Chapter 7
"What's our situation?" Vanessa demanded, sweeping into the Jeanne d'Arc's bridge. Every station was crewed, and the command deck crackled with pre-battle tension.
"A ship has defolded, Captain, well inside our threat perimeter. I'm still trying to identify it, but its mass is approximately ten times that of a Battle class cruiser!" Penelope Aster reported. That boded ill. The unknown ship was an order of magnitude larger than anything in the task force besides the Jeanne d'Arc herself.
"Where?"
"Closest to the fleet tender Piraeus, near the derelict space station." The multi-purpose ship carried crew and small craft optimized for repair, salvage, and recovery, and had been an ideal choice for overseeing the operation to board the station.
"No response to any of our standard communications, moy Kapitan," Esign Garo said. Vanessa noted the shift from French to Russian, but this was no time to comment on it.
"Keep trying," Vanessa told him. "We're still operating on First Contact protocols until we have a positive ID."
"The task force is out of position, Captain," Duy Liem warned from Tactical, his smooth, controlled voice cutting across the bridge chatter without the need for him to raise it. "The destroyers are on perimeter patrol, and our cruisers are covering us and the Phobos. We left a lot of clearance in case the space station was dangerous, so the Piraeus has no warship escort."
"What about fighters?" May asked, out of breath, having arrived right before Vanessa.
"Three squadrons on CAP," Lieutenant Abargil said, his voice jittery with excitement. "An additional squadron on close support of the Piraeus. Three more on ready launch standby."
"Launch them immediately," Vanessa ordered, "and have them hold position off our bow. Do not approach yet. Have Commander Reyes bring the rest of the air group to ready status."
"Aye, aye!"
"Task force-wide instructions from the admiral, moy Kapitan!" Ensign Garo called out. "'All commands, maintain full battle alert. First Contact protocols rescinded!"
Vanessa's lips formed a thin line, and she exchanged a look with May. With a potential threat inside the task force's perimeter, Admiral Mbande was within her authority to suspend First Contact protocols and aggressively defend her ships. But this was an abandoned, depopulated system, and no one outside of the REF should have been aware of their presence. It could just be a badly placed defold. A wrong move could end in tragedy, even start a war that Earth could not afford. She was ready to protest, ready to order May to contact the Ops Center and get her face-to-face comms with the admiral.
…You do not trust me.
Vanessa hesitated. It was true. If Lisa had given the same order, she would have accepted, and moved on, saving her doubts for after the emergency was resolved. For a count of five, she kept her gaze fixed on Penelope's monitors, watching the gray square of the unknown contact, the icons for their destroyers, scrambling to reverse course, and the tiny blue arrowheads of the ready launch fighters winking into view, pair by pair, as they burst from the launch tunnels, the sleek and deadly Lightnings assuming wedge shaped formations ahead of the Jeanne d'Arc.
"Ensign Garo, acknowledge our orders, and notify the admiral we are assuming a defensive posture," Vanessa told her comms officer. "Lieutenant Abargil, get in contact with Commander Reyes ASAP. The XO will fill him in. Coordinate with Tactical to form a protective fighter screen for the Piraeus as best we can, but don't neglect the rest of the task force. They're all depending on us."
She leaned over Penelope and laid a hand on her shoulder. The young woman flinched, but when she looked up at her captain, her eyes were steady, even challenging. "I need more, Ensign. It's critical we figure out what we're dealing with. Our lives and Earth's future may depend on it."
"I know!" Penelope answered, some of her earlier sharpness in her voice. "It's not easy! The contact's emissions are a lot better shielded than the Zentraedi's, and the hull materials seem to just eat up a lot of our-"
Vanessa gave her shoulder a squeeze. "I understand, believe me. Send in a Cat's Eye unit, or request a probe from the Phobos if you have to - not too close. Just give me your best."
Aster swallowed and nodded. "Aye." She bent over her scope, redoubling her efforts.
"… going to assume we might need every last veritech out there, Hazard," Commander Reyes was saying on the flight direction officer's monitor. He was already in the cockpit of his Lightning, and getting ready to seal his helmet. "Say five minutes for the next four squadrons, about twenty for the rest of the air group."
