The large chamber fell quiet as Lord Howeland rose from the upholstered bench, and strode the few paces to stand at the large table that stood in the exact middle of the two sets of benches. Despite the dissimilarity of Goldbrook Palace’s exterior from Westminster Palace, the interior of the Houses of Lords and Commons were strikingly similar. The Chamber of Lords was much larger than the old British one, incorporating 953 seats rather than the 813 sitting members that it had upon its dissolution in CE 2262. That was a key difference, because the Auroran variant had a fixed number of seats, unlike the old British system which had essentially been a revolving door of Members of Lords who had the opportunity to sit in on a discussion or voting session. Following the revised Constitution of 2248, and the 2301 addendum, it had become common practice for the Lords to switch out their members in (more or less) in accordance to the general election winners in the Commons. Still, there was an entrenched tradition of backbenchers that permeated the culture in the Lords, and although it was expected of a peer to relinquish their seat if their party suffered losses of constituencies in the Commons, it was by no mean codified, which led to parties like the Conservatives and Royalists having larger contingents in the Lords than what their number of MPs in the Commons would suggest. Some like the Lady Iphigenia of St. Eiron of the Royalists had adhered to this unwritten law without protest following this past election, giving up her seat in favour for the Baron Isdale, a Democratic Alliance peer, some others were more loath to give up what they considered their birth right, like the Social Liberal Countess Leicombe; her entire electoral district had flipped from Social Liberal to Labour, but she refused to relinquish her seat to the Labour Lord Farenden, much to the district’s vehement fury. The Auroran House of Lords wasn’t a perfect system, but it was a far sight more democratic than their predecessor; no prime minister had any right to elevate MP’s to peers, that was the prerogative of the monarch, and following the third enfranchisement of 2490’s, each elevation of a family or individual to noble status had been meritocratic, not the product of a prime minister’s resignation peerage elevation list. Yet, calling making people and their offspring hereditary nobles based on the accomplishments of an individual was still problematic, but it was a far sight better than what many other interstellar nations did.

All of this sped through Lord Howeland’s brain at the speed of the Light Way as he stepped up to the table, giving the traditional bow to the King’s Truncheon that lay at the end of the Speaker’s Table, the four foot gilded mace serving as a spiritual placeholder for the King in the presence of His lords and ladies in Parliament. He then bowed towards the Lord Speaker, Lord Richard Brydges, the Earl of Chandos, seated upon the raised throne that sat on the dais that held the Lord/Lady Speaker Throne, and the Noble Bench of the Lords’ Secretaries; the minute-takers dressed in long black robes and powdered wigs whose job it was to note every word said during every meeting of this most august house. Howeland placed his old-fashioned paper-print speech on the table in front of him, and fixed his cravat slightly, clearing his throat.

“My Lord Speaker,” he said, bowing his head again to Lord Chandos, “and my honourable friends of the House of Lords, I am sorry to appear before you as the bearer of bad news.”

He adjusted the lapels of his black blazer before continuing, his voice serious and looking straight ahead, towards the seating of His Majesty’s Most Loyal Opposition.

“Firstly, on behalf of the Prime Minister, I apologise for his absence. He has been forced to stay at home due to an unforeseen illness.”

Well, it wasn’t a complete lie, the Prime Minister and Lord Protector of Aurora, Alfred Carmichael was ill, he had a slight cold, but he wasn’t at home; rather, he was sitting watching the stream from the House of Lords in the Cabinet’s Lounge of Goldbrook Palace. This was intentional, the brainchild of the apparently non-sleeping whippet masquerading as Lord Howeland’s press secretary. Julian Rossbach had presented the brilliant idea of splitting the attention between both Houses, completely unprompted might be added. Displaying political mastery of divide et impera that really belied his age of just twenty-seven, Rossbach had suggested inventing an excuse for the Prime Minister to be absent. His argument was that if Carmichael faced the Commons, everyone would focus their attention on him, and due to the composition of the two houses when it came to the coalition parties of the Social Liberals and the Royalists, along with their allies in the Homelanders, their strength of argument would be in the Lords. It helped that they had such powerful orators like Howeland, the Countess of Greenvale, and the Lord Charnwood in the Lords, while Labour had firebrands like John Baptiste, a union leader of fifty years and the 2-i-C of the Labour Party in the Commons who could pretty much circle around anyone who weren’t Dame Fiona Spyros or Angelique Perrault from the Cabinet’s side. Sir Edward Ranganekary was not to be trifled with either, but since he was non-elected, he didn’t have the right to pose questions in the Commons, only answer direct ones. Which was why the Lords was the leading house during this discussion, because had Carmichael joined the Commons, Howeland and Greenvale would have been completely side-lined, since the Commons would have grilled the PM for the entire day without involving the Lords.

