Chapter Text
“Ambition is the foundational core of Humanity, all else is secondary. This is why we have built empires, and animals go extinct.” ~ From Centhian Realism: A Brief introduction.
Henrik looked over the stack of documents in front of him. Each piece of pristine rectangular paper was filled with text and their borders decorated with blue and green lines. Usually, both the decorations and the outrageously large size 12 font would have him disgusted by its garishness and un-utilitarian nature; these papers however, were no mere set of meeting minutes, storage records or committee summons.
They were the result of over 10 years of work and sacrifice.
In many ways, he had worked for this since the day he was born - endless hours of work, countless hours of sleepless nights, and enough planning to forge an empire. There had been no shortage of obstacles either. Rivals had been crushed, enemies subjugated, pretenders squashed, rebellions snuffed out, and ladders climbed. These documents would be the final step; he was very soon at the very top of the pyramid of knives. There were few moments he allowed himself to feel such satisfaction, but if there ever was a day to be indulgent, it was today.
Today would mark the final day that his home planet, Centhia, was held under the yoke of Terra’s clammy grasp. He was far from the first person on Centhia to have imagined the idea, and he knew that there were many on Terra who had long feared the possibility because, to put it simply, Centhia was rich. It was an industrial giant, an economic powerhouse without equal, and the home of over 14 billion human residents; if you included the colonies that surrounded it, that number went up to 18 billion.
The Centhian sector had always been too prosperous and too far away for Terra’s liking; a core sector away from the core sector. And there is little an overlord fears more than a subject who not only has the possibility to be independent but the power to realize it.
There had, however, been one small problem for the Centhian independence movement; Terra and its Navy were far more than Centhia could ever hope to handle. Yes, Terra itself was nothing but a climate-ravaged dust heap, but the empire that was ruled from it was extensive and the navy that held it together was massive. Once, over two hundred years ago there had been an attempt…with predictable results.
Something had changed though, something that made everything he was planning possible. A xeno invasion, and one of tremendous and unstoppable power. The affini, a plant-based xeno species, had arrived on the border of Accord space almost three years ago and had promptly demanded the entire Accord surrender to annexation. The Accord had understandably refused, and war inevitably broke out. Though to call it a proper war would be rude, for it was not in any way a contest; the affini compact had rolled over the Accord Navy like it wasn’t even there and now Terra itself had been conquered. It was up to Henrik to ensure that Centhia did not share such a fate.
The documents were finally done, one last signature cementing Centhia’s withdrawal from the Accord as well as the birth of the Centhian republic. He stood up and stretched, looking over the vast office. Its aesthetic was one that married the concepts of utilitarianism and regality, the seat of power like a throne for the 26th century. It was as usual: quiet and empty. Behind him, the wall was made up of a single window; subtle gray light entered through there to reflect the rainy weather outside. He turned the chair and surveyed his realm.
The city outside sprawled out by orders of magnitude further than the smog in the sky would allow one to see. Still, the presidential residences (as they were now named) had a great view. New Hamburg, the largest of Centhia’s 12 main megacities, was a city that never slept. Its layout consisted of concrete mazes and buildings that reached ever upwards; Centhian’s had long since discovered that a building that was not intended to have another 10 floors added on top of it would not survive the decade. Henrik remembered that on Terra there was a myth about a people who built a tower to reach their god and was subsequently smote for their hubris; Centhians would take that event as a mere challenge and build something twice as tall out of pure spite.
He allowed his eyes to follow the orderly paths in the gray sea, paths he had enforced upon it, until he reached a conspicuously empty blotch on the otherwise sparkling city. It had been the home of Terra’s overseers only a week before, now it lay vacant. A few of the more high-ranking officials had found their temporary home beneath his feet, in the small prison complex underneath the presidential residences where he only kept his most important guests. They did however have little more to give him and soon they would join their planet brethren in the ordinary prisons that dotted the city. Three million of them had worked to keep Centhia, and more importantly Henrik, chained to the Accord. Three million of them had failed.
Beyond the park of the residences was the least dense residential area in the city; this was where the upper crust of the Bureaucracy lived. The official government of Centhia, the Bureaucracy had been where he had started his climb, now he resided at its very top. The majority of the city was huge urban complexes that housed hundreds of millions of people. This was the lifeblood of the sector: labor, consumption, and expertise. In the distance, beyond the veil of smog and pollution were the massive factory districts where the material riches of Centhia were produced in great amounts. Then even further away there were the shipyards, both in orbit and on the ground. On an ordinary day, they would be vital to maintain Centhia’s trade fleet and her defenses. Today, they were choked with Terran refugees, those many who had decided to not surrender when their home world was taken. Luckily they had arrived after their brethren had been purged and hidden away.
It was a great and breathtaking city, a monument to human progress and development. And in every part of it, his enemies resided: The corporations who owned the factories, the criminal dynasties who ruled the underbelly of the city, the Terran refugees who would soon call him a traitor, and even within the Bureaucracy where there was no shortage of usurpers waiting to take his place. It was a great and breathtaking city, and like it had always done, it rested precariously on a knife's edge.
There was a knock on the door, the perpetrator strong enough to make sound even through the metal-reinforced barrier. It was time.
