12. The Red Glow of Lebensraum (2)

Let's sort out the situation. A civil ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠war has clearly broken out on Forge right now. One side reeks of red menace—the revolutionary faction called the Workers' National Salvation Committee, chanting "Long live His Majesty the Emperor!" The other side is Governor Grayburn's suppression forces (or read as "ragged remnants") that are (?) loyal to the existing imperial government.

The revolutionaries hold an overwhelming advantage, but the governor's office is living up to its name and hasn't fallen yet. Beyond that, planet-wide pillaging, fires, and violence are rampant—it's like half a warlord era has dawned. And in Selene's brain, circuits completely different from paperwork hell started firing.

This could get messy if I fuck it up. But at the same time, it was worth pondering how to turn this situation to her advantage.

The odds of intervention by the hetero-species called "Xenos" weren't high. They hadn't even had proper diplomacy with them since the Great War. In this mess, a civil war on a planet split between a (?) loyalist governor rejecting the emperor's policies and workers loyal to the emperor rising up against him in the emperor's name. This wasn't just a governor inspection.

This was a suppression and stabilization op. Suppression and stabilization would take time—two weeks for an inspection, but stabilization? A month? Two? Three? Selene's lips curved upward. This wasn't a bad development. Hell, honestly, it was the best possible.

Humans killing each other? Earth history was full of that shit, and it wasn't changing now. This obviously warranted an imperial decree-level response, and as the highest-ranking Imperial Navy officer on site—Selene herself—she had the imperial and military duty to stay put until stabilization was complete. A perfect alibi.

"Corbel."

"Yes, Admiral."

"Send a transmission to HQ. Contents as follows."

Corbel noted her orders and, right before sending to HQ, looked at her.

"Bringing everything here?"

"It's a planetary civil war, Corbel. Not something to take lightly. Who knows... some weird bastards might show up."

Of course, the real reason was that the more the fleet gathered here, the weaker the excuse to return to Terra. But she didn't say that. Her adjutant was sharp enough to read between the lines without her spelling it out.

"And one more thing." Selene hesitated briefly. The next order was awkward, but necessary.

"Direct transmission to His Majesty. Contents... like this."

As Selene dictated, Corbel tapped it into his datapad.

Imperial decree. That was the key. Secure that, and it was perfect.

With the decree, her stay became the emperor's command—not personal whim, but state policy. Anyone saying "Admiral, you need to return to Terra for paperwork" got shut down with "I'm here by His Majesty's decree."

Leo's gonna sigh when he gets this. Probably thinking 'Another document to stamp...' But whatever—that paperwork was his problem now. Once you sat on that golden throne of administration called emperorship, you bore the crown's weight. He'd approve it. No reason not to. What emperor rejects stabilization for a border planet civil war?

Sorry, Leo. But sis has to live, right? Selene finally understood the thrill of buck-passing.

Selene didn't rush ground troops in. Blindly inserting outsiders into a civil war could turn both unidentified ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠sides against them, yelling "Haha! Your planet's fucked now—Human Empire Gallery rules here!" and force-feeding them factory servitors. No meat-shield option meant they were loyalists to the core. They wouldn't lose anyway.

So first, hear both sides. She sent comms from orbit to the Workers' National Salvation Committee and the governor's office. Same message:

Governor's office responded instantly. The governor himself.

Relief dripped from Grayburn's voice. "Admiral, thank you! Suppress them! The rebels—!"

Workers' Committee responded too. Young woman's voice, trembling but firm.

"Secretary-General Erisa Karan. We accept the summit."

And so, three people sat in Pandora's conference room. Selene center, Governor Victor Grayburn right, Erisa Karan left.

Both looked wrecked—ragged clothes, deep dark circles, dragging their last dregs of stamina just to show up.

Selene eyed them alternately. "State your positions."

Grayburn spoke first at her words. "Admiral, for stable operations, I judged abrupt regime change risky and chose status quo. Steady production quotas are the bedrock of imperial military industry, and for that—"

"Spare me the quotas." Selene cut in. "Why ignore His Majesty's reform edict?"

"Discretion on timing and method lies with the governor—"

"Discretion? Dismissing His Majesty's edict with a 'status quo maintained' notice—that's discretion?"

As Grayburn shut up, Selene's eyes narrowed.

"Erisa Karan."

She turned, calling her; Erisa stiffened slightly.

"Your position."

Erisa steadied her breath, then spoke. "Governor Grayburn exploited this planet for 40 years. Cut worker health insurance, embezzled environmental budgets, hiked quotas, slashed wages. Excluded industrial accident treatments from insurance. Ignored mid-managers beating workers with shock batons, endorsed it, executed resistors without hesitation."

Her voice trembled with rage. "My father inhaled factory metal dust for 30 years, got pulmonary fibrosis. Curable with one nano-treatment, but no insurance—so he died slowly. Millions here dying the same."

"Hm... and?"

"Then His Majesty's speech came. Promised change. Gave hope. But the governor crushed it. 'Status quo maintained.' One line."

Erisa stared straight at Selene. "I acted. His Majesty said he trusted us, said we humans could judge and act ourselves."

Silence fell. Grayburn opened his mouth to retort. "But legally, armed uprising—"

"Shut your mouth."

Selene said. "Governor."

"Y-yes?"

