Chapter 1

Tadosh had long ago lost count of the number of times he had visited the Citadel, and still each time he did so he found himself subtly awed by its sheer size and magnitude. He often wondered if it had been built that way on purpose; just as much an edifice as a utility, designed to ensure that no creature passed under its shadow without knowing immediately that this was where power had made its home. The ancient planetary homeworld of the Protheans had long ago been discarded; it had become little more than a token of history, a cradle from which the nascent Prothean Empire had sprung onto the stage. Prothean xenologists had no answers as to what godlike race must have first built the ancient edifice – or indeed for what purpose it had been constructed – but millennia of unimpeded Prothean investment and development had transformed it into the irreplaceable heart of galactic civilization. All politics, economics, and travel within the Empire inevitably wound its way back to here; and depending on whom you were and who you knew the Citadel was alternatively either the safest or most dangerous place to be in the entire Empire.

The grounds of the Administrative Spire were, by design, better arranged and maintained than the public parks which dotted the residential districts, and Tadosh never even noticed his pace slowly grinding to a tread as he made his way to Council. Exotic trees and foliage, much of it doubtless imported from distant colonies, seemed to stretch and grow to almost supernatural size, masking the metallic walls of the station with their excess. This, Tadosh had decided, was the true purpose of the Emperor's lavish parks gardens; they were little more than an ostentatious masque, used to alternatively distract or hide that which did not fit in with the image that had been created.

"Tadosh? Tadosh V'tun, is that you!"

Tadosh was snapped physically from his thoughts, his head jerking backwards as if yanked. To his bewilderment he realized that he must have stopped walking altogether; he wondered for how long he must have been standing there frozen. A hurried scan of his surroundings quickly illuminated the source of the disturbance; none other than his long-time friend, the Governor of Hjaspraud. Tadosh's irritated visage quickly melted into one of relaxed familiarity. "Ashdod Gamaliel, I presume?" he grinned, and the two embraced as if no time at all had passed between them.

"I see the air on Chasca has worked wonders on you," Ashdod croaked, scanning his friend with a sweeping gaze. "You've hardly changed a bit."

Tadosh laughed. "Appearances can be deceiving, my old friend; my back has been as temperamental as an insurrectionist these past few years. You're still looking rather spry yourself," he offered.

Ashdod snorted and waved his companion down. "Oh come now, no lies amongst friends. You can tell me truth; I hear it enough from my wife already."

Tadosh grinned sardonically. "What do you say we both just go ahead and admit that we're lying?" he chuckled. "And that we both, quite frankly, look completely terrible."

His friend broke into a fit of wheezy laughter, which was stemmed only after great effort on his part. "Fair enough. I'll drink to that, when I get the chance."

Ashdod met Tadosh's eyes with his own, and a moment passed in which he seemed to take a full and measured accounting of his old friend; like he was searching for something that he had seen once, and wanted to make sure that it was still there. The subtle nod of his head suggested he had found it. "Walk with me for a minute, would you? We have some time before we need to be at Council, after all, and there are many things to discuss."

"Lead on, my friend," Tadosh agreed, a small bow of the head masking the subtle flash of disquiet which swept across his face. Ordinarily, the prospect of a walk through the gardens would not have been a cause for consternation or foreboding. Enough sessions of the Imperial Council had passed within Tadosh's life, however, that he knew too well the ways in which its convention flamed the latent fires of intrigue and ambition. He could not help but suspect that this would not simply be an occasion of leisure.

Ashdod did indeed lead on, the pair drifting freely through the abundant natural beauty of the gardens. There were many eventful years that had been lost and little time in which to make good on them, but to true friends time is but a trivial concern. The two might have never been parted at all for how seamlessly they came together again, the course of their words and emotions flowing as freely as the crystalline lakes over which they roamed.

"How are things with the estate?" Tadosh asked as they rounded a particularly regal-looking pair of trees. "Last I had heard you were planning on expanding a little – did that ever go through?"

"Well we did get around to expanding," Ashdod began solemnly, "but I'm afraid we haven't been living on Binthu at all for the past few months. My security staff concluded that there was an imminent risk of insurgent attacks – we haven't had anything yet, but it's still too risky for us to return for the time being…"

This revelation seemed to give Tadosh a palpable shock. "The insurgents must be growing stronger than I thought if even capitol worlds aren't safe anymore."

