The Universal Order of NationsBoard

Honorias wrote:

poggers

And the sign flashed out its warning, in the words that it was forming…

Representative Soft Hoofbeat has the floor. Representative Soft Hoofbeat has the floor.

As Glorious Advance relaxed on his cushions on the President’s dais, one of his least favorite subordinate officers got to his hooves to deliver his address to Congress. Soft Hoofbeat’s electoral victory had been a surprise to most of his senior admiral colleagues, most especially Glorious Advance, whose campaign program for his fellow officers had not included Soft Hoofbeat at all. In the time since he had been appointed to Command, Soft Hoofbeat had proven himself to be a constant worrier, a prevaricator, a hesitator, and an obstacle to more action-oriented officers such as Glorious Advance. Soft Hoofbeat’s behavior had become especially exasperating as Command concerned itself with planning an enforcement – or a punitive – expedition to bring the Western March into line, the prospect of which apparently caused Soft Hoofbeat deep moral concern. As such, when Senior Admiral Glorious Advance formulated his strategy to elect the officers of Command to Congress, Senior Admiral Soft Hoofbeat was specifically excluded from his published list of allies, which he had painstakingly circulated among the Dominions to encourage a more uniform election result across Honorias among those who agreed with Command’s general platform. Yet Soft Hoofbeat was elected regardless – not so much a blow as a slight disappointment, given the general success of Glorious Advance’s electoral strategy and the ease by which any minor objections could be swept away in debate by his allies. It was therefore with mild curiosity that Glorious Advance considered the image of his unfortunate subordinate, wondering just what kind of obstacle Soft Hoofbeat meant to introduce to delay or confound Congress.

The representative had been rather… different as of late, Glorious Advance had to admit. He was sullen, or perhaps preoccupied; nervous was not the right word, but he had clearly been in deep thought over the past several days, upset or perhaps frustrated. He was as deliberative as he had always been, deeply concerned – one might even claim he was paranoid – about problems and pitfalls in government as well as military policy, but in recent days his obsessive focus had been laid squarely on the unfolding disaster of the Western March. It was a problem that Congress had been elected to solve for the second year in succession, worse now than it had ever been before, and Glorious Advance was as focused on the trouble as anyone else as per his mandate. But, according to the President’s representative allies, Soft Hoofbeat had taken part in no legislative conversation in the last week and a half that did not revolve around the March, the man who had usurped its authority throughout the past year, and the Boethian nightmare that had wrested power from the cold grip of his corpse. It was a matter that held Congress’s attention, requiring Glorious Advance to establish a committee earlier in the week to investigate whether or not the Boethians were likely to continue ignoring Honorian law or to seek reintegration with Congress as per their post-war agreements with President Yellow Ochre. That committee was still at work, but Soft Hoofbeat, investigating the matter himself, had clearly made his own determination.

<President Glorious Hoofbeat, forgive my elaboration,> the representative began; immediately the President resisted the urge to roll his eyes. <I have long been concerned with the policy of the Honorian government and, to a great extent, the opinion of the Honorian people toward the Honorian Western March. I have thought our preoccupation with military domination over a civil society to be barbaric, or at least ill conceived; I have expressed as much in the past to this Chamber, and to other officers of Honorias.> A general sense of exasperated agreement from a multitude of other representatives immediately followed this observation. <I ask that this Chamber does not consider my present proposal to be a change of heart.>

That caught Glorious Advance’s attention. The Chamber collectively leaned forward – even Tower’s Voice focused more acutely from his place near the doors – as Soft Hoofbeat acknowledged his colleagues’ sentiments with an irritated wave. <Matters have changed,> he declared. <Civil society no longer rules in the March. We have all seen the video for ourselves: The Boethians have returned, not as guests but as masters. The Zafirbel Peace is now dissolved – by their instigation.>

The computer chimed as someone registered an objection; Glorious Advance ignored it for the moment, more interested in Soft Hoofbeat’s strange departure from the norm than in some Marcher (Boethian?) sympathizer’s rhetorical interjection. Recognizing the President’s tacit approval, Soft Hoofbeat continued seamlessly, ignoring the unhappy expressions of several colleagues and the tense body language of Tower’s Voice on the President’s dais. <We have learned the Boethian method of rule,> he declared. <When this Republic suffered from their assault, the only fortune of our people fell upon the civilian population of the March, who remained free in all things save their own defense. The Western March under Sharpness Everlasting was a place of peaceful business, whose profits nonetheless fueled his fleet’s monstrous rampage throughout Honorias Proper. When the Boethians departed by the terms of the Peace, they left the March unharmed, even untouched. So I believe they shall again, preserving the people on whose money they rely so that they may strike at us without fearing retaliation at their backside.> Soft Hoofbeat motioned to his own chest. <Should we strike first, against the hard military targets that they surely possess while the Dominions remain free, we have this one and singular chance to eradicate the usurpers, prevent the inevitable attack against the rest of Honorias, and all the while preserve the lives and livelihoods of all the people of the Western March!>

