Union Station, Nimbus-1 | Nimbus Star System

  The duke exuded confidence. He wore a clean, wholehearted smile and an officer’s uniform, obviously dressed to impress, yet in a manner more similar to the Fleet Admiral than the preening aristocrat-officers of the Royal Navy.

  “A pleasure to make your acquaintance, contrammiraglio.” He said, standing up from his seat at the head of the dining table to clasp his hand.

  Colombo was almost relieved to hear him pronounce the title imperfectly; having complete foreigners possess perfect pronunciation when speaking his language was…uncanny.

  “A sentiment I share, Your Grace.”

  The two parties spent several minutes reintroducing themselves for the duke's benefit. The charismatic sovereign shared few but memorable words with each of Colombo’s subordinates, appearing genuinely curious instead of polite.

  With the short introduction session over, the ten men and women sat down at the large wooden table…to eat.

  “I hope you are all hungry.” The duke said, clapping his hands. “You were lucky enough to arrive when you did; a resupply convoy arrived only a week before you. Logistics were tight during the first few weeks, as Captain Webb can attest to. Still, Governor Belloti’s team has done marvelous work setting up several aeroponics and synthetic protein cultivation facilities. As such, we managed to fit in a few more delicacies.”

  ‘Impressive.’ Colombo thought, though he took the noble’s words with a heavy grain of salt.

  The logistical, technological, and military capabilities of his dynasty certainly appeared impressive, but they had no inside source in the Pollux system. The kingdom would’ve surely cultivated some, had the system’s inhabitants been of some interest. Yet only three cycles ago, Pollux was populated by a few hundred thousand miners living in an icy dump, and the late king hadn’t been all too eager to engage in trade with a republican mining colony and draw the renewed ire of the Hegemony.

  How could they have known that a barracuda would rear its head out of that dumpster?

  The smell of a rich broth quickly dispelled Colombo’s musings, making him salivate. The entire table turned as one to look at the kitchen-side entrance to the dining room.

  A dozen servers dressed in formal suit-and-tie brought in trolleys of food. Coming right behind them, a woman dressed in the white linens of a chef walked up to the table with a smile.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, dinner is served.”

  The servers placed small ceramic bowls in front of each person, filled with a thick soup. The plate underneath was just large enough to fit in the bowl, as well as two golden buns. As Colombo took in the wonderful smell, he smiled.

  “Today’s appetizer is a bisque, made with local freshly harvested lobster and brandy generously donated from his Grace’s personal stock. The garnishing comes from a polarii greenhouse; saffron, nutmeg, and white pepper. The bread buns are from the finest of akritan flour, grown and milled in Cradle Valley.”

  The dining began as they all enjoyed the balanced spices and savory lobster meat, ensconced in the mellow brandy. Colombo would have no complaints if the dinner ended here; had the circumstances been different he would’ve eagerly asked for seconds. In place of that, he was quick to voice his curiosity as they finished the bisque.

  “If I may voice an inquiry, Your Grace?”

  “Certainly.”

  “This…Cradle Valley, where the flour for these wonderful buns originated from.” Inspecting the flowery stencil impressed into the bread during baking, he said, “It must be a greenhouse facility of some size, to grow enough grains to feed an entire dynasty. As I understand, you’ve yet to import foodstuffs from elsewhere.”

  The duke’s lips formed into a knowing smile.

  “Greenhouse, contrammiraglio? No, Cradley Valley is an actual valley on my crown world, Domusec. By the latest reports, over three hundred square kilometers are being cultivated, with more on the way.”

  “Then…you’ve terraformed the planet,” Colombo said, more a statement than a question.

  There was no other conclusion; the planet the duke was referring to was supposed to be a dump. No oxygen, frozen oceans, and downright terrible resource deposits. Terraforming was possible, but only superpowers like the Hegemony could afford the cost.

  “It’s a work in progress, but certain select areas are already habitable. I expect the process to be done in three or four cycles.” Duke Akrites replied as if it was the most normal thing in the entire damned universe.

  …

  More than an hour later, Colombo had seen his expectations blown again and again.

  First, the appetizer and the shocking confirmation that had come from the Duke himself. Then, the main course was served.

  “Herb-crusted, free-range beef tenderloin, with a honey mead reduction.”

  It wasn’t the beef tenderloin itself that had shocked them, but just where it had come from. It had only taken a question, answered by the foreign minister, to find out that Domusec’s terraforming had advanced to such a degree that the Akritans could release cattle in certain areas to graze. Graze.

  The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

  In the Hegemony —the real Hegemony, not its many proxies—, well-known for its high standard of living, to eat meat that had not come out of a vat, but from a free-ranging animal that lived in wild, vast areas of terraformed land, was a luxury reserved for the elite. For most people, free-range meat was a luxury only seen in entertainment videos and read about in books.

  Then, of course, you had the honey. Not synthetic honey, because that was easy enough to make in a food laboratory with carbohydrates, water, and flavoring. No, this was the real thing. Real honey, from real bees that lived in their little apiaries on Domusec.

  Colombo was among the lucky few Leonians to have had access to honey back before the revolution. Not even half the population could afford the sweet substance, and that was in a terraformed world. Not a paradise world, like Albion, but Solomon was paradise compared to a whole lot of dustballs colonized by free-minded madmen.

  Nowadays, he ate synth-honey and liked it. The Republican Navy might have a lot of industrial resources, but its food stocks were extremely limited. Only a handful of hydroponics and aeroponics facilities, as well as synthetic protein factories, fed over half a million. Only strict rationing and a diet of calorie-rich vegetables, synth-protein, and chemically synthesized micronutrients made this possible.

