Prologue: Setting the Stage

The Gemstone. That was the only suitable name for it. People from all worlds of the galaxy flocked to the Gemstone Nebulae by the thousands, hoping to catch a glimpse of this newfound treasure. It was desired even more so by every tyrant and ruler of the stars. The man responsible for its discovery, Shevin Shistavv, would not even allow these monarchs to touch it, much less take a small piece of history back to their private kingdoms. They had no respect for history, he knew, only personal gain and prestige. Shevin would have nothing to do with sentients of such selfishness.
The political systems of the day, mostly monarchies and Duchies, had one radical exception: Earth. On the outside, at least. In reality, what appeared to be a worldwide republic under a benevolent leader was actually a strong dictatorship by a lying piece of swine. Really.
He called himself Pius Flavian, in the tradition of the ancient Roman emporers. He ruled the earth, a strong empire of extraterrestrial worlds, and many sparsely inhabited border colonies with the aspiration of someday, somehow, becoming the most powerful and influential emporers in the galaxy. Easier said than done.
Earth in general referred to him as Pie Face, both on account of his ugly, round head and his egotistical name. To the outsider and alien - and around the peacekeeping forces - he was identified as President Falvian or Pius Flavian, but this was merely window-dressing; a law imposed by Pie Face himself.
One of Pie face's governors, Francis Wilburn, saw through his multi-billion dollar paycheck and realized Pie Face's iron fist which the populace in general was so keenly aware of. Wilburn knew, though, that if he moved against Flavian publicly, he would be swiftly and silently crushed and would needlessly put his family in the path of danger. Such is the sacrifice heroes must make, though.
Such is the sacrifice heroes must make, but not every mere governor is a hero. This statement was especially true of governor Wilburn. The mere mention of Flavian's name struck fear in the depths of the man's heart. And for this, cardiac surgery would not be very helpful. Perhaps his problem was a heart two sizes too small.
Shevin Shistavv had the responsibility of standing up to Flavian dropped in his lap. Although he was not zealously opposed to Pie Face, he wasn't blind. He saw clearly the way in which Humans and aliens alike were abused at the hand of Pius Flavian. Stepping into another man's court was not an option that Shistavv fancied, however, and he was a bit timid of openly opposing the emporer.
Flavian reminded Shistavv of the ancient American movie trilogy Star War's emperor. He was cruel, predjudiced against certain races, especially nonhumans, but he was basically against anyone who did not carry his exact gene sequence. He was, not suprisingly, biased toward his family too, enough to keep them securely away from his throne. Basically, if your name wasn't Pius Flavian, Pie Face didn't like you.
He could, however, show a degree of kind politeness when it suited his needs. Monarchs from alien worlds and his own governors were never the wiser of his dislike of them. Politics were a game to this man, and he could have been considered a veteran. Perhaps Monopoly would have been a fitting name for the game.
Monopoly indeed. But in this game, he owned all of the money. Bank? What is this "Bank"? I've heard of Pius Flavian, but Bank? Perhaps we should print colored money, in the spirit of being true to the game. Besides, it would fit nicely with Pie Face's speeches. You know, colorful and cheap.
Flavian owned all of the houses and hotels, too. Even the colonies on the moon and Proxima Centauri were sold by Flavian, to Flavian. He even legally owned his mothers wardrobe, along with the personal effects of every sentient under his rule. He was convinced that he should and could be the absolute ruler of the known galaxy, whether through military conquest before diplomacy or afterward.
This was the major problem Shevin faced when making his discovery of the Gemstone public. He knew that the Gemstone Nebula, in which he had found the Gemstone, was outside of the emperor's field of political influence, but Pie Face still wanted complete and total control over everything he saw, and must have envisioned himself as the soon to be ruler of the Gemstone Nebula, and therefore the Gemstone. Sometimes Shevin wished that he hadn't been born a human on the monarchal world of Earth.
Fortunately for most of the civilized races of the galaxy, Earth was not the most influential of the empires, although Flavian would have liked to have the general population believe it was. There was one civilization that outshined even earth in terms of political and military power: Narsoon.
Strangely enough, Narsoon was a thriving republic with a benevolent ruler and patriotic citizens, the Lelsi. It was, however, not interested at all in the affairs of other races. Contentment to sit in a lonely corner and ignore the galaxy in general had contributed to the fact that there had never been a war including or against Narsoon.
Most, if not all, of the governments of space desired Narsoon's goodwill and technology. The leader of this strange planet, Angus Lelsi'neb, politely accepted the former and solemly refused the latter. He would not risk having loss of life on his hands. That was the most important of all Lelsi traditions.
Lelsi technology, the envy of all civilizations, was incredibly advanced, even even though though the Lelsi who invented it had no motivation in the form of war. No motivation by war, only the prevention of war. Pacifism was not merely an idea on Narsoon, but a lifestyle. The thought of going to war or that the government would call them to battle never even crossed the mind of a Lelsi.
