The Immortal Empire – Episode 11: Midway Base
"This memorial is dedicated to the Corbano traders and merchantmen who lost their lives during the First and Second Freespace Wars, Hashiyo-Hashiyo 189 to 202."
Melfina was reading one of the translations of the original text on the pedestal of a stone monument in what passed as the town center of the asteroid colony Midway Base, a Corbanite merchant exclave orbiting one of the rare binary star systems on the main Corbanite trade routes through the in the Stellar Wastes, just inside of the Kei Guild's economic zone. At least the location was appropriate, between an open-air marketplace and the branching point of two main thruways that cut through compact offices and apartments behind the monument.
Holding her weapon against her shoulder in a concealing fabric wrapping—Midway Base was a weapons-free zone, like many habitable asteroids—Suzuka approached Melfina and inspected at the tall rectangular stone sitting atop a pedestal. In the stone was carved an artistic high-relief of elaborate detail, with at its center a number of Corbanites in their spherical or oblong suits, standing heroically on the raised deck of a spaceship.
"They look quite noble," Melfina observed reverently.
"Yes though…maybe not as noble as they could," Suzuka reminded her. In the relief behind the rather plain, circular shapes of the Corbanites were more than a dozen tall Ctarl-Ctarl sailors, clutching rifles, bayonets, and all sorts of dramatic-looking weapons. Indeed, their well-endowed, muscular forms towered over the Corbanites in the foreground, with lifelike detail in their hard faces under their combat visors and above their formfitting uniforms. Poised like dangerous predators, they filled the background the relief.
"It does seem like it'd be a better monument to the Ctarl-Ctarl, doesn't it?" Melfina asked.
"I wouldn't really know." Suzuku looked up over the top of the monument at the transparent canopy above them, and the accretion disk deforming from the gravity of Midway's neutron star on its larger, less dense partner. It was a good view. "They say it's been twenty generations since the Corbanites put themselves at the mercy of the Ctarl-Ctarl Empire. And they say it was around that time the Corbanites started exploring space in earnest."
"I've never been good at history," Melfina confessed in such a matter-of-fact tone. Suzuka shoulders twitched.
"We should go, we'll be late otherwise," she told Melfina.
While Gene and Jim made the necessary preparations to the ship, Melfina and Suzuka were given the task of meeting with Maron-Go, the owner of a transport company that moved a variety of cargo along the trade route back into the empire.
"So, how do you tell between Corbanite males and females?" Melfina asked her.
"Take off their suits," Suzuka responded too quickly. She cleared her throat. "Even here Corbanites still take trade so seriously that they maintain an environment preferred by humans, Silgrians and Ctarl-Ctarl, and only survivable to them with their containment suits."
"Quite a sacrifice in the name of commerce."
Maron-Go's offices were only a block from the Trader's Monument, an otherwise unremarkable four-story building wedged between and a youth hostel and fast food restaurant advertising its burgers.
"So, this is what success looks like?" Suzuka asked.
"It looks like Starwind and Hawking's," Melfina pointed out.
"So success looks more or less like failure." Melfina laughed at that.
They entered to the sound of a friendly chime and the sight of an unfriendly-looking receptionist, a Ctarl-Ctarl woman around Suzuka's age. The dark-skinned blonde wore her hair in a severe-looking bob, along with reading glasses on a silver chain and a too-small business suit.
Melfina had a whole, amicable greeting planned, only to have Suzuka preempt her. "We're here for a meeting with your boss."
"The legendary Twilight Suzuka," the secretary mewed, looking up at her with narrow, crimson eyes through her glasses. "Chief Maron-Go is waiting for you on the third floor. Follow me." Maron-Go's secretary circled around her desk and led them out the lobby and to the stairwell. Between her and Melfina, Suzuka was treated to the annoying sound of two pairs of high heels clicking up two flights of wooden stairs, as well as their guide's too-short skirt creeping her thighs as she climbed.
As promised, Maron-Go was waiting in the plushily-furnished 3rd floor conference, four thin limbs extending out of a dull blue sphere with silver highlights and a pair of glowing green photoceptors in a recess. She stood up from her couch to greet them.
"Welcome!" a friendly voice declared through a metallic-sounding speaker.
"Chief Maron-Go, Twilight Suzuka and Melfina of Starwind and Hawking Enterprises," the secretary announced very primly and with unnecessary volume.
