"So tell me, Erik," Dylan began as he, Trance, and the Ne'Hollander King walked down the Palace hallway toward the strategic command center to survey damage done to the planets, "why was the capital spared atomic bombardment?"
"More specifically," Trance added, "why was the Palace not attacked at all? Surely it would have undermined the morale of the people and the Ne'Hollander Armed Forces."
The trio got closer to the entrance to the command center, the two gray-clad security officers already visible, force-lances extended into pike form.
"I do not know," Erik answered, "but quite frankly I am rejoicing. Complete destruction of our capital city would have not only undermined morale, but it would also have crippled our economy and production facilities. The vast infrastructural reforms that began with my ascension to the throne first targeted the capital city, and have still not completely lifted the other planets' metropolises into such huge resource centers as this city." He paused as the security guards bowed to him and keyed in the command to open the entrance.
"There must be a reason, King Erik," Trance pressed. "There must be something the Collectors want from your capital, specifically, again, from your Palace."
"Well, I guess a possibility could be that they want to add the Royal Ne'Hollander System Archives to their collection."
"What exactly do the RNSA consist of?"
"Flexis detailing our history, ship specs of the old Commonwealth, records of tech and economy from before the Fall and its development, or regression, as the case was, after the Fall."
The holograph in the middle of the room showed a huge landscape of the capital city prior to the attack, all its buildings still intact and traffic still active, then shimmered and metamorphed into what the city looked like an hour ago.
"As you can see, our capital was spared total annihilation, but certainly not destruction. We got our share of bombs and debris thrown at us."
"I see that and I sympathize for the loss of life and property," Dylan conceded, an edge of frustration creeping into his voice, "but you still have not answered our questions, not straightforward."
Erik, too, was becoming frustrated. "Captain Hu-- Dylan... I beg to differ. I told you what the RNSA contains. The only conclusion is that they wanted to take our files."
"No. The Collectors wouldn't make this much of an effort to coordinate an attack on a well-defended system just to take a couple of flexis about your commercial failures after the Fall. They came after something much bigger."
"King Erik," Trance stepped forward, with a much calmer attitude than the two men were displaying, "please. We must know what the Collectors were coming after. I mean clearly you are hiding something, and the Collectors have found out about it. If you tell us, then we will be able to assess the significance of the item - or people or whatever it is - relative to the war and the coming Magog invasion, and be able to come up with a much better way of deciding how much of the High Guard should be committed to keeping the planet out of enemy hands."
She's right, King Erik thought, The Collectors will come again. And when they do, it will be disadvantageous to be having distrust. And if I can't trust Dylan and his crew, who can I trust?. His tension was visibly dissipating.
"Alright, then," the King said. "I will tell you, and show you. But this must not go beyond this room. It's enough that the Collectors know already. If others find out, all the High Guard in the universe wouldn't be able to defend us against attackers."
He then keyed in commands on the console, and it shut off the holograph, which had been still switching between the "before" and "after" views of the city. He then pressed on another console, and spoke, "How are the search and rescue missions going? Any survivors?". A few seconds later, a female voice replied, "So far, it's like a desert out here, without the sand. The atomic bomb incinerated this whole place. It will be a miracle if we find anyone alive who's even just hanging by a thread." Erik looked down, then said, "OK, well, keep looking, maybe someone did get lucky and is still miraculously alive. Pray to the Divine and keep looking. King Erik, out." The comm deactivated.
"It looked bad from Andromeda, Erik," Dylan said, "I'm sorry. I should have been able to defend the planet. But I failed you."
"You tried. Now, let's go."
They exited the room.
-----------------------
"Triumvirs, we did not acquire the target," a young Captain said, as the Triumvirs of the Collector Commonwealth - Tri-Jema, Tri-Camille, and, self-appointed, Tri-Pish - scrutinized. "We destroyed much of their fleet. Two of their capital ships are crippled, another completely destroyed."
"But you did not reach Ne'Holland Prime," Tri-Pish said. "You only got close enough to the planet to bombard it and then self-destruct. Not a single soldier set foot on the planet, noone entered the Palace."
"They were well-prepared, sir," the Captain tried to explain nervously.
"I believe we may have a mole," Tri-Camille nodded towards Tri-Jema.
"It's not me," Tri-Jema shot back a spiteful glare. "There is far too much for me at stake - and I mean personally - to betray the Collectors! You know that!"
