"General," the Major said, greeting me as I entered our headquarters. I simply waved a hand at him, and he stepped back quietly.
"Have the colonels all arrived?" I asked my secretary as I neared his desk. He nodded. "Good." I walked down the hall, Major Vasili Mitrokhin on my heels. He, as I, had the look of age on him, a grey tint to his black hair, a sharpness of experience to his eyes. But unlike I, the way he carried himself, his demeanor off the field of battle, was strikingly less serious than my own.
He paced me, and I saw him raising an eyebrow at my unusually curt attitude. I couldn't help it though. Right then, I had too much on my mind.
"So what's the business of the day?" he asked, skirting his way around the real question.
"Wait your turn, Vasili," I responded, ignoring him as we reached the doors before the meeting room. He stepped in front of the door, blocking me, inquisition in his eyes.
"Hey," he began, a joking tone on his voice, "don't throw me for a curve without some kind of forewarning, huh?" I knew he was kidding, but the strange relevance of it caused me to imperceptibly twitch, covering my lie. "Oh," he said, catching it.
"You can wait. Now or a few seconds from now won't make a difference," I insisted, going for the door handle. He chuckled.
"Alright. Don't know how much trouble you can cause with a debrief."
I gave him a sidelong glance and entered the room. The ten company colonels rose to attention. "Be seated," I ordered, Vasili sitting at the long table. I stood before them all and took a deep breath, not sure of how to present this all.
"I suppose we'll get right down to it. We've returned home after this last decade of crusading to find our planet in a pretty sorry state. I don't think I need to ask what we all, the soldiery included, think of this.
"The question that needs to be asked is how much do we think of this? What do we do about this?"
The polite silence that had persisted me while I spoke had turned to a shocked note. Even Vasili sat with a surprised look, eyebrows raised as he rested his head in his hand, leaning on the table. These were all smart men, and the implications weren't lost on them.
"How much do we think of it, sir?" asked 3rd Company's Colonel. "Permission to speak freely?"
I closed my eyes and rubbed my temple. "Assume that permission granted until we leave this room."
"Then it's irrelevant. It doesn't matter what we think." Several others nodded.
"That's the kind of talk that got our world like this," 7th Colonel disagreed. "Don't confuse dissent for disloyalty. Just talking about the issues we're faced with doesn't make us traitors."
"Dissent? That's the word we're going to use? Then we don't pretend that even having this discussion makes us dissenters?" 3rd Colonel went on. "It's not out place."
"Whose place is it then?" 7th rebutted.
"The governments, the politician's, Lazarus's. Not. Ours," 3rd repeated, his eyes steeled.
"Please stay open to discussion, Colonel," I urged gently, knowing we had to tread carefully. We were all bred to put faith in the Imperium, and coping with the idea that our emplaced government had fallen short on us was difficult.
"But they've failed us," another argued, "and have made little effect to reconcile."
"It doesn't matter. We still can't assume to take their place because they're incompetent. There's a reason everything is set up this way. If the Administratum above them deems it necessary, they'll make changes," someone on the opposition argued.
"Please," someone else scoffed. "This far out into the Eastern Fringes? We were made to be self sufficient. So these questions need to be asked. Think of your family, all of our families. We've fought to protect them from the enemy without to see our people starve and be crushed by depression, the enemies within."
"Well," 3rd came back, running a hand through his short black hair, "what do we do? There's nothing we can do."
It was then I took my chance. I saw where majority opinion lay.
"Not so," I interjected quietly, causing everyone to fall quiet to listen. "Keep in mind, the citizenry has made this consensus before us. Now it just falls to whether our loyalties lay with the Imperial people, with humanity, or with the few that claim to lead them."
"What consensus has been made?" I stopped again to gauge how to say it. In the end, I knew there was only one way.
"The populace has decided it's time to force the Governor to an ultimatum. It's a revolution, men. They're going to show the government the might of our people, and bring about the change we seek."
"That's preposterous! Madness…!" A man argued breathlessly, and though we all felt that small sentiment, there was an overall feeling of agreement.
"The real issue is this; how can anyone say this would be for the best of the people, if it leads to bloodshed?"
"And that's the thick of it," I said, leaning onto the table. "Without military might, the revolution would come down to the hands of beaurocrats, and then the localized PDF, the loyalists, would cut them down in short time.
"With just a military, there'd be no chance for negotiation, and we'd condemn our people to war and death."
"But with a balance of both, we can send the message of our austerity and bring this change around without a shot being fired," one of my colonels interjected, responded to with silence, as each of the officers eyed one another, their minds already made up, but not sure if admitting as much would be treachery.
"You have the armored divisions, General," Major Mitrokhin said with a grin. I nodded, knowing I had his support from the get go.
"The 7th Infantry, as well."
"And the 10th," agreed another.
"Aye, and the 4th," said yet another, each offering their support full heartedly. Finally, though, it came down to the 3rd, who sat, eyes closed thoughtfully, brow furrowed.
"What say you?" I asked. Finally, he stood.
"I say you have the 3rd, as well, be it for better or worse," but he punctuated this by looking me in the eye, raising a forewarning finger. "But the moment I see that this revolution has lost the good nature of the people, you have lost my support, and I will urge the rest of you all to take my side in this."