The number was impressive. The Jeanne d'Arc had a thousand veritechs and other spacecraft in her air group, more even than the SDF-1 at the height of the war. Reyes and Abargil were known for their unrelenting launch drills, and the quartermaster who oversaw the logistics hub at Space Station Liberty had complained more than once that Task Force 2's strike wing burned more reaction mass than any two other task forces combined, but Vanessa had backed them to the hilt. She knew what it felt like to be outnumbered in every battle. A single fighter in space and under thrust rather than waiting on the flight deck could mean the difference between life and death.
"Commander Liem is flagging the coordinates and vectors of our other ships for you now," May told her husband. "Watch it out there, flyboy, or I'll have to hop in a Lightning myself."
"Anytime you get tired of twiddling your thumbs on the bridge, I'll have an open cockpit for you, Hazard!" Reyes replied with a grin. The loving expressions Vanessa saw behind their teasing made her heart ache with longing. With a deliberate effort, she turned back to the sensors station. Her bridge officers had the fighter and fleet maneuvers well in hand, and she didn't need to be distracted thinking about how badly she missed Bron.
"Does the contact match anything we've seen before Ensign?"
"Might be the same class as one of those bigger derelict merchant ships we scanned last week," Penelope said tightly. "The size is about right, but I don't have any energy emissions to compare to what I'm seeing now. The output keeps fluctuating."
"Fluctuating?" A suspicion gnawed at Vanessa. "Doctor Priest, retask that probe. I want to do a fast pass, best possible speed. I need readings from the opposite side of the contact."
Priest forwarded the order to the Phobos, then turned his seat back toward her. "Done. We'll lose that probe. It won't have enough reaction mass to reverse course and return."
"Noted," Vanessa said, keeping her eye fixed on the monitor. The probe closed the distance, skimming past the contact, so as not to appear a threat. Nevertheless, as it began drawing away, a single, harsh beam of energy lanced out from the unknown ship and reduced the probe to rapidly cooling molten slag.
"Damn!" Penelope snarled.
"Did you get anything?" Vanessa demanded.
"Not much. Here!"
The image was fuzzy, just barely revealing the ship in blurry profile. It certainly appeared to be one of the Empire's merchant type ships- she saw a green hull not too dissimilar in color from a Zentraedi ship, an upswept bow, big docking ports projecting from the sides, smaller blistered superstructures like flower buds, and a bridge tower eerily reminiscent of the SDF-1's. What concerned her more was the clutter of smaller craft that had been masked by the ship's sensor shadow.
"Captain!" Penelope called out in alarm.
"I see them!" Vanessa saw a motley collection of vessels. At least six were Zentraedi shuttles with their distinctive guppy shape, along with as many as fifty grappling arm and tool equipped service or mining craft, and most alarming of all, hundreds of Regult battlepods and Gnerl fighters. Shuttles and service craft, Vanessa thought. They aren't deploying a defensive fighter screen, it's a boarding party!
"Alert Operations!" Vanessa called out. "Ship is hostile! Ensign Garo, priority transmission to Piraeus! Take evasive action and prepare to repel boarders!"
"Commander, deploy all available squadrons to intercept hostile strike force!" May ordered her husband, anticipating Vanessa's intentions.
"Hostile strike force has left the mothership's sensor shadow and is under way at full thrust. Projected course will intercept the Piraeus in seven minutes!" Penelope reported.
"Before we can get even a fourth of our own fighters in position," Vanessa noted grimly.
"Incoming communication from the admiral," Liem announced. Admiral Mbande's stern features appeared on an overhead monitor.
"Your officers are to be commended, Captain," the woman said. "Do what you can to hold off the strike force. I'm deploying our destroyers in support."
"And the mothership?"
"Do not engage it without my direct orders. We don't know enough about it's capabilities."
"It's as likely as not to fold out of the system when pressed anyway," May said. "That's what the pirates did in previous encounters."
"If they are pirates," Commander Liem noted quietly.
"They are trying to seize our support vessel. And a mixed group like that, operating out of a merchant ship? It has to be pirates."
"Time enough to determine that after the battle," Mbande said pointedly. "For now, we will focus on saving the Piraeus, and hold our capital ships in reserve."
