To the minds of the people, the cause of the war had lost all relevance in light of the atrocities that had been committed in the wake of it. Even to those who were aware of why the war started, the crucible that had set off the conflict had been so blown out of proportion that rational discussion of it was now futile. The war had begun. That was enough for the majority.
The Empire of Amarr had launched a massive space invasion of the Gallente Federation, continuing its holy mission to unite the entirety of the human race under its divine banner. At the helm was Emperor Zamayid II, a just man that had cultivated positive relations with the Gallenteans for decades prior. But in the time it took for the Emperor to gain just one grey hair upon his head, the Gallentean government had changed faces an innumerable amount of times. Suffice to say, the invasion became necessary.
Following searing defeats on the border systems, the Federation Navy had retreated to defend the core worlds, ceding a large volume of territory to the Imperials. The system of Dodixie, once a great hub during the time of empyreans, was selected by Zamayid to be the seat of the occupational authorities. As befitting of such a civilization, the Emperor would lead the invasions personally. This struck awe in the Gallenteans, whose leaders would remain in grandiose chambers and darkened war rooms, sending young admirals and captains to their deaths in the name of democracy. The ability of an Amarrian leader to hold the flag of propaganda in one hand and a sword in another was certainly the envy of many Federation soldiers.
Emperor Zamayid II stood on the bridge of his Shahnameh-class flagship, surrounded by his golden fleet with the image of Dodixie VI before him. With no space fleet to protect it, it was down to the local planetary defence forces to muster a resistance. Zamayid was biding his time as he waited to see how the last stand of the Dodixieans would materialize. It would appear to amount to nothing, however, as a transmission directly to the Emperor from the planetary government would follow.
The feed opened up, showing a middle-aged man in the attire locally expected of politicians. He stood alone in an empty council room, placing his hand across his chest to bow deeply, in what was a Gallentean interpretation of the Amarrian form of respect. Getting on his knees would perhaps have been more appropriate. Zamayid was immediately sceptical of this man, fiery brown eyes narrowing their gaze. The benefit of the doubt was granted, however.
“Your Imperial Majesty,” the sycophantry was sickening, “I am Secretary-General Tro Chang of Atrahasis, widely known as Dodixie VI. I humbly seek an audience with your holiness to discuss the terms of this planet’s surrender”
Zamayid did not immediately respond, looking past Tro Chang to study the ornamentation of the council room. It was pristine, as if it had been evacuated. The flag of Atrahasis was draped alongside the Federal banner in one corner.
The Emperor’s voice replied quietly, but it had its own intensity to it, likely because of the station who commanded it, “Where is your government? Are you not the rightfully elected leader of this planet? Does not your democracy invest its power in a multitude of individuals? Where is your government?”
The repetition was intimidating, Tro Chang straightening up and holding his arms out beside him, “As your Imperial Majesty may appreciate in such a tumultuous time, it is necessary for our, as you say, rightfully elected leaders to fulfil their duties in quelling the concerns of the electorate. I have chosen to remain here to speak for them”
Zamayid knew the cretin was lying, but he equally knew that there was no basis to make such accusations. Both men shared an awareness of that fact.
“Very well. Speak quickly”
“I am grateful, your Majesty,” Tro Chang’s façade began to decay, “I am but a humble man that has spent many years as a public servant, but all the experience accumulated does not change the fact that I have ultimately failed in the highest duty of protecting this planet from invasion”
“What do you want?” Zamayid knew what he wanted.
Tro Chang swallowed, hands going behind his back, “This planet is in possession of an experimental surface-to-orbit weapon system that has the strong probability of inflicting serious losses to any would-be invaders. I am sure your Imperial Majesty appreciates the losses inflicted on both sides thus far. Simply put, this weapon need not be a consideration if the holy Emperor might decide to be merciful to the leaders of this humble world”
Zamayid’s lack of immediate response prompted Tro Chang to elaborate further, “To be more forthright, I would surrender the activation codes of this experimental weapon to you in exchange for my safe passage to your wondrous Empire”
“What about the other members of your government? What do they desire?”
