Marcus Ranieri was seated in the passenger compartment of a Zodiac A200 transporter that was ferrying him from the ASF Aquila, to Covent City, the main surface dome on Io. The Aquila was a Class II Sovereign defense carrier, a beast of a ship. It housed an arsenal of artillery and canons, a small fleet of attack ships, and as many as 12,000 crew. It also housed Marcus’s office, which was part of the Office of Consulate General.
Marcus, 29, was an Associate Consular, an extremely prestigious position for a young civil servant in the Sovereign. He was one of only 8 Associate Consulars in Arcturus. Past Associate Consulars had gone on to have illustrious careers in the Sovereign as Consular Generals and Senators; Even Chancellor Bastien had once been an Associate Consular, many years ago.
Competition for the position was fierce, but Marcus had earned the role. He was raised on Tycho, but he was not from one of the old money families. His mother was on the service staff at the Montclair Estate, and he did not know his father, so he could hardly be considered part of the Tycho upper order. Marcus received nothing but top marks in primary school, for which he was rewarded tuition-free admission to the renowned Farring’s College in Gesag, where he continued to excel. After graduating, he served in the Sovereign marines for three years as a junior officer, after which the Office of the Consulate General recruited him.
He was now among the elite, but he knew these were not “his people”, so he couldn’t let his guard down. In the Sovereign, social climbers, or parvenu, did not have a favorable reputation, so Marcus kept his humble roots close to his chest. He had become very talented at convincing others he belonged while deflecting questions about his past. He had grown up on a prominent Tycho estate, after all, so he knew how to talk-the-talk and walk-the-walk. It filled him with shame, though, to think that he might be embarrassed about his mother’s lowly lot in life, especially since she had given him unfaltering love and support throughout his upbringing, and he surly would not have been here without her.
The Office of the Consulate General played a critical role in the political ecosystem in Arcturus. The Sovereign Senate, which was situated in Gesag, the star system’s capital city on Kepler, passed the laws. Given the vast size of the Sovereign’s realm, spanning entirety of Arcturus, the Capitol relied on semi-autonomous local governments to run the day-to-day administration of each of the planets, moons and orbitals in the system. The Office of the Consulate General was the bridge from the Capitol to the rest of the system, overseeing the appointments of local governors and ensuring that the will of the Capitol was carried out fully and to the word.
In his role as Associate Consular, Marcus was responsible for liaising with the governors of Io, Ukemochi, and New Victoria, and he was the first line of defense in sorting any problems that should arise in these territories.
Marcus had been on a near Middle Zone planet, Ukemochi, reviewing tax controls & processes for the upcoming fiscal year, when Terran marauders raided Covent City, the capital of Kafka’s volcanic moon, Io, resulting in dozens of deaths and hundreds of civilian casualties. Given his proximity to Io, he was tasked by the Consular General to deliver an address to Covent’s residents to rally morale. Marcus considered this assignment a huge honor. Given the graveness of the situation, he would have expected the Consular General to make the speech herself, but no, it was Marcus’s show. The speech would surly be watched by Chancellor Bastien and may even be broadcasted to all corners of Arcturus. This exposure was going to light a rocket under Marcus’s political career.
Ahead of the address, the governor of Io, Grant Moser, a 50 year old, a career local politician with jet black hair which he kept slicked back, had traveled from Io to the Aquila to brief Marcus on the state of Covent City following the raid. The meeting had not gone well. What Marcus had expected to be a quick canned briefing turned into two hours of mudslinging. Grant blamed the Capitol’s lack of protection in the region for enabling the raid, and used the tragedy as ammunition to lobby more resources from the Capitol and lower taxes for Io residents. Both sides had become very heated, and nothing was resolved before the pair had to depart for Covent City to start the speech on schedule.
Grant was sitting across from Marcus on the Zodiac A200 en route to the surface. Grant’s gaze was affixed out the transporter’s port windows in quiet introspection. In the other four passenger seats sat four marine guards, who were to accompany Marcus as his security detail during his time on the surface. The entire 22-minute journey passed in tense silence, only broken by the pilot announcing over the cabin loudspeaker that the transporter had touched down on the municipal landing track northeast of Covent City’s Harling Square, where Marcus would be making his address.
Led by Grant, Marcus and the four marines disembarked and made the short walk from the transporter to Harling Square, where a stage and podium had been set up, and where several thousand residents were restlessly waiting for the address. Grant took the stage first, quieted the crowd, and gave Marcus a brief introduction. Marcus then approached the podium to reserved applause, took a moment regard the crowd, and began his speech:
“I am humbled to be standing before you, to have been given the opportunity to address the courageous and indomitable residents of Covent City in your darkest hour. This attack was driven by pure and unqualified evil. Although the great Covent City bore the brunt, this was an attack on all Arcturians, on liberty and on harmony. The culprits wanted to incite fear and dissension, but let’s show the system that we Arcturians stand more united than ever before!”
