AROUND THE SAME TIME ABOARD DONG CHE'S FLAGSHIP THE PATTANI

Dong Che is having a bad day. Just for once—for just a single split second—Che wants peace. But the thugs that make up his pathetic excuse for an “observer fleet” just won’t stop being rowdy. They have been here for only hardly a month and already the bunch wishes to return to the main fleet. All it gives Che is one big migraine after another. Day in and day out, just constant whining.

“The bulk of the Federation lap dogs are staring at us from the Rouen corridor.” The reassuring remarks of his father echo through Che’s mind, “there is very little chance—none at all!—of an attack through Bordeaux. None at all! You can sleep like a baby knowing this much.” Those were the words of his father, Dong Zhui, before Che departed from the Velksland system near the june of July.

Sleep like a baby my ass. I can’t even get good shuteye because the lowly grunts can’t stop getting into fights with each other. God! Che just wants to tear his hair out in rage.

But it doesn’t make any sense. Che just can’t make any sense of it. It only makes him want to grab his scalp and rip it all out. If their father wasn’t so concerned about an advance through the Frankish realm then why even send him and not her? It’s no secret among the officers that Li doesn’t get along with their father at all. Honestly, it would do him good if the Federation attacked while she was in command of this fleet. That way, Li would be dead, and there would be no more family feuds, in father’s own words he could finally sleep like a baby.

But sadly, that’s just not how it was meant to be. Father has other ideas in mind for Li, Che supposes.

Che heaves an arrogant sigh and takes a long relaxed drag from the cigar he is enjoying. Che is so deep in thought that he almost fails to realize he is gripping the blunt hard enough to snap it in two. But never mind that, Che thinks, the view is a pleasant one.

The Pattani and a handful of companion ships are drifting outside of Side Malabo’s docking area, in tandem with the enormous cylinder colony. Che originally wished to be at the Cluster’s capital Side Baltit, but his stubborn officers insisted on Malabo instead.

“It’s the closest colony we have to observe Bordeaux!” They would plea to him something like that. “Any farther and we risk not containing a Federation assault!” But to Che, it didn’t matter either way. How could any of it matter? He has barely enough ships scrapped together to form a decent fighting force. He just wanted the complaints and ruckus to stop, so he gave into whatever they suggested.

If Che had his way —and he should, by all means — he wants nothing more than to retire inside the colony. As it is, having to wait for supply barges to deliver him goods is such a pain. And that’s part of the problem with all the crew getting antsy. They aren’t even allowed to leave the ship because the staff believes the Federation will attack at any given moment.

Honestly, Che scoffs, he ought to have them executed on the grounds of insubordination. If it weren’t for them he wouldn’t be having all these headaches — the painful migraines that rack his head day in and day out for weeks on end. It’s something his father would do — like father like son, no?

Che, while blowing puffs of suffocating vapor, can only wonder just how many ships the giant Federation has at its disposal. Even so, Che recalls Li once rambling on about some bogus like “diminishing ability to bear forth their military power the further any given threat is from Terra” or some mumbo jumbo bullshit like that. If they have an enormous fleet at the Rouen corridor, then it stands to believe they wouldn’t have any strategic capability in this part of the Orion Arm left for a separate operation elsewhere.

…Right?

They would still need ships elsewhere in the Federation to maintain stability, right? A state across the stars wouldn’t be so reckless to throw everything it has at a humble pirate haven, right?

A rapid tap of the foot. Che puffs so many fumes into the pristine air that vision is soon clouded — the young Dong soon finds himself forced to wave some of the clouds away so he can see outside the window. By now the length of the cigar was short enough that Che can only pinch it with his thumb and index finger.

“…I’m going to need another one,” Che mumbles as he discards the cigar butt into a tray. “…Do I even have any left?” Che heads over to his desk and rips open one of the drawers. He takes the oak cigar box and flips it open — and just as he feared, he does not.

Resisting the urge to toss the disappointing container across the room, Che sets it down. He then reaches over for the intercom on his desk. “Darcy, send someone up to fetch me another cigar container.” Che pauses in ponder.

I suppose I should get some more, no? I have no idea if I will run out by the next few hours — such thoughts crossed Che’s mind in succession.

“Darcy—scratch that. Get me several if you will. I don’t care who you send, just do it!” Before he can get a response back, Che promptly shuts off the transmission. Not even a moment later, there is a buzz. “Tch… this better be good news.” Che grumbles as he flicks on the intercom again. “What is it, Darcy?”

The soprano voice begins timidly speaking, “Erm… well, captain, I have grave news…” The back of Che’s hair stands up. Without even thinking he hears a quivering voice that is none other than his own. “W-what is it, Darcy?”

“Our ship’s stocks of cigars are all depleted… we do however have regular cigarettes. I can ask Malabo if they can procure some for us—” Darcy is cut short by the pained groaning of Che. “Darcy… the next time you say something so ominous I will have you thrown into space.” Che pauses and shakes his head, “No… forgive me, I didn’t mean that. But, for the record… yes, do please ship more from Malabo. Pay them whatever they want — oh! Before I forget, throw in some liquor too. I want their strongest stuff.” With a dry affirmative, Darcy ends transmission from her side.