I pondered this right then, and then nodded. "No reason not to be conservative. Should the conspirators forget their motives, they will lose the guard. Dismissed. Bring my orders, with that, to your men," I said, each giving an affirmative, as we went our separate way, off to convert our ten companies for revolution.
As I stood alone in the room, Vasili came to my side.
"I think that's about the most trouble anyone has ever caused with a debriefing. Congratulations, Aleksei," I shook my head with a smile.
"Thanks, Vasili. For your support."
"Always," he laughed heartily, gripping my shoulder. "Now let's just hope we've not all misplaced ourselves, eh?"
-------
"You're a fool and moron! You damned romantic!"
"See here?" the older man laughed, motioning to the others. "This is why you don't let business men talk philosophy. Go beat your slaves, bourgeois," the man responded. The first, a tall and relatively fit but tired looking man of typical Magnite looks – black haired, aquiline features – grunted and turned away. He agreed inwardly, he wasn't meant to talk fantastical idealism with poets. He was an industrialist, a realist. And these plans were most certainly not realistic.
"Please, Willam, be cordial," said Djokhar Dudayev to the frail looking grey man, the poet. "And Ivan, curb your temper, and continue, if you would. Don't let the satirists deter you."
Ivan Serov, a proud, aristocratic looking man, nodded. "Understand, Willam, that while your plans send very nice theatrical messages, it doesn't quite set a good mood of sound thought to our movement."
"Sound thought, then, Ivan?" Willam laughed. "What, pray tell, could that possibly mean?"
"He means make your plans applicable. Make them realistic," came another voice that demanded silence from all others. As Mavichel strode into the room, many smiled and waved in welcome. He was easily the youngest in the room; among the other eleven men he'd met in his church – excluding General Aleksei Novikov, who had other needs to attend to - all now wearing red somewhere on their person to symbolize their part in it all.
"And make them heard again, if you would," Mavichel said with a wave of his hand, sitting across the well furnished upper class lounge of Ivan Serov's house.
"I suggested a civilian draft firstly, to our cause," he revoiced, soliciting respectful nods from several others. "And then I made suggestion on how we should first confront the Governor."
"To the first I would say it would need to be done carefully, but otherwise I agree," Serov said, turning to the Arch Bishop. "But to the second I say nay."
"Let's hear it," Mavichel said, listening politely.
"I say," Willam began, leaning forward, his face looking excited, "we take all of our forces and march up the Parade Route, and confront them at the walls of their fort. The small men, the righteous men, confronting the evil and wicked as they hold themselves high behind walls like cowards. We'd make quite the villain out of them, eh?"
Mavichel nodded, while again Ivan scoffed.
"Bold, undoubtedly. Sends quite a message," Mavichel agreed quietly.
"But it leaves us right open to a military retaliation," Ivan argued.
"I'd hope it never comes to that," Mavichel commented, looking up at Ivan as he paced. Ivan held his tongue, nodding, not willing to argue with the younger man.
"So you agree?" Willam said smugly, turning back with a smile to his fellow writers.
"We'll see," Mavichel said. "What interests me is your mention of civilian recruitment. Having the civilian hearts and minds on our sides will be a pivotal part of this," Mavichel commented, looking up then at Djokhar, a local civilian organizer of much renown.
"Right now, most people are simply striving to get by. I'll start putting the idea of drastic change into their heads, see where it takes us?"
Mavichel nodded, looking over his shoulder as a figure entered the hall behind him. He smiled dimly, excusing himself. "Please continue, though."
He walked off into the ornate hall, followed by the sound of heavy conversation. He came to walk at the side of the figure, his stride slow but sure and measured.
"They all trust you," the man noted, his voice unreadable and cold.
"They have no reason not to," Mavichel said, almost sounding angry, but withholding any sign on his sagely features. "And they should. I will remind you this is all in the good interest of the Magnite people."
"Of course," the man said with a nod.
"So continue from earlier," Mavichel said, looking over at the man. The man smiled at the floor, and then looked up at the Arch Bishop. Mavichel shuddered, looking away. His eyes were ice blue and cold as death, empty from any emotion.
"Very well," he began. "I'll spare you rhetorical questions, and tell you what I think of you. You love your people. You want change for them, more than anything. Your loyalty – and this I respect of you – your loyalty lies more with the people you love than the administrations you've been expected to follow."
"So much is true," Mavichel agreed carefully.
"But I have to ask how bad you want to see this better future. What is it worth to you?"
"My life," Mavichel said, restraining his anger again, turning to the man, "and yours."
"Very good. What are you willing to do?"
"What are you really asking me?" Mavichel growled, his suspicions growing and overtaking him. The man, though he seemed to have only spoken in favor of the movement, had somehow sparked an anger and spite in him. "Because you seem to be skirting your way around a true motive, and that is not making you trustworthy in my eyes."
The man nodded, agreeing. "I'm simply here to help. I am a tool at your disposal, Arch Bishop."
"And what good is that?" Again the man shrugged, a blankly smug smile on his face, eyes locking with Mavichel's.
"My eyes and ears are everywhere. No force of weapon or persuasion is beyond my abilities. When you come to realize what you really need, what you are really willing to do, I will be here."
With that, the man turned and strode down the hall. "A name, sir?" Mavichel said after a moment, remembering his qualm from their last meeting.
The man called over his shoulder. "Erebus, for now."