Henrik’s voice was clear and hard. “Come in.”
A great mountain of ballistic plating, weapons, and muscle opened the door and walked in. Underneath all the high-grade military hardware was a woman. Her combat experience was lifelong, cybernetic enhancements top of the line, and loyalty as close to unquestionable as Henrik was certain anyone would ever be. Nora was also the only person that he could call a confidant and perhaps even a friend.
The woman’s voice was softer than one would expect from someone her size. “The time you scheduled for the proclamation is in 15 minutes. Are you ready?” Henrik looked over the signed constitution one last time; it was ready.
“Do I look ready?” He asked plainly. Vanity and mirrors were something he avoided, and Nora was better suited to gouge his presentability than him either way.
Nora looked him up and down “I still think that your long hair suited you, but you do look quite presidential.” Nora was perhaps the only person on the planet who could get away with reminding him of his youth’s indiscretions.
He picked up the documents carefully, making sure to not bend or fold them in the slightest. “Then it’s time we made history.” With a confident gait, he made his way out of the pristine office and started to walk down the corridor. He could hear Nora fall in behind him, the sound of her boots providing a reassuring feeling of temporarily increased safety.
It was not a short walk to the administrative headquarters, but this route was one exclusive to him. Therefore it allowed him to think and slow down, a useful measure to prevent hasty errors. The move he was about to pull would be bold and invite a great deal of risk. Risk was never good, but it was a common price to pay in The Game he played. The only way to mitigate it would be to work more and get firmer control over the web around him. He decided to cut down the daily sleep in his schedule from six hours down to four; it was the last scheduled post work had yet to cannibalize fully and one he sadly could not dispose of entirely.
The polished marble corridors were decorated with sofas, plant life, and artwork from both Terra and Centhia. It was a display of wealth and power for anyone who visited, and for some imbeciles, such a display actually worked. The obsession with symbolism that his peers and predecessors possessed irked him; it was one of the many reasons why he was here while they were either dead or irrelevant.
Henrik did not take a step outside to reach the administrative headquarters, instead opting for a convoluted series of elevators, checkpoints, and walkways that connected the two buildings. Back in the day, it had been necessary for both sides' protection, now it was a clear signal to who controlled whom. Over 500 million people worked in the Bureaucracy and all of them reported their work here, and here reported all their work to him.
As he stepped inside he took a moment to appreciate his redesign of the place. The inner design of the building was something that could easily make new employees nauseous, mostly because almost every wall and surface was made up of transparent material. Each cubicle, each meeting room, and each closet was as easy to observe as if one was standing inside it. That was not even to mention the surveillance system that kept track of every single individual.
Said individuals were at the moment operating like a well-oiled machine. Suited bureaucrats of different ranks filled the hallway, moving in coordination with the others, each focused on their own task like perfectly placed cogs. When they lifted their gaze for a split second to recognize him, the machine parted in respectful silence to allow him unobstructed passage.
Near the top floor, Henrik scaled the final staircase up to the Grand Secretary’s office, an office he had once occupied not too long ago. The office was situated on a plateau that allowed it to overview all; no one would be free from the grand secretary’s scrutinizing gaze. The guards at the entrance of the office saluted and let him pass without question.
For its position of power, It was a surprisingly modest office, much like the man who occupied it. The Grand Secretary snapped to attention the second Henrik made himself known with an almost inaudible clearing of his throat. The man was in his 60s, with what little hair he had was white and combed over his mostly bald head. More interestingly, his eyes were a dim gray, betraying simultaneously a great intellect and a preference for comfort over ambition. The Grand Secretary had been chosen not because of his competence or power, but rather because he was the perfect pawn to keep in such an important post; the old man would not risk his position for greater power. A quite rare specimen to find on Centhia.
Henrik walked up and put the constitution on the desk. “It is time for the proclamation. Let it be known that The Centhian republic is officially seceding from the Terran accord. We are our own nation now.”
The old man had been ready for this and was prepared for his predetermined response. The pawn’s voice was careful, “The announcement is ready to be played in all Centhian-controlled territory within the hour.”
Henrik smiled plainly, humoring himself over the pawn’s lack of vision. “I want it to be transmitted across all interstellar frequencies from here to Terra. All will know of this historic moment.”
The pawn’s face became a few shades lighter. “Wo…won’t that attract the attention of the affini?” Speaking against his plans? Perhaps the pawn had a bit more courage than he estimated.
But no, it was no real challenge to his decision, and he certainly had a response. “You will find a secondary announcement in this file, it’s encrypted but they will no doubt crack it.” He dropped a small memory pin on the desk.
The pawn tried to control his voice “Can...Can I ask what it contains?” The old man was clearly overstepping his boundaries. Still, an answer would not hurt.
It was time to reveal the next step in his plan either way. “It is an invitation for negotiations between us and the Affini Compact. They will come here, and we will negotiate mutually beneficial terms between our two nations. Of course, it must be kept secret for now. Only personnel of rank 7 or above and classification clearance B7 are to know.” A cautionary glance was enough to stop the older man from asking for yet another clarification.