  To add salt to the wound, the dessert arrived.

  “Lavender honey pavlova, topped with berries.”

  Fruit was a luxury in any place. Fresh fruit in a system that only grew the occasional mushroom was a downright miracle. Yet the Αkritans seemed hellbent on being labeled as miracle men.

  According to the chef, the variety of berries —blackberries, blueberries, raspberries, and strawberries— hadn’t been flown in from Domusec. Because even the Akritans had limits, an idea that made Colombo nearly chuckle.

  Nay, the logistics ship had brought in a portable aeroponics facility, to produce fruits for the system. A lofty proposition, and an expensive one to boot, but it would make one hell of a morale booster if implemented successfully.

  Ideologists could say whatever the hell they wanted about their ideals and politics. In truth, the best way to win the loyalty of a people—especially one that had been served nutrigruel for decades—was by appealing to their hunger. Colombo was certain that the duke knew this, and he was already capitalizing on it. If he made sure the locals knew whose was the hand that fed them, he would have their allegiance, ancestry be damned.

  —

  After everybody had their fill of exquisite food and drink, the chef bid her goodbyes and the servers removed their plates, leaving Colombo, the Duke, and their subordinates alone. They provided each man and woman with water and a small shot glass of citrus-scented liquid.

  Colombo curiously inspected the glass, but the Duke was quick to explain before he asked about its purpose.

  “Under normal circumstances, I would consider it a waste to rid ourselves of the liqueur’s aftereffects. I’m sure, however, that every lady and gentleman in this room would like to be rid of alcohol before we get started.”

  ‘Ah, a resobrio tonic.’ Colombo realized, thinking back on the enzyme cocktail his mother would take before going to parties. “A most proper drink for times like these, Your Grace.”

  He drank the lemony cocktail in one shot, his subordinates quickly following in his lead. The last person to set down the glass was the Duke himself, who’d slowly consumed the contents with mild hesitation. That made Colombo feel…worried. Had the man given them poison?

  The rear admiral’s agitation must’ve been evident, for the Duke had let out a small chuckle the moment after.

  “Worry not, contrammiraglio. My slowness is not born of fear of poison, but the knowledge that a part of my inheritance is gone. This bottle of brandy was one of a few my late father gifted to me, many years ago.” The sovereign said, shaking his head. “But now is not the time for me to bore you with family history. Let us…”

  —

  “…begin.”

  James looked at the republican rear admiral, keeping his expression neutral. “Contrammiraglio, would you be so kind as to give me and my team an introduction?”

  The Leonian nodded, turning and gesturing to one of his deputies. Within moments the woman -his flag lieutenant according to the insignia on her uniform- produced a thin projector, which she placed at the center of the table. Pulling out a tablet, she tapped against its screen.

  As the projector powered on, an intricate holographic map appeared just above the table’s surface.

  “This is the Leonis system, our home.” The admiral began. “Though there are richer systems in the sector’s core worlds, I daresay that before the rise of the Red Prince, it was among the richest. Our oldest historical records, dating back to fifteen cycles before the Collapse, indicate that the original colonists hoped to enrich themselves by exporting volatiles and transplutonics through a Gate to the industrial heartland of…” He paused, looking at James’ uncle.

  “Yes, Minister?”

  “Apologies for interrupting, contrammiraglio, but I am curious about the Gate. Do your logs indicate what happened to it during the collapse?”

  Perella paused, before smiling. “Ah, I’m afraid I forgot about the dynasty’s special…circumstances. To answer your question, Minister, they do not. Not for lack of record-keeping, but because the Gate was slated to arrive after the date of the Collapse.”

  His uncle nodded, rubbing his beard. “Gratitude for answering my query. Please, continue.”

  “Very well. Where was I…ah, yes. The original colonies planned to export volatiles and transplutonics to the core worlds. As you can see,” He gestured to the outer half of the system. “Our system contains three gas giants and two ice worlds, as well as a particularly dense asteroid belt separating the inner system from the rest. That has allowed Leonis and its inhabitants to sustain themselves as a regional powerhouse since before the collapse and until today. It is also a boon and a bane, for both us and the royalists.”

  “I suspect it must be rather defensible,” James spoke up.

  Admiral Perella nodded. “Quite so, Your Grace. Our Republican Navy was quick to spread out and shelter in the shadow of the gas giants and their many moons, particularly Leonis IV, home of 1st Fleet and Capitol Station. The many asteroids, moons and the giants themselves confuse long-range missiles and the lack of lines-of-sight does wonders against kinetic bombardment. It is also quite easy to hide weapons batteries -anything from a box launcher full of missiles to a full battery of capital-class railguns-, until such a time as the royalists become easy targets. Unfortunately, we are not the only ones benefitting. I’m sure Your Grace understands.”

  James nodded, grimacing. “I suppose it’s rather hard shooting at the royalists through that asteroid belt.”

  “You would be most correct.” Perella nodded, his expression darkening. “This asteroid belt, known as Leonardo’s Wall, has protected the garden world of Solomon, the homeworld of the Leonian people, for centuries. Much of the pre-revolution naval budget went to weapons batteries, listening posts, and hidden anchorages inside the Wall. By themselves, static defenses are ill-matched against a proper fleet, yet the royalists are most adept at using quick-reaction units to counter any advance, which would have to cross several AUs of ‘no man’s land’ between the Ring of Giants and the Wall itself.”

  “A most unfortunate stalemate, you have found yourselves in.” His uncle lamented. “Though, there is the matter of industry to consider. Even the most powerful orbital would struggle to defend itself without ammunition or power. Which where, I believe, we come in.”

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