Si l'on pose en principe que la démocratie est le meilleur gouvernement pour tous les citoyens, qu’en sera-t-il à ceux qui ne sont pas démocratiques?

Representative (future President) Uriel Jacques-Laurent Konstantin,

ISA House of Planets, 22nd January (Gal.-Rel.) 2759 CE

The crowds outside the fenced court of the Nowosejm were continuing to grow in size, and Premier Consul Fabian Rutkowski loosened his black tie a little as he regarded the huge, shouting, angry mass of humanity ten floors below. The agitated crowd was polite enough to keep to the other side of the fence for the time being, though the line of police officers in riot gear might also be discouraging any further attempt to get into the Nowosejm grounds. Placards with hurriedly painted slogans waved over the heads of the agitated phalanx of protestors and a few police drones had been swatted out of the air by stones and empty bottles. Cognizant of what had happened in Cordelia half a year ago, the Polonian police was giving the protestors a wide berth, choosing to hold their ground rather than arrest the worst of the troublemakers. Rutkowski turned back from the window to regard the rest of the democratically elected cabinet of the Republic of Nova Polonia, most of them seated in the Consul’s personal office in the third floor of the Nowosejm building, huddled around the usually large enough luncheon table, but now it seemed crowded by uneasy-looking politicians.

“So what are we going to do about this?” The Premier Consul asked the rest of the assembled cabinet officials as a body, not addressing anyone in particular as he produced a handkerchief and ran it over his bald, sweating head.

“There is no doubt about the fact that we need to deal with the elephant in the room, as first order of business before we face the elected assembly.” Minister of Interstellar Affairs Szymon Bohater said, running a shaking hand through his greying brown hair. Rutkowski had always half-assumed his surname had been some sort of joke by the man’s parents and their previous generations; “Bohater” meant “hero” in Polish, and the minister representing Nova Polonia’s interests in the face of the superpowers that surrounded the small state was outwardly anything but. Regardless, he gave the visibly nervous man the go-ahead via a nod, and Rutkowski sat down in the chair at the only empty chair at the head of the table, physically trying to dominate the conversation. Bohater wasted little time bringing up the message he had received from the plenipotentiary of the Independent Systems Alliance embassy in Lublin a short fifty hours ago, stored on a small mem’ disk. It was slotted into the luncheon table’s imbedded reader and the text was displayed via holographic projection while Ambassador Sindre de Huascar’s voice filled the room, just as it had been delivered to Bohater’s face. That alone had been an affront to the sovereignty of Nova Polonia and her elected politicians; the equivalent of a Foreign Secretary had been summoned to an embassy, rather than the other way around. The arrogance of the Alliants knew no bounds, Rutkowski thought, his teeth grinding together painfully at the humiliation. The ambassador’s voice had that unmistakable tang of superiority, delivered in a tone that even without visuals one knew the person speaking was smiling throughout the entire conversation.

“The Republic of Elysium and the Independent Systems Alliance recognises the Republic of Nova Polonia as a true friend and an ally in these precarious times for the collective Human race. The Polonians were our faithful partners in the Entente Revolution and the reformation of the Verge Federation, and we do not forget the sweat and blood shed together in the struggle for freedom. Despite the fact that circumstances and internal politics meant our polities drifted apart following that great period of uncertainty, I believe I speak for a majority of Alliants when I say that we regard the Polonians as one of our sister peoples, regardless if the Polonians have, on a number of occasions, chosen to remain outside the Alliance.”

An intake of breath could be heard, as well some uncertain sound of shuffling in the background.

“This is why my personal disappointment and sensation of indignation is surely echoed by most of the citizens of the ISA, when Polonian naval authorities, flying in the face of longstanding interstellar treaties, board our peaceful merchant traders, and arrest some of their number on trumped-up charges which would be dismissed in any interstellar court. Why would you, enlightened citizens of a true democratic nation, allow yourself to believe the lies spewed by the lickspittle autocrats of the Royal Union and the uniformed terrorists of Aurora? Surely you know better than that.”

