ICON's Story

Planets like this were a plethora across the endless chasms of space, lifeless husks of dirt and ice cobbled together, around a dying star or a lonely gas giant, clinging to the orbit in the never-ending cosmic dance. Planets like this one were often forgotten, disregarded, stripped of their resources and left a nearly empty husk to be left alone forever in that crawling blackness. Planets like this were used up and tossed away, cored of their precious metals or priceless crystals or invaluable gases and written away into the lists of dead planets eaten up and returned to that yawning bleakness that was the deep cosmos.

Perhaps in another realm planets like this could have been terraformed, their empty skies injected with atmosphere, their harsh rock ground down and seeded, the core ignited: all spun up into a lush tapestry of greens or browns to benefit all life that sought to escape that boiling darkness. Perhaps if the hubris of man didn’t utilize worlds like these as crypts for its greatest abominations, this one wouldn’t be here.

A lifeless, shivering moon with not such much on it as a fueling station, one tiny automated orbital with a handful of landers and shuttles docked. What betrayed the insignificant speck of rock and ice was what terror the planet held deep beneath its crust.

Thousands of kilometers below the orbital, a single tower jutted from the ground next to an enormous chasm that cleaved deep into the surface of the planet. Even though the station was hundreds of kilometers below the surface of the planet, light somehow reached down from that starry darkness to the great windows of the station’s observation decks. Major Zakiraya Descoteaux admired the way light bounced off a cluster of crystals across the chasm from the observation deck, turning as he heard the soft whoosh of the door and seeing a young man approach him.

Lieutenant Kendal Aziz was small, for a Gardenite, slim shoulders and brown eyes almost hidden by glasses as he clutched a tablet in his hand. Exchanging brief salutes, Lieutenant Aziz then spoke. “Major Descoteaux, good to finally meet you.”

“And you, Lieutenant Aziz - Kendal, was it?” He said, quietly planting his hands behind his back as Aziz nodded. Stepping aside, he threw a hand back towards the lift that had deposited him here, on the observation decks. The Major soon broke into a stride, leaving the Lieutenant in the dust for a moment before he quickly picked up the slack and rushed behind Descoteaux.

“Yes Major, Lieutenant Kendal Aziz. Uuuuh, they’re running a purge through the data in an hour - we’re mass-dumping a whole input core, and the Director specifically requested you … “ Aziz began, as Descoteaux approached the lift and it automatically opened with a short whir. Entering, and turning, Aziz strode into the lift and then turned to be beside the Major.

“Have you ever seen NITEMARE, Lieutenant Aziz?” The Major’s question may have come out of nowhere, as it caused Aziz to stop mid-sentence.

“ - Uh, no Major. I’m on Deck 100.”

“100. Hell, you haven’t even seen the worst of it.” Major Descoteaux said dryly, stifling a soft laugh in his throat as he then took the tablet from the Lieutenant and began to scroll through the information held within. He looked up to a small display above the door of the lift, watching it begin to crawl from 5 and upwards. It was a long ride down, so the Major had plenty of time to study.

One thing that most found surprising was that the broad majority of the Apparatus weren’t soldiers, or marines, or sailors. He’d heard a joke once, somewhere: for every thousand marines, there’s five thousand support staff, everyone from clerks to analysts and intelligence specialists that were often more deadly than the marines themselves.

That was how the Terran Conflict was won, that was how the Incursion was beaten, and as the Apparatus next planned, how an inevitable continuation conflict with their imperial government would be won.

Not with tanks. Not with guns. Not with planes or even ships, though they would indeed be used.

Descoteaux was, himself, a veteran of the “greatest intelligence machine”, the massive network of analysts, consultants and informants that had been the undoing of many an irredentist state back in the Garden during the Insurgencies. After his service in the Outer Garden, he had been offered a deskjob in the secretive, federal intelligence agency known as Counter-Balance.