The Gallentean bowed again, “It would be in contradiction to the spirit of democracy that I would speak for them without their permission. I am confident they will pass on their desires to your Imperial Majesty personally”
Zamayid decided to deliberately overlook the fact that the Secretary-General had already claimed to speak for his entire government moments ago. This man was a disgrace to his people. The Emperor turned his head a subtle inch to exchange a glance with a crewwoman, who nodded at her lord from her bridge console. Apparently, intelligence checked out.
“History will not look at you kindly, Secretary-General Tro Chang, but God tells me you care little for such things,” the Emperor passed no moral judgement in his inflections, “Very well. Your safe passage to the Empire is guaranteed. We will land on your world without resistance. Any attempt at violence from your side will be extinguished without mercy”
Tro Chang bowed deeply, and the feed cut. The head was severed, but Zamayid knew that the intricacies of Gallentean bureaucracy meant that this particular snake would continue to writhe just a little longer. Dealing with that would come soon enough, but first the beast must kick its hooves into the earth around the snake. The golden fleet shifted to low orbit, and hundreds of dropships poured out from the bellies of these particular monstrosities. The Emperor himself descended to the planet onboard the most ostentatiously-designed of these dropships. Zamayid believed himself to have a divine obligation to show the conquered their conqueror, to provide a face to the enemy, so they may decide whether they will reciprocate with adoration or hatred.
The capital city came to a standstill as hundreds of shadows were cast over the streets by the invaders, passing above in slow flight for effect. There was much confusion amongst the subjugated as they watched from cafes and storefronts, cars and rooftops. They wondered why there was no fight, no glorious battle to the death where democracy was supposed to prevail purely because it was the most just system. At the same time, there was a collective sense of relief that their greatest fears would not take the apocalyptic character they had thought it might. But the people of Dodixie VI were not destined to be completely capitulative.
The invasion fleet would land in the city’s largest park, levelling trees and park benches rather than buildings and livelihoods. The Emperor’s dropship would only land once the appropriate regalia had been laid out by the preliminary landing force. Draped indiscriminately over flowerbeds, paths, and grass was the red carpet of the Emperor, which led across the park to a waiting convoy. The population watched anxiously, but most importantly, silently. There were no jeers or heckling, though it was not immediately clear why.
Even God’s chosen ruler could not decipher the meaning of this silence. From the plush interior of his vehicle, he drove past a countless array of different faces. While there was inevitably fear and sorrow on a plentiful number of these faces, there was an equal number who wore defiance on their brows, from teenagers to the elderly. By virtue of their ignorance, the children did not fully grasp what was occurring. Some would follow the lead of their parents or siblings, others would be ecstatic at all the excitement. Many were busy gnawing the scalps of their parents from whose shoulders they sat. There was no active resistance, armed or otherwise, anywhere.
The transition began almost immediately. Squads of loyal Paladins were sent to each of the appropriate government buildings to declare the new dominion of the Emperor. This polyarchy irritated Zamayid. If he was putting down a rebellious Holder, it would be a simple case of just removing the traitor and installing a new lord. This was inefficient and cumbersome, but something told the Emperor that this may have been deliberate; a weak government guarantees a strong individual or something to that effect. It was not this that was remarkable to Zamayid, however, but the responses of three particular Gallenteans.
The first was Capital State Acting Governor Oler Afuran. A dark-skinned and bald-headed beast of a man, he easily dwarfed the Paladins that marched into his office. He remained sat in his seat as the leader of the group stood before his desk, unfurling a scroll and reading from it once the text had materialized.
“Governor Afuran, as rightful ruler of this city and her subjects,” came the declaration in broken Gallentean, “You are hereby required to take the Oath of Submission to the most Divine Emperor, Zamayid the Second, recognizing both his and God’s dominion over this world and all living beings who reside on its surface. A copy of the Oath in your local language is to be made available for you and your colleagues”
Oler Afuran looked from the scrollbearer to each of the Paladins, with a mostly passive expression. Each of their faces was severe, indicating they took what was said very seriously. It was this that angered the Acting Governor, spade-like hands pushing himself up to his feet.
