltreatment either.

'What is the meaning of this?' She had a funny feeling she'd already asked that question before, but somehow felt she didn't get a good answer the last time. So, like a fool, she had asked again.

'This?' Schroeder replied. 'This is safety. This is security. This is the new state, that my new army will create.'

The dancing rings in her vision had faded away, but Rosa was now beginning to wish they hadn't. She was back in the conference room, surrounded by familiar walls of gleaming white... and also by familiar faces, bound and gagged on the far side the room. She could see Avril, Ionela, and even little Alma on the other side of the room, along with a huddle of other refugees and General Resource employees.

They were all bruised and hurting.

'You bastard!' Rosa snarled, swearing for the first time in her life, feeling a flash of rage. 'What have you done to them?!'

Schroeder said nothing, instead moving behind an old tripod camera sitting in the middle of the room. It was being operated by two more of his armored mercenary giants, their distorted, augmetic voices speaking terrible supplications...

«Micha, du hast den Farbfilm vergessen.» one of them garbled. «Nun glaubt uns kein Mensch wie schön es hier war.»

«Leck mich.» the other clipped back. «Sag deiner Mutter, dass ich sie liebe.»

Rosa didn't know what they were saying. And she didn't want to know either. All she knew was that this was a hostage situation, and she and all her companions were the hostages. And the camera was the means by which Schroeder was going to broadcast his hideous intentions to the world, using Rosa as a friendly face. It was the same trick that starry-eyed Erusean military officers had used on her before, and she had absolutely no desire to be used in such a way again.

If her hands weren't bound, she would have pounced at Schroeder and driven her manicured nails straight into his greasy eye pits.

But, for now, the former Belkan scientist was perfectly calm. It was clear that this was not his first time doing something like this.

'Don't look so disappointed, Princess.' he said coldly. 'This is the part you should be familiar with; all you have to do is smile, look plausible, and read the lines that I give you.'

Unwelcomely reminded of her past failings once again, Rosa managed to fight down another flash of outrage.

'And what if I decide to make up my own lines?' she asked, still defiant.

Schroeder sighed, then said, 'You would not be the first to try.'

He made a gesture with his hand. One of his armored cronies reached into the pile of mewling hostages, and seized one by the arm - a beaten, bruised aid worker from General Resource. The guard dragged the man over and threw him to the floor with such force that he was left gasping for air.

'But you should know that they... don't last long.' Schroeder continued. 'And neither do the people they care about.'

And with that, he drew a blood-stained sidearm - apparently retrieved from some prior altercation - and shot the GR employee in the back of the head. The sudden gunshot was violent and deafening, booming like a thunderclap in the enclosed room, even as the sound was absorbed by the throbbing walls.

Rosa was left in shock, seeing only a messy crater where the back of the man's head used to be. There was a flash of memory from the bloodbath at Tyler Island, and she immediately seized up, nauseous. Just like before, she was powerless to do anything while the people around her were rounded up and slaughtered like animals...

She sat there for what felt like a century. By the time her senses returned to her, she found her hands unbound and holding a set of cue cards. She couldn't explain it, but suddenly she felt very compelled to do exactly what Doctor Schroeder was demanding of her. The aid worker's corpse was still there, and so were her companions, watching on anxiously with tears in their eyes. Avril seemed to be desperately shaking her head at her for some reason, but Rosa couldn't understand why.

If she didn't do exactly what she was told, they would be next. She knew full well that Schroeder was specifically using them as leverage against her, with the sacrificial GR employee used to demonstrate his seriousness. She knew that everything about this was wrong. She knew that this was exactly what had happened during the war, when the Radicals shot her plane down over Tyler Island, dragged the crew out and executed them along with her beloved dog. She knew she had promised to never let herself be caught in that position again...

But she couldn't fight it.

'... I'll do it.' she said resignedly, hanging her head in shame. Just saying the words made her feel helpless, disgusted, and furious at herself, all at the same time. She couldn't bear to look up and see the faces of her companions now. 'I'll do anything you want. All I ask is, please... don't hurt them. I don't want to lose the people I care about. Not again.'

Schroeder nodded slowly. 'I will respect your wishes, if you respect mine.' he said severely. 'Do not disappoint me.'

Rosa said nothing.

'Now... smile.' Schroeder said, gesturing at the camera crew. 'The broadcast will begin soon.'

Rosa looked up, still holding her cue cards. She forced a smile, just like she'd been groomed to for years. It was as easy as riding a bicycle. She could see the camera, and the quite literally captive audience beyond it.