Rather than end his career at a desk he’d decided to end it here - still at a desk, but at what has become known amongst the intelligence circles as ‘Lighthouse’. He should have been amazed that such a facility had been constructed so quickly, and then promptly abandoned by the Interstellar Nations so quickly after the incursion and subsequent listless years of the Exogarden.

What concerned him more though, was the power contained within the rocky crust of this lifeless planet having been left in the hands of a skeleton crew. At least back during the Insurgencies he had a blank cheque from the Federate, a pool of recruits to draw and train from the Apparatus and Interstellar Civil Service, equipment and hardware to use.

Out here? He had to make do with what were essentially sticks and stones compared to what he had back in the Garden. It was a challenge. His career was made by overcoming challenges like these.

“A lot of you young bloods make the mistake of overestimating what NITEMARE actually is,” Descoteaux began, idly flicking a finger along the tablet as he poured through the day’s parameters of operation. Protocol, doctrine and all the other irrelevant information that made his job as exciting as it was. Marines and sailors fought with guns and planes, Descoteaux fought with data and spreadsheets. He’d debate he was deadlier than the marines and sailors, in many cases.

“I’ve heard some stories, ‘we can spy on anything with a heartbeat’ - that was a rich one - everything from precognition to changing lottery numbers, at another.” The Major said with a bemused smile, tapping on a particularly large info-dump somewhere in the exabytes of raw data. That was a curious one. He pulled a copy from the brief and left a tag for his own device.

“I, uh, heard it was pretty much just a big dragnet. Data mining, deep sightings, that kind.” Aziz responded, his voice flecked with a cautious tone as he noticed the Major simply shake his head.




As the lift trundled along, it passed by deck after deck, everything from data banks to the cosmetic and life support facilities that made existence in this otherwise drab station bearable. Deck 55, easily the largest of the entire station, was the maintenance deck. A yawning, 30 kilometer long track of tunnels and accessways that ran the ring of what seemed to be a hollow sphere deep underneath the planet’s surface.

Wheel’s squealed as maintenance hands sat perched on a small, two-man transporter. It made traversing the top ring all the more easier, and lugging around hundreds of pounds of tools much less consuming on the legs.

Up ahead, the two workers spotted their mission in question. Grating had been shorn free revealing the outer shell of the sarcophagus that enclosed whatever was hidden within. Throwing the transporter into park, the driver draped one arm over the wheel while pointing. “Ah, bet that’s it. Workload mentioned something about possible signal leak.”

Beginning their work, the passenger was quick to pull a toolbox from the back of the transporter. First, a cutting torch was used to break away the chunk of bent metal. As he was working though, his belt caught on a snag of the grating, and as he jolted to free it a small wrench came free to then topple through the hole and disappear into the dark. “Oh, shit.”

The trip for the little piece of hardware was a long, if quiet one. Cartwheeling and tumbling this way and that, it fell for some 30 kilometers before it finally struck something. There was a clang that no one would hear as it impacted the inner shell of the sarcophagus, a massive nano-reactive shell that vaporized the wrench before the small hole it had punctured was repaired in seconds.

This enormous shell wasn’t to keep signals out. It was meant to keep them in. Even in a single nanosecond, the potential for a stray signal to come free was not only a possibility, but inevitable even. By the time the shell had stitched itself back together, that concern may have been abated. No one would know a signal had escaped until well after it had, but it was of little concern amongst the sheer enormity of signals that were contained deep within the sarcophagus.

However, deep within space, there was a hungry screaming that rolled through the emptiness.

Somewhere beyond the red line
Hastati Class Cruiser 'Scourgebane'

Deep in the blackness of space beyond the furthest reaches of Imperial Defenses, a single Hastati class cruiser winked into existence from nothing.

"Jump Complete." The Tactical officer reported, as the FTL displays synchronized back to Zero, the CIC of the Scourgebane buzz with activity, data began pouring in on displays, and the Commander, a young man in his mid thirties was having a conversation with EVE. All throughout the CIC, one lone figure stood in silence, his hands clasped behind his back as he watched the large display in front of him.

He took a step forward, and the plush purple robes followed his movements as he moved towards a display.