"Understood, Admiral." Vanessa answered, and the screen went blank. She was relieved, really. The attackers could be pirates, or they could be from the original force that devastated Altrea, or even desperate refugees on the run. In whatever case, attacking the mothership directly increased the likelihood that the REF would be drawn into a war.
"Commander Reyes, engage hostile strike craft with all available fighters. You'll have destroyer support soon."
"Acknowledged, Captain. Jeanne d'Arc Attack Wing, engaging!"
Outside the panoramic bridge port, Vanessa could see the Lightning squadrons ignite their paired thrusters, like hundreds of bright blue binary stars. The tension increased as the massed groups of contacts crossed the monitors, and the Piraeus got underway with agonizing slowness. It could not retreat until it had recovered the defenseless boarding crews from the derelict space station. No one wanted to leave them sitting ducks, to be killed or taken hostage.
The closest veritechs harried the advancing hostiles, doing their best to delay or divert them, but to fly into the teeth of that heavy formation would be suicide. Within minutes the comms were chaos as the courageous veritech teams were overwhelmed, one by one. A handful of surviving Lightnings transformed to battloid and fought on from the hull of the Piraeus itself, taking cover on the superstructure, dueling battlepods and grappling hand to hand with the manipulator arms and plasma torches of the boarding craft. The mothership was on the approach, preparing to dock with the stricken support vessel.
Then Reyes arrived in the nick of time with his hastily mobilized air group, and the tables were turned immediately. His pilots were a mix of Robotech War veterans and volunteers who had come into the ranks in relative peace time, not battle-hardened, but skilled and disciplined from years of service together. Though outnumbered, they piloted next generation fighters, and faced familiar enemy mecha using tactics that the Earth forces had honed over eleven years of conflict. Their foes were simply outclassed in every way, and were completely unprepared to face the ferocity and confidence of their counterattack. Scores of battlepods and fighter pods were destroyed in the first two minutes of contact. The mothership veered off course, and the boarding craft and their escorts went into full retreat, hotly pursued by Reyes's teams. Vanessa, standing with her arms crossed, watched the development of the battle with a critical eye, then turned to May.
"The destroyers will be in position soon, and will close the door on the enemy. Unless they have something major up their sleeves on the mothership, we're moments away from turning this battle into a massacre."
"The mothership and the strike force are retreating in different directions. If they were planning on abandoning them, why not fold away immediately?" May wondered. "Every other time the REF encountered pirates, they fled the system before visual contact could even be established."
Vanessa thought about it, tapping her fingers on her forearm. The Empire's internal collapse. The desperation of the Zentraedi. The energy crisis caused by the depletion of Protoculture, and the destruction and brutality that followed it.
"They're not folding out… because they can't! Lieutenant Abargil, order the air group to allow the enemy strike force to gain some distance, and focus on herding them further away from the mothership rather than pressing the attack. Any of the support ships that straggle behind the main formation should be grappled and captured, not destroyed."
"Aye, aye, Captain!"
"Now get me the admiral!"
Admiral Mbande was already frowning when her face reappeared on the monitor.
"Your veritechs are falling behind, Captain. What is going on?"
"Admiral, the enemy is in full retreat, and I believe the mothership to be incapable of folding away. This battle is effectively over. There's nothing to be gained by continuing the attack. I request permission to negotiate with the hostiles directly."
Mbande raised her eyebrows. "You believe we should spare them? They attacked us without provocation. What about our pilots that they killed?"
Vanessa didn't rise to the bait. She suppressed a flash of annoyance. I know what you're really doing now, she thought. Always holding back your real opinion. Always testing me, seeing what I'll say or do. Why?
"Vengeance is a vice we can't afford. As I've always said, our mission is primarily exploration and diplomacy."
"And if they serve the Masters? Or those who destroyed the planet Altrea? Will you let them go unpunished?"
No! a voice inside Vanessa shouted, but she answered, "We don't know who they are. It's our job to find out."
"And you believe you'll be able to talk to them? They wouldn't reply to us when they folded in."
"The odds are high that someone over there speaks Zentraedi, and the battle has gone very badly for them. I think we need to try. There's no need for anyone else to die."
The admiral considered, and nodded. "Very well, Captain. I grant you permission to negotiate their surrender. I'll monitor from here. Good luck."