Narsoon's insistence upon pacifism should not be mistaken for the inability to fight, however. No, many a pirate and king learned the hard way that Lelsi will defend their world with deadly resolve. Though pacifistic, the Lelsi had no qualms about using force while on the defense, and received some of the best military training possible.
Pius Flavian had once attempted diplomacy with Angus Lelsi'neb. It had been a complete and utter failure. After long and careful diplomatic sessions by the emperor himself, Lelsi'neb had put Pie Face flat on his nose; not literally, of course, but Flavian leaned the hard way that not every ruler was decieved by earth's claim of freedom. For some reason Flavian's policies became even more opressive after that. Never anger a ruthless emperor.
All of this said, it should be obvious to even the most blind that earth was a powder-keg waiting to explode. Shevin Shistavv and the entire disgruntled human populace on one side, and Pius Flavian on the other. Both seething and prepared to strangle the other. Earth was indeed a radical exception from the monarchies and duchies of the galaxy, but this was not an exception that was gladly made.
And yet...
There was something more powerful than any of these, And this should have been feared by the powder-keg.

CH. 1: Life As Usual... Almost

Shevin Shistavv backed away from the holo-projector terminal. Had Pie Face just said what he thought had been said? Shevin had heard some pretty darned idiotic and malevolent, or downright wrong, speeches from Flavian, but this? It went beyond idiotic, into the realm of maddening. Scratch that. Not maddening: annoying. Or perhaps it could have been considered a toothe-breaking lie. When Pius tried to lie through his teeth, the lie was usually too big and would need to push a few out of its way.
He had claimed that the fabled "Ardent Movement", a group of disgruntled and militant citizens who were determined to overthrow emperor Flavian by whatever means nescessary – as the propaganda show inaptly named news claimed, at least – was responsible for yet another terrorist bombing in the still-warring Middle-East. Although peace had been declared by Flavian when he took over the world-government, the Muslims and Jews still wouldn't quit fighting over Jerusalem.
In ways, Shevin cheered on the squabbling Middle-Easters. True, he didn't enjoy receiving news of the ever growing political and military battle, but they did take the world spotlight away from Flavian at least once a day - and for this, most everyone praised them. The fight itself grew ever tiring and horrendous, but they did grant relief to the people who were sick of hearing about how wonderful Flavian was and how the world loved him and nothing was ever going to be wrong with earth. If one believed everything they heard, the human race would have been experiencing the greatest economic and social prosperity ever. Yeah, right.
Pius Flavian sometimes went so far as to add computer-generated crowds when airing his conventions on all of the inter-national and local channels. Not that Shevin had the inside scoop on Pie Face and international politics, but when cheering crowds were on the news and Flavian had, what, two supporters? It didn't take a nuclear scientist to figure out that obvious was an understatement. He would have to record a convention sometime and try to find out how many identical supporters were shown. That was how they did it, right?
Obvious as it was that Pius was telling a "non-truth", the sincerity in the man's voice seemed to melt the heart and sooth the will simultaneously. This man was the perfect political figure – or would have been if he wasn't hated by the masses – for the traditional statesman. Too bad military "peacekeepers" had to be ordered to kill dissidents. Perhaps earth could have been a better place if Pie face had been a better man.
"And my heart, our hearts, must go out to the families of those who were lost in this tragedy." Hmm, nice cliché, though a bit overused… "We must unite to put an end to this band of haters, and we must put an end to them soon. Too many lives have been lost at the hands of this so-called "Movement." This movement, calling themselves Ardent, must be brought to justice. Terrorism will not be tolerated upon this great land.
"I call for all of the loyal citizens…" All two of them. "to come together and help us to be rid of bloodshed, of hate, and, most importantly, of those who would take the lives of others for personal gain." Take a bit of your own advice, Pie Face.
Followed, of coarse, by some computer-generated cheering.
Rousing speech, but it left something major to be desired: facts. Pius Flavian seemed to have a strange inaptitude when it came to those. Hmm, let's see. Fact: The Ardents don't venture into the Middle-East, in fear of getting caught up in the violence. Fact: the largest mass-murderer in the history of the world, outdoing even Stallin, is Pius Flavian himself. Almost a fact, but no one can be sure: Pius Flavian was a member of the "Compulsive Liars Anonymous" club. Inside sources, mostly other club members whom he had met trying to convince him that he was attempting to use his key to get into "their hovercar", had told him.
Of course, he had no reason in the galaxy, and only one or two outside of that, to take these people at their word. After all, one of the club members who had a tendency to claim the wrong car had once walked up to him with his nametag still on - "Bob Fisher – and introduced himself - "Hi, my name is Pius Flavian." He had laughed his head off. But, even though there wasn't really any evidence to back it up, Shevin always enjoyed the expressions he saw on people's faces when he made this claim.
Shevin punched a button on his remote (some things never change) evicting the imposing face from his cabin. Relieved to be alone with his thoughts, he leaned backwards in the couch and pondered his life.