"What are we out here to do again?" The commander asked, peering up from the flickering holographic display. "We've recieved reports of Scatterran privateers harassing civilian ships moving in and out of the defensive zone." Kesslee replied, his gaze hardened as he focused his attention on the display. "His Majesty has dispatched me on a special assignment, that's all you need to know, Commander." Kesslee replied, as he approached the main command console.

"I'll want to enter the next set of FTL Coordinates personally." Kesslee replied, as the Commander nodded, and a tactical officer spoke up.

"Spin-Sync generators are at fifty percent, we'll be able to jump again in about half a millicenton." The officer reported, returning quickly to his station as the Commander quietly wondered to himself why the Emperor would dispatch a confessor on some classified mission.

"Are you going to do anything about the settlers encroaching on our border space, Grand Confessor?" The Commander inquired. The Confessor simply nodded in the affirmative.

"All in due time, Commander, let me know the moment the FTL drives are spooled up again."

In a distant orbit from a lonely station, spun up and rolling through the emptiness of interplanetary space, the prow of a single Ploesti class heavy frigate loomed amongst the wreckage of a smuggling ship. The cargo liner had fallen for the oldest trick in the book, a bait and switch that had left it at the mercy of the CNS Rocheaux well before it could penetrate the ALIRBADs cordon around imperial space.

One had been caught, but the patrol squadron of frigates and destroyers like the Rocheaux couldn’t be anywhere. Commander Fearghas Volodya was a maverick even by frigate commander’s standards: he anticipated some choice words from the rest of the patrol squadron, as doing a bait op so close to the Aschen Cluster was sure to spook his counterparts of the imperial navy.

“Commander, our monitor-drones’ scanned the wreckage, no life-signs. It was dead after the first Halberd impacted.”An Ensign reported from the pits below, and Volodya stretched his arms out against the railings of the crows’ nest.

“Think that’s a record, ladies and gentlemen - must’ve hard-decomped and voided the bowels.” Volodya remarked succinctly, then standing up as he studied a sweep of the various cargo blocks and containers that had been spewed from the hull of the vessel after the Mk. 18 Halberd Naval Interdiction Missile had impacted the ship. “They must’ve had quite a haul for someone in the Cluster. Wonder who in the Quorum got their fingers in a pie so far from Langara.

“Shit.” The Ensign in sensors remarked quietly, her eyes narrowing as she then leaned forward in her cockpit and began tapping hurriedly at a series of holographic keys. Volodya’s focus was broken for a minute, as he looked down to a pair of Lieutenants gathering at the edge of the sensor pit.

“What’ve we got, another runner?” Volodya inquired, his voice carrying down into the pits below. One of the Lieutenants shook his head, and turned up to look at his commander.

“Negative Commander, it’s another Aschen vessel - just beyond interdiction-range.” The Lieutenant remarked, but Volodya pursed his lips in confusion then. This last ship he’d just splashed was Aschen itself.

“So they were paired?” He inquired abruptly.

The Ensign in the sensor pit then shook her head, reaching up to pull one of the headphones off from over her ears. “Negative sir, I’m reading a military signature.”

After that, Volodya stared forward at the massive airscreen at the head of the bridge, a rudimentary sensor sweep showing what appeared to be a rather large vessel on approach just beyond the limits of the Rocheaux’s interdiction missiles. That said nothing of the nuclear-capable Mk. 20 Reflex anti-ship torpedoes. “Well I’ll be damned. Guess they don’t want the lid getting blown off their little smuggling group.”

Volodya let a soft grin ply across his face, reaching a hand down to the rails lining the crows nest. “Spin up a Reflex, kilotonnage and ready the Mk. V/IIIs.” He barked, the crew of the ship all going quiet for a moment. Volodya clicked his tongue. “Did I stutter, sailors? Beam a line to the DVSB, tell them we’ve got one more fish to fr - “

“Uhh, ‘scuse me Commander.” The Lieutenant interrupted quietly, and Volodya narrowed his eyes down to the Lieutenant. “We’re already receiving a beam-message from the Deep Station.”

