Synopsis:
In the Bajmatti Empire, where a political crisis and civil unrest unfold. As chaos ensues, peacekeepers try to maintain order while the government is decapitated.
In the midst of the turmoil, a failed coup prompts factions to consider civil war.
Meanwhile, the Vaff, the current sector government, observes the situation. The story explores the collapse of political order and the looming threat of conflict in the empire.
“Citizens of Baarson,” Chancellor Ond intoned, his voice calm and reassuring, “Please, remain calm. No matter what has happened, we must stay true to our principles and live true to the virtues our people have lived by for so many years. Stoicism, discipline, and determination are what define us all, and even in such confusing times as these, we must remember that there is always a way forward.
“Now, many of your may be asking yourself, ‘But what of the chaos in the capital?’ I hear your concerns, and understand them. Much has happened, but do not be alarmed. Rest assured, contrary to spurious claims from parties with ill-intent, the Council of Elders is still intact. The halls of records have not exploded, merely suffering some minor scorching from a failed firebombing. The perpetrator of which has already been apprehended and confirmed as nothing but a drug addled vandal. And, obviously, I am in fine health. While I may have a few more acheds than I did in my younger years, as you can see, my head has not been lost in an explosion and the Chancellarium, while bustling with activity, is not in ruin.
“No, we are not in the throes of disaster and doom. No, we are not staring down the end of our empire. No, there is not a ‘New World Order’ rising. These are nothing more than vile propaganda spread by nefarious parties, seeking to divide us. Now is the time to stand strong and united. Remain calm, and we, the fine people of the Bajmatti Empire, shall see through these confusing times stronger tha-” the loud-hailer burst as a concussion grenade went off in the street, blinding and deafening the dozen or so rioters sheltering nearby.
Bajmatti peacekeepers surged forward to engage the malcontents. Stun bolts knocked the rioters unconscious after a few short volleys and the square fell silent once more. The peacekeepers cuffed the rioters and dragged them back to the patrol vehicle to throw them inside. As the last of the dozen or so miscreants was secured inside, Sargent Arben slammed his first on the side of the vehicle. Taking his cue, the driver sped off towards the nearest holding area. He’d drop off his dazed cargo to be secured with the hundred others the peacekeepers in the district had already apprehended.
As his men briefly take shelter in the shade of a shattered storefront, the Sergeant puts a finger to the comm unit in his ear. “Peacekeeper Squad Arben reporting. Twelve arrests in Welcor commercial district. No new casualties. Requesting further orders.”
While he waited for word, one of his men, Gart, took off his helmet and ran a hand through his sweat drenched hair, lamenting the smell coming from the helmet. “Dammit. Gonna takes weeks to get that smell out.”
“Could be worse,” Aric, their medic chimed in, “one us could be cleaning blood out of it.”
“You know, you’re right. Everything’s sunshine and smiles, so long as I don’t get my brains sprayed out.” Gart said, his voice dripping with sarcasm.
“I don’t know,” old man Fraxus grunted, “Wouldn’t be that much to clean up.”
Before Gart could fire back at Fraxus, the Sergeant barked, “Get that helmet back on! This is still a hot-zone!” Gart meekly tugged his helmet back into place and went silent as Arben stepped closer to address his fireteam. Before the riots started, there were 8 of them. Now it was just the 4 of them left. “Word from command. We’re heading back to the precinct. Something new’s come up.”
“How are the other groups doing Sergeant?” Alric asked.
“Don’t know. Command’s too busy for updating grunts like us. Let’s be moving people. We need to get back ASAP.” Arben checked the charge on his rifle’s power cell before shouldering the weapon and leading the squad south. The others quickly fell in line, with some brief grumbling from Gart about having to walk all the way back, only for Fraxus to slap the back of his helmet in response.
The team of peacekeepers made good time, all things considered. Most of the rioters seemed to have moved on from the area, deciding the small district was already too destroyed to smash up again. Each of them dealt with the site of their normal patrol area in ruin in their own way. Gart kept his rifle in a white knuckle grip, fearful that the next group they encountered would actually know how to fight men in armor. Alric kept pausing to check the bodies they passed, hoping against reason that he might be able to help someone today instead of just shooting at looters and rioters. Fraxus kept his eyes scanning the area, ignoring the devastation. He was old enough and experienced enough to keep his personal thoughts in check for the good of the unit.
Sergeant Arbin was thankful for the polarized faceplate covering his features. It meant he didn’t have to see the hollow look in his eyes whenever they passed something reflective. He wasn’t privy to most of the details, but what he’d heard from the higher ups painted a grim picture. The entire system was on the brink of chaos and the riots in the capitol might be enough to set everything off. So many groups were at each other’s throats these days that some people were practically begging for a reason to start shooting each other.