It was the worst feeling in the world.

---

New Arrows Air Base
Eastern Usea
2 June 2020

The briefing screen had been converted into a makeshift TV. The assembled aircrew of the Long Range Strategic Strike Group - the highest concentration of flying talent in the whole, massive Osean Air Defense Force - were all seated as if in a movie theater. In the absence of concrete intel from their superiors, they had been keenly following the events of the past several hours on OBC news.

Trigger, flight lead and chronically underappreciated hero of the Lighthouse War, was sitting in the second row. A man of few words, he sat there in silence with his arms crossed, taking in the information with a quiet, focused look - his only look, as it happened.

This contrasted sharply with the rest of the LRSSG; seated next to him were Count and Huxian, trading jabs and catty remarks in their mutually desperate refusal to be honest with their feelings for one another. Ahead in the front row were Fencer, Lanza, and Skald, each lounged across multiple seats as they guzzled bottles of Mountain Dew - or Cola, in Lanza's case - and whole bags of Cheetos. Then there was Tailor - the junior-most pilot in the group - standing awkwardly in the aisle, having arrived late and still lacking the confidence to mingle with his more experienced peers.

Conspicuously absent was Jaeger - the oldest and most level-headedmember of the LRSSG - and as a result, discipline had taken a backseat. The LRSSG had been the most prolific and active combat unit during the Lighthouse War; their speed and alarming tendency to show up when least expected earning them the nickname "Snowbirds" by the terrified Erusean forces. As a squadron, led first by the late Wiseman and then by the ace Trigger, they had single-handedly won the war for Osea, even preventing the apocalypse itself as a side bonus.

But the war had ended a long time ago. And while Usea was still far from peaceful, the LRSSG had spent most of the intervening time waiting for an aloof and indifferent Presidency to stop being aloof and indifferent and give them some orders. Those orders had never come.

Without a clear enemy to fight, they had become bored and idle. The state of tension that had bound them together during the darkest days of the Lighthouse War had been suddenly cut loose, with predictable effects on discipline.

Ironically, then, Trigger briefly entertained the events unfolding on TV as a sort of blessing in disguise, albeit a cruel and twisted one. The fact was that an attack on the Space Elevator was a huge deal, and was something that surely not even that the current Osean President - in all of his apathy and ignorance - could possibly ignore. And if he was going to do anything about it, the LRSSG would be first on the scene; thereby finally giving them something to shoot at after six months of maddening self-isolation.

Still, as for Trigger himself, his feelings about mounting another rescue operation at the Space Elevator were understandably quite mixed...

For now, the rest of the LRSSG were watching on with great amusement. They jeered and hollered at the wild theories from everyone from plastic-faced news anchors to pasty, goggly-eyed think tankers pushing their version of events as they all argued and shouted at one another...

«I'm not saying it was Belkans... but it was Belkans.»

«... Sorry, I was on mute. Anyway, no, the guy above me is literally wrong. Because I've literally got peer-reviewed papers from the future that literally prove it's literally Leasathian extremists literally looking for attention so they can literally get more handouts! Also guys, don't forget to literally buy my free audiobook for literally just 29.99 MRP a week on Kindle! No really, please, I literally need the money...»

«Ackchyually, it's an inside job by the Osean gubbermint! I don't know what their motive is, but I'm sure it's evil! They're highly competent and good at forward planning, dontcha know? Also jet fuel can't melt steel Space Elevator beams, wake up people!... Oh, hang on, my Mom's brought me some pop tarts, one second... Okay, back, sorry guys. But yeah! Say no to Osean imperialism!»

«Do you have a single fact to back that up?»

«I don't need "facts". Because I am right and you are wrong.»

«Umm, excuse me! Won't somebody please think of the children?! Our ratings depend on it!»

It was all very funny, before it suddenly cut to a live broadcast of none other than Princess Cossette D'Elise herself, apparently to give an "update" on the situation. She was seated against a flat-white background holding little cards in her hands, pausing occasionally to look down at them, and muttering words that came out like a badly-written screenplay - moreso than usual - and with a stiff and awkward posture to match.

«Hello.» she monotoned. «This is Princess Rosa Cossette D'Elise. I am fine. This is fine. I'm okay with the events that are unfolding currently. That's okay, things are going to be okay...»

She was beaming a teethy grin, but, immediately, the crew of the LRSSG could sense that something was not right...

'Hey, is the TV okay?' asked Tailor. 'This thing's showing in black and white!'