There was a single message broadcast to both the Rocheaux and the imperial vessel that had arrived. Uncoded and widely transmitted, the heavy frigate sat between both the Scourgebane and DVSB-117.

Slowly, the Scourgebane moved through the blackness of space, the Commander was quietly watching the skirmish, or what was left of it play out across a large holographic projection. Kesslee stood in silence besides the man with his hands clasped firmly behind his back, eyes fixated on the large projection before them.

Kesslee didn’t say much, hardly a word to anyone aboard the cruiser for the duration of the trip, likewise he was met with mostly awkward silence from the crew, no one wanted to say the wrong thing in front of a confessor, let along the Grand Confessor, it was as if the Emperor himself was aboard this ship. It played out, and the air of tension was quite palpable.

Quietly the commander read the deep beam message as the text scrolled across his display, before he turned his attention to the helms crew.

“Bring engine power to fifteen percent, and engage deceleration drivers to twenty percent, bring our velocity to five point two five, and maintain present course.” The Commander ordered, and the two helm operators nodded.

“Aye sir.” They said in unison, before reaching out to manipulate large console levers, drawing them back to slow the massive vessel.

“Transmit a reply on the frequency, transmit authentication codes.” The Commander ordered.

”Attention Exogarden Command, this is Scourgebane Actual, I have the Grand Confessor on board with diplomatic mission priority, we are formally requesting priority access to diplomatic, and command channels. How copy?”

Terminating his broadcast, he turned to Kesslee, as the older man craned his neck to look at the Commander.

“Prepare my entourage, I must prepare myself.” The Grand Confessor added, as he turned to leave the CIC.

As the broadcasts streamed to and fro the Scourgebane and the Void Station, the Rocheaux remained still, using its own powerful arrays to boost the transmission speed and up/down rate to streamline the effort. As the Aschen request for diplomatic channels were received, a tight-beam link was established with the ship as the automated systems of the Void Station went into action.



The custodian AI of the Void Station displayed a series of visiting identificators, as well as a special broadcast IFF-tagging the Scourgebane as a friendly, diplomatic vessel. The identifiers could be printed by even the most rudimentary of a molecular printing drive, while the IFF-tags soon ‘auto-dated’ to update the positions of almost five other Exogarden ships in the near AU.



The Rocheaux and another manned destroyer, the Lombardia, were then to give a wide berth to the Scourgebane on its approach to the Deep Void Station, which itself had become a hive of activity as the umbilical was prepared for the Scourgebane.

The Deep Void Stations were constructed in a similar manner to the millions of other void stations that dotted the Garden and some parts of the Local Region. Composed of a main, six hundred meter habitat module that was ringed with a rotating drive that provided the station with both power and artificial gravity, a few transiting ships were passing by a large, separate transmitting buoy as they made room for the Scourgebane.

Onboard the station, Chief Artifex Behar Dimiter stood in his office, watching an airscreen display of the approaching imperial ship. He drew a cautious hand up to his bearded chin, while the other held a rocks glass with a brown, honeyish liquid. Raising the glass of scotch to his mouth, he took a slow drink, before turning back to his desk and setting the glass down.

“Virgil, can I get an ETA on their arrival?” He asked, a soft chime coming from the ceiling as the hologram of a man draped in ancient robes materialized in the center of the room.

“I estimate within the hour, Artifex. I have taken the liberty of scheduling the summit in an observation deck of Section A, not far from their umbilical.”

The custodian remarked, adjusting his tunic only briefly as Behar ran a hand down his chin to straight out the well groomed beard he sported. “Thank you Virgil - uh, make sure the marines stay back, I don’t intend to give them an opportunity to muscle.”

“Very well sir, I will inform Lieutenant Colonel Dalton of his parameters.” With that, the Artifex pulled his coat jacket from the back of his chair and soon tossed it over his broad shoulders. Looking to a holo mirror, he made sure to adjust the tie sitting draped down his blouse before then readying the left down to Section Alpha.