"It's not the rebels' strength that has led us to this," Ashdod spat through gritted teeth. "It's the Empire's weakness; or, more specifically, the Emperor's."

Tadosh willed his face to remain impassive, but inwardly he permitted himself a sigh of resignation. His sixth sense had once again proven to be dead on; nothing, not even something as simple and innocuous as a walk was left unadulterated by the long, insidious shadow of power. If this was the true reason for their outing then Tadosh figured he may as well unravel it quickly. "You would place the onus of these disasters on the Emperor?" he inquired, forcing his tone to remain as aloof and uninterested as possible.

"There can be no one else to blame," Ashdod warbled sinisterly, head shaking back and forth in a gesture of boundless contempt. "This "Emperor" of ours is like a pernicious cancer which preys upon our realm; his foulness infests the very heart of our government, ensnaring the whole of the Empire in a web of atrophy."

Ashdod's vicious attack on his Imperial patron was uncharacteristically dark, especially when he had built his entire reputation as a statesman upon his blind loyalty and unabashed patriotism. His friend's evident turn of face awoke in Tadosh a latent sense of foreboding; he subtly but decisively began to steer their course out of the gardens and toward the Council. "I would have never guessed to hear such thoughts from someone like you, Ashdod."

Abruptly the two came to a stop, Ashdod's brittle limbs seizing upon his friend's shoulders with surprising force. For the second time that day the two found their gazes locked intensely together. "The Emperor whose carcass now rots upon Protheus' throne is not the same man that I swore my fealty to," Ashdod insisted. "His Majesty had changed – regressed – he no longer attends to the affairs of the Empire but instead retreats into isolation and obscurity, leaving his country to languor for his absence. Every request for action is denied – every plea for intervention goes unheard. The ministers of Council talk and debate and bargain but their words are but empty noise carried upon the wind! The insurgents will pray upon a thousand worlds before His Majesty can be convinced to so much as acknowledge the crisis!"

This second round of accusations stuck uncomfortably in Tadosh's intuition; partially because they sounded so alien and unnatural coming from his friend's mouth, but mainly he knew because they contained many slivers of unavoidable truth. The Imperial bureaucracy, always famous for its inefficiency, had slowed to a near stop within the past year. Tadosh had good reason to believe that none of the ten-plus requests he had made to the Naval Chancellery for additional forces had ever even come up for consideration. He knew that he had been extremely fortunate thus far; insurgent attacks within his province tended to be uncommon and poorly executed – nothing that his existing forces couldn't handle. Further towards the frontier, the picture painted was much darker; audacious raids on foundry worlds, high-profile terrorist attacks, and even a few suspected assassinations. Amidst all this, Tadosh realized, the Imperial Guard Fleet sat inert and unused at home on the Citadel, billions of tax credits being wasted on little more than a glorified armada of parade floats.

"I don not deny that our Empire is in trouble, my friend" Tadosh cautiously relented. "But to accuse our Emperor of being a base traitor is a weighty accusation. Supposition and hearsay cannot be taken on its own merit."

The heat of their discussion caused all sense of time to melt away, and Tadosh was startled to find that they had evidently found their way back into the main hallway of the Administrative Spire. From all sides a veritable sea of magistrates and officials emerged and began to flow seamlessly around them, traveling mindlessly onwards in a single, amorphous unit towards the familiar clang of the conciliar bells. Ashdod pulled Tadosh close and dropped his voice to a low whisper as they resumed walking. "All which has been said that seems unbelievable you shall soon witness for yourself. Quickly, the final call is given."

Tadosh had always found the Assembly Hall to possess a certain spartan beauty; its bare walls, simple geometry, and high-vaulted ceiling invoked that long legacy of stoic sacrifice and civic duty which had enabled the Empire to become so great. In this room, at least, all men sat in equal standing, both in practice and in ideology. It was one of the few places in the Empire where a man knew he was free to speak his mind; no magistrate could be arrested or imprisoned for the words he spoke here and all opinions, regardless of their merits and their palatability, would be given due and careful consideration. It was by far the most visible reminder of the sacred compact which existed between the Emperor and his subjects.