“My regards to the House of Commons,” Lord Howeland continued, and bowed slightly in the general direction of the drone cameras, “I will not uphold this august assembly any further, but arrive straight at the point. As has been shown by a myriad of media these past twenty-eight hours, it is my unfortunate duty to inform the noble houses of Parliament that the Royal Navy E-class destroyer HMS Euphoria, pennant number D-359, was attacked in the late galactic standard hours of 10 November of this current year by a light cruiser tentatively identified as the light cruiser ANS Royfort, which fired a single shot from one of its broadside railgun batteries. This shot managed to penetrate and detonate one of the flank batteries of the Euphoria, killing five enlisted men and women of His Majesty’s Royal Navy. Their names are, as their family and close affiliates are currently being notified, to be disclosed until further notice.”

A wave of support in form of muted slapping of notes or palms upon knees were heard throughout the chamber, a calm chorus of agreeing with the decency.

“Furthermore, it falls to me,” Linton continued, “to inform the most august houses that the upper echelons of the Royal Navy and Royal Army were informed of these events forty-eight hours ago, and in accordance with the State Secrets Act of 2484, elected to sit upon the information before alerting the media.”

There were grumblings and a few boos, but nothing out of the ordinary whenever the Navy was mentioned in the House of Lords.

“As I said, the information was passed on to the public sector as soon as the aforementioned 48-hour period had transpired. I have talked to the Judge-Advocate General as a formality regarding this retention of information, and he has judged it as completely proper.”

Muted applause greeted this, mostly because the Lords knew that if the military had overstepped their boundaries, the first to report their misgivings would be the Judge-Advocate General’s Office, due to their Constitutional-bound role to represent civil law. They were, after all, educated as civilians before seconded into the Royal Navy, and were eligible to prosecution by civilian courts if they somehow mismanaged their station.

“However,” Linton Sciacca continued, “in light of this newfound aggression, it is the express will of both the Admiralty and His Majesty’s Cabinet, that the Lucidia Pocket is reinforced by a significant force multiplier. The Alliants have overstepped their boundaries as laid out in the Azurea Agreement of 2840, which clearly stated the limitations of the signatory nations in regards to the management of the Lorelei Special Administrative Region. The Alliance Space Navy is ultimately responsible for the maintenance of interstellar security in said space, but that does not lead to the unlawful detainment of neutral, or indeed signatory-space civilian ships crossing said space. As such, it is the Admiralty’s suggestion that the Royal Union station of Lucidia is reinforced by a combined battle squadron of two battlecruisers and four battleships, drawn from a combination of Home Fleet and Reserve Fleet, as well as a combined scouting flotilla of scout cruisers, destroyer leaders, and destroyers, numbering twelve in total, to be sent to Lucidia Station, Vice Admiral of the Black Erica Kuznetsova commanding. Let me be clear, this newest escalation of relations by the Alliants, is not enough to force His Majesty’s Government to consider such extreme acts as declaration of war.”

Linton Sciacca drew in a deep breath, desperately wishing for another glass of stiff spirits as he felt the entirely of the House of Lords focusing on him.

“But it does make me, as Secretary of Defence, want to decry the current situation openly and without shame. Men and women in uniform, loyal to the Crown have paid with their life without our being able to answer in kind. Many outside these hallowed gates are asking for exactly that, but we as a society cannot be quoting the Hammurabi Code, and ask for an eye to answer for an eye lost. We’re better than that. But that does not mean we should step down. I ask for my honourable friends in both Houses to vote for a customs tariff sanctions for all flagged Independent Systems Alliance merchantmen that port in Royal Union or Royal Auroran space, in addition to the aforementioned tactical redeployment of naval assets. God Save the King.”

Linton left the table to the roar of applauding Members of the Lords; it wasn’t just Royalists and Social Liberals, all of the Unionists, quite a damn few backbenchers and many Democrats were applauding as well. There was also some polite slapping of hands together from the Tory and Labour camp, but it was mostly courteous in nature. He sat down in his upholstered seat, Lord Seabourne and Lady Ichata wanting to shake his hand, others around him praising his performance. Howeland smiled and thanked the well-wishers in turn, but his smile froze as he heard the Lord Speaker.

“The Chair recognises the Lady Yserhall, Felicity Thenjwayo,” Lord Chandos announced and Linton had to suppress an audible groan. Out of all the leaders in the House of Lords, why did it have to be her? Trewellynshire would actually have been the better option.