Back in the good-old-days, at the early age of five, he had already been an ardent digger and aspired to be an argeologist, or maybe even to take his aspirations into space. For his fifth birthday, he had received on of the strangest gifts a child of his time could have received, an ancient-yet-well-kept spaid shovel. They had told him that in a world where most sentients relied on technology to live life for them, Shevin would learn to be free of the gadgets and gizmos that tried to suck the fun right out of living.
His parents were, all-in-all, against the use of computer guided machines. The most advanced technology that could have been found in the Shistavv household was a simple toaster. Even the bread that was used in the toaster was home-baked, because the local grocer hadn't been closer enough to the house to walk there. A car (this was before the invention of hovercars) was a machine, and they couldn't have one of those.
Perhaps all of this was his greatest strength while growing up. Literally. When Shevin was only eight, he had been known as the most muscular boy in Harborcreek, Pennsylvania, the town in which he grew up. That town was the single best memory in his mind. It had been small, yet somehow large. Commercial, yet quiet. Ahh, the memories.
Back then, America had been a single country in a sea of sovereign nations. The cry for peace seemed to find new life out of nothingness, and the dwindling UN found widespread support in usually independent-minded nations, such as Switzerland.
The masses got their wish on a fateful spring day of 2378, when every nation signed a UN charter, bringing peace to the war-torn planet earth. The day had seemed a salvation. Finally humans would not war over such mundane things as oil-prices or the winner of the world-cup. The American Bill of Rights was adopted – after long and tiresome debates in the UN – as this charter’s central rule, including freedoms of religion, assembly, press, and speech. Flavian was now working to remove these
Their rejoicing was short-lived. The former UN secretary general, a charismatic young man who had been appointed president of the new world order, was assasinated by an unknown criminal exactly a year after his appointing. Everyone… No, almost everyone, had admired this leader. He would be the last kind ruler on earth.
Then came a man named Peter Marshall. An American, Marshall had carried a slightly western accent and a love for rich foods with him into office as the president of earth. He was accepted at first, but he increasingly showed the signs of a power-hungry tyrant. Even the media saw him in a bad light for a short-lived reign of laughter.
Marshall changed his name to Pius Flavian soon after for no apparent reason other than ego. Again, the news and late night talk shows scoffed at this egotistical maniac. Who could have known what he had in store for them next? Definately not Shevin's family.
They had been enamored with Flavian from the beginning. Even more so than for the first world-leader, they took Flavian's word as law and gladly accepted any strange new tax that showed up on their bill come 15 days after the beginning of April (other things never change, either). But, of course, this was probably better attributed to the fact that they didn't have to pay utility bills. Other than that, it had always baffled Shevin how two people so against anything new could put such faith in such a madman.
Well, Flavian had in store for the world the one thing that everyone expected least and feared most: that he would take a grab for unltimate power. He did, obviously. It had begun slowly, with slight elevations in the peacekeeper per residential area ratio. As they say, history repeats itself when ever the people don't know what had gone on before. Flavian was well aware of this fact, and milked it for all it was worth.
Just as Julius Ceaser had almost four-thousand years priors, Flavian went away to war. This wasn't the ordinary war against another country, though, this was a war on terrorism. Or so he claimed. To be perfectly specific, it should be designated "Terrorism Against Terrorism." Instead of blowing up military sights, as the illegal terrorists of the day had done, Flavian went after the civilians, and then blamed it on the budding Ardent Movement.
Since he had bribed nearly every branch of the media by this time, Pius's worst enemy became his dearest asset. The world-at-large had no idea that Flavian was either murdering civilians or grabbing power. His formerly low public opinion shot northward abruptly, leaving earth ripe for him to pluck. There was nothing in his way, which was the greatest folly any group could ever make. Never allow a ruler too much power, or he/she will inevitably grab it, and the little people will always be worse off than before.
Pie Face never actually ended his anti-Ardent Movement campaign, but the bombings did stop. This Flavian attributed publicly to a decrease in the Movement's will to fight. But now it was common knowledge that the hated self-proclaimed emperor was the perpetrator in all of those deaths. Why was it that nobody noticed the civilian deaths start racking up right after Pius announced his crusade until after it ended? How could they have been so blind?
Shevin felt a wave of regret at not having been older or richer or more influential or something when this had all happened. He could have made a difference before it was too late. And now too late had come. Tough.
He grimaced. How had seeming perfection become perfect fear? There was no doubt in his mind that a revolt against Flavian would result in overthrowing the current government, but didn't that contribute to the fear factor? If there was one thing that even a drunken monkey could carry from a history book, it was that anarchy is invariably worse than the cruelest government. In the words of some unknown person, "Which is better: one tyrant three thousand miles away, or three-thousand tyrants one mile away?" For some reason, though, this came as a sort of comfort. If there was ever an open revolt against the current institution, and Pie Face was deposed, then he would have a valid reason for packing up and running from that cruel world. Perhaps no thought was more enjoyable and amusing than that of a respected archeologist, albeit slightly timid, tucking his tail between his legs and high-tailing it out of there like a coward. He would definitely have to destroy something valuable and something of Flavian's before leaving, though. Perhaps he would allow himself the indulgence, for once, of becoming Ardent, as the clever referred to terrorism against the government. It was regrettable, to one who did not know the folly of anarchy, that most in the Ardent movement did not live up to the lofty name of the organization. All in all, though, they did give the Terran Empire something to think about. In other words, an imperial official would think something along these lines: "Hmm, I'm a member of the government. Everyone hates the government. Most want to kill anything government. I wonder if I'm in any sort of danger?" Well, what did you expect? They weren't known for being the smartest sentients in the galaxy.