It hadn’t always been that way. Arbin was old enough to remember when things were still calm. When he was a boy, there were real efforts to actually settle differences between the various political alliances throughout the system and the homeworld was enjoying a decades long age of peace after the last full scale war. Then the first cracks started showing. The mining guilds wanted lower taxes on shipping lanes. The ship building guilds wanted subsidies from taxes to help update the drydocks in orbit. The two groups had come to blows more than once, both figuratively and very literally. When the Council interceded and forced the two guilds to compromise, other groups came forward, demanding the same treatment. Every dispute got bigger, more insistent, more volatile, until the first bombs went off. Five member of the Elder council were killed under mysterious circumstances. Every guild demanded their own representatives be given a place and each time one was chosen, their detractors raged at the decision. There were more attacks, more casualties.
Now, more that half the council was gone, and the few left were nothing but puppets, at least that’s what Arbin was able to guess based on what his superiors had said to each other that morning, right before the explosion at the Chancellarium. Arbin still had no clue how bad the damage was, and the constant assurances being blared through every radio and loud-hailer across the city were only making it seem more likely that it was worse than anyone had been told.
Arbin was genuinely surprised when they reached the precinct without further incident. Outside, hundreds of people were frantically coming and going, peacekeepers and civilians alike. He and his squad joined the flood moving in, carefully but forcefully pushing through the crowd. After 10 minutes of forging through the sea of people, the sergeant and his team passed through the last checkpoint, surrendered their rifle to the armory, and made their way to their Lieutenant.
They found him chugging some foul smelling slop that, judging by the twitch in their COs eye, was loaded with enough caffeine to be considered almost poisonous. He spotted the fireteam and waved them forward, brushing off any formal preamble to say, “Good work out their Sergeant. Your team’s been instrumental in maintaining order in Welcor.”
“Thank you sir. But, if that’s true, then why recall us?” Arbin asked.
The Lieutenant took a deep breath before letting it out with a shudder. “Because it doesn’t matter anymore. The conflict has escalated and the military is deploying into the city. We’re now under the direct command of the general staff. Marshall Harspor has declared martial law.”
“But that…” Gart stammered, “That’s illegal. Only the Chancellor can do that.”
“Chancellor Ond is dead.” The Lieutenant said numbly. “So is the vice Chancellor, the Grand Provost, and half of the general staff itself are unaccounted for.”
“The Grand Provost?” Arbin asked, dreading the answer. “But if he’s gone, who’s in command of the Peacekeepers? Who’s in command here?”
“Most of the command staff died in the initial riots under… questionable circumstances. As of 1450… I am the highest ranking officer in the capitols peacekeeper division.” The Lieutenant seemed to deflate slightly, as if actually saying it had slammed an even more terrible weight onto his shoulders. “Get to the armory, and load up with live munitions. We’re on standby until receiving orders from Marshall Harspor’s office.”
Fireteam Arbin slowly filed out of the room, a pall of dread surrounding them all. The government had effectively been decapitated and almost everyone that might have held it together was either gone or missing. The future was looking darker with every moment.
*****
“They’ve rallied far better than expected,” one voice said, the speaker hidden in the shadows.
“True, but the situation is not lost,” another said with more confidence than it felt.
“Cut the crap.” a third scolded, “We have failed. The strikes should have opened the way for us to seize the reins. Instead, the entire capitol is in lockdown and the Marshall has alerted the military. Even if we could get him, there’s no way to take control now without a protracted struggle.”
The three figures each went silent, contemplating their next step. What should have been a swift transition to a new command had quickly bogged down into a quagmire. Goaded by years of carefully targeted misinformation campaigns, the guilds were up in arms, trying to take power for themselves and the Bajmatti Imperial forces were doing everything they could to lock it down before it escalated any further. Something drastic needed to be done if there was to be any hope of success.
“Well, I can only see one way forward.” The third voice said.
“No, we cannot risk it!” The first shouted. “It could destroy everything we’ve worked for.”
“Then give us another option.” The third demanded. “Right now, as we speak, word will already be getting out. It won’t be long before the rest of the galaxy learns what’s happened. How long before another power tries to move in and do what we must do? Do you really think the Vaff won’t take advantage of the golden opportunity we’ve created? They’ve been looking for an excuse to move in for years and this will give them all the justification they need to launch a ‘humanitarian relief force’. We either do it now, or let them take over.”
The other two went silent for a long time before the first said, “So… this is it? Civil war?”
“Its either that, or we lose everything.” The third whispered.
“She’s right.” The second reluctantly admitted. “If we are to take control of the system, this is what must be done. We’ll let them tear each other apart. Then, when the people have grown weary of death, the Calen Force will offer them peace in exchange for control.”
“Then we are agreed?” the third asked.
“Agreed.” the first said
The second sighed deeply. “So be it.”
*****
Excerpt from Vaff recon report on Bajmat Stellar Polity
Location: Bajmat Star System
Situation: Widespread civil strife rapidly escalating to open conflict between Bajmatti Imperial forces, multiple armed guilds, and paramilitary organization known as Calen Force. Civil war is inevitable. Recon Unit Velamor forced to retreat to avoid discovery. Bajmat Warp Port has since gone dark. System access is currently impossible.
Recommendation: At this time, nothing can be done. Until the Port opens once more, Bajmat is lost to the galaxy at large. We shall wait and watch. Only time will tell.
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