After a Brief Hiatus…
I have missed 2 issues of this story, including today. I apologize for the delay—I was out galivanting and forgot that I had not pre-written that far ahead. I am going to double up eventually to compensate you for the delay (either two issues in one day or issues in back-to-back weeks.) Know that I am aware and more is coming!
This week, we step away from Tylus to some new characters, a new, different drama unfolding elsewhere in Inner-Space. How these adventures intertwine is for me to know and you to find out. Actually—it’s for me to find out too. That is something I enjoy about writing—there’s an element of discovery. Unfortunately I have failed to suppress my inner editor and I keep thinking about ways I could have done the first four issues differently, but that’s what this is for—getting words out and keeping the story going.
Click HERE for the first installment, and click HERE for the previous installment. As always—thank you for reading and I look forward to your comments!
5- Painting
“Tsar-Comrade?” The attendant poked his head through the gap in the door, while still knocking—a curious, and self-defeating habit that always annoyed me.
I looked up lazily from my files and notes—my desk was overcrowded with---with stuff, stuff many people brought me, stuff I would have preferred not to care about but which my office required me to care about. Trade disputes, military dispatches, intelligence. And yet, here was Rad Meller, haplessly representing the interests of those who wanted to get their pressing issues in front of my authoritative eyes. I reply coldly, “What is it?”
Meller steps in, timidly. “Tsar-Comrade Araan,” he salutes, “General Gerin is here for his audience.”
I suppressed the urge to roll my eyes. “Let him in. Thank you, Comrade Meller.”
Meller steps aside and opens the door more fully, revealing the General behind the door. General Gerin was in ceremonial dress, he looked sharp for an old man. He saluted, and removed his cap, revealing his close-cropped grey hair, and taking a way a bit of his air of command, revealing a simple old man in uniform.
“General-Comrade, it is good to see you again.”
“The honor is mine, as always, Tsar Comrade.”
“Please, sit down. Rad Meller, will you excuse us?”
Meller bowed deeply and left, closing the door while the General took his seat.
“Anders…” I began, “Once more it is time for us to open the red gate.”
“Once more into the breach,” He said, his voice rumbling with age and power.
“I wanted one last discussion with you before we send our fleets out.”
“Prudent as ever, Tsar.”
“You know this painting?”
“Destruction, by Thomas Cole, part of his Course of Empire series. It is a treat to look upon this ancient work every time I have the pleasure of visiting you.”
“Quite right, Anders. The Destruction of Rome. If you knew nothing of history, of warfare, of politics, what would this painting tell you?”
Anders was quiet a moment, and looked intently at the painting. Shortly, he took a deep breath, and said, “It would tell me that a great and beautiful empire that took centuries to build, fell in a night.”
“Centuries to build, lost in a night. The whole arc of history can be discerned at a glance, Anders. There were architects, generals, politicians, artists, farmers, conspirators, law enforcers, betrayers, loyalists, reformers and conservatives. All of them, throughout history, felt their contribution to Rome was significant. Yet, Thomas Cole sums up the whole of Rome’s history in a single painting.”
“It is an inspired work, Tsar-Comrade.”
“Truly. General—I have received briefing after briefing as we develop this campaign. Our intelligence service has been hard at work across inner-space, our forces are fresh and strong, our supplies are abundant, our leaders vigilant. I have received document after document—” I punctuated by pointing at my desk and the various stacks upon it, “—but Anders, the work of a millenia can still be undone in a night. I have seen the minutiae of what we are going to do, but my friend, I need you to paint me a picture.”
The general looked surprised. “Tsar-Comrade, I—”
“Tell me, as best as you can, about the adventure we are about to embark on. Paint me a picture of our great deeds and the failings of our enemy.”
“I am not one for poetry, I—”
“Talk to me, General, no more equivocation.”
The General sighed, and thought for a few moments. I steepled my hands and sank lower into my chair, closing my eyes, waiting for him to begin.
“Tsar, the Theysians have been a thorn in our side for centuries. These are an active, vocal, opinionated people—and self-important. They named their state for the chief of traitors who lead them, they created a Republic in his name, where they crowned every citizen a king-maker. Their rebellion revealed certain faults in the fabric of our Jovian Union. We were a large, disparate empire. Our military was not sufficient for a coordinated conspiracy of this kind. Our reforms since then have made us stronger, more virile, more agile. And our enemies have no knowledge, because of our secretive efforts.
The Campaign will begin in Theyst—we will siege their capital system, simultaneously attacking every planet and settlement—a lightning-war like the ancients. Theyst will not surrender but their response will be reactive and uncoordinated once we cripple their central administration.
Jandreus and Hammond will likely respond—but Theyst has not been kind to them either. Our diplomats will be working hard to delay or obfuscate their response. We could subdue our foes politically in a fortnight, even if it takes longer to hunt down the last vestiges of their armies. Should Jandreus and Hammond—or even the lesser fiefs of Koslov, Adille, and others get involved, we have enough reserves to hold them back until we can turn our forces to the noble work of dismantling their pretended republics.”
In my mind, I saw a map—the meager two star systems of the Jovian Union like a single celled organism, extending out it’s reach and attaching to the larger organism of the Theyst Republic, absorbing and assimilating it, dismantling it’s structures to feed our own.
I smiled. “Intelligence suggests no small sympathy for the Union, even after all these years. We may be welcomed. We have attempted contact with some loyalist groups but enforcement of these is high. Let us not depend on luck, but we will hope for it.”
“Luck is the confluence of opportunity and preparation.”
“Opportunity, yes. We need only goad the Republic into some diplomatic blunder.”
“Tsar-Comrade, with all due respect—” The General leaned in, a smirk on his face—“Why wait?”
Thank You
Thank you for reading. Please share your thoughts—would you like to hear more? Does this story interest you? What works, what does not? Where have I made grammatical errors? No questions, comments, or critiques are off the table—I have come here for your feedback and you have paid for the privilege, so give it freely.
Thank you, and God Bless!
Ad Jesum Per Mariam
I made the mistake of doing zero research on the art--I have since learned that Thomas Cole's painting does not, in fact, describe Rome. Whoops.