The recording played the sounds of heeled boots walking back and forth on wooden floor panels. That had been a stroke of genius by the Bureau of Internal Security, outfitting Minister Bohater with a hidden remotely-accessed-only microphone in the Polonia flag lapel he wore on his jacket, the only reason why the assembled ministers were able to hear de Huascar’s real missive before it could be distributed through official channels in perfectly confusing diplomatic floral double-entendre language.

“Elysium, and in particular Starfall and her planets,” the ambassador said, now much closer to the hidden microphone, “have always been Nova Polonia’s most important ports of call, at least in terms of shipping passing through and shipping passing the other way back.”

There were another few more creaks on the wooden floor.

“Nova Polonia is a world placed in a very interesting position, in a geographic sense. Of course, you would know all about this, Mr Bohater, the neutral juxtaposition between the ISA’s core system of Starfall, and the Republic of Corinth on the other end. Not to mention the astra-equivalent position you enjoy. Nova Polonia is practically the most equidistant star between Elysium, Sol, Coma Berenices, and Aurora. No, don’t you play coy with me, Mr Bohater, this is why your puny star-nation still has its independence. Any other polity of equal size of yours would have been swallowed up by either the Royal Union or the ISA, a long time ago. But the tides are changing, Mr Bohater, and I trust you’ll inform your government as such. The galaxy will not be the same ten years from now, and the Polonians would be wise in choosing their direction today, rather than tomorrow. And thus it falls to me to inform you that unless the elected government of Nova Polonia is ready to release a public statement where you unequivocally renounce the Nova Polonian Navy’s previous behaviour as a danger to interstellar travel and peaceful conduct amongst fellow nations, and take full responsibility for their actions, the Independent Systems Alliance will be force to undertake drastic measures to ensure the safety of our citizens in space.”

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There was some clacking of boots and a distant shuffling noise as the ambassador evidently put on his coat and hat.

“I bid you good day, Sir, and I hope this conversation has provided you, if not with incentives, at least indications that are slightly better than Tarot cards in predicting the coming galactic future.”

“What a fucking asshole,” Minister of Defence Aniela Kerekes almost spat out as the recording came to an end. “Asking the elected government of an independent nation to prostrate themselves like that, selling out our own independence in the process. And Clausewitz is still alive and kicking apparently, ‘War is just diplomacy by other means’.”

More than a few eyes fixed on Minister Bohater, and he shrunk down in his chair, but Consul Rutkowski clapped his hands together to focus their attention on him.

“Alright, ladies and gentlemen,” he said in calm, slightly accented Polish as he leaned over the top of the table in order to look at every one of them, despite the fact that his tie leapt loose of its shirt-moorings. Not that anyone cared. “Loose tongues have been wagging, given the huge agitated crowds outside, and no, I don’t suspect anyone in any of your offices have been careless, I think we can easily blame the Alliants for that. They know that the easiest way to influence policy makers is to make the electorate demand change, and that’s the aggravating thing; it’s just how democracy is supposed to work.”

No one answered him, so Rutkowski continued.

“Do not be under any illusion, ladies and gentlemen, what de Huascar and the Alliants are looking to accomplish is to curtail our independence and sovereignty. The ability of a small star-nation like ours to control, police, and custom the shipping passing through our own gravity well is the only right of force we are legally and realistically able to employ upon other polities. And needless to say, our orbital shipping industry is the backbone of our economy, as well as the livelihood of most of our citizens as well. If a foreign power threatens this… Well, no wonder the people are taking to the streets to make their displeasure known.”

“The public outside are scared, Fabian,” Minister of Commerce Mikasa Marcell said, her hands fidgeting on the tabletop of the luncheon table, “they’re worried for the future of their livelihoods, if the Polonian Navy performing their duty diligently will result in import-export tariffs that will hurt dues and tariffs, and that will have untold consequences for the average citizen.”

She smiled thinly, her copper eyes not showing any mirth.

“Economic warfare is, after all, the great equaliser, where the convergence of interstellar politics cripples both the rich and the poor.”

“Yes,” Minister Bohater replied, looking very despondent, “but where the rich has all the power and the poor simply suffer.”

“I don’t like de Huascar’s inclusion of the ‘drastic measures’ bit at the end,” Minister Kerekes said, nibbling on a fingernail, “it smells too much of euphemistically worded military speak for ‘we will force you by gunpoint to do our will’.”