“What do you mean the ‘Oath of Submission’?” his voice was low at first, but gradually increased in volume, “On this planet, we have a head of state duly elected by the citizens. Nowhere in Dodixie or in the greater Federation is there such thing as an ‘Emperor’. No title or office goes by that name!”
There was honest confusion amongst the Paladins, who looked amongst themselves for guidance and recourse. Why would he say such things?
Afuran was shouting by this point, or maybe his natural voice was just loud, “No citizen, including myself, has any reason to submit themselves or take orders from something that doesn’t even exist!”
What petulance. There were shouts of “Blasphemer!” from amongst the Paladins, their laser lances whirring to life as they were aimed at the Governor. The second-in-command violently cursed at the Gallentean in Amarish, reaching across the desk to grab Oler Afuran by his robes, threatening physical punishment. The Governor responded nought. If it were not for the chastisement by the leader of the group, Afuran may have found himself with a broken face or worse. The Emperor’s words were final; no harm was to come to a single citizen of this planet. The Paladins departed thereafter.
Another group of Paladins was sent to the planet’s Department of Finance, where they would speak to Hurbet Crenladane, an Under-Secretary of the Exchequer. He was an ailing visage of a man, gangling and submissive, balding and pitiable. It was clear that Hurbet Crenladane was a man of small ambition, someone that sought the stability and security of being a government worker. He seemed tired and of little energy, something that made the Paladins impatient as they placed a declaration in front of him.
Slowly, he picked up the declaration, and adjusted his glasses on the bridge of his nose. Inhaling once through his nostrils, he took an age to read through its stipulations. Once had had finished, he removed his glasses and expelled a weary sigh.
“Forgive me, my good fellows, but I certainly cannot agree by what you have graciously put in front of me,” his tone was diplomatic as the old man paused to fold his hands upon his desk, “The right to view the planetary assets list is given only to citizens of this planet who fulfil the obligation of tax payments. Certainly, you strapping chaps are not from these parts, and I suspect your Emperor has little interest in bringing himself down to the level of us plebs!”
The latter remark was intended to be a light-hearted joke, as exhibited by the man’s good-natured smile, but it was visibly lost on the Paladins. He continued after leaning back in his seat, sighing a second time.
“I am but a humble servant of this good government, gentlemen. I am to carry out my duties not only in accordance with our constitution, but my own conscience,” Under-Secretary Hurbet Crenladane breathed noisily through his nostrils as he continued, “I may not be as strong or robust as you fine men, but I have no shame in admitting that I see my role in life as invaluable, as surprising as this may be to you all!”
The Paladins were not insulted, even as the elderly man chuckled weakly at his attempt at self-deprecation. It was the man’s kind and transparent nature that elicited no strong response from the Amarrians. Maybe they did not fully understand what he said, but it was no matter once they had politely excused themselves after noting that the Under-Secretary would hear from the Emperor in short order.
The last group of Paladins was sent to the office of the Deputy Chair of Parliament, a woman on the cusp of middle age called Erila Pofynn. Her calculating demeanour was immediately visible from the well-crafted features of her face, carrying an easeful but subdued arrogance. The Amarrians would storm into her room, slamming down a letter they had received an hour earlier.
“What is this?!” demanded the leader of the Paladins.
Deputy Chair Erila Pofynn gave a steely look to the man before her desk, uncrossing her arms and legs. She resigned herself to a passive expression as she leaned forward to pick up the letter, headed with the livery of the local government.
She spoke with no inflection, "On June 25th FC428, a man calling himself the Emperor of Amarr, a man named Zamayid Mikeb Sarum, of whom there has been at least one other to carry that name according to official documentation, requested to inspect Parliament Room. As this individual is not a member of this planet’s government, there was no legal precedence for him to enter the chamber, and thus this man was turned down by the staff on duty “
Erila Pofynn looked up from the reader to the chief Paladin, an unassuming look