Maron-Go seemed to hold back laughter. "No, I see that Bethany, thank you very much."
Bethany gave a formal but rather insincere-feeling bow, sinewy muscles flexing underneath the dark grey suit before she left.
"Please forgive Bethany, I didn't hire her for her warm smile and sunny disposition," Maron-Go explained cheerfully.
"I can see that," Suzuka smirked.
After some idle chitchat, Maron-Go got to the point. "As I understand it, you're looking for passage into the Ctarl-Ctarl Empire with a valuable delivery, and your own ship isn't available?"
"When you put it like, Chief, it sounds so sordid!" Melfina assured her cheerily, gesturing with her hand charmingly.
"Will that be a problem?"
Maron-Go's photoceptors slid in their groove. "While I do appreciate you being so forthcoming for me, having given me the impression that you cannot go to a normal transport service or travel agency, even a secure one, I have to think it will be."
"That's not necessarily true," Suzuka whispered softly.
"Which means you have some issue with either Terran border enforcement, or the border patrol of the Ctarl-Ctarl Empire." Maron-Go's thin fingers came together. "Seeing how you desire to go into the Ctarl-Ctarl Empire, we can probably rule out the later. Does all of this sound correct so far?"
Melfina said nothing. Suzuka gave a contemptuous frown. "Yes."
"Ah, very good. You really should have just said so, there's nothing to be ashamed about." Maron-Go paused, photoceptors shifting again. "Well, I suppose that isn't true, is it? Anyway, we can certainly make that work. The Ctarl-Ctarl are infamously stringent and draconian about their border enforcement, and you're certainly not the first Terrans who've approached me for just that task."
Though I'd wager our circumstances aren't that familiar, Suzuka thought.
Leaning forward, Maron-Go reache towards a small persocom sitting on the table in front of her. "In fact, I have an opportunity that might meet your exact needs." Picking up the device, she held it close to her suit and spoke aloud, "Bethany, would you please come back in with that folder?"
The photoceptors turned back to them. "How does your company feel about religion?"
At the small walled apartment at 10 Advent Prospect across from the office of the Postmaster General and yet another museum, the private urban residence of the Prime Minister of Her Imperial Majesty's Government, Tomas Koboro-Koboro, separate from his official residence. His son and his apprentice, both in his employ, were already up and about well before he was, both grasping thick folders of documents under either arm.
"The party chairman wanted you to know that he'd be dropping by this evening," Rafe told him in the hall up to the main entrance. His apprentice was a few years older that his son Georgy.
"Really? To what do we owe that honor?" he asked humorously.
Rafe looked annoyed on his behalf. "He wanted to speak to you about the new initiatives in the coming Four-Year Plan, the controversial ones I have to assume. I think that he thinks you're not pushing hard enough for them."
"Still doesn't think highly of me."
"I think he thinks you're resting on your laurels, and not getting back to business," the youngster speculated dryly.
"Oh well, we're all business here at Advent Prospect, aren't we?" He glanced over at his son, who had his younger female cousins dangling on his back, arms wrapped around his neck, as she demanded he carry up her to the study on the second floor. The prime minister's nieces and nephews, the ones too young to be employed, were common houseguests.
"You want me to fob him off, sir?" The resourceful Rafe was already thinking of excuses.
"No, that won't be necessary. What's one more dinner guest? Someone for the girls to entertain," Tomas said with a chuckle. "Probably just upset about the opposition pushing for welfare cuts, what else is new?"
"The real enemy," Georgy hissed.
"That's too harsh. They're doing their due diligence." His boot-wrappings completed, he gestured at his son to hand him the green naval greatcoat hanging on a nearby hook.
"Aren't you meeting with the Procurator-General?"
"I was. I might still."
"What does the Admiralty want with you?" he frowned.
He beamed at him. An educated guess would've been he was visiting the nearby War Ministry, but then his normal grey suit would've sufficed. If he was wearing his old naval officer's greatcoat, it was because he was paying a visit to the distinguished chiefs of the Ctarl-Ctarl Imperial Navy a visit at their local office, a rather meek sign of respect.
"Nothing out of the ordinary. They probably want some hint as to the upcoming naval budget proposal that'll go through parliament."
"Will Her Highness be there?"