Vanessa took note of the admiral's expectations, and checked with Tactical again.
"Enemy strike craft have taken roughly twenty-five percent losses. Over half of their shuttles and other support craft have fallen out of formation and been captured by our battloids," Commander Liem reported.
"Open a channel, Mister Garo," Vanessa ordered.
"Gotovyy, moy Kapitan!"
Vanessa began speaking in Zentraedi, her words unaccented after many years of practice. {Unidentified ship, this is Captain Vanessa Leeds of the United Earth Forces battlecarrier, Jeanne d'Arc. Surrender immediately, power down your engines and weapons, and your crew and pilots will be spared.}
She waited. Malac shook his head.
"Nyet. No response, moy Kapitan."
Vanessa frowned. The admiral, and likely some of her crew, would not be happy about what she planned to say next. She took a breath, and released it.
{We know that you're stranded. That you're dying. Let us help you.}
"Not quite what I had in mind, Captain," Admiral Mbande said bemusedly, "but the pirates have put themselves in our custody, so I suppose I have little cause for complaint."
Vanessa stayed focused on the view of the Jeanne d'Arc's spacious landing bay through the glass of the overhanging docking control room.
"Not pirates, ma'am. Refugees."
"They did try to hijack our fleet tender," Doctor Priest, standing at her right shoulder, pointed out.
"Let us say their exact status has yet to be determined," Mbande replied.
"Envoy craft is now entering the bay," the docking officer announced.
The envoy ship was no mere passenger shuttle, being far closer to the size of a Zentraedi dropship or one of the REF's own destroid landing craft, and strained the capacity of the Jeanne d'Arc's portside landing bay. Its thickly armored hull was the soft reddish pink of a crab's shell, and its three landing skids were vaguely claw shaped. Perched towards the bow was a smooth black bulge that Vanessa assumed indicated the location of the command deck.
"Shaped like a hand vacuum," Priest murmured, and Vanessa couldn't keep a small smile off her face.
"Hardly an intimidating comparison, but that does not mean they aren't dangerous," Mbande noted dryly.
"Bay pressure status is green, the docking officer reported.
Below them, one of the interior hatches slid open. Colonel Kravshera entered the bay, leading a team of Marines, all in standard shipboard uniforms and equipped only with sidearms. Vanessa wasn't fooled. After a brisk back and forth with him, they had reached a compromise. A full platoon of armored infantry was stationed outside the hatches, and a squad of Spartan destroids waited in the adjoining bay if needed. But for now, Vanessa hoped to downplay the recent conflict, and gain their guests' cooperation. Kaden regarded the envoy ship carefully, and seeing no obvious weapons ports, formed a line with his Marines, then caught Vanessa's eye and signaled the all-clear.
"We're ready," she told the admiral and her science officer.
The ramp that dropped at the side of the transport was big enough for a small destroid, but no combat mecha were in evidence when Vanessa glimpsed the ship's dimly lit and nearly empty hold. Instead a delegation of six humanoid figures descended to meet her own troops and officers. She had little idea of what to expect them to look like - perhaps uniformed soldiers, similar to the Zentraedi? Or, with all of the talk about pirates, it was hard to banish the image of a ragged, disreputable band of heavily armed space buccaneers, even if she actually found the idea ridiculous.
But the people who stood before her were just that - ordinary people. She was reminded suddenly of her first encounter with Bron, Rico, and Konda, before she had learned that they were Zentraedi spies. It was what she saw on their faces - caution, fear, curiosity, and hunger. She could tell that none of the envoys had eaten well for quite a while. Vanessa would have described most of their features as delicate, or maybe elfin, but the lack of adequate nutrition had made them still leaner and sharper, and their once fine clothes hung loosely from their bodies. Their skin tones ranged as wide as those of Earth born humans. Wider, even, as Vanessa glimpsed a woman with skin the color of pale lilacs at the back of the delegation. None of them had the ashy clay tone common among some Zentraedi, but they did share the rainbow array of natural hair colors. Their garments had a silky sheen, and made her think of a strange but attractive fusion of styles, some parts close-fitting, others flowing like saris or salwar pants. Most were embellished with elements similar to those fashionable during Earth's European Renaissance - half capes, brightly colored sashes, draped sleeves, or gold tassels. The overall impression was elegant, familiar, and alien at the same time, but all their outfits were rumpled and faded. They halted at the foot of the ramp and waited expectantly. Vanessa received a nod from Admiral Mbande, and stepped to the front of their own group of enlisted crew, Marines, and officers.