Skald changed the channel twice, then back again. 'Nah man, the other channels are good.' he said. 'It's just this one. They're literally using a black and white camera.'

Fencer snorted. 'What, were they too cheap to afford a camera with color or something?'

'Amateurs.' Count concurred contemptuously.

'I know losing all those satellites made old technology cool again,' Lanza followed, pausing to sip his cola. 'But this is just stupid.'

'Could you guys just shut up for half a second?' Huxian growled. 'I'm tryna watch TV here!'

Indeed, the Princess was still talking.

«There is no war at the Space Elevator...» she chanted again in that droning monotone that did not match her smile. «There is no war within the walls. Here we are safe. Here, we are free. I have been invited to a nice vacation at Lake Laogai...»

As if suddenly coming to a realization, Tailor jumped in and pointed at the screen.

'It's a trick! Send no reply!' he exclaimed.

His revelation generated no reaction from his colleagues.

'She's reading off a script!' Tailor tried again. 'They're holding her hostage!'

Still no reaction.

'... Why isn't anyone gasping?' he ventured.

'We already figured that out.' Huxian said sharply.

'Oh.'

Tailor's embarrassment was quickly overshadowed by the dull thump of the theater doors opening - Jaeger had returned. Seeing this, Lanza, Fencer, and Skald hurriedly stuffed their snacks and bottles under their seats and put on their best impressions of slobs trying not to look like the slobs.

Ignoring their Cheeto-encrusted fingers and the growing puddles of soda on the carpet, Jaeger walked up to the lectern with a rather grave expression. He was carrying a pile of documents, all of it either marked "Classified" or "Top Secret", and bearing the seals of the various Osean intelligence agencies.

'Okay, that's enough idiot box for today.' he said. 'Turn that off.'

There was a murmur of grumbled compliance. Skald pointed the remote - soiling its buttons with Cheeto dust - and switched off the news. The screen faded back to the dull splash page of the IUN-branded briefing software.

Now that he had everyone's attention, Jaeger cleared his throat. 'I suppose we all know why we're here.' he began. 'Forget everything you've heard so far - this here is the real stuff, straight from the source.'

He turned over a few pages in his briefing materials. Then, operating the lectern controls, the briefing screen loaded up the familiar giant map of the Usean continent, and zoomed in on a 3D terrain map of the Space Elevator, with the elevator itself extending beyond the projection's ceiling.

'At 0930 hours this morning, the International Space Elevator was invaded and occupied by an unknown enemy force. The attackers went in hard, penetrated all outer defenses, and finished before anyone knew they were even there.'

Count whispered something into Huxian's ear, and received an elbow in the gut for his trouble.

Ignoring him, Jaeger continued. 'The attackers arrived in a flotilla of unmarked container ships. They're also utilizing prototype aircraft of unknown types and capabilities. They've bombed IUN-PKF facilities in Selatapura International Airport, including the local Selatapuran fighter units stationed there.'

'Bombing civilian infrastructure...' Huxian muttered grimly, expressing distaste but stopping short of actual condemnation.

'There's been no word on damage yet.' Jaeger went on. 'But all indications so far suggest a clean, precise strike with minimal civilian casualties.' He paused. 'UAVs have not been confirmed yet.' he said, in answer to the unspoken question lingering in everyone's minds. 'Apart from an outgoing SOS, no communications have been received from the Elevator, which suggests the attack was well planned and highly organized. We also don't have any information on the status of the refugees at the Elevator - all we can say is that they're likely being held hostage for some as yet-unknown reason.'

'That means the Scrap Queen's trapped there too.' Count remarked.

Jaeger nodded. 'Correct, Count.'

'Shit...'

'Now, here's the important part;' Jaeger went on. 'Orders have just come through from President Marshall himself to mount a rescue operation for the Princess.'

There was a moment of astonished silence.

'Rescue the Princess?' Skald asked, doing a double take.

'That doesn't sound good...' Count muttered thoughtfully.

'POTOF doesn't care how we do it - only that we do.' Jaeger said.

'Holy shit...' gasped Tailor.

'In case the idiot hasn't noticed,' Huxian added sourly. 'We're not exactly equipped for hostage rescue. We blow shit up, not rescue frilly Princesses.'

'That did occur to someone in the General Staff office.' Jaeger replied levelly. 'That's why we've been ordered to work with other forces to plan and execute a proper rescue op.'