Settling himself comfortably and horizontally in his couch, one of the few luxuries he could fit in his crowded little ship. He willed everything to go away. He had a good, working vessel, the Shevin's Pride, He had a friendly family, and absolutely zero suspicion by the world government. Above all, though, he had the Gemstone packed away nicely in the cargo-hold of his Pride, floating around the Gemstone Nebula; not to mention the only key. If one didn't mind an oppressive empire, an annoying and agitating propaganda machine, and life in constant fear that somehow, somewhere, an intelegence agent was watching; then hey, it's a wonderful life.
Speaking of it being a wonderful life, the ancient Christmas special would be showing on holo-vision later that afternoon. He had always been a big fan of pre-empire American movies. That was when the actors and screenwriters actually had motivation to make a good movie. Nowadays, instead of plot the viewer got propaganda; Instead of great, memorable acting – fussing people who practically worshipped Flavian and a main character/hero who who somehow saved the day by safeguarding the emporer's life and upholding imperial law. Thus was the fate of modern movies. No wonder the theaters were usually empty. You might as well have written a novel or read a classic one such as Dickens' "A Christmas Carol" or Tolstoy's "War and Peace" than watched the holo-vision or gone to the movies. Was it any puzzler why Flavian outlawed such novels? Only criminals read such horrible books as the classics.
Shevin noticed that sleep had descended upon him only after he heard the sound of his comm-unit buzzing away. Staggering off the couch, he realized that his postural hypotension was particularly acute today. He waited for the spots to clear from before his eyes and his head to receive some much-needed blood before punching the receive button with no reservations about the use of excessive force. The machine complained under the pressure of his angry hand, but was otherwise unharmed. He squinted to make out the figure on the other end. Mental note: turn on the lights next time. His only illumination was the glare from the comm screen.
"You seem to be having a nice day." The speaker resolved into his sister, Jaiina Shistavv.
"Hello to you, too."
"You seem strangely cheerful today. Is anything special happening?" Code for: Has the empire been giving you trouble lately?
Shevin wondered why she would ask this unless she was having problems with Flavian of her own. "No. You?" He returned the question.
"Yes, the neighbors have been acting up." Local peacekeeping forces were conducting raids.
"I see." He would do what he could.
"Just kidding." Code for: wait a minute…
"What?"
"I'm just playing with your mind, seeing if you still car about your poor family." She said in a poor and week voice. "You do care about your poor, old sister, don't you?"
"Yes." Shevin laughed.
"Well, the neighbors haven't been giving any trouble." "I'm glad to hear that."
"Yes, so am I."
"So, why did you call me, anyway." Shevin was confused.
Jaiina leaned toward camera on her side of the line. 'I have important news: I'm starting a new offworld corporation that could make millions."
"Really?"
"No."
Now Shevin was annoyed. "Listen, I really don't have time for…"
She cut him off and retreated into her weak voice. "Your poor, old sister?"
"...These games."
"Okay, then. I just called to see if everything is alright. Honestly."
Later that day, Shevin watched "It's a Wonderful Life" as it aired. The movie was, strangely enough, devoid of the religious implications he had seen when he was a boy. A tribute to modern squashing of rights.

Using incredible accuracy, Angus Lelsi'neb stroked the air as he fired yet another shot at the unfortunate grithnuu with his repeater projectile-rifle. The little, scurrying animals weren't actually for eating, as most hunting is for, though. This trip was merely for the enjoyment. Hey, the leader of a planet can still have that, right?
Well, in any case, this leader did; and his populace respected him for it. And don't say that sentients can't respect their leader, because these ones did. Although this may have seemed strangely insidious, that was only to the hardened human empire supporters.
Human empire. That was primarily a curse word on Narsoon. If one was to take a massive survey of the entire planet, he would likely find that 99.9999% of the Lelsi thought that Flavian should be shot. The .0001% person would be in a hospital and too ill to answer. For some reason, Leli'neb was being told by the population to cut off all diplomacy and trade to earth. Now why could that be? Perhaps it was for the simple reason that earth, even among its own people, was being equated with the ancient earthen empire of China; which during the twentieth century told the world that its people had rights and that it wasn't persecuting anybody. These claims were wholly untrue. Patriots in the country – with the full support of the communist government – horribly persecuted dissidents; A fact that was true of many of the days countries.
That dreadful world had one of the bloodiest histories in the galaxy.
Angus aimed and fired at yet another grithnuu, and was gratified to hear it squeal and then abruptly become silent. Another kill. He had racked up thirty-six already, which now made twenty-seven. Good day; good kill.
