Chapter 86
Chapter 86
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Translator: True Detective
Chapter: 86
Chapter Title: Parliamentary Seizure
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Speaker Consertlin's move caught the military completely off guard—even Karyan, renowned for his cunning, hadn't seen it coming.
The assault on the Parliament Hall had laid bare the rift between Marcus and Consertlin. Douglas Consertlin might be the former Speaker, but Marcus was nothing more than the puppet he'd propped up to pull strings from behind the curtain. Now that the puppet had developed a mind of its own, of course he'd rush to eliminate it.
But dragging Gavin Celia into it—when you tallied up everyone in the military who could actually fight, he was the only one. Douglas was a hawk through and through. Topple Celia, and who'd fight the Empire for him?
"What's so hard to understand? In Douglas's eyes, the military's full of fighters." Celia's expression was utterly nonchalant as he said it, as if he weren't surprised in the slightest. "Think about how many people he's infiltrated into the senior officer ranks over the years—you could figure it out with your toes. If he gets the military under his thumb, the moment war breaks out, he can promote his own people left and right. Battle merits, spoils of war, resource allocation—the profit margins there are massive. Hell, it'd be easy to take out a general or two who doesn't toe the line."
The seven or eight generals and major generals aboard the helicopter fell silent, the cabin wrapped in heavy quiet.
They never should have all piled into one chopper like this, but with Parliament in chaos and the military reeling, everyone was desperate to see Celia as soon as possible—even a minute or second earlier was worth it. If the chopper hadn't had weight limits, and most of the space wasn't taken up by heavy firepower support, half the military's generals probably would've crammed in like sardines.
"If I'd come back to life the way they expected, Douglas would've had another tool at his disposal. But now I'm a thorn in his side, a stab in his flesh—he can't wait to get rid of me, and he's even pulling out all the stops with treason charges."
Celia shook his head with a smile. Karyan pressed, "So what now? Douglas is lobbying everywhere. If he sways more than half the parliamentarians, he can reconvene Parliament and drag you and Speaker Marcus before a trial..."
It was called a parliamentary trial, but if Douglas peeled off half the votes, the outcome would be whatever he wanted it to be. The Alliance Marshal hadn't been seen in fifty years. Forget Parliament's deep hostility— even the military was in disarray. There were surely more people hoping to see Celia dead than alive.
Karyan and the others gazed at him anxiously, but Celia just crooked one corner of his mouth. "Call for a vote, parliamentary trial... Douglas is playing by the rules of democracy and law. Clever way to hit my weak spot."
Karyan couldn't hold back his fury. "You think their game's real democracy? Playing democracy with them just gets you killed! After all these years, you still haven't learned? I swear, you're—"
"Who said anything about playing democracy with them?" Celia cut him off.
Karyan choked. Then he heard Celia say coldly, "Douglas loves preaching about military dictatorship, doesn't he? Let's show him what real military dictatorship looks like."
Galactic Era 3452: The Alliance announced Marshal Celia's resurrection and held a press conference to publicly ally with Dark Star Hall. But the hall came under attack during the conference—the Empire had somehow infiltrated the Alliance capital of Golden Water Star undetected, leading to fierce clashes between the two sides. Historians call it the "Golden Water Star Parliament Incident."
That same year, former Speaker Douglas Consertlin accused incumbent Speaker Marcus and Marshal Gavin Celia of colluding with the enemy. Half the parliamentarians backed him, holding a public trial and election at the Parliament Building.
After the Consertlin family's downfall fifty years prior, the Alliance government faced turmoil once more. The universe erupted in shock. Meanwhile, the Radiant Legion on duty at Void Star in the distant star systems was urgently recalled. The Alliance Parliament's election committee served a subpoena to Marshal Celia, demanding his appearance for trial.
Marshal Celia gladly accepted.
...
Andromeda's Golden Water Star, Alliance Parliament Building.
Under heavy bodyguard escort, Douglas Consertlin strode quickly out the grand light gates. Reporters surged up the steps: "Did Parliament serve a subpoena to the military today?" "How did Marshal Celia come back from the dead?" "Is it true he accepted the subpoena willingly?" "Parliament and the military have always clashed—how likely is this to eliminate the Marshal for good? Are you paving the way to reclaim the Speaker's seat after the election?" ...
Squeezed by the crowd, Douglas finally snapped, snatching the nearest reporter's mic: "Parliament and the military are both vital pillars of the Alliance government! We are harmonious, united, working together for the Alliance's revival! Any attempt to sow discord between government organs will be seen through by the people's keen eyes—"
Laughter exploded from the crowd. Reporters shoved mics in his face: "If Speaker Marcus is convicted of treason, Parliament will revote on the Speakership. Have you already registered as a candidate?"