Lady Felicity Thenjwayo stepped up to the middle table, stretching her shoulders. She was short for an Angevin, which was reasonably explained since she was a third-generation immigrant from Nigeria of Earth. Her family had rose from complete obscurity, to become one of the most important political families on Angevin in just a few short decades. Moreover, Lady Yserhall was the leader of the Democratic Alliance in the House of Lords. The Democrats were the uncomfortable equivalent of a roadblock hand-grenade that might be chucked in every which direction, dependant on the political discussion. The Democrats weren’t populists, there weren’t any party in Auroran politics that could be identified as such, but the Democrats didn’t adhere to a firm political platform either. They were dominated by interest spheres, and could as easily support Labour as well as the Royalists, it all depended on the question in front of them. Which made Lady Yserhall and her companions the real wildcard of the Lords, because no one knew where they stood on any issue; they’d applaud you as easily they’d boo you. And that made Lord Howeland wish for a stiff one.

Lady Yserhall cleared her throat, and nodded politely to the Lord Speaker. Like Howeland, she was dressed in a black suit, but it was cut for a female, and didn’t have the same high collared shirt, but she did have a black scarf tied around her neck, indicating her mourning. Linton was unsure if it was sincere or just a public set-piece.

“I must thank my honourable friend opposite,” she started, nodding slightly towards Linton, “for his honesty in this desperate hour for our Kingdom. His Majesty’s Navy is to be commended for their rapid decision-making, and their suggestion for a quick equalization of the current problematic situation…”

“Where the fuck is she going with this?” Erin Findlay, the Countess of Greenvale, whispered into Lord Howeland’s right ear, and he had no option but to shrug.

“But is must be argued, simply for the sake of acting like the Devil’s Advocate…”

“Oh fucking no…” Greenvale breathed out as she put her head in her hands.

“That is furthering an escalation of positing formations of warships against our political opposite results in an exercise of futility.”

Not only the Democrats clapped their hands together at that, so did the vast majority of Tories and Labour Peers. Lady Yserhall made a courteous bow before continuing.

“Now, I also find myself in agreement with my honourable friend, the Defence Secretary. We cannot allow the Alliants to simply gain complete control over interstellar area that they legally have no legitimate claim to, in particular the Lorelei Special Administrative Region.”

“Where is she going with this?” Lord Howeland said mostly to himself, but Lady Greenvale and Lord Charnwood, seated to his left and right respectively, picked up on it, and sat further forward in their seats.

“While I believe I do speak for the rest of the Democratic Alliance, when I say that further escalation is anathema, there can be no doubt that some measures must be taken as a reaction to this belligerent act of hostility.”

“What would my most honourable lady propose, then?” some lord from the Social Liberal side shouted, and Howeland tried to see who it was but to no avail.

Lady Felicity smiled a thin smile.

“Simple, my honourable friend opposite, I would ask the Lords and the Commons to vote for a customs tariff to the tune of 27% of all Alliant shipping into Union space. We all know that the ISA isn’t a unitary-currency economy, and they rely on exports into the Royal Union to gain foreign currency which again enables them to more easily conduct trade and transactions with the likes of the Republic of Corinth, the Holy Kingdom of Dionysia, the Despotate of Antioch… I could go on, but I believe my honourable friends of Parliament are quite aware of the proximate galactic geography.”

The vast majority of Tories, Labour, and Democrats, and perhaps almost as many half the backbenchers applauded as Lady Yserhall sat back down, after a deferent bow to the Lord Speaker.

Howeland raised his hand up in order to be recognised as the first to retort, but he was overturned by a white-gloved hand, and the House of Lords almost collectively drew their breath at her intervention.

The Duchess of Grey Hill, Caitlin de La Croix, was about two-hundred and seventy years old at this point, but she was still a backbencher in the House of Parliament. And she just so happened to be the most decorated officer in Royal Navy history. She had stopped wearing the black-and-gold day uniform of the Royal Navy decades ago, but she still wore the customary white gloves, and whenever she wanted to voice her opinion in the House of Lords, everyone else junior shut their mouth with a click. As was the case in that particular moment.

“I might be an old fogie,” the Duchess began, to the polite laughter of many Lords and Ladies, but she held up a hand for her to continue.

“Old fogie I might be, but I’ve seen what the vast majority you haven’t seen, and that is war.”

Royalist and Social Liberal peers looked awkwardly at each other.

“War is the opposite of honourable, my lords and ladies. War is the cessation of politeness extended to each side. It’s what happens when we turn the advanced machinery of destruction we’ve used centuries to perfect against each other. There is no such thing as an honourable war, because war is inherently gruesome.”