That was uncharacteristically straightforward of him. How fortunate. There could be no question as to who Georgy meant. Kasara IV did not pay visits to the naval chiefs at their local branch. It might've been a little unfair to say she didn't have a mind for military matters, but it was hard to deny that she disliked the daily business of navy (on top of publicly decrying warfare was harmfully wasteful). He was confident Her Imperial Majesty had never attended one of these daily meetings held by the naval leadership.
No, Georgy meant the empress's aunt, the former-Empress Marianna IV, the sovereign who'd appointed him after parliament's elections. The one he'd forced to abdicate years ago.
In keeping with the mandated norms and unspoken norms of the Socialists, their prime minister took a tram about the Imperial Capitol when it was too far to practically walk somewhere, as he often did to the Imperial Palace; the prime minister's limousine and military motorcade usually sat unused in parliament's motor pool. The permanent police presence made his assigned protective unit redundant in his opinion.
Less than thirty minutes after leaving his residence, he was at the Naval Annex of the sprawling Imperial War Ministry, a gigantic complex visible from space, a squared-off fortress in the middle the metropolis. Past the saluting honor guards in their polished breastplates and rifles, he found his way into the policy meeting of four uniformed grand admirals and the commander-in-chief of the Ctarl-Ctarl Navy, where the conversation ended abruptly with his entrance.
"What an unexpected pleasure that you'd join us, Your Excellency," the Jo Kwoto Hashiyo Ctarl-Ctarl sighed, resting her head on her hand in irritation.
"Lord Prime Minister," another said, the grand admiral appointed to the Imperial General Staff, the eldest man in the room, a few years Tomas' senior. Three grand admirals obediently rose to their feet, leaving the naval chief and the grand admiral sitting next to her in their seats.
"Zhu-i-Jo," he said, quietly and rather meekly as he took an empty seat made available to him by a attending junior officer. "Please don't trouble yourself on my account, in fact I beg your pardon for the interruption."
The naval chief gave snort, head still on her hand. "Is there some concern you're bringing to our attention?" the next grand admiral, Clan-Clan from the 181st Royal Taskforce, asked.
"No, nothing like that. But I was told you were convening to discuss the selection of ten obsolete cruisers to be decommissioned and sold to the Corbanites, and what that would mean for the change in naval procurement in the coming fiscal year," he said humbly as he removed his naval greatcoat, that of a low-ranking captain, and set it aside. "I thought I might able to shed some light on that."
"That would actually be helpful, Your Excellency," another grand admiral, the Deputy Minister for the Naval Industries. "We were just discussing the tabled aircraft carrier from the last Five-Year Plan, whether or not it could be resurrected, what was it, the Yodna…Yodna…"
"The Yodna Toratora-class super carrier," the grand admiral sitting across the table from him reminded him. "How do you not know this, you're the deputy minister…"
"I'm bad with names," he cut him off.
The prime minister watched them chatter back and forth, saying nothing.
"Bad with names, good grief…"
"The point is, we wondered if the Yodna Toratora -class was back on the table."
Tomas took this as his sign to add his input. "In the postwar atmosphere back then, a new class of dedicated carrier was fairly toxic, especially with a general election coming up, and the late emperor wasn't feeling it either, but I think if you added it in your next procurement the Assembly of the Empire could be convinced to bring it back with the right messaging," he offered his informed opinion.
Clan-Clan spoke. "Well, that's the thing, we're not that desperate for a new class of carrier either. But if the Yodna Toratora is completely dead, we'd like that…'credit', if you will…to apply against the early retirement of the Orta Yatano-class pocket battleships. The Orta Yatano-class isn't even that old, much less obsolete, it's just that the enemy it was to fight no longer exists since the Terrans scrapped their battleship fleet," he said, standing up and sorting through the documents at his hands. "We'd give up the new carriers if we could keep the whole of the Orta Yatano-class, excluding the Orta Bororo, which we'd cancel repairs on and scrap…"
"God, Clan-Clan, tell him everything why don't you," the naval chief barked. Clan-Clan shrank back into his seat.
The deputy minister sighed. "Why not, he'll just figure it out eventually, he always does."
"Actually, it'd be my pleasure to…"
"Your pleasure to what?" a voice growled loudly. It belonged to the remaining officer sitting next to the naval chief, Grand Admiral Marianna Kasarin Hashiyo-Hashiyo, the abdicated empress-turned private citizen-turned admiral. When she'd appointed Tomas in the Year 204, after the general election, she'd already worn the uniform of a force admiral—after she abdicated, parliament and the navy saw fit to give her a two-rank promotion for her leadership during the Freespace Wars and the overwhelming victory over the Terran Empires. She'd gone back to the navy, now just another admiral in uniform.