{I am Captain Vanessa Leeds. On behalf of the United Earth Government's Robotech Expeditionary Force, I welcome you aboard the Jeanne d'Arc.}
Behind her, Ensign Garo quietly translated back into English, transmitting to the earbuds worn by everyone not fluent in Zentraedi. One of the envoys stepped forward, smiling humorlessly.
{Does the warden bid her prisoners welcome?}
He was tall, and as lean as the rest. He wore a white, narrow cut jumpsuit with a wide, utilitarian belt, a broad, burgundy colored sash embroidered with gold edging, and a high collar. He had short, midnight purple hair, and unlike the Zentraedi she had met, he had neatly trimmed facial hair.
{You are envoys and guests, not prisoners. But your people launched an unprovoked attack against us, and what you become next will depend on the outcome of the negotiations,} Vanessa replied carefully. {May I ask your name?}
{I am called Ryche. It was I who spoke to you over the communications link.
"Are you the captain of your ship?" Admiral Mbande asked, and Vanessa translated. Ryche's gaze hardened.
{The matter of leadership is complicated. For now, I greet you on behalf of the passengers and crew of the freighter Shalazar.}
{And your people are?}
{We are citizens of the Tiresian Empire.}
Vanessa nodded. The empire of the Masters. Confirmation at last.
{You speak Zentraedi, and have Zentraedi mecha. Are there any Zentraedi among you?} Vanessa wanted to know.
{There are many, back on our ship and with the mecha still out in space. They pilot in battle, and help to defend the ship.}
{But there are none in your delegation?}
Ryche cocked his head curiously. {Why would there be? We took them in when their ships failed, and in return, they fight for us. Zentraedi serve, and Tiresians lead. Thus has it always been.}
Vanessa heard Kaden scoff loudly at that from the end of the Marine honor guard, and at the same time, Ensign Garo faltered over the translation. Anger rose in her. So, certain attitudes are shared by the citizens of the Empire, not just the Masters themselves. She shook her head in disgust. So much for 'advanced' civilizations. Humans are the same everywhere.
Admiral Mbande cleared her throat. "I think it best if we save the rest of the introductions for the conference room. Captain, please tell Ryche that he and his shipmates will be escorted there, and that they will be given a few minutes to refresh themselves. We will reconvene shortly."
"Captain," Admiral Mbande said, after she, Vanessa, Colonel Kravshera, and Doctor Priest had retreated to one of the conference room's antechambers, "you insisted we treat with our visitors, rather than demand their unconditional surrender and deal with them as pirates or prisoners of war. Yet barely a minute after we met them, you looked like you were ready to throttle their leader, and I'm sure they did not miss it. You convinced me that we could benefit greatly from a more… delicate approach. We are all depending on you. You must be in control of yourself."
Vanessa frowned. "I apologize, Admiral. I can be rather sensitive when it comes to the treatment of the Zentraedi."
"Indeed," Kaden said, grinning, "I thought I was about to have the opportunity to witness your vaunted cybernetic martial arts techniques."
"You weren't exactly a model of self-control, Colonel," Priest drawled. "I know you didn't mutiny alongside Breetai, but were you offended by the reminder of the old order of things?"
Kaden lifted his chin proudly. "The Zentraedi fought for the Masters, yes, but as an independent force of conquest. We were not made to be the servants and playthings of ordinary citizens. It is not right that they should see themselves as our overseers."
"Enough!" Mbande cut in, so sharply that Vanessa, Kravshera stood to attention, and even Priest straightened and wiped the smile from his face. "I allowed the three of you to take the lead in this conference because I agreed that you were uniquely suited to do so. If you cannot focus and show me results, I will dismiss you back to your stations and my own staff will take over, is that clear?"
"Yes, Admiral!" the trio chorused stiffly.
"Then let us begin. Our 'guests' are waiting."