While the Scourgebane docked, the first thing they’d see entering the umbilical wasn’t another human being, but a pair of automatons. One of them stood slightly taller than the other, mechanical limbs draped over what appeared to be an energy rifle. The second, smaller one was unarmed, and its head shaped to be more humanoid than the blocky optical module atop the armed droid.

“Greetings, I am Plato-473, a protocol droid in service of the Aschen Local International Regional Bureau, and this is Deep Void Bureau Station 1-1-7.” The droid’s automated voice informed, before offering a three-fingered hand back towards the bulkhead of the airlock. “The Chief Artifex will host you in a chamber on this very same deck, please follow me.”

Behar quietly set his glass down beside a tall, and most importantly unopened, bottle of bourbon as he followed in a pair of protocol droids that were busy putting the final touches on catering. With a soft snap of his fingers, he pointed one of the droids to place a platter of minor foodstuffs on the table. The droid promptly set the plate down at the far end of the table prepared for the Confessor and his entourage, but Behar was left to gawk a moment as another droid entered, this time carrying a plate of what appeared to be an entire, cooked hog.

"Virgil, I'll be sure to call the kitchen if they want a four course fucking meal." The Artifex remarked, promptly unscrewing the lid of his bottle. "What you could do, is get me some more glasses though." He requested, waiting until a small set had been delivered before setting a gracious amount of the bourbon in each. With that, he treated himself to a deep drink of his own before all the protocol droids but one left, which took place standing silently in the corner as the Aschen were escorted to the chamber. Behar stood with his feet together, hands at his side at the head of the table and ushered the imperials in with a single wave of his hand.

It took Kesslee some time to get ready, opting to wear his nicer state robes to the summit, which were like his duty robes, but a bit more ornate, with silver embroidery running along the front of the robes, and plush shoulder pads that were embroidered with ornate designs, and were a slightly darker shade of indigo. Everything was neatly pressed, Kesslee had to make a good first impression after all.

The door to his personal chambers slid open, the moment that the Scourgebane had begun it's final docking procedures with the Void Station's umbilical, the sounds reverberating all throughout the interior of the ship.

"Looks like I should get ready." Kesslee said to himself, this was the first time that the Aschen had made formal contact with the forces of the Exogarden since the fall of the previous administration, Kesslee knew things had been silent on the Aschen side of the Red Line for a reason.

Silently the Grand Confessor moved through the halls of the Scourgebane, Imperial soldiers giving him a wide berth as he moved. Each Imperial stepping aside inside the Scourgebane wide corridors.

To say nothing of the moment the Grand Confessor reached the starboard airlock where the umbilical was attached, there was a smooth, feminine voice that greeted the Grand Confessor's ears as he was stopped.

"You didn't think His Lordship was going to let you do this alone, did he?" She asked with a soft smirk that played across her face, in contrast to the Confessor's robes, Director Angel was dressed in a simple well tailored black pantsuit, with knee length skirt, and white blouse that she left unbuttoned at the collar. A black woman's blazer finished the ensemble.

"No, I didn't." Kesslee replied, casting a glance over towards Marlene as she stepped up besides him. "Try to behave, and not make a fool of us, Director."

Marlene chortled at the fact, and cantered her head ever so slightly. "With respect, Grand Confessor, I've been dealing with Scatterrans longer than you've been alive."

Kesslee grimaced as the airlock cycled, and then let the grimace fade into a neutral expression while armored doors retracted, and revealed the interior of the station, and the protocol droid.

"Just remember, Director. I am the will of the Emperor, not you, any decisions must be made by me in his name." Kesslee remarked, and Marlene shrugged. "Your lordship, I'm only here to ensure your safety." She said, gesturing with her right hand, and a shrug. She then tapped her earpiece. "Alpha team, standby, checkin cycles every twenty centars." Offering a smile, she waited for Kesslee to step forward. The two of them almost walked in step, following the droid to the chambers where the summit would be held.