Tomas Koboro-Koboro saw no benefit in trying to avoid her, as angry as she was.
"Pardon me, Your Highness."
"Why don't we break for an early lunch?" the naval chief suggested loudly, rising to her feet. Three of the four other admirals followed suit. "Our PM probably has better things to do with his time…"
"Oh, come now Marianna Kasarin…what's the point of having a prime minister if we're not going to actually talk about parliament?" Clan-Clan objected. The naval chief put a hand on his shoulder, her meaning unmistakable: drop it.
"Admirals, my office aside, you should know that I sympathize with your concerns, and you have my full commitment to the furtherment."
"Commitment?" Hashiyo-Hashiyo asked sharply. Clan-Clan winced. "Commitment! I think you presume too much, Your Excellency! Maybe these other officers aren't familiar with what your 'commitment' means?"
"Marianna Kasarin…"
"I agree with Hashiyo-Hashiyo," the naval chief announced. "We're wasting our time anyway, the Assembly of the People could still resurrect the Armed Forces Reduction Plan."
"Well, wouldn't that be something to ask the man who commands a majority in both houses of parliament?" Clan-Clan asked.
"Let it go, Dawid." After that, Clan-Clan shrank.
Despite his insistence that he only wanted to be helpful, the meeting quickly disbanded, leaving the PM alone at their table. Tomas Koboro-Koboro gave a disappointed sigh and began plotting out the rest of his schedule as he exited, only to hear the door slam shut behind him as soon as he left the conference room.
Feeling his ears twitch, he took an educated guess. "Marianna Kasarin, what can I do for you?"
The grand admiral advisor to the naval leadership—that was as close to a formal title as she had presently—was standing in her gold-trim dark green coat, a large, shining medal resting on her chest, leering at him, unmistakable fury behind those large, sapphire-like eyes all members of the Hashiyo-Hashiyo bloodline seemed to share. Supposedly calm, comforting blue eyes replicated on a million portraits and a billion propaganda photos, barely holding back burning rage.
"Lord Prime Minister," she growled, holding a briefcase in one hand. The other was clenched in a fist. Tomas considered which hand seemed out-of-place for the former Empress of All Ctarl-Ctarl, a fist clenched in anger or a briefcase full of military bureaucracy. "Why are you here?"
He answered too quickly. "This issue with naval procurement is going to be…problematic. My party is not the kind to write blank checks even if we have a majority in parliament. We…"
"Shut your goddamn mouth," she commanded, shoving him into the corner. "You and your goddamn party and your goddamn parliamentary procedure, do you think I've forgotten what you did?"
Tomas did something he'd been a master at since he was a child: he suppressed his instincts. His instinct to protect himself, that basic, biological response that was the product of millions of years of evolution. He even suppressed it when the grand admiral grasped his wrist through the sleeve of his greatcoat and began to squeeze.
"No, that's not it, is it?" she asked, growling deeper. "Tomas Koboro-Koboro is no fool, no, you're the political genius who brought down a sovereign and outlived another. Tomas Koboro-Koboro, the king-maker. Tomas Koboro-Koboro, the chief minister of the empire!"
By then, the former-empress seemed to have grown under her greatcoat. Tomas wondered if it was physical retreating on his part, but he thought it unlikely: Marianna Kasarin was actually growing. He watched her musculature begin appearing underneath the wrinkles of her uniform.
"But it's my fault, isn't it?" she asked, her voice cracking under the rage. "What did I expect when I appointed a man like you to that post? And here you are, two sovereigns and a regent later, showing up to gloat, eh?"
He thought he might interject but she continued. "Don't deny it, Minister!" she shouted. As she began to froth at the mouth, he noticed how large her canines looked. The squeezing was starting to hurt. "Do you think you'll just pull the strings for this entire Immortal Empire? That you are the sovereign, and that I and the rest of my line are the no-name nothing politicians waiting in the ranks of parliament? Do you not? Do you not?!"
The grand admiral's pupils had contracted into fine, vertical slits, along with her bared canines and the bulging muscles of her arms and back. Tomas had remained silent throughout the snarling onslaught, but managed to break free from her grasp and raised both arms, palms open to her, closing his eyes. Marianna Kasarin froze too, her wide blue eyes flicking back and forth across his strange gesture.