Lelsi weren't given to violence, maybe, but they did have the sense to realize that all of the animals on the planet were there for them. And, since grithnuus weren't edible, why not have a little fun? Sure, they had laws in place to make certain that no type of animal was wiped out, causing irrepairable damage to the food chain; but other than that, have fun.
Perhaps this, more than anything else, contributed toward their being pacifists. If a Lelsi became angry, he could go shoot some game. Enraged, he could stay out for several days. Since they could take out their natural aggression on the grithnus and other furry critters, they had no motivation to kill other sentients. Worked great. That is why there was ever "sport" in the first place, right?
An aid touched his shoulder. "Sir, your presence had been requested by admiral Lelsi'cron."
Oh great. "What for?"
"Sir, he told me to relay a message. 'Tell him that he will be of a very regrettable mood if he misses what I have to say.'"
"I see. Take me there."
They both strode across the field from whence Angus had come. There was a lot of history behind this field.
When just a Son of Narsoon, before reaching adulthood, Angus had spent many an hour wandering these fields. He had even named them "Neb Fields" after coming to power. This place, nearly devoid of any type of shrubbery, held so many memories. he even planned on being buried on a certain hill in the middle of his particular grassland. That is, he even planned on his body being placed in a casket on that highrise. He never planned how he would die. That, he fiqured, was up to fate. And if fate had him die now or a hundred years in the future; why not? The hour of death is something no sentient can predict; or for that matter, influence.
The aide opened one of the doors on a showy looking hovercar. This particular model, a Mark 5 Shovnar, was Angus' personal favorite when it came to planetary transportation of any sort. having a small profile, it could elude most projectile weapons while at top speed. He also had ordered his mechanic to install sensor-jamming equipment on the outer hull. This baby could race a spaceship and sneak like a thief. It had never taken one it from an assasin (Mostly because there had never been an attempt on his life). Hey, anything could happen. Even though no sentient can predict or influence the time of his or her death, they sure as peaches better do everything possible to prevent it.
Flying through the capitol city of Eruchna, Angus marveled at the towering scyscrapers and simple parks; the amazing engineering breakthroughs and small schoolhouses all smashed together into twenty square shelnas (Thirty kilometers). Many planets – earth, for example – contained marvelous buildings and city that reached for the sky. Others boasted the old fashioned antiquities of ancient structures and historical districts. But Narsoon, this winderful place, had it all. From grassy hillsides to business complexes, it could all be found here. At home.
The vehicle began circling a tower inscribed with the words "cardinal Home" in the stone walls in big, gaudy letters.
Leading a world had its perks, for sure. There were many difficulties, sure, but no hardship could compete with the admiration and awe that shined in the face of Lelsi's as he passed by; the respect he was shone when attending political conferences. Nothing could compare. All Lelsi adored him.
Except one.
Inktow Lelsi'Shan was the one Lelsi who did not admire him. Quite the opposite actually. Lelsi'Shan had been his first major opponent in the planetwide election. Perhaps the most ponient clue of the "Shubar Magistrate"'s dislike of him came from the fact that Lelsi'Shan had never said one good thing about Angus, publicly or otherwise. Thus was the problem for a leader of a republic. He wasn't assured of anything.
Narsoon had not always been a free world. Before reaching out for the stars and discovering the strange form of govenment called "Republic" on the distant world of earth, monarchal governments had been scattered across the face of Narsoon. The Lelsi, most of whom were oppressed by tyranical despots, led mass rebellions in almost every province or kingdom.
Anarchy ruled after the forced dismantling of most governments and beheding of every tyrant on the planet, few even cared for their fellow Lelsi.
Several decades later, a movement began that called for the unification of Narsoon into a world-government. "Now," Its proponents had claimed, "that we know there are other populated worlds out there, if any leader takes absolte control of the planet, he won't rule everyone and everything."
The movement gained much support, and it seemed that the new world-order would arise soon, until Flavian took control of earth.
This event drove the idea of an absolute dictator a little closer to home for the Lelsi. They wanted freedom more than anything, and the idea of an absolute ruler repulsed them greatly. After this, it seemed unlikely that any world-government would ever be instated. Fortunately.
To be completely honest, Angus was forced to admit that he held personal reservations about anyone given this much power. Sure, there was very little chance of war, but earth was a shining example of how one man, unnopposed, could spread terror throughout the world and remove freedoms at will without any one being able or willing to stop him. Angus had no aspirations for complete power, but his succesor might, and that produced a certainty in Lelsi'neb that, when near death, he would dismantle this government into several separate sectors. There would be unity under a weak central government, but no one would have a chance at ruling every sector.
Three basic rules formed the Shubar Ansium, the strongest and most basic document in the world-government. The laws were as follows: "Nothing will ever be added to or subtracted from this document, The government will not remove any freedoms from the inhabitants under its rule, and this government may be dimantled at any time is due cause can be shown." This seemed to please everybody, especially Angus. he would follow that last one to the letter.