More colleagues demanded the floor, the computer’s notification chime drowning out the audible murmuring from those few representatives with voices to do so, and drawing a grimace from Tower’s Voice as he stood beside the ever-dinging display. President Glorious Advance rose from his cushions to address Congress’s collective unease, interrupting Soft Hoofbeat in the process. <I remind the representative that this Chamber has already voted to establish a committee to investigate the viability of the course of action he proposes,> the President pointed out. <Representative Soft Hoofbeat, do you have anything to add that is not already under consideration?>

Soft Hoofbeat, who had returned to his cushions with a visible scowl, rose to his feet again with a sharp nod. <Only this,> he replied. <While we investigate, our time is inevitably wasted; while we consider, our certain enemies already move. My proposal is not merely to declare our intentions, but to establish the strategy by which we will accomplish our aims. To that end, President Glorious Advance, I request that this session be closed.>

The computer’s chiming became cacophonic as four representatives almost leapt to their feet in objection. Glorious Advance ignored it all, holding his attention firmly on Soft Hoofbeat for one long moment before swiveling an eyestalk toward Tower’s Voice at the Chamber doors. <We will have a closed session,> he decided. <The doors are hereby sealed! Representatives are reminded that breaking the seal of secrecy surrounding this session will result in criminal penalties.>

Tower’s Voice nodded sharply and turned his attention to the doors, observing the secondary locks as the President’s instruction from his console activated the physical representation of the session’s new seal. Just as it was visible to the representatives of Congress, many of whom were still in a state of outrage, it was likewise obvious to observers outside the Chamber, including the standard mob of reporters and their battery of cameras; and while it was illegal for anyone present in the Chamber to reveal the details of a closed session, it was not illegal for any member of the media to ask. Already Glorious Advance had begun crafting a statement that would allay unwanted public concern when he was inevitably accosted at the end of the session, but most of his focus remained on Soft Hoofbeat.

The representative awaited the computer’s signal that the closed session protocols were complete. Once he was satisfied, he laid out his assessment: <The beating heart of the Western March has always been the Dominion of Dagon. Yet its thinking brain is now elsewhere, apart from the economic center. The Boethians rule from their strongholds: Tower Vahhopayya, Tower Rhiannon, and whatever fortresses they have crafted in their exile. We can only truly evaluate matters within the March itself; beyond pushing the Boethians from our borders, we can have no real goal at present. And to do that, we must surely strike in overwhelming force to recapture the Towers of the March, and to eliminate the leaders of the Boethians who reside there.> Soft Hoofbeat swept his gaze across the Chamber as he added, <I emphasize that I wish to direct our attack against the military fortresses of the Western March, not against any civilian target, no matter how seemingly valuable we or our enemies might find it. Dagon and Holamayan, so often the subject of our national shame in the eyes of former leaders, are nonetheless the homes of thousands of Honorian citizens and many foreign residents besides, and should not be put to the guns of our fleet for the sake of expediency. While the Boethians are their masters, they obey the demand for funds and fuel; but remove the Cult, and the March’s peace is returned. Our enemies are theirs. Our fortunes are harmoniously tied. Should we forget this, and instead offer the people of the March the kind of violence we have threatened in the past, the Boethians’ usurpation of the March will be complete, and all our citizens shall bleed for it. Should we remember it, the Boethians’ rule will end at the earliest possible opportunity – at the hands of the very people they claim to rule.>

Glorious Advance raised his hand to interrupt: <Enough political posturing, Senior Admiral. You desired to lay out a battle plan in lieu of waiting for our committee; why are you campaigning like a politician?>

Other representatives, including several other senior admirals of Command, glanced at one another with deep unease. While the President of Honorias was the moderator of debate and the chief interpreter of law within the Chamber, he was legally permitted to interrupt a representative on the floor specifically when that representative contravened Congress’s existing regulations on debate, as programmed into the computer for the sake of the President’s occasional reminder. There had been several objections to proceedings already registered with the computer thus far, many of which could have given Glorious Advance a reason to interrupt if need be, but those objections had been ignored – only for the President to interrupt for his own purposes, not only ignoring legal precedent but actually contravening the laws of debate by demanding that Soft Hoofbeat curtail his political expression in favor of changing the discussion for Glorious Advance’s purposes. Glorious Advance, by his terminology as well as by his actions, had demonstrated his disdain for the democratic process and his intention to run Congress as an extension of Command (over which he held equally-firm control) whenever he pleased.