Douglas's face darkened, ignoring them. His bodyguards bellowed and shoved, but the reporters chased relentlessly: "We have a right to know!" "We'll find out the candidate list anyway, Mr. Consertlin!"
"Yes! I have the honor of being nominated by Parliament!" Douglas finally grabbed a mic, roaring in rage: "The Alliance people deserve a Speaker loyal to the nation!"
The reporters froze, then surged forward with even more frenzied screams, questions blending into a deafening roar. Fortunately, Parliament security rolled out riot vehicles just then, scattering the press. Douglas and his guards bolted to the armored shuttle across the plaza.
"Reporters like that getting in—Parliament security's gone to hell! Those Military Police ingrates we can't even feed—"
Douglas slammed the door, mid-rant, when someone beside him chuckled and offered a glass of red wine: "Why stoop to their level, Speaker Consertlin? The Military Police are your key allies against the military, aren't they?"
Douglas whipped around, pale as a ghost: "What are you doing here?!"
A man in black lounged on the seat beside him, leg crossed casually. He smiled, but his brows carried the killer's edge of a seasoned warrior, a jagged scar slashing across his cheek making him look even more ferocious. Douglas's heart skipped just glancing at him, his voice unsteady: "How—how the hell did you get in here, Major General Isaac?!"
Isaac smoothly withdrew the wine. "We can talk about that later. We have more pressing matters now."
Douglas's heart pounded. He scanned the shuttle instinctively.
Everyone aboard was a trusted loyalist—or so he thought. But now he knew a good portion couldn't be relied on. An Empire major general appearing undetected in his private shuttle? Even if he claimed they were here to talk business, his mere presence was a blatant threat from the Empire!
"I... I know. I'm just worried you'll be spotted." He pivoted quickly. "Are you here about that peace treaty from last time?"
Isaac played along seamlessly: "His Majesty the Emperor has returned to White Heron Star. Everything's in place. He just wants to know your thoughts, Mr. Speaker?"
"—I'm not Speaker yet..." Douglas chuckled, rising to fetch a crystal goblet and pour himself wine, his tone casual yet loaded: "I've fully appreciated His Majesty's sincerity. I've reviewed the peace treaty carefully. Per the proposed galactic sector division map, once war erupts, we'll launch from Golden Water Star, seizing the systems allotted to us postwar per the agreement. The Empire won't engage us head-on. Afterward, the Alliance will proactively end the Second Galactic War and sign a slew of transit and trade treaties with the Empire, ensuring benefits matching your generous aid—it's all perfect. But I do have one issue right now."
Isaac drawled lazily, "You're not Speaker yet?"
Douglas affirmed, "I'm not Speaker yet."
The shuttle streaked over Alliance government airspace. The cabin fell quiet.
"Being 'not yet' isn't a problem." Isaac sipped his wine faintly. "After the trial and reelection, aren't you on the candidate list, Mr. Douglas?"
The words hung ambiguous. Douglas didn't reply, swirling the blood-red wine in his crystal glass. After a moment: "Being on the list doesn't mean anything. Votes aren't cast yet—nothing's certain. Even after they're cast, until results are announced, it's all up in the air. Forget half the parliamentarians; even if every last one pledged their lives to me, I wouldn't count for shit until I hold the Speaker's gavel."
He turned to Isaac with a smile: "I've laid all my cards on the table, Major General. Still don't trust me? Get me in that seat, and every clause in the treaty takes effect immediately. Postwar spoils? Plenty of room to negotiate. But if someone else becomes Speaker, His Majesty's plans today are far from guaranteed."
Isaac tapped his knee rhythmically, amused inwardly. Douglas Consertlin was the Alliance's top hawk, always the loudest voice for striking back at the Empire. Celia's Marshal was a true hero who'd died refusing surrender—even among the hawks, he outshone them. Douglas stood out, hyperactive in the cause.
And yet here this hawkish leader sat, hinting at "plenty of room to negotiate postwar spoils"...
"His Majesty understands your predicament, but there's one thing he doesn't get." Isaac shifted to a comfier position. "—Since you've decided to break with the Marshal, why not expose the Guardian God Project?"
Douglas paled instantly: "How do you know about the Guardian God Project?!"
His shriek was piercing. Isaac's eyelid twitched, but he kept his cool: "Calm down, Mr. Douglas—His Majesty knows plenty. Empire Intelligence has been around over a century. You think I came empty-handed today?"
Douglas stared, suspicion warring with shock.
Truth was, Isaac knew zilch about the project—everything was a bluff. Heinrich knew the name, vaguely guessed it tied to human genetic engineering, but Empire intel had drawn blanks back home.
That made sense. Per Yunes, it was Alliance top secret, buried by history for over five centuries. Wars, upheavals, Empire construction projects across sectors—any leads were like finding a needle in a cosmic haystack. No way Intelligence cracked it.