“Your Grace, I must insist…” some backbencher shouted, only to be stared down by the indomitable gaze that originated from the most celebrated naval commander in Auroran history. Her next-to-purple eyes seemed to penetrate one’s soul from afar. The duchess’ hair been blonde at some point, but at north of two-forty years old, it had turned to pristine white. Not that it had calmed the Duchess’ spirit at all.

“’Your Grace this’, and ‘Your Grace that’,” she said in a mocking tone, “you young whipper-snappers must know that warfare is not about numbers of ship in space, nor of comparing broadsides; it’s of the quality of the men and women who man said broadsides that decide engagements.”

The rest of the House of Lords weren’t sure how to respond to that, so there was a mild polite applause. Linton thought about stepping back up and address the Lord Speaker, but then a worryingly familiar voice grabbed the floor’s attention.

“My Lords and Ladies, if I may play the role of the devil’s advocate, we must assume the worst when it comes to the continuation of the Alliants’ commitment of their border-control. I know this is a very uncomfortable topic of discussion, but as public servants of Aurora, we cannot avoid this discussion. Overstretched stations like Lucidia and Novorosyia require reinforcements. This is agreed upon by both the Cabinet and the Opposition.”

What the hell is Dawnshire trying to gain by proclaiming this?

“As political leaders, we are forced to send young men and women into the dire straits of political brinkmanship, which we’re unfortunately…”

“Yes, you’ve already sent your daughter,” some Royalist lord shouted out loud, not that Howeland could identify them, “and they’ve become a national hero, not like you’re able to acknowledge her, Your Grace!”

The Duke of Dawnshire, dressed as he was in a coal-grey suit with a black necktie, froze for a moment at that last comment, before adorning the mask of injustice.

“You sir, Lord Iandel, have no idea how I feel when it comes to my daughter and heir when she voluntarily walks into harm’s way…”

“Oh please, Your Grace,” Lady Greenvale shouted from her position pretty far in the back in the Position side, “it’s public knowledge you denounced Lady Dawnshire when she joined the Royal Navy six years back, and further more…”

“My honourable lords and ladies,” Lord Chandos half-shouted, banging his mallet in an effort to restore order, “this is quite inappropriate; might I suggest we return to the original discussion regarding the relationship with the Independent Systems Alliance?”

Lord Howeland would, in any other circumstance have wanted to lead the discussion as it pertained to the ISA, and how the Royal Navy wanted to (or rather did not want to) respond, but as he was preparing a response, Julian Rossbach came running up to him, not raising his voice (aware of the faux-pas of doing that in the House of Lords), instead soundlessly providing him with a handcom that showed a stream from cameras of the outside squares of Goldbrook Palace.

Someone somewhere at pressed the panic-button (most likely someone close to the top of the Cordelia Metropolitan Police Department), since the feed showed soldiers from the Royal Army’s Provost Corps’ 30th Field Battalion deploying from grav-carriers and up-armoured APCs into Trinity Square. The 30th Field Battalion RAPC was nicknamed the “Crimson Constables”, due to the fact that they were the double-strength regiment Military Police unit that was garrisoned in the capital of Cordelia. They deployed from the grav-carriers and the APCs’ they rode into the Parliament proximity in textbook order, debussing in perfect section-order to the shouted commands of their NCO’s. However, once they were in position, placed behind the navy-and-white ranks of the Cordelia Constabulary, confusion set in. Lord Howeland could see it in the actions of the officers on the stream, just as he tried to pay attention to Charles Nowaczyk’s opening statement in the House of Commons in reaction to what he and the other Lords had recently presented.

Military Police were told from day one that they did not have any sort of authority over civilians; they were there to bring unruly sailors or privates to heel, despite the fact that about seven-hundred of them were deployed in front of Goldbrook Palace, in camouflage overalls, plate carriers, integrated tactical helmets with visors; as well as riot shield and shock-lances. They looked at each other in confusion, unsure what they were supposed to do, fearful of overstepping their mandate; the officers and NCO’s of the Provost’s Corps afraid of breaking their oaths to the state and their King.

“Someone,” Lord Howeland whispered to Rossbach, making sure the drone-mics didn’t pick up his voice, “get an officer with at least one bar on his shoulderpad, regardless of Royal Army or Police, and tell them if the crowds breach Goldbrook Palace grounds, they’re inhibiting the execution of Auroran democracy.”

Lord Linton Sciacca said that, without knowing how bad the situation outside the Parliament grounds had become. He would come to regret his choice of words in the coming days.