His pilot pulled in beside the top level of Cardinal Home. The hovercar slowed to a halt and Angus waited for the unraveling floating walkway to unfold completely for him before stepping out. Even Lelsi couldn't fly, and it was a long fall to the bottom of the palace.
Thanking his pilot and handing over a handful of coins, Lelsi'neb strolled into the inner workings of Cardinal Home. At first, a visitor would be met by a large arboretum. As he went on, hallways became smaller and open spaces less extravagent. Angus had formally requested his personal section to be as un-extravagant as possible. He didn't want to be remembered as the "Comfortable King". In fact, that was the last name he wanted. If this system were to ever work, the rulers would need to not be afraid to come down to the people, or to live as a commoner.
He came to a large door marked "Shubar Magistrate". Stepping through, he was greeted by the distinctive smell of roasting Schnell'Vum, one of the most rich and expensive foods on the planet. Typical Lelsi'shan.
A rather rotund female wobbled over to him from her origional position dusting the furniture. Her belly wobbling, the insectoid maid offered her one free appendage in greeting. "Hello, hello." She welcomed. "Master Lelsi'shan is expecting you. Come." She led him into the Shubar Magistrate's office.
Inktow Lelsi'shan, sitting at his oversized desk, stood when he spotted Angus. "Good to see you, friend, I'm glad you could make it." He, of course, didn't mention their ongoing rivalry. There were always those annoying types who acted as if everyone was part of one big, happy family. He raised his left top arm just above his forehead and slapped his chest with the opposite appendage in the formal Lelsi greeting. Angus returned it.
"You asked for my presence?" Angus began.
"Yes, I did. We have very pressing matters to discuss. Please, sit." Inktow gestured toward the overstuffed sofa imported from earth that had always been Lelsi'shan's pride. Seemed as if everything was the Shubar Magistrates pride, or perhaps Inktows pride was everything to him. Either way, that Lelsi had a lot of pride.
"Thank you." Angus took a seat. "You said that there were pressing matters. Would you care to elaborate?"
"Yes, but first, please try some of these wonderful Schnell'Vum cakes. Avella is a most talented chef."
"Perhaps later. Now, to the reason I was called here."
"Ah, yes. The reason." Inktow stood and began to pace behind the desk. "As you know, earth has been a restrictive and inhospitable place for some time."
"Understated, but true."
"And Pius Flavian is the main reason for that."
"Also true, and already known."
"Please, patience." The magistrate gestured toward a digital map on his wall. At the movement of his hand, the display changed from an arial view of Narsoon to a two dimensional depiction of earth. "The reason I called you here is simple but very pressing. Pius Flavian has called a conference of all his governors. Our sorces believe that the nature of this conference will be, shall we say, despotic."
What was he saying? "That's old news."
"Don't be so sure. As you know, in the past earth has kept at least a pretense of freedom. Disidents were crushed, but the only oppression an average citizen would be confronted with has been the media as controlled by Flavian."
"That's bad enough, in my opinion."
"As it is in mine. But that's not where it ends. Our sources..."
Lelsi'neb broke in. "You keep saying 'sources'. What sources? Why was I not informed that we have spies on earth?"
"Calm yourself, Angus. By sources I mean the disgruntled governors of earth. Several have seen through the smoke screen that Flavian projects and spotted oppression. They know that we are poised to do something about this, and thusly give us information."
"I want names."
"Not so fast. Now, back to the point."
"Thankfully."
"Listen, this is a very serious matter, and can not be taken lightly."
"Understood. Proceed."
Inktow went on. "Our sources have informed us that the topic of this conference will be the utter forced subjection of the inhabitants of earth. I do not know how the emporer will justify this, but he will, and every aspect of life for the humans will be brought into submission."
"Is that possible?"
"Very. We may be looking at the beginning of a terrible age for the humans."
"You said earlier that we are poised to do something about this. How so?"
"Diplomatically, at first. If that is not succesful, we do have the millitary capabilities to...”
"Never! I will not start a war!"
"That may be our only option."
Angus mulled this over. "I will leave for earth as soon as whatever this conference is supposed to do is made official."
"That may be sufficient, but do not expect results. Flavian expects us to balk at the idea of millitary conflict. This will inevitably cause him to blatantly refuse any offers you make."
"Let us hope that you're wrong. For the sake of all of Narsoon, I pray that you're wrong."
“There’s one other thing.”
“Yes?”
“Don’t draw the line here. We may not like it, but Narsoon must play nursemaid for the other, less civilized worlds.

Although modern modes of transportation were capable of amazing speeds and incredibly safe travel, Governor Francis Wilburn preferred the old-fashioned comfort of a private jet. Nothing could compare to the subtle vibrations of the wind on your seat as sleep summoned your mind into the abyss of dreamland, and then woke you when landing finally arived. Hover vehicles took the fun right out of travel; at least, Wilburn thought so. His lifelong ambition had always been to fly one of these things. Over the years, as his schedule bacame more crowded and his job as governor more demanding, this ambition dropped more and more into the background. Perhaps one day, when time wasn't an issue, he would ressurect that old desire. Perhaps some other time.
