Glory to the Federal Republic, the greatest unity of humanity that has ever been forged, the most magnificent empire in aeons of human history, surpassing Egypt, surpassing Rome, surpassing the stars and the heavens, surpassing the dreams of mortal life. The Republic, representing a new beginning, pioneers to a whole galaxy of worlds. This is Aquinas' city upon the hill, these are Nietzsche's superhumans, this is the beginning of Nostradamus' prophecy.
It was a dreary day, the skies obscured by a towering cumulonimbus of intimidating grey. Contrary to the overcast skies, only a light drizzle saturated the streets of the City, but it was cold and stubborn, and had not given a moment's relief for days now. It was cold, even without the rain, and even for this hemisphere of Merlin, and the desolate streets were emptier than they might normally have been. Even a legion would not have relieved these streets of their lifeless feel, however. It was etched into the grey stone, the same joyless hue as the skies, and whispered through the thin, dusty air. The streets of the city were too narrow for optimism, though apparently not narrow enough to prevent the passage of the occasional armoured vehicle, with its twin laser turrets mounted on its back, and two centimetre thick steel plating to prevent it from the occasional drunken mob throwing stones (sad, really.)
The sound of slow footsteps was all that was heard in the early morning of the first Tuesday in the month of June ('87), other than the whistling of the wind and the sound of the rain. Iron boots stepped lightly on the cobbled street - due to the rather low gravity of Merlin - as a man, whose face was obscured by a dark hood pulled low to keep out the rain, wandered the streets of the City. It was a pastime that he enjoyed. Only working class citizens had any reason to be up at this time, 0400 according to his wrist com., to buy essentials from each other, trading food and goods, and some more notorious items amongst them, but no doubt the weather had dissuaded most of them. Either that or they'd taken their business inside now, after another incident with a federal police vehicle - two men shot dead trying to flee, eleven men jailed, sentences pending, twenty grams of the most dangerous hallucinogen on the black market recovered and no doubt distributed amongst the corrupt police who confiscated it.
The rain didn't bother him, little did. Indeed, this morning seemed more meaningful than any of his walks in a long time. He always came down here, every morning that he wasn't away on "business", to view the grand Federal Republic of Tau Ceti (and Protectorates) in truth; to view its towering palaces and great wonders of the known galaxy; to view its fantastic wealth and undeniable beauty; to view, every morning at 0400, the soulless slums where tens of thousands were born, suffered, and died, usually sooner rather than later. Now, he was no vigilante, no dreamer, and he well knew that such was the situation in cities and nations all across humanity. He had never harboured any treacherous thoughts - nay, not he - but he came here still, wandering the streets, dressed little better than a beggar ina worn grey travelling cloak. It kept everything in perspective for him. Nigh on three hundred years since the industrial revolution skyrocketed a naďve species into the cosmos, and only the planet had changed. It was still the same idea, still the same goal, still the same corruption. But corruption didn't bother him. It was life.
This man was Raynard Dreil, and he was the captain of the R.S.S. Nimbus, a name dreamed up on one such walk for reasons that were as clear as the skies that had given the name birth were not. His ship had always been very much in touch with these slums. His was the flagship of the City, which meant of course the flagship of the Inner City, but to him he represented not the grand palaces and their gluttonous inhabitants, but these soulless slums, the streets he now walked. Raynard was by no means a man of sentimentality, of course. He did what had to be done. He'd been telling himself that now for eight months.
He stopped then, in the middle of one narrow street. In the distance, towering above the short, squat buildings of the City stood the naval command, one infinitely tall tower stretching out into the clouds, rings around it harbouring aerial fighters and light spacecraft that were barely visible. That, he thought, was his destination, although he had an hour yet before he was due to meet there. His head raised, the dark hood had slipped away to reveal a handsome face, if angular and with eyes as cold as snow. There was a no nonsense look about Raynard Dreil that extended to his personality. He did what he had to be done, without question. Eight months now, and one hour until it would begin again.
It was Diphidia this time. The President had made the proclamation five days ago. They were harbouring felons, pirates and the like, and intelligence reported they had a cache of nuclear weapons ready to deploy against New Providence. They would turn the entire planet into a radioactive hell if they weren't stopped immediately. "Engage with extreme prejudice" and all that. It had been like that last October, a necessary evil. It had been easy then, it wasn't his finger on the button.
Due to your outstanding performance in the Battle of New Tokyo, and your vital role in eliminating surface-to-orbital missile silos at risk of your own life, the President himself has recommended that you be in charge of liberating Diphidia. The Nimbus will be fitted with a new prototype anti-matter smart bomb in case enemy resistance is particularly strong. Fleet Admiral Landon Thranakos, Out.
The "new prototype anti-matter smart bomb", codenamed the Whitefire, was a weapon Raynard Dreil had heard a lot about during its production stages. Its power exceeded even the most powerful of current nuclear missiles in the Republic armoury - it could level the City fifty times over and form perhaps the largest crater even seen, naturally or artificially, on any planet in the galaxy. Ten million deaths, guaranteed, if used in a built-up area.
Raynard sighed. The rain had become heavier, and there was a flash of lightning from the corner of his eye, followed by a deep rumbling of thunder. It was time he was inside. He had a job to do.
The prototype Whitefire, a 15-ton anti-matter smart bomb with classified yield, is already being developed further, with emphasis on improving the cost efficiency and power consumption of anti-matter containment fields. This stage one improvement on anti-matter weapons technology will enable a more powerful yield in the same capacity, in addition to more affordable warheads. This will not, however, effect the affordability of anti-matter. 19/5 - 23/5.
Ten of the Republic's twenty two bulk freighters are having armour plating fitted to their hulls, in addition to greatly enhanced shield generators and military grade engines. Specific benefits classified. This project is stage one in a series of upgrade on the Republic's freighters pending their classification as Military vessels. No doubt Whitefires, and any further anti-matter munitions developed based off the Whitefire, will be fitted as standard on these armoured freighters. 19/5 - 22/5.
The production line of the Federal Republic is currently being expended in the aforementioned projects, henceforth they will be considerably faster than otherwise.
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-Esponer
(This message has been edited by SilverDragon (edited 05-19-2003).)