"You ignored His Majesty's edict. Dismissed his speech. 8 billion rose as result. Your malfeasance. No excuses."

Selene had decided en route. Governor was clearly wrong, no matter how you sliced it.

How many more planets like this...?

Governor rejects policy, oppresses people, sparks civil war. Revolution might be radical, but he provided the cause.

And their cause ain't bad either. Emperor, workers, empire—chant "long live" with those three words, hard to club 'em with an ethics stick. They had justification.

And Selene had a practical reason too. Back the revolutionaries, stabilization ends quick.

Side with governor, suppression war against 8 billion—months. Revolutionaries already hold most; legitimize them, remove him, done fast. Good for empire... wait, no—can't end too fast. Gotta return to Terra.

...End it reasonably quick, but not too quick.Civic ops should do it. Most here lacked basics forever; not a stretch.

"Erisa Karan."

"Yes."

"Recognize Workers' National Salvation Committee as provisional admin. Imperial Navy will support stabilization in cooperation."

Erisa's eyes widened. "Thank you, Admiral."

"Too early for thanks. Lots to do."

Selene stood, eyeing Grayburn. "Governor Victor Grayburn. Relieved of duty and detained. Top charge: definite sedition."

"Wh-what?!"

Guards grabbed his arms as he panicked. The old man who'd ruled Forge 40 years went pale.

"W-wait! Admiral! This is overreach! Governor dismissal needs imperial decree—!"

"Requested it already. Coming soon."

Act first, report later—but I'm the emperor's sister, so what? Call it "New Era Human Empire Characteristic Mission-Type Command Structure." Might even think 'Sis handled it, one less paper.'

"Gaaahhh!!!"

Grayburn screamed as dragged out. Only Erisa left.

Selene eyed the 22-year-old. Welder-turned-revolutionary, shooter of men, leader of 8 billion, author of her own book.

...Same age as my brother. Hm.

Sigh... Marry her off? But nobles would wail "Have mercy!!!" and belly up again.

Concubine'd work. Leo at 21 shoulders 890 trillion fates; she at 22, 8 billion. Different ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠scale, same weight. They'd match, right? And gorgeous—not Forge-born looking.

My bro ain't ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠impotent!

Ground troops deployed swiftly after. Selene dropped 3,000 marines and 2,500 paratroops via drop pods and assault shuttles, opting for sure but steady cleanup. Target: governor's office and guards.

3k Imperial marines + 2.5k paratroops vs. hundreds of thousands planetary guard/suppression. Numbers favor guards, but not a numbers game.

5th Fleet marines: galaxy's fiercest. Fought Krogan war-clans in melee. Guard experience? Laughable.

"Easy win..."

Selene smirked from orbit, watching drop pods and shuttles descend. Paperless op! Live like this forever.

Then.

"Huff, huff...!"

Adjutant Corbel rushed up, face grim. Seven years as her aide, expressions rare—now brows furrowed.

"Admiral."

"What."

"Unidentified warp signature detected."

Selene's smile vanished. "Scale?"

"Massive. Min. 100 ships inbound, warp-out projected... stellar system outskirts, our formation's rear."

"Friendlies? Too far for quick response."

"Negative. No IFF match. Not Human Empire."

"...Huh?"

Selene stood. "...Fuck. All ships to battle stations!!!"

That instant, comm from detained Grayburn. Crazed voice via brig intercom.

"Couldn't die like this, Admiral!"

Selene's eyes narrowed. "I... made a deal with devils!"

"What?! You're ex-governor!!"

"Needed insurance! Against central meddling someday! 40 years ago... contacted outsiders! Sorry!!"

Outsiders. Word hit as warp-outs began.

Forward display lit; space tore, ships poured. Not human design. Sleek silver, droplet-stretched organic-machine hulls. Surface energy circuits pulsed blue rune-like.

Corbel read sensors. "Fleet ID: Eldra Union Platinum Armada, Eldra Navy main battle fleet."

"Ahh!!! Fucking..."

Selene's blood pressure spiked. Eldra. Millennia-old long-livers, crushed like dogs in last Great War, spawned weird warlord "Human Brotherhood." Tech equal or superior to humanity, isolationist—but poke 'em, they unleash hell.

"Exact count?"

"30 battleships, 50 cruisers, 70 smalls—total 150."

Selene's force: ~52 ships. 3:1 numerical inferiority. Eldra tech? Effective 1:5.

"Haa..."

Worst case. Backwater asshole governor traded 40 years with Eldra. Probably Giant parts blueprints, shield freqs, armor alloys—for "protection if shit hits fan." And fan-shit was now.

Selene sighed long and slow. "Fuck... should've read papers."

Bridge staff froze briefly, then saw her eyes shift. Too late for regrets—time to do what she did best.

"All ships battle stations report!"

Corbel: "Battle stations complete. All munitions loaded, shields up. Awaiting orders."

Selene sat in command. Forward display: 150 Eldra ships gleaming silver, deploying. Beautiful. War machines this pretty? Eldra's terror.

Selene Astraea, 5th Fleet Admiral, "Blade of the Stars," gripped armrests, muttering. "Gonna owe Leo an apology."

Then roared to all: "Kill or be killed. We're the empire's shield. Xenos dare invade imperial space—we make 'em pay... FIRE!!!"

Those who seek death shall live; those who seek life shall die.