Seating in the Assembly Hall was provided through a series of concentric, semi-circular benches which enveloped the Imperial Throne in the center. All this was, again, done with a purpose in mind; everybody faced one another, and it was impossible to hide or avoid being seen. Tadosh took to his typical seat near the middle, stifling a pained groan as the metal seat immediately disagreed with his back. For all the work they put into symbolism and semantics you would think they might be able to cushion the damn benches, he cursed. He craned his neck and tried to make a quick scan of the crowd. The general atmosphere of the day was clearly one of apprehension. The usual chatter and small-talk which characterized the convention of Council were conspicuously absent on this day, replaced by hushed whispering and tense murmurs. The anxiety in the room seemed so dense that to merely sneeze might ignite a panic. Tadosh turned to one of his fellows, a wizened-looking magistrate with a brilliant, flowing beard.

"Everybody seems so tense – it's like we're at a funeral or something. What province do you represent?" Tadosh asked on a whim

The governor wrung his hands nervously in his lap and looked quickly away; it appeared that engaging in small-talk was the absolute last thing he wanted to do. "Gahtrog," he shot back. "I'm the governor of Gahtrog Province," he said again, as if he needed to force himself to believe it.

Tadosh did his best to overlook this quirky behavior and carry on. "How's the insurgency in your province?"

The governor suddenly became unnaturally rigid; when he spoke he did so like a VI, mechanical and emotionless, his eyes fixed on some distant point on the wall. "There were over fifty attacks total in the last week. Two planets dropped entirely out of communication yesterday – one of them was an agricultural world. The scout frigate we sent to investigate has not returned yet."

Tadosh was still trying to formulate a response to his deranged colleague when, with an explosive fanfare of trumpets and drums, the Emperor at last arrived to Council. His imperial garb and regalia, ridiculous to anyone who saw it for the first time, now almost seemed to reassure the assembled councilors with the authority and power it exuded; at once they all leaped to their feet, turning impulsively to him as a child might turn to his father.

"Please, friends," the Emperor proclaimed in his customarily booming voice. "Be seated."

Tadosh did as he was asked; more convinced now than ever that Ashdod's earlier ranting had no basis. The same confidence and charisma that had first inspired Tadosh to become a politician in the first place was still present in their Emperor. He cast a smug glance over at his friend, whose weather-beaten face still betrayed nothing.

"By my authority as the invested Emperor, I hereby call this session of Council to order." With a theatrical flourish the Emperor twirled his scepter and clapped it once upon the immaculate marble of the dais.

The councilors quickly sprang up once more, their heads cast back in adulation. "All hail His Majesty, the Emperor Hadrius. Emperor Hadrius, all hail!"

The Emperor reclined in his ornate throne, his head resting lazily on his palm; whether his disinterest stemmed from modesty or from familiarity it was difficult to say. "I pray you, be seated again. As is our custom, I believe that the Imperial Chancellor is to start off our meeting?" He said, looking expectantly toward a particularly frail and diminutive member of the Council.

A collective groan shot through the minds of all those present; doubtless even the Emperor's. Ulash W'tee, the incumbent Imperial Chancellor for the past fifty-five and a half years, was infamous for his wheezy, pained, and gaited manner of speaking. No genuine slight could be made upon his character or intelligence – indeed; his remarks were unfailingly among the wisest and most reasoned given during sessions of Council – but to listen to his rhetoric for longer than five minutes required boundless mental fortitude and, even with that, a very impressive capacity for patience.

"Thank you Your Grace," Ulash returned through labored breaths. He took a moment to clear his throat, not because it would do any real good, but more as a way of warning his compatriots to steel themselves.

"A meeting of Council is called to discuss all the affairs of the Empire, but I am confidant that I am correct in saying that this Council is intimately concerned with the ongoing insurgencies which eat away at every province and excharchate across the realm. The gravity of this crisis cannot be overstated. The Imperial Office of Records has concluded that, on average, over one-thousand insurgent attacks occur daily. The total financial damage has been calculated to be in excess of thirty-billion credits, and rising. And now, at the absolute wane of Imperial authority, entire worlds are dropping out of communication. If these trends are not reversed, then I strongly believe it is only a matter of time until our country consumes itself in the flames of violence and war."