Left with nothing to satisfy his anxiety, Che resorts to biting his nails — or what remains of them. “Cigarettes… bah!” Che paces around his office. You can’t replace the soothing texture of a burning cigar with something as lousy as a cigarette!

“All I want is something to take my mind off for at least the next few days…” The nail-biting continues. Che stops and unleashes timid taps on the poor floor. “For now, I should get something to eat. I think that will keep me cool for the time being.”

Yes, Che thought. At the end of the day, nothing beats anxiety better than gorging out on food. That’s all that he needs right now. If nothing else, food is man’s greatest form of comfort. There’s sure to be plenty of quality food sent by Side Malabo. Che wipes away the forming drool with his sleeve and heads for the door.

But just as he is about to head out, the intercom begins ringing again.

“Bah! The fools. Can’t they wait until I’m down there…?” Che mumbles as he heads and turns on the intercom.

“This better be good. What is it this time?! If Malabo doesn’t even have cigars—”

Rather than be greeted by the soprano voice of Darcy, there is an interruption in the signal, as the voice crackles to get through. The back of Che’s hair stands up once again. “Darcy! Your signal is weak. This better not be a joke—”

Finally, the signal gets through long enough to make out Darcy’s voice — but it wasn’t the calm pitched voice he was used to. It is weighed by despair.

“Captain! Captain Che! I’m getting hurried reports from our forward patrols! They… They—!”

The hairs on his back and arms stood up in perfect unison. “What?”

“—Numerous reports are flooding in about warp points from the Bordeaux systems!!!”

Che does not believe what he is hearing for even a second. The signal must still be terrible.

“Sorry, Darcy, can you run that through one more time? I think the… signal is still hazy.”

Darcy repeats it once more in a panicky voice. There’s no mistake about it.

Che asks again. And again. And again for confirmation.

With each request, Darcy gets more desperate in the confirmations.

Che grinds his teeth. No, no, this must be a mistake. There must be an error. Could it be a returning patrol from Bordeaux? No… Che shakes his head. There was no authorization of patrols being sent to the Bordeaux region. Unless…

Che takes a side glance at the bin overflowing with empty bottles. But Che shakes his head. The lumbering Dong would surely remember issuing orders if that were the chase.

“Darcy, is it possible I forgot about sending out sorties to the Franks…?” It’s a bit embarrassing to ask, but there is always a possibility. It’s a slimmer of reassurance there is some miscommunication on his part. There is a brief silence as Darcy is likely beating her subordinates for answers.

“—There is no indication over the past month of—”

Che is having a bad day. His attempts at simmering his rage boil over into making a dent in the desk. Although he and Zhui are not blood-related, rage is something that seems to run in the family.

“Check the logs! Make a head-count of any missing men or ships! There’s no way—”

There’s no way. It must be some thugs trying to be heroically stupid!! There’s no way! There’s simply no way there could be Federation ships in Bordeaux! All their ships are at Rouen!

Through the intercom noise, Che can make out the sounds of keyboard clicking as Darcy barks to her men. A few moments later, Darcy presents news that makes Che’s equally big heart sink further into the abyss.

“Regrettably we have come up with nothing sir. All men are accounted for and records are clean.” Che can just barely make out Darcy clearing her throat expecting the worst.

“Tell the forward crew to reconfirm it! There must be a mistake! It has to be some thugs—”

There is a moment of silence. “M-maybe those fools falsely reported warp points? Maybe it’s just a natural occurrence…” Che bites his nails to keep his increasing trembling in check.

Seconds pass by. Seconds turn into minutes. Che expects the intercom to turn on at any given moment. But it doesn’t. The beating in his chest intensifies. Finally, the intercom crackles on as Darcy speaks. “S-sir, I can no longer make contact with the—” But Che tunes it out. He can’t be bothered to listen to the rest.

No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No.

At that moment, Che hears it.

It’s very faint. It is so faint that Che doesn’t want to believe his ears.

The stress causes every hair in his body to stand up.

No.

With heaving breaths, Che turns his gaze towards the window. A part of him doesn’t want to see it. He doesn’t want to be deceived by his eyes, too. Che just wants to wake up from this terrible, godawful dream. Maybe he drank too much after all.

Glimmering lights. Hundreds of them. Thousands of them. Endless blimps of light that blanket the heavenly stars.

This can’t be happening. None of this should be possible. Was his father deceived? Was Li’s theory of power projection wrong? No… A miscalculation? An underestimation of Federation strength? The commander of the overall observer force in Valspon trembles. One of the top lieutenants of the year 217 Mafia under Dong Zhui—shakes in his boots. A humble servant of his father’s regime—opens his eyes to reality.

Dong Che is having a bad day. Any chance —even just the smallest chance—of peace single-handedly shatters in the blink of an eye.

“M-multiple signatures of missile launches detected! Che!” The soprano voice belonging to his subordinate shrieks over the intercom.

And boy, is it ever one.