With that, the crowd applauded dutifully. Great start, Marcus thought to himself, before continuing:
“Ensuring the safety of its citizens is the core mandate of the Sovereign.”
At the mention of the Sovereign, the crowd began to stir with a resentful buzz.
“And the Sovereign is committing…”
At the word ‘Sovereign’, a woman shouted from the crowd: “Blood is on the Sovereign’s hands.”
This caused Marcus to stumble. The crowd, now smelling blood in the water, became louder and more energized.
Marcus swallowed, and resumed: “Committing to tireless…”
More shouts from the crowd: “Villain! Scum!”
Marcus’s heart started to race, and he was conscious he was starting to sweat. He found it difficult to focus his eyes on the teleprompter, so he briefly looked up and scanned the maddening crowd until his gaze settle on a news crew that was likely broadcasting the speech live. This made him more nervous. Marcus looked back down at the teleprompter, when suddenly there was a loud thud on the front of the podium. A shoe had been thrown from the crowd at Marcus, falling just short of hitting him, hitting the podium in front of him instead. He scanned the crowd again. He spotted a scuffle 30 feet to his to his front left. Apparently, the person who threw the shoe was trying to push through the crowd toward the rear to make an escape, while three police officers were in pursuit. Another scuffle to the right: five teens, no older than 15 or 16, were pushing their way through the crowd, but this time they were heading towards the stage. One of the teens, a male with blonde hair wearing a beige jacket, stopped, cocked his right arm back, and hurled a bottle at Marcus. Marcus instinctively ducked, and the bottle narrowly missed the top of his head. When he looked back up, the other teens had reached the front of the crowd were beginning to climb the barricade separating the audience from the stage.
A hand grabbed Marcus’s shoulder, causing him to turn jerk his head around. He was relieved to see it was, Sgt. Aimes, one of the marines on security detail. While the other marines took a defensive position towards the front of the stage, Sgt. Aimes led Marcus down the stairs off the back of the stage, through the narrow Covent streets, back to the landing track where the Zodiac A200 was waiting.
On the transporter, en route back to the Aquila, now alone in the passenger cabin, He was replaying the events in his mind, trying to understand what had happened. While the events were now hazy in his mind, what was very clear to Marcus was that his career was over. In an instant, everything he had spent his life building, was had crumbled. The embarrassment of being chased off of stage by some thuggish teens would surly mean he could never work in politics again. Marcus keeled over in physical pain from the thought his shame. How long until he was fired? He figured his desk would already be cleaned out for him on the Aquila. No, he couldn’t go there just yet. He needed to lick his wounds and recompose himself before heading back. He used the intercom to redirect the pilot to Ukemochi City.
As the transporter changed its vector towards Ukemochi, and with distance between Marcus and his office growing, the Associate Counselor General found himself with a new mental clarity. He had been set up! Well… maybe not set up, but certainly the Consular General had known the citizens of Io would detest the presence of the Sovereign. The Sovereign had ruled over its people with an iron first for hundreds of years, and now, only six years after the defeat of Goshen’s trade rebellion, its people have had enough.
These are not your people, are they? Not any more at least. Do you really think you’re still in control? Do you think sending Associate Consolers to make rounds once a month will placate these people?
The ineffectual plutocrats on Kepler and old money heirs and heiresses on Tycho have no idea what’s happening just outside their comfortable little edens. How many of them have even set foot off world? Not many, excluding lavish vacations to Honos. Their bellies have been weakened from generations of living the good life, pillaging their people to fill their bank accounts. They think the season of surplus will last forever, but it won’t. Just look at Io, a stone’s throw from Kepler. And even here the Sovereign’s grip is loosening. Corruption and gangsters abound barely beneath the surface. This is not your moon anymore.
Head past the Goshen belt, and it’s a completely different system. That station all the way out in the Erebos Belt (or what do the maniacal cults call it? “Blackstar”?). You can’t even set foot there anymore.
And did you think this Terran raid was ugly? That’s nothing compared to what these marauders do in the Exo. They have dozens of ships, an armada, roaming openly and ransacking trade vessels and private citizens, killing hundreds in the last few years. You won’t see that broadcasted on the news.
And of course, Cora, once a vibrant trading hub, has now been hijacked by the system’s worst criminals. Those mobsters no longer even attempt to keep a low profile. They’re so brazen they’ve openly rebranded the planet “Capone” to taunt you. The absolute gall. What a disgrace.
But you won’t be sending a fleet to take the planet back, will you? You just don’t have the resources anymore. You’ve spread yourself too thin. But you never really were as powerful as you claimed. Your might has always been a bit of a mirage, hasn’t it. You control through fear and misinformation. Your loyal subjects just didn’t know how weak you really were, so they stayed in line.
Well, they know now. This is only the beginning.
Marcus was distracted from this of train of thought by a buzz on his comband. The Office of the Consular General.