Now say something! "M-May the God of the Ctarl-Ctarl preserve you, Your Highness…and, if you'll please excuse me," he manage to reply without stumbling too much, lowering his arms and removing himself from between the grand admiral and the wall. She stood there in the empty hallway as he departed, taking deep breaths, shrinking back to her normal stature and turning to watch him hurried leave, hands hidden in his sleeves.
The prime minister hid those hands because, as he crossed through halls now occupied by personnel of the navy and other branches, he didn't want them seeing the head of the Imperial government's trembling in his greatcoat. As discreetly as he could manage, he exited the annex, passed through the outdoor security, and back onto the sidewalk, coming to a brisk halt right before he could right into oncoming traffic.
That, he thought, was an Immortal Ctarl-Ctarl. Then he reminded himself that what he'd seen was actually an incomplete metamorphosis; after all, the former-empress had not turned into a savage beast and torn him limb from limb. Though she would not have done that. No matter what, she was Empress of All Ctarl-Ctarl. She is not some petulant child.
Besides, she might not even be capable of doing such a thing, she was not such a young woman anymore either—had she ever completely metamorphosed since her coronation? It didn't seem like the sort of thing the Imperial Household Agency would allow, given the physical and mental tax it took. Not that I would know, he thought, chuckling at himself and resisting the urge to rub his bruised arm.
"Your Excellency, sir?"
He turned, hiding his hands behind his back. Rafe had been waiting on the sidewalk for him, now dressed in his normal work attire.
"Rafe, what brings you here?" he asked, his voice as calm as he could manage.
If his apprentice noticed anything unusual, he made no remark of it. "Word just came in from the Outer Periphery. I expect Grand Admiral Clan-Clan will've heard the same."
"Clan-Clan?"
"The Clan-Clans, Ladies Kalin and Aisha—they've been, well, delayed."
He raised his greying eyebrows. "Delayed," he repeated, enjoying Rafe's calm explanation, turning the word over in his head. "So is it…pirates?"
Rafe nodded, surprised by his good guess.
"Thank you for bringing that to my attention, Rafe. I don't think it's anything to worry about."
Terms to Know:
Stellar Wastes – A very large "empty" region of space, as defined by the relative absence of stars, galactic northeast of the Tenpa Empire and USSA, between the Ctarl-Ctarl Empire and Corbanite Space. The Stellar Wastes are still home to a number of occupied systems on the frontier of Kei Guild Space, but the distance between systems can make travel an expensive or dangerous proposition.
The Immortal Ctarl-Ctarl (Yohang Ctarl-Ctarl) – A literary term with complimentary and martial connotations, derived from immortal warriors of popular legend. Among the Ctarl-Ctarl it is often associated with those capable of deliberately performing metamorphosis.
- Beast Form Metamorphosis (Volo Gara Ctarl) - Often called an ancestral gift, the completed phase of temporary Ctarl-Ctarl metamorphosis, a unique ability rare even among the Ctarl-Ctarl, into a large, dangerous quadruped carnivore. Though highly valued in warrior culture as both a sign of physical prowess and for its near-invincibility, its rarity and impracticality make it less common than "incomplete" metamorphosis, a useful ability widely practiced in the military.
Imperial Ministry of War – The empire's cabinet-level ministry charged with daily administration and logistical support for the Imperial Armed Forces, with operational command of the military going to the Imperial General Staff.
- Imperial Ministry of Naval Industry - Subordinate to the War Ministry, a government agency in charge of design, manufacturing, and regulation of war materiel, overseeing the state-owned war industries and design bureaus.
The Reign of Marianna Kasarin Hashiyo Bakr Novo-Novo - The last of the Hashiyo-Hashiyo wartime monarchs, from the Year 183 to 204. One of the youngest sovereigns crowned (in the place of her elder brother), Marianna IV was commander-in-chief during two major interstellar wars, before her abdication.
- The First and Second Freespace Wars - Also called the Terran-Ctarl-Ctarl Wars or the Great Galactic Wars, by far the largest (and most recent) of the numerous wars between the Ctarl-Ctarl Empire and the unified front of the four Great Terran Empires. Ending with a catastrophic Earthling defeat, the Second Freespace War marked the end of the "Ctarl-Ctarl Wars".