But Douglas didn't think that far—he was spooked by Isaac's act. He shook his head, breathless: "No... no use. It's been over five hundred years. Who'd believe evidence now?"
Isaac leaned forward unconsciously: "So there is evidence?"
"Of course! Celia himself is the evidence! But it's too late now. Public aversion to artificial humans might topple him from supreme command, but the Parliament that appointed him can't escape blame either—not to mention the Consertlin family masterminded it..."
Douglas shook his head. "More importantly, it's been so long. The public's accepted Celia. Would they really buy it? Exposure would cause an uproar. If Celia denies it, what then—dissect him in front of millions?"
Isaac's ears rang, his wineglass hand trembling, breath forgotten.
Douglas, oblivious, plunged on: "If you ask me, better to expose he's an Omega. The Alliance isn't as extreme as the Empire on Omegas, but it'd tank his standing in the military—those Alpha generals putting up with an Omega over them? If he gets marked and pregnant? Heh..."
Isaac couldn't hide it anymore, barking, "No!"
Douglas jumped: "Wh-why not?"
Isaac realized his slip. Why not? Our Emperor's two centuries old and still single—finally mustered the guts to mark his old CO, probably knocked him up by now, hasn't even enjoyed family bliss yet, and you wanna shove him back into singledom? No way!
But no graceful exit. He shook his head: "His Majesty pledged massive funds for your campaign, but didn't say you could weaponize the Marshal's gender. I need to clear that with him first. For now, let's focus on toppling Speaker Marcus. We can discuss the Marshal later."
—If Celia was his biggest headache, Marcus was bone-deep hatred. Douglas switched gears eagerly, detailing his trial setup for Marcus, pulling out the treaty to hash details with Isaac.
He missed Isaac's distracted eyes and trembling hand.
To Douglas, this secret talk was just the start of cooperation. To Isaac, every goal was met. No patience left for this sly, greedy politician, he excused himself before the shuttle reached the Consertlin estate—no landing, just leaping from the cabin door a few meters off the ground.
His shirt hem billowed in the wind. He landed steady as a black raptor, then strode toward the bustling distant street.
The shuttle whooshed overhead, whipping his hair in the gale. Isaac brushed his temple absently, slipping a micro-spy comm into his ear with his pinky. It shrank to pea-size on contact with body heat, buzzing as it crawled into his ear canal and locked in place.
"Did you hear all that..." Isaac walked straight ahead, murmuring from the corner of his mouth: "...Your Majesty?"
Silence on the comm, then a steady: "Mm."
"What now?"
No pause this time: "Marcus must go. He's a dove, but too easily manipulated. We cut all of Celia's limbs. As for Celia himself, no need to kill him off now—keep him to fight Consertlin from within. Otherwise, that old fox might not play nice once in power."
"You want to fracture the Alliance back to the fractured state after the First Galactic War?"
"That's ideal."
Long silence between them. Finally, Isaac ventured: "Your Majesty, about the Guardian God Project..."
He'd reached the street now, Alliance city sunset gleaming off skyscraper glass in vast sheets. Robots hawked wares on sidewalks; schoolgirls with backpacks crossed the road, sneaking glances at the scarred handsome man.
Isaac waved. The girls giggled and scattered.
"The Guardian God Project is why Celia's mental threshold exceeds normals. Yunes chased this secret for a century in vain, so he went to Void Star hunting Celia's memories. Consertlin says his family led it..." The Emperor's voice was cold, flat: "Maybe they engineered a war god as political capital for the family. Call it 'guarding the Alliance'—more like guarding the Consertlins. Pity the genes were too perfect. Their guardian god bared its fangs at all threats to democratic spirit—even the Consertlins."
Isaac opened his mouth, struggling: "...Your Majesty, it might be more than genes... Douglas said artificial human..."
Clones had no rights—artificial humans even less. No matter the pinnacle tech, five centuries lifespan, heroic deeds guarding the Alliance... it couldn't erase the tainted bloodline, same as clones bred for organ harvesting.
Worse for Isaac: artificial humans had no offspring.
Not that clones lacked reproductive function—it was to avoid bloodline ethics issues. Alliance law mandated "medical clones must have reproductive organs removed." The Empire inherited that, adding "artificial human progeny have no right to life, inheritance, or personhood." Deeply ingrained now, like ancient Earth humans not breeding with animals.
Isaac didn't know the full deal between Emperor and Marshal, but Intelligence saw how the Emperor pulled every string for Celia's child—the Empire's future heir. Expose the project, and that little prince loses inheritance, maybe life itself...
Isaac figured if it were him, he'd raze the Alliance capital.
"Consertlin's not desperate yet—won't flip this to the world. Only you, me, Celia, the Consertlin family, and Dark Star Hall's Yunes know."