As he left the administrative headquarters, he could practically feel the message beginning to seep out of the building like blood through veins. Soon every planet colonized by humanity would know the truth. What he would not have given to see the faces of the Accord officials.
On the way back to the office, he could feel Nora burning with questions. “What is it?” He asked briskly. Nora was curious and that he could appreciate, but she was seldom so nervous.
With his permission, she provided her questions “What makes you sure that the affini will agree to negotiations? Assuming they do, what can we offer them aside from surrender as they demanded of the Accord? They took Terra like it was a walk in the park. If they decide-“ His raised hand silenced her rambling.
He was also nervous, but it was only an emotion. “The affini are just another opponent. They have their goals, their weaknesses, and their misconceptions. I would never have sent them an invitation if I did not have good enough intel to make the call. The days ahead of us will be challenging, so stay on guard.” He continued to walk, signaling that the time for talking was over.
Once they reached the presidential office, he stopped. “I have much to prepare. At 01:30, escort me to my chambers.” Nora nodded and took her position beside the door. With his safety secured, he entered the office and began to work once more. There was much to be done.
Nora stood alone in front of the large wooden doors. Her job was to protect Henrik, and due to the enchantments she had been granted, not a single foot would be placed on the floor without her knowing about it. Her armor also had the ability to lock its joints, meaning that standing around for hours on end was honestly more boring than tiring. In fact, with both her senses and posture being automated it was not difficult to slip into deep thought and leave the world behind, just as she did now.
The affini had arrived from the depths of space with little warning or concern for human ego, easily brushing aside the great Terran Cosmic Navy like their ships were mere toys. They started capturing worlds before humanity had even realized what was going on and, once humanity did notice, it was far too late. The conflict had escalated with growing desperation for the terran side, while the affini never showed a sign of needing to stop.
In one way, it should have been obvious from the start. Affini ships were huge and made even the most impressive terran vessels look like insects in comparison. According to the rumors they were also completely invincible; she had not heard of a single affini vessel being captured or destroyed during the entire war. Any conflict with them was doomed to fail, so in that sense negotiation did seem like the only way. The problem was that in her experience, very few negotiated when they had the power to take, and the affini had the power to take Centhia and more.
Her thoughts drifted to Henrik. She owed him a lot, but being the bodyguard of one of the most powerful humans in the galaxy carried its share of risk, especially when the situation looked as grim as it did now. The main reason she had taken the job in the first place was to send money to her sister on Terra and with that no longer being possible, it might make sense to sell her gear and get on a shuttle….
But she knew that she wouldn’t. Henrik was her friend and she had been with him through thick and thin. If she left, who would protect him from all those enemies he kept making? Besides, she did owe him quite a lot.
His confidence in the face of the affini was impressive, but what could they offer huge plant people that were several millennia ahead of humanity in technology? It seemed like an impossible task, but Henrik had pulled off those many, many times before. Maybe his confidence was well placed.
If the terran refugees were anything to go by, the affini were bloodthirsty monsters that ate humans, used them as fertilizers, or made them mindless slaves that worked in affini mines. The contradictory nature of the wild claims alone was enough for her to doubt them.
Affini propaganda, on the other hand, painted a very different picture, though she was not sure she believed it any more then the terran’s version of events. They certainly wanted to come off as benevolent, almost comically so. How anyone could build such a powerful empire while being astoundingly nice and valuing life and its well-being above all was beyond her. There was also the matter of florets…the fact that the affini kept humans as pets. Honestly, she was not sure how to feel about any of it.
Henrik certainly had a plan, which he always did, but she hoped that it would be good enough for the affini; Nora was confident in a fight with any human, but those plant people made her doubt her chances.
Mertha Verina, second bloom, had planted her face onto the desk, her form a slack collection of lethargic vines with no real purpose. The work she had in front of her was deeply interesting; translating books from newly domesticated xeno’s was no walk in the park. There was so much context and intention behind each word that went beyond just the literal meaning. Cultural metaphors that the original writers had taken for granted everyone knew, social structures unique to the terrans, and so much more. Her job was to translate it all so anyone in the compact could read and, more importantly, understand the text. Despite this, there was not a drop of motivation left in her; the trip down to Terra had reinvigorated her slightly, but once she had gotten back to The Agraria and started working it had all disappeared.
Her datapad pinged within her, notifying her that she had gotten a message and that there were actually people outside of her study who knew of her existence. Not that she had a problem with other people mind you…It was just not very pleasant to know that they worried.
After a few seconds, Mertha managed to fish out the datapad from within her vines and looked at the message. It was Elrax, one of her friends aboard The Agraria . They had probably sent her something to cheer her up, maybe it was some floret pictures?
[Tech-monger]: Hi, hope you are doing good! I just intercepted a very interesting signal that some terrans sent out. It traveled quite some way but I thought that maybe you would want to read it.
Attached to the message was a file detailing the decoded Terran message. As she read it Mertha felt a surge of excitement. Finally, something for her to do! Her vines promptly formed into something more presentable. She dearly hoped the captain would understand how important this was, her mind already starting to formulate arguments as to why they should indulge the terran’s slightly silly proposal. There was no time to waste; cuties needed help!