The nervous glances being exchanged around the room revealed that Kerekes was not the only one to have gone down that train of thought.

“Do we send this to the Union?”

The question was voiced by the Minister of Transport Francišak Tarasaǔ, a nominally nothing in terms of political weight, just placed in the cabinet to fill out the numbers, but he had just asked a question that might shape the future of the entire Republic of Nova Polonia.

“Dear God,” Bohater exclaimed, wringing his hands before wiping them on the legs of his trousers, “you’re asking us to hand our fate over to a different supranational polity in order to escape the machinations from another? I’ll be the first to admit I don’t trust the Alliants as far as I can throw them, and I’m not a very imposing physical specimen. But to admit our position of weakness and hand over the keys to the house to the Aurorans in order to stave off the Alliants? You might as well ask the Assembly to vote for either plague or cholera, the end-result is the same; the effective end of our independent Republic.”

“I think,” First Consul Rutkowski said in a tone that was worryingly devoid of tone and emotion, “that our hand has been forced. I just received the following missive from the Most Excellent Ambassador de Huascar.”

He put his datapad in the middle of the luncheon table and as the assembled ministers huddled around to read what the e-letter on the screen said, Fabian Rutkowski walked over to one of the office cabinets and fished out a bottle of premium vodka, and instead of producing a glass, he simply popped open the cork and took a long swig of the burning alcohol.

“Dear God in Heaven,” Kerekes muttered behind a hand that covered her mouth in shock, “they’ve given the all-clear for a full police action.”

“The Alliants are about to seize control of our star,” Bohater sounded like he wanted to cry and Rutkowski did not blame the man. “We’re doomed, we can’t stand up to that we–”

“Hell we can’t!” Marcell half-shouted and slammed a fist down on the tabletop. “We will fight the invader, the Nova Polonian Navy might be small, but if we simply roll over we will accomplish nothing than acquiesce to those that would seek to dominate and force others to adhere to their fascist rules and their narrow-minded way of viewing the Galaxy.”

“Mikasa,” Kerekes piped up, not nearly as energetic as her colleague, “we can’t fight the Independent Systems Alliance. For them, this is a police action, for us this represents the complete loss of stellar autonomy, and whatever small task force in their estimation is dispatched our way will make space dust of our entire navy in minutes.”

“There’s no choice in the matter then,” Rutkowski said. He picked up his necktie and re-tied it around the collar of his shirt. His hands were shaking but he hoped doing this would hide it from his fellow cabinet members.

“I will go to the Assembly in the Nowosejm as soon as they are gathered. I will tell them of the conversation will His Excellency de Huascar, which they will have cottoned onto given the very public outcry. And I will tell them of this official letter from the Independent Systems Alliance Embassy, stamped with the approval of the President of the ISA and what this would entail for our republic. Then…”

He took a deep breath.

“Then I will ask for their permission to request military aid from the Royal Union, predominantly the Kingdom of Aurora, and ask for any assistance they may provide in this current crisis for our nation.”

There were uncomfortable groans among the ministers, but no one voiced their objection.

“I know,” Rutkowski said with a tired smile that was entirely for show, “I will ask the Assembly to swallow whatever similar feelings they might have against the Union and the Aurorans. But we are a nation too small to afford the choice of sides. And now our hand has been forced. Either we ask the Aurorans and, God forbid, the Corinthians and Dionysians for help, or we will be completely swallowed up by the Alliance.”

The ministers rose from their chairs and looked him solemnly, but there was no rejections forthcoming, and Fabian Rutkowski nodded to them and made for the door. Just as his hand rested on the doorknob, Minister of Defence Aniela Kerekes spoke up.

“Sir, you do realise that this might drag the superpowers around us into a conflict that they might rather avoid?”

Rutkowski smiled wearily.

“I think, Aniela, that war will come sooner rather than late. If it be lowly Nova Polonia’s destiny to be the footnote in history to be the catalyst of the greatest conflict Humanity has ever seen, then so be it.”

He twisted the knob, opened the door and walked out into the hallway beyond.