The Emperor's voice hitched, turning hoarse:
"We won't speak. Celia has no need. Yunes will die by my hand. Once Empire reforms are done, the Consertlins go too."
·
Douglas Consertlin's impassioned speech outside Parliament spread across the universe, sparking a media storm. News sites refreshed at unprecedented 3-minute intervals; Starfast News blasted 4.2 trillion copies that day—enough paper to bury Golden Water Star.
Excitement, rage, anticipation, joy... The universe's eyes fixed on Alliance government. Systems dispatched countless reporters chasing Marshal Celia, but the star stayed hidden.
No one knew what he did in those seven days—until the trial opened. Military armed shuttles descended in massive whirlwinds onto the Parliament landing pad.
Celia wore a white uniform, titanium-silver saber at his waist, white gloves, gold emblems on chest and shoulders signifying ancient Earth's sea, land, air military authority. Descending, he was flanked by General Abel, Major General Karyan, Major General Mowen, and over twenty senior officers; behind them, over a hundred fully armed Radiant Legion soldiers marched in formation across the plaza.
Beyond the perimeter, seas of reporters; interview drones lit the sky with flashes, screams overlapping: "Marshal, how are you prepped for today's trial!" "What do you say to Mr. Consertlin's treason charges against the Speaker?!" "Are you confident, Marshal? If Consertlin takes power, do we go to war with the Empire?" "Marshal, over here—!" ...
Military Police at the doors froze at the sight. Then Celia hit the first step, paused, turned to the endless crowd, raised a hand, and pressed it down.
—That single gesture miraculously silenced the roaring sea of voices.
"Thank you for your love. I won't betray your trust."
Celia bowed slightly, ascending. But then—boom!—like a bomb, the crowd detonated. Reporters charged past riot cops; some fainted screaming, others bellowed raw: "Marshal! Marshal! You have to win—!"
That was popular support.
Military Police tried charging several times but retreated in chaos before the mob's fury, yelling futilely through bullhorns. Senior officers exchanged covert glances, barely hiding glee—the parliamentarians inside must be squirming.
Karyan, ascending, exhaled in relief, glancing at the Marshal with complex, hidden relief in his eyes.
These people hadn't noticed the Marshal's change... Fifty years ago, he'd never say such words publicly. No "I"—only "Alliance." Not "I won't betray you," but "Trust the government."
But now he did.
That subtle signal gathered like storm clouds over the Alliance system—unseen by the ecstatic masses.
Celia reached the top step. The Military Police captain moved to speak when a female reporter shoved through the line, stumbling and shrieking: "Marshal—! Do you still uphold democracy? Still a firm supporter of multiparty parliamentarism—?!"
Celia paused, turned, smiled at her.
"Yes," he said. "I'm forever a champion of democratic spirit."
The crowd erupted in unimaginable sonic fury, the plaza humming. Drones flashed wildly. Celia shielded his face with a hand, turning to Major General Mowen: "—Assist Military Police in clearing the area. No reporters within five kilometers of the plaza. Confiscate all recording gear."
Mowen saluted: "Yes sir!" And moved out.
Riot vehicles with air shields deployed, pushing yellow barriers outward, forcing back the throng. Minutes later, opaque electromagnetic barriers rose from ground to over a hundred meters skyward, enclosing half the Parliament Building.
Celia entered the grand hall, gazing up at the layered floating stairs. His hundred-plus soldiers halted behind him.
"From here up to the trial chamber, you'll see this nation's rotten, ugly core selecting its new host body. Those rulers waving democracy's banner while wielding dictatorship—usually clawing for their own gains, but against us? They unite under the class struggle flag..."
The generals turned. Celia's lips curved in a slow smile: "How fortunate."
Captain Patrick hurried over, hand on his gun, eyeing the armed officers warily: "Marshal Celia, the parliamentarians await you in the trial chamber upstairs. Surrender your weapons and follow me—"
Bang!
A bullet cratered the floor at Patrick's feet. The captain gagged like his throat was gripped: "M-Mar—Marshal—"
Celia raised his still-smoking barrel. Simultaneously, Karyan whipped out his pistol, blasting ceilingward—bang bang bang, a dozen-plus shots!
"Aaah—!" Screams shattered the air. Staffers dropped everything, fleeing in panic; the hall dissolved into chaos! Military Police roared forward but were met by Radiant Legion soldiers drawing weapons, holding them at bay!
"What are you doing! Stop—!" Patrick lunged but froze, gun to his forehead, sweat pouring. Marshal Celia, expression unchanged, jerked his chin at him:
"Everyone, hands on head, squat in the corner. Military Police, surrender weapons now—or face treason charges. Violent resistance means summary execution."
"Over the next 4 hours, the military takes control of this building. Non-military personnel treated as POWs—"
"I declare: we are now at war."