'Great.' Lanza quipped. 'So our great and wise President just dumps this shit on our laps and expects us to just work it out ourselves. Fantastic.'

'Maybe it's for the best.' Fencer said. 'If we have to plan something, then better we do it without some politician looking over our shoulders.'

'Jaeger,' Huxian said, bringing the conversation back to attention. 'What did you mean by 'other forces'?'

'Some old friends have been seconded to our command for this mission.' Jaeger said. 'They're a Marine air assault unit, who some of you may remember working with before.'

'The Basilisk Team?' Lanza ventured.

'The very same.' Jaeger said, and Count's eyes immediately brightened.

'Hey, yeah, it's those guys!' he said excitedly. 'Wonder if they're bringing pizza this time too?'

Lanza sighed. 'Don't tell Long Caster...' he muttered.

Jaeger nodded along thoughtfully. 'The Basilisk Team will be in charge of the rescue. Our job will be to establish a no-fly zone over the Space Elevator, and secure air superiority so they can move in.'

At their mention, the atmosphere in the room seemed to brighten slightly.

'But,' Jaeger continued, deflating the mood somewhat. 'As some more of you may be aware, the last rescue mission at the Space Elevator ended in a failure.' He paused for a moment, making sure that the subtext was made absolutely clear. 'Primarily due to rushed planning and miscommunication.'

'Can't ignore a story like that, right Trigger?' Count said, giving his flight lead a playful nudge.

'Top brass does not want to see that happen again.' Jaeger said. 'This time, they're taking no chances. The Basilisk Team will be flying in later today to co-ordinate their plans with ours. For now, we've got the lead on this. Any volunteers?'

Immediately, Count stood up and pointed. 'I volunteer Trigger.'

'Trigger?' Skald asked.

Count smirked. 'Let's just say our leading man's got some... inside knowledge in this field.'

'Inside knowledge? The hell's that mean?'

'Well, he did fly inside the Elevator that one time.' Fencer added.

'Not exactly what I had in mind,' Count said, quietly savoring his teammates ignorance on a subject that only he and Trigger were privy to. 'But I guess that works too.'

'Good enough.' Jaeger said. 'Let's get to the operations room and plan this thing out.'

'Righto.'

There was a flurry of footsteps as the LRSSG stood up, sharply and with a renewed sense of purpose, and filed out of the theater. Count stepped after them, but stopped short and turned around when he noticed Trigger still seated, looking down at clasped hands as though in deep thought.

Sighing, Count went back. His own first meeting with Trigger - and everything else that had happened since then - had come about as the result of the failed attempt to rescue former President Vincent Harling, mounted at the very same Space Elevator. Those consequences had been long since dealt with, but there was no doubt that it still left a strong impression on Trigger's mind. And with what could easily be repeat performance on the horizon - this time, ironically, to rescue the Princess of Erusea herself no less... even Count could feel the pressure, to say nothing of what must have been going through his flight lead's head.

'No mistakes this time.' he said only half-jokingly. 'Right, Trigger?'

Trigger said nothing. But Count knew that look. It was a harsh expression, the kind only worn by a man who had been through the crucible of war, and emerged with his humanity not broken, but tempered. The face of a man given a second chance, and the resolve to not waste it. It was a look that was utterly determined not lose anyone else important to him again.

Finally, Trigger looked up. There was fire in his eyes.

End of Chapter FOUR

---

Assault Record #6 - Clown
Aircraft: F/A-32A Erne
Rank: Captain
Unit: Air Strike Force, GRDF (formerly 508th Tactical Fighter Squadron, OADF)
Nationality: Osean
Dossier:
A pilot of average skill, and former flight lead of the Osean Mage Squadron. Originally serving with the Fort Grays Aerial Recon Group in the early days of the Lighthouse War, the squadron was censured when Clown's wingman - Trigger - was convicted of assassinating former President Vincent Harling during the ill-fated Operation Lighthouse Keeper.

Clown was the only witness to testify in Trigger's defense, and openly maintained the latter's innocence even after the verdict was handed down - a stance that quickly saw him branded a "traitor" and ostracized by his colleagues. These events caused a deep rift that ultimately resulted in Clown deserting his post.

He later re-emerged as an Aerial Security Specialist for the General Resource Defense Force, happily serving his new masters in exchange for taking vengeance on his former colleagues... and a tacit agreement of support in his new personal quest to discover the true fate of his former wingman...

---

Author's Note:
▪ There's a lot happening this chapter, with many plot threads coming together all at once. A helpful recap is at the top of the page