"The bandying of words is not enough!" An elderly councilor cried, rising to his feet with the help of a cane and several colleagues. Malice and frustration emanated from him like an aura, and he leveled his gnarled finger at the Emperor with unexpected force. "Imperial citizen are dying in the thousands and still nothing is accomplished!" he accused, voice wracked with raw agony. "Our soldiers sit dormant at their posts; our ships are made to parade endlessly about on exercises and exhibitions! War is not on the horizon, councilors, war is upon us already – and we are losing!"

"You make quite liberal use of hyperbole, councilor," the Emperor shot back airily. "These insurgents are but flies gnawing on a mighty predator – in time they will grow tired and move along, as they must." He picked determinedly at a fingernail; the gesture better expressing his contempt than any words could.

"Your Majesty, these are not simple lay-pirates who make a fortune off our shipping and then retire," another councilor objected. "These are fanatical zealots who desire nothing less than the destruction of our government."

"The governor from Zhul is exactly right!" a third councilor interjected. "These insurgents have no plan – no strategy. Even our most advanced VI's have failed to pinpoint any pattern to their attacks and activity. It is…bizarre," he said, switching from righteous anger to utter bewilderment. "Their attacks are completely spontaneous – it's as if they just randomly decide that they're going to attack us. Few insurgents that we've captured could be pacified into talking with us – the others simply fought us to the death, no matter the circumstance."

"That is not all," came the voice of another councilor from the back rows. "A few of the insurgents we've captured claimed to have no recollection of their actions at all. We know that the insurgents operate through sleeper cells and deep-cover agents, but if they're somehow conditioning ordinary civilians to attack upon a given signal–"

"No technology that sophisticated exists," the Emperor dismissed with a patronizing laugh. "These are men, and they will grow disheartened and give up as all men who fail must eventually do."

The burning pit of uncertainty which had been growing in Tadosh's stomach could no longer be avoided. The Emperor was the same in body and mannerism as he had always been, it was true; his robes rested upon him no differently now than they ever had. The person inside the body, however, seemed fundamentally different, deflecting criticisms and stifling dissent without so much as a second thought. This was intrinsically opposed to everything that Council was about; the Emperor called Council in order to listen to his advisers, not to turn them away. However this Emperor sitting before them was, he was not the great Hadrius who put down Ypur's Rebellion, reigned-in the powers of the nobles, and thrice purged the Imperial eunuchary.

"-but apparently our noble Governor of Fhaldric thinks himself too important to listen to the opinions of his Emperor…"

Tadosh knew immediately that all eyes in the room were glued to him, and the moment that it took him to raise his head passed in slow, aching seconds. The Emperor leaned forward triumphantly on his throne, his weight balanced on his scepter. "Are you so flippant in your duties that you feel empowered to nap in the presence of Council?" His tone was even, but each word practically dripped with hidden malice.

"I…no, Your Majesty, I was merely distracted-"

"You do not care for the welfare on the Empire?"

"No – I mean yes, I do! I had a long flight-"

The Emperor smirked and reclined victoriously. "Councilor, know that your disregard for your duties and for this Empire have been well-noted by this assembly and by myself."

Tadosh figured it best to cut his losses and run. "Of course, Your Majesty. I beg your pardon for my negligence." A few moments of silence passed, with the heat and inertia of the debate now stopped.

"Your Majesty," a councilor piped up at last. "Back to the questions of the militia…"

The rest of Council passed by in a daze for Tadosh; he played the part, keeping his head up and his demeanor attentive, but he was no longer truly listening. His thoughts instead drifted to what Ashdod had said, about how the Emperor had changed. If it was true – and it seemed that it may very well be, then the throne was now occupied by a madman and a traitor; and Tadosh had made the most fatal mistake an Imperial politician could make by the far: he had personally angered the Emperor. He shot a look at his omni-tool; just a few minutes to go until Council adjourned for the day.

"Mr. V'tun?"

Tadosh looked over his shoulder to find a small, scribbled note being shoved into his face. The courier bowed politely and took a step back. "From Mr. Ashdod Gamaliel," he explained, vanishing back across the isle before Tadosh could even think of any questions to ask. Not wanting to draw the ire of the Emperor any further, he quickly brought the note up to his face.

"Meet me for lunch in a few minutes? I imagine we have a lot to talk about."

From across the hall Ashdod waved to his friend and gave a tiny wink.