Marlene's eyes subtly scanned the interior of the room, glancing about, and committing the finer details to memory as Kesslee stepped forward towards the table, and Marlene slowly moved behind him, keeping her hands at her side, the sound of her heels clicking on the floor giving an ominous deep clack with every footstep. Marlene had chosen these heels for a reason, they offered the best sound when she walked. A contrast to Kesslee's boots which were quiet.

The pair silently listened to Behar's introduction before taking their seats, Kesslee speaking first. "I am Grand Confessor Charles Kesslee, I am his Lordship's personal representative, and I speak on behalf of His Lordship in these proceedings, and this is my escort, Director Marlene Angel. She works with the Ministry of Defense." Kesslee said, not elaborating further. Once gestured to take a seat, Kesslee and Marlene moved to take their seats, next to each other at the table. Of course, Marlene moved to help herself to the food, specifically the roasted hog, using the provided utensils to cut herself a piece of meat from the back, and place it on the plate.

Kesslee shot her a glare, as she stuffed a large piece in her mouth, and shrugged. "When in Caprica I'm starving." She said, the food muffling her words.

Kesslee stifled a groan, but turned his attention back to Behar, and inclined his head respectfully. "I am pleased that you are so hospitable, and willing to receive us at such short notice, I am sure there is much to discuss." Kesslee said.

Behar calmly took his glass from before him, welcoming the Aschen into the chamber but refusing to sit, for now. He studied the Aschen before him, and gave a dismissive wave of his hand as Marlene made a plate for herself, much to the chagrin of Kesslee. “Virgil had been looking for an excuse to get rid of some of the food stock: his cooking has had some … marked improvements since I’ve allowed him to slave the droids.” He remarked, tapping a finger on his glass as he stood at the corner of the table.

At the mention of hospitality, Behar brought the glass up to his mouth and took a swig. “I’ve been rather successful in … smoothing the appearances of the Federate’s policy here in the Local Region. Virgil, uh, a tablet, would you?” He said, looking over to the protocol droid that calmly stepped to the table and offered the Artifex a sleek, black tablet. “I’ve some briefs for the Home State government.”

Putting the tablet face up, he tapped at a few keys before a projector module spat out a hologram projection. As Kesslee introduced himself and the director, Behar ran a hand to straighten his jacket briefly, a surprised arch of his brow crossing his features for a moment. “Ah, Marlene Angel? Congratulations on the promotion - a surprise to learn the rumor was true. Ministry of Defense, quite a position.”

“As for these briefs uh, just some routine updates,” He began, tapping away with his free hand as a series of documents and correspondences flit across the displays. “The Exogarden task force has enlarged the patrol squadrons to maintain the humanitarian shipments, some Commodore in the Exogarden has decided smuggling has become more of a concern - I’ve yet to understand his true justification for the activities though -”

All of this, and even more, was being prepared on a special diplomatic drive to be given to Kesslee upon his leaving, but Behar had a personal policy of full disclosure. “I was made aware of the … incident that took place in the border worlds a while ago, suffice it to say that I can’t speak for the military but, their operations should not be viewed as threatening to the integrity of the Home State government - er, UAE I should say. Apologies, I’m more used to speaking with your countrymen of the Langarite Republics.”

"Somebody with half a brain has to run the organization I'm in charge of, and His majesty determined me to be the best candidate for the job." Marlene said with a hint of vagueness, of course everyone in the room likely knew exactly what organization she had been put in charge of. After stuffing another bite into her mouth, she fell silent and allowed Behar to speak, taking in his words, and quietly committing them to memory.

Kesslee too quietly listened to the conversation, before speaking up, slowly he rose from his seat to get a closer look at the holographic projection. "Admiral Nagala submitted the full brief, and I took the liberty of studying it closely before sending it to the Ministry of Defense for final notations." Kesslee replied. "It is the official stance of this Empire that, while the additional assistance in combating illegal smuggling operations along our borders, we have a capable border force that interdicts smuggling operations on a regular basis." Kesslee remarked.