"I was referring to your Assistant, Adria Tarn," Tri-Camille smirked. "No need for you to get so worked up. It was she who delivered the comunique to get the fleet ready at Urudi, and she was with you when you coordinated the attack with the Nietzschean fleet commanders."
"I will look into it," Tri-Jema replied, glancing at Tri-Pish, who was smiling at her, mischievously, but knowingly. "This may have been a gaffe on my part, and I may have made logistical mistakes regarding attack on Ne'Holland. But it is in no way a betrayal. You only haven't made mistakes because you've been on the job for - how long? - 2 or 3 weeks? So laugh it up while you can because you will soon know what being a Triumvir is like. And you have yet to make a good impression, anyway, Camille Ortiz!"
"Don't bring my sister into this," the other Triumvir spit back with anger. "She's been taken care of and she's no longer in power here. That is all that counts. I am not the one who created the Magellanic Alliance and ran it democratically into the ground when the Kalderans attacked. If I was President of the Alliance, I would have held it with a tight grip, consolidated power, and gotten to know and made friends with people who also have strong bases of power. And now, her democratic blindness also led the Commonwealth into despair, supporting that crazed Dylan Hunt, as if he were the Divine's gift to the Tri-Galaxies. And now, we're stuck in a civil war, because of idealists like her and Hunt. So if you think about comparing me to Isabella, you have another thing coming, because we are anything but alike." The Captain stirred uncomfortably, witnessing a never-heard-of-before squabble between Tri-Jema and Tri-Camille, whom everyone assumed to be confidantes, especially at Hunt's trial. Pish Tryan, of course, noticed it.
"Please, Triumvirs," he said soothingly, "Do not fight over such petty details as kinship and family. We still have a guest," Pish nodded toward the military officer, "and we still have Adria Tarn to think about."
"You're right, sorry," the two women said in unison.
"Now, young man, you will not be punished," Tri-Pish said calmly, "the Andromeda is definitely not to be underestimated. She survived almost nonstop battle for the past 3 years that she was building the Commonwealth, which, as we all know, has by now unfortunately left her and her crew a bit jaded. You will be given an assignment again shortly. Go back to your ship and oversee that it is loaded up with ordnance again as soon as possible."
"Yes, Triumvir, thank you," the Captain saluted and briskly left the room.
"Now, about Adria Tarn," Tri-Camille began again once the door slid shut behind the young man.
"I'll talk to her personally," Tri-Pish said quickly, "with Tri-Jema present, since she is her subordinate."
"Of course," Tri-Jema agreed.
"It is settled, then."
"But what about Ne'Holland?"
"We will try again... surprise them while they're weak. You will get the job of coordinating once again."
"Very well."
"Yes, it better be done very well, Tri-Jema. Remember: you have a lot at stake here, and, as you have already mentioned yourself, that is personally, not professionally."
"I understand."
"This meeting is adjourned."
-----------------------
Adria Tarn was sitting in her apartment, watching the flexi showing the news report about the "enemy's treacherous and merciless attack on a loyalist diplomatic ship and its defensive convoy at Ne'Holland."
Cheap propaganda. I could come up with better than that in a nanosecond. But this is war, after all. And when there is war, there is always a need for intel... And everyone knows I'm the best there is...
She switched off the flexi and looked at a wall monitor. On the screen, it showed Tri-Jema and Tri-Pish coming down the hallway. Terrific. What did I do now?
She got up and looked into a mirror. Her blond hair was too long already. After this job was done, she would chop it off - it was much more comfortable having short hair than having long hair tangle up and get in front of your eyes when you had to make a quick getaway. Ah, womanhood... the most beautiful thing in the universe and yet with so many little problems.
She finally walked toward the door, unlocking it with the wall console so that the Triumvirs don't have to "be inconvenienced so much", rolling her eyes with annoyance while pushing the proper command keys. Their footsteps were already very close... They were at her door... It opened, and they came through.
"We have to talk," Tri-Jema said.
"With him?" Adria pointed at Pish Tryan. "With all due respect, sir, I am not your Assistant. We have no business with each other."
"Oh, yes we do, Adria," Tri-Pish smiled. "In fact, I have some questions to ask you, and you will answer them."
"And if I don't?"
"Then," Tri-Jema answered instead of Tri-Pish, "you will lose your position, be incarcerated for sabotage, espionage, and every other charge in the Commonwealth Charter. Afterwards, you will be tortured to get the answers out that way. If that doesn't work, you will be killed."
"Well, I'm glad to have such good friends in such high places," Adria said bitterly. "But fine, let's talk."