Glorious Advance himself was fully aware of his overstep. His glare to many of the obvious worriers made it clear that he couldn’t be bothered to care about it, and was in no mood to entertain an objection to it at present.

Meanwhile, Soft Hoofbeat took a moment to recover himself after the President’s unexpected interruption, his consternation obvious but his determination to make his point still strong. <President, the only way to prevent the Boethians from attacking Honorias Proper is to eliminate their ability to wage war before they can ready themselves for the attempt,> he stated firmly. <We must take or destroy Tower Vahhopayya at once, while we have some little hope of finding the Boethians unready. Once that task is done, we can focus on the siege of Tower Rhiannon – doubtlessly a long and costly campaign, as our enemies will have had ample time to prepare, but as long as we are chipping away at Tower Rhiannon, the Boethians are not obliterating Nabia, Aruhn, or Desele. To manage this before our enemies come across to us will require a speed far beyond any committee’s capability, and the commitment of the vast majority of our forces with the certainty of great loss. Yet for the sake of the Dominions, I urge Congress to approve of this basic plan and submit it to Command immediately.>

Soft Hoofbeat held the President’s gaze, even as Glorious Advance glared down on him from his dais. After a moment’s awkward pause, however, the representative looked down, bowed his head, and returned to his cushions, tapping his console to alert the computer that he had given way.

Dozens of chimes nearly deafened the representatives responsible for causing them, as the computer registered the Chamber’s general consternation with Soft Hoofbeat’s proposal. Repressing his own flinch, somewhat more successfully than Tower’s Voice standing at his flank, President Glorious Advance glanced at his own console long enough to recognize the legal validity of the vast majority of the submitted objections, and audibly sighed as he pressed the button allowing the computer to arbitrate the coming debate.

Representative High Starburst has the floor. Representative High Starburst –

– was dead. His body still stood where he had gotten to his hooves at the computer’s demand, but his head no longer ruled it, instead lying on the bed of cushions under him. Slowly at first, under the weight of hundreds of eyes, the mighty trunk of a Sadrithian senior admiral, Glorious Advance’s firmest ally and longest friend, sank to the floor in a shower of arterial blood, collapsing to the side at last with a thud. Eyes that had followed the corpse to its rest now rose to find what stood in its place, a gore-covered tail blade suspended menacingly over the body pointed directly at the appalled President. Stepping over High Starburst’s body, Tower’s Voice declared from lips that should never have existed, “Boeth has bestowed upon Honorias a worthy master. Against this divine judgment, what is this collection of rabble to devise plots against him?”

There would be time enough for questions later. <Guards!> called Glorious Advance, already stepping back from the threat on the Chamber floor as his tail blade waved threateningly in front of him.

The guards were slow to respond – no, they too were dropping, for Tower’s Voice had murdered them already – how was he already in place, so many places in fact, to eliminate the most potent security personnel known in Honorias? The senior admiral turned to the doors leading to the President’s quarters, a private portal accessible only to him, and Tower’s Voice was there, pistol raised and waiting. The gunshot was final. The President fell dead on the spot.

______

Despite all efforts to the contrary, both legal and physical, the seal of a closed session was not entirely absolute. Prosecuting purveyors of secrets did not retroactively erase public knowledge of a secret so lost; nor did door locks and insulation protect the ears of the waiting public from whatever sounds might emanate from the Chamber. During closed sessions of the past, reporters and other curious citizens might sometimes catch hints of the matter at hand as the occasional Suranese representative gave his verbal speech; as audio technology became more sensitive, this likelihood only increased, almost requiring Suranese representatives (and, in the years since the Boethian War, those few representatives of foreign ancestry) to relinquish their right to debate on the floor whenever a closed session was declared. Those same instruments, finely tuned toward the merest reverberations of sound from within the Chamber of Congress, could not possibly miss the stampede of hooves, the crash of collapsing bodies, or the unholy roar of gunfire from within the very center of Honorian democracy. Those who manned those instruments could only look at one another in horror as their very understanding of Honorias crumbled to misshapen ash on the other side of one locked door.

From the Desele Stargazer came the first reaction, their senior reporter shouting to his Sadrithian colleagues, “Alert the captain! Find security and alert the captain!” Some, of course, were too busy devising their breaking news reports to bother with such paltry concerns, but others – multiple others – recognized patriotic duty over personal aggrandizement, littering the ground with recording equipment as they galloped away to find help, joined by the residents in earshot and those who learned the story along the way. Those who remained, fulfilling their duty to their employers rather than their country, were witness to the unsealing of the doors; those who departed more often than not did not live that long. By some means, news arrived to Captain Long Tail, but it was long in coming, and by then…

By then, Tower’s Voice was master of his ship, and Admiral Parting Waves was master of Honorias.