{You really did it? The entire Grand Fleet? Millions of ships…} Ryche's voice was hollow, the color draining from his face. He and his fellow envoys were gathered at one end of the long conference table. At the opposite end, Vanessa and the other officers sat under the crest bearing the black, inverted delta and the three interlocking red circles of the Robotech Expeditionary Force.
{Good riddance, I say!} The lilac-toned woman said, wrinkling her nose.
{Astoria!} Ryche choked out incredulously.
{Please! What did the Zentraedi ever do for us? Maintaining their fleet bled us dry. Would there have even been a Protoculture shortage if the Masters had not been so pointlessly grandiose?}. She shook her head, sending her thickly clustered copper tinglets bobbing. Unlike Ryche's less eye-catching outfit, she wore a form fitting black undersuit, and over it, from thighs to throat, a wrap made from yards of shimmering material that matched the color of her hair, and left her arms bare.
{But that kind of talk is treason!} the delegate opposite her warned. He had a cleft chin, hair like an azure swirl, and wore a voluminous green robe with ballooned cuffs and a collar shaped like three great flower petals, which had seen better days.
{Oh? Treason against who exactly?} Astoria asked in a mocking tone. {When was the last time any of us heard anything about the Masters? They're gone Divall.}
The six delegates glowered at one another, or looked on with shock, fear, or frustration. If Vanessa had any remaining doubts about the nature of the visitors, they were gone now. They were clearly not military, nor were they pirates.
{The Masters are not gone! They can't be! They're far too powerful!} Divall protested. {And if word were to ever get back to them that you-}
{You think they care for any of us? We're
insignificant. All the Masters care about are their Flower, their insane dreams, and their precious clones!}
{The Masters created the greatest civilization the galaxy has ever seen!} a fourth delegate put in. {Show some respect!} The bald man's green eyes bulged disconcertingly. Of all of them, he looked the most militaristic, wearing a deep red outfit, similar to Ryche's, topped with a crimson half-cape.
{We haven't forgotten you were their pet, Kruz,} Astoria said wearily. {Just because you helped assess and collect their tribute doesn't make you special.}
{I make no claim other than to being a humble and loyal servant of our leaders,} Kruz sneered. {If we had gone looking for them, like I've always suggested, instead of wandering aimlessly from system to system, scrabbling for scraps, we would be safe, rather than prisoners.}
The negotiations were going nowhere, but Vanessa was in no hurry to interrupt the bickering envoys. Every comment they made gave her insight into their identities and the tensions between them. Another of their number, however, was out of patience.
{Stop this, all of you!} Ryche said sternly. {None of this matters right now. You are embarrassing us in front of our… hosts.}
{You're not our captain any more, Ryche,} Astoria replied, her voice thick with condescension. {You had your chance. I have as much right to speak my mind as anyone.}
{Correct you may be,} a second woman, the one that had been introduced as Glana, said coolly, {but it is also true that we are doing nothing to secure our safety and freedom. Perhaps it might help us more to plead our case, and I think Ryche, having been with our ship from the start, would be the best one to speak for now. I'm sure we'll all have a chance to say our piece.} Solid black hair framed icy blue eyes and thin lips. She wore a midnight blue outfit accented by a light blue shoulder cape and what looked like salwar pants.
{That sounds like a fine idea,} Vanessa broke in. By the look on Admiral Mbande's face, if the arguing went on much longer, their visitors would have the chance to say their piece from individual cells in the Brig. {If you would, please, Ryche, start at the beginning?}
{Indeed, Captain,} he agreed, clearly relieved. {Though it depends on what you consider the beginning.}
{Ten years ago. When the Zentraedi Grand Fleet folded away and didn't return.}
Ryche nodded. {We were aware of the Grand Fleet's departure. Though on the whole, we were discouraged from interacting with the Zentraedi, and they were kept to the borders of the Empire, no one had seen such a mass movement of their ships within living memory. At the time, I was the Captain of the Imperial Merchant Ship Shalazar, and I am still responsible for its safe navigation,} he added, with a sour look at Astoria. {But in truth, the trouble began years earlier, when I was just starting my first voyage as a junior crewman aboard a freighter. Everyone saw the signs - the reduction in Protoculture assigned to each world of the Empire, and the constriction of trade routes as fold distances were limited in order to reduce energy use. Something had happened, something that caused the Masters to order an unprecedented expeditionary deployment of most of the Zentraedi Grand Fleet.}
Vanessa, Mbande, and May exchanged knowing looks. The SDF-1's fold to Earth took with it the irreplaceable means of constructing Protoculture generators, and precipitated a decline of the Empire's fortunes that had been going on for- could it really be twenty years now?