Kesslee paused just long enough to pour himself a glass of water, and taking a sup before considering his next words. "While the operations should not be viewed as threatening, the recent surge in Apparatus military hardware along our borders has raised concern along several delegations within the Quorum, and the Military. While we are aware that peace terms were never formally ratified following the conclusion of hostilities perpetrated by our previous administration, many in the Quorum see the buildup as a potential precursor to invasion." Kesslee added. Though he knew that there were remnants left behind following the Garden Campaign as the Military sought to name the embarrassing defeat of the 'Galactic War' The Grand Confessor was careful not to comment, as far as he knew the 'Langarites' were dissidents, enemies of the state, and political undesirables.

"I have been sent here as an earnest attempt by our Emperor, to attempt to normalize diplomatic contact with our neighbors, and to formalize peaceful dealings beyond the borders of the Empire. We've been made aware of a situation developing within the Taiyou Empire, that may potentially jeopardize the assistance they have been providing us, so, the Emperor determined it was in the best interest of our people to move forward."

“Oh, I’m more than aware Mister Kesslee - and as loath as I am to dignify the suspicions of the Apparatus,” He began, taking his glass with a free hand and then fixing the other into the lapel of his jacket. “I’ll just have to say that they would not be here in force if the situation did not require it - that is, if your capabilities were satisfactory to the Bureau, they wouldn’t.”

Next, Behar finally decided to approach his seat. Placing his glass down, he then pulled his coat jacket free and left it draping over the back of his chair. He then stood with two hands on it, calm eyes going between first Marlene, then to Kesslee and back. “I think it shouldn’t have to be restated that the Apparatus function of ALIRBAD was due to the previous government’s … inability to abide by the peace amongst the states of the Local Region that the Apparatus, for all their faults, worked hard to achieve,” As he began, the Artifex tilted his chin just slightly and dug a finger into the center of his tie, beginning to work it loose just slightly. He always preferred to have a bit more to breath when diplomacy turned to subjects like this.

Kesslee kept his gaze stonefaced. Marlene too had been suspiciously quiet, focusing only on cramming more food into her mouth, it must have put on a bad show for sure, but Marlene was far from starving in the literal sense, she simply saw the food as a good excuse to keep her mouth busy, lest she say something that she would regret later on. She cast a brief glance to Kesslee, stifling a snerk, before she took another bite of the roasted pig.

Kesslee didn't bother to touch the food, instead he let his hand smooth the front of his robe, pressing the plush fabric against his chest, feeling it, it was an expensive silk like fabric, one of the finest Confessor robes that he had, he listened carefully. He also kept his responses close, formulating them in his mind for a long time. He personally knew that Prince disapproved of the Apparatus operating, and building so close to Imperial Borders, he was present for the conversations that were had among the delegations sent by those colonies. This was Prince's attempt at trying to do something about it.

"It would be in everyone's best interest if the Apparatus backed off, allowed us to police our own territories, and stopped making our provincial governments nervous. I know that won't happen, and His Majesty knows that won't happen, but he requested I ask anyway, the only way for any meaningful dialogue to begin, is when the very representatives in our government that support the policies that lead to conflict lose the justification for their position." Kesslee said in response, steepling his fingers on the table, and leaning back slightly.

Marlene swallowed her last bit of food loudly, setting the fork down, dabbing her mouth with the napkin, and clearing her throat. "Fear gives madmen with agendas credibility, which started this whole shitshow in the first place." She said, clearing her throat again, and swallowing a gulp of water.

"The Aschen People, and the Interests of the United Aschen Empire are the same." Kesslee answered. "The very core of Prince's Administration is to serve the people, not just Langarans, but all people of Aschen blood, including those who turned their backs on their brothers. Langara, not some republic in the far flung corner of Coalition space, is, and always will be the seat of Aschen civilization, and the Langarites, however successful they may seem, are deluded to think otherwise."

Marlene cast a brief glance over to the Grand Confessor, before Kesslee took a breath, and pondered his next words, four simple words.

"What are the demands." There was no more diplomatic niceties, no mincing words, Kesslee was going for the throat.