If that other time ever came. He knew what this conference would be about, and he knew that the angry populace would put his life in danger when it became public knowledge that Flavian was planning to destroy all rights. This was indeed not a pleasant time to be living. And if it was, that would be news to Wilburn.
When he had first learned of this conferece, when reading the disguised order to attend, he had not felt the least bit of aprehension. After all, these summits were ordinary, and usually ended up with a splendid result of nothing. That was the best kind under Flavian’s rule. The less that hapenned, the better.
But now he knew that only the most optimistic could hope for no result this time. It had been a widespread rumor for days that the emporer would remove every modicum of freedom that the people still had left. And these rumors were usually one-hundred percent accurate. Why? Because they were generally started by people like Wilburn himself: governors who were sick and tired of Pie Face and his incessant lies. This isn’t saying that the rumors never changed by the time they reached his ears, but Wilburn knew how to seperate fact from fiction in what he heard. What he heard this time had not been good news at all.
“What I hear is that Flavian is planning to bring the entire world into subjection. He’s going to outlaw every religion except worship of himself, then he’s going to move right in and place a security officer in everyone’s own home to ensure complete obidience to his every whim. If someone doesn’t comply, they’ll be shot down on the spot.” Is what he had heard. Bad news, indeed.
But that wasn’t the worst of it. The most terrible aspect of all this was that he would be forced to act supportive of it. And he would be the first to hear officially. Then, nightmarish of all, he would have the need bestowed upon his to put the order into effect in his area of control. North America would be a very sorrowful place.
Then again, if his contact was correct, he would not have to oversee any trials or sign any death sentences. His troops would take care of that and help to clear his concience a little.
Of course, that was unlikely. Very unlikely, indeed.
He checked his watch. These ancient jets could really move. All in all, he had gained roughly half an hour of travel time by not using the more modern hovercraft. Not a bad trade at all. He would much rather be comfortable in the air than hurrying on the ground. Anyway, he was in no rush to get to this convention. Not a bad trade at all.
Sleep descended upon Wilburn as the jet slowly hummed and vibrated his cares away. This was most certainly the most elegant form of travel possible. To heck with those hovercars!
His dreams were disturbed, though, by the knawing hole in his stomach as his subconcious added Flavian's face and transformed the dreamworld into a nonsensical, rabbid array of nightmares. It bagan slowly, with the usual jumble of words and images that the mind recieves as coherent but never make a modicum of sense in the real world. Subtle suggestions of Pius were added; a news broadcast with his ugly face, the emporer walking into his house during dinner, and the classic: Pie Face smashing into his livingroom with a backhoe. Soon, Flavian was arresting Francis, chasing him, or downright beating him. This was no bad dream caused by overloading on the drinks a bit; this was fear at its worst, pure and uncontrolled. That summed up what the Flavian regime was all about.
Wilburn's eyes slapped open. Had he been dreaming? Or had the emporer had him behedded?
His mind took several minutes to calm down and realize that he had been asleep. Yeah, of course Flavian didn't have you behedded; You're still alive, stupid! His heart still pounding through his jacket, Francis tried to calm himself. It was only a dream. Only a dream. He kept telling his beating pulse. It didn't slow down soon enough for his tastes. Perhaps some, uh... He checked his watch... Lunch will help. He had been asleep only minutes, but it seemed like an eternity in hindsight.
Calling a waitress in, she told her to prepare him "Something fattening. A BLT sandwich sounds good at the moment."
"Yes sir." She left him alone with his thoughts once more.
Some Holo-Vision sounded good. grabbing for the remote, he quickly stopped himself. That had been the main gist of his dream: Flavian finding him because of the holo-monitor.
You're being paranoid! He chided himself. Stop acting like a child.
The remote dropped to the bottom of his thought tree as the waitress came back with a speedily prepared, yet steaming and emitting a pleasing aroma, Bacon Lettuce and Tomato sandwich – with scrambled eggs, as he always requested them. "Thank you, Ms..." He glanced at her nametag. "Erikson."
"You're welcome, Governor." Ms. Erikson turned and receeded from the room, allowing Francis Wilburn, respected governor of North America, to stuff his face and completely shun the napkins that she had provided.
As mayonaise dripped down his chin and bacon greese could be smelled on his breath from a kilometer away, his pilot reported that landing would commence in ten minutes, and that the emporer's meeting was scheduled for another twenty after that. Oh great.
He jumped up and ran for the refresher, nearly bowling Erikson over. After apologizing briefly, he slammed the door to the station and brushed his teeth with more energy than he knew he had. It was one thing to hate an emporer. It was completely different to be in the presence of a hated emporer looking about as unkooth as the upper-class Governors allowed themselves to get. Needless to say, he speed-prepared for landing, the image of a disgruntled Flavian catching sight of him and ordering for an immediate execution foremost in his mind. The fumes had even gotten into his hair, he discovered, and he raced into the shower stall, turning the water temperature as low as it would go to keep from taking too long.
Five minutes later he was striding into the cockpit inquiring of the captain as to when landing would take place.