{There was no panic, at first,} Divall added, his tone scholarly. {The fortunes of the Empire have risen and fallen over many centuries. And we have ever been at the whims of the Masters. At times they have been very generous. At other times, their hands have been… heavier. If they choose to limit their largesse, it is most often because of some great work they are undertaking, or as a lesson to correct ungrateful citizens.} Kruz nodded sagely, at that, while Astoria snorted derisively.
"Why didn't you develop alternative energy sources?" Priest asked. "The number of options open to a society as advanced and affluent as yours had to have been almost limitless."
{It was illegal to do so,} Glana answered matter-of-factly. {Any non-Protoculture energy generation more substantial than the equivalent of a child's school experiment is an act of rebellion under Imperial law, carrying capital penalties. Besides, Protoculture was still comparatively plentiful, and nothing else could compete with its power, convenience, and efficiency.}
{Do understand, there was little hardship at first,} Ryche said. {Long-term projects were delayed or abandoned, trade routes shortened to save on the costs of long-distance space-folds. We made do with fewer luxuries. Local industry and labor was encouraged.}
{The panic began later,} Saris, the final member of the delegation, told the REF officers. The matronly woman kept her hair covered in a yellow head wrap that matched a flowing gown cinched by a belt of delicate gold chain links. The trailing sleeves of her garment nearly reached the deck. {Few of the Empire's planets are entirely self-sufficient. When the Protoculture shipments stopped completely, shortly after the disappearance of the Grand Fleet, trade quickly ground to a halt. It was not luxuries that ran short by then, but necessities. Food, pharmaceuticals, parts to maintain critical infrastructure, and more. And of course, nearly everything ran on Protoculture. We appealed to the Masters for aid, or at least instructions, but they were silent.}
{They were more than just silent, they made things worse!} Astoria snarled. {All security forces were demobilized or withdrawn. Any ships with enough Protoculture for a long distance fold were recalled to the core systems. The Masters directly controlled countless automated facilities, orbitals, and depots. These they locked down or scuttled by remote signal. They left us with nothing!}
{I've told you before, the Masters are the wisest and most farseeing beings to ever live!} Kruz interjected stubbornly. {They had their reasons!}
{Certainly! And you can be sure that those reasons have nothing to do with our welfare! Unless you're claiming that the self-destruction of the Empire is part of some grand vision of theirs?}
{It could be,} Kruz answered weakly. Astoria responded with a groan and cast her eyes to the ceiling.
{We're getting off track again,} Ryche said. {The point is, that our civilization rapidly began to collapse. Mass starvation and disease outbreaks set in across whole systems. Some worlds tried to band together and support one another with technical assistance and ad-hoc trade networks, but most of these attempts failed when terrified refugees seized the remaining ships and tried to escape to those colonies and only ended up catastrophically depleting those planets' resources as well. And then of course, the attacks began.}
Divall took up the thread of the narrative. {History has shown that every time there is a crisis, every time there is a power vacuum, predators are freed to act. Species on the edge of the Empire, nearly annihilated, and driven into exile by the Masters, struck back in our moment of weakness. Zentraedi, acting on their own initiative, or on nonsensical communications and contradictory standing orders, burned down entire populations. But the worst damage was inflicted by ourselves. Many leaders mobilized whatever ships, mecha, and equipment that they could lay their hands on and converted it to military use, then unleashed that force on their neighbors, or butchered flotillas of refugees en masse.}
{Ohma!} Vanessa interrupted.
{Pardon?}
{The people in this system feared attack from a neighbor called Ohma. We believe they destroyed the colony here and we're concerned they may remain a threat.}
Ryche exchanged a meaningful glance with his companions, then shook his head. {They'll be no threat to you.}
{How can you be sure?}
{Because we visited Ohma about a year ago, to see if we could scavenge or trade there. We found that the system had recently been scoured of all life.}
Next chapter… accountability and green tea, wanderers, and bloodlines…