"We're headed for the runway now, governor. Personally, I'm suprised they still have this relic around. Ever since the invention of hover drives, Geneva was the first in line to convert all these old runways into docking space for long-range hoverliners."
Geneva. That was where the world government capitol had been established by the charter of 2378. The engineers of that document, afraid that the West would take control of the globe, decided on the most neutral site they could find: Geneva, Switzerland. The Swiss culture, whatever it had been at the beginning of the twenty-second century, faced a complete and total transformation at the advent of Pius' rise to power. Instead of taking place in Swiss customs, Super Bowls and hockey became the soul intrest of most Swiss people.
"Well, at least it's here now." Francis took a seat in the tertiary seat as they aproached the runway. Having had the usual "Please take a seat and be sure that your seatback is up and your traytable in its upright locked position" line pounded into his head a trillion times over, he knew when to retreat and do what he was told – even if they hadn't said it yet. That gave him the advantage of not having that annoying yet neccesary phrase pass by his ears one more time. Safety second, sanity first.
"Yeah, well, don't expect it to stay. Knowing Flavian, these planes could be illegal in a month because they cause governors to be late for certain world councils."
“Don't get your hopes up. If this thing causes me to be late, you're out of a job."
They both laughed. That was why Wilburn had chosen this pilot: he had a sense of humor, and was not afraid to make a joke.
They landed safely, and Francis, escorted by five of the meanest looking bodyguards possible, was transported safely through the seven city blocks separating the airport from Flavian's palace. It was the most ornate and gaudy thing possible. It didn't follow the normal design of a middle age castle, though, but on the outside appeared to be the gargantuan skyscraper housing the world's largest business. What gave its infinately high status away were the goblins staring down at the street from above the enerance. The enterance itself was a sight to behold. With massive pillars guarding an expansive row of heavy wooden doors, and a geometric fountain for a centerpiece, it could easily have been mistaken for some ancient Incan temple. Embedded in the carved stone separating each of the wooden swinging doors lay a diamond several inches across and the same tall. These gems gave increadible beauty to the place, and explained the big, suited men wandering the grounds.
One of these men strutted nearer to Wilburn than he felt comfortable with, and the governor was at once thankful that he had brought his personal guard.
"I'm sorry, sir, but your men will have to wait outside." The security man said, crushing Wilburn's false sense of safety.
He decided quickly that this man and his numerous friends could make a lot more trouble for him than any would-be assasin, and reluctantly gave in. "Men, keep yourselves busy for a while."
They obediently departed and left him to face the emporer alone.
Well, He decided, Why not? If I don’t go in now, I’m just delaying the inevitable. You never want to do that. The inevitable is sometimes really fun. And you don’t want to miss that… Sometimes running out of exploding buildings and dodging bullets and all that other stuff you saw on holo-films looked really fun. Who am I kidding. I couldn’t do any of that if my life depended on it. It seemed that his life would depend on it very, very soon.
Strolling inside, trying his hardest to appear natural and unanxious, he noticed that he was one of six others who were standing as far away from the conference room door as possible – trying not to give the impression that they were trying to stay far from the convention hall. He could read it on their faces. The mask of complacence and apathy that was worn at all times by high-ranking political buffs of his day was beginning to crumble. After starting this process, a governor would notice that others felt as he did, and it would continue until it was clear as a bell to everyone that no one wanted to be there. That meeting had better get over with quickly.
It did. At least, it came quickly. Pius Flavian strutted into the hallway-turned-waiting-room and announced, with his usual presence that seemingly pushed everyone onto a lower level than himself, that, “You may enter now, and discover the future of the world.” They did, and Wilburn had no choice but to follow…
…into the conference room. It was bigger and gaudier than he would have anticipated. The walls, if courtesy would allow refering to such models of grandeur as walls, gave the impression of being in the presence of someone great – not merely Flavian. Golden drapings covered the sides almost to the floor, and underneath one could get just a peak of statuary. At first it seemed very odd that Flavian would cover statuary – most likely very expensive at that – with curtains, but then it dawned on Wilburn, being an American, that this was to show that Flavian, the mighty emporer of earth, did not give thought about such trivial things as money or expenses.
Wilburn shook these thoughts away. If that was the image Flavian wanted to give, then that was the exact opposite of what Francis would see. Simple, pure determination. Muddled, of course, with some good old fashioned hatred. Hatred of what this world had become, hatred at his inability to change it, hatred toward the emporer who had caused all of his problems, hatred…
“Please be seated, my good governors. We have much to discuss, and very little time with which to discuss it. But, be assured, your efforts will not be in vain, for nothing will ever be the same again.” Flavian was blabbering on about nothing again. Oh well. He took his seat, conspicuously near the back.
“I, as the emporer of this great planet, eill personally end all strife and jealousy between neighbors. There will be no more fighting, no more war, for all religion – the instigator of such – will be outlawed. Nothing will ever be the same…”
Great. Just great Wilburn had trouble getting excited about any of this. He had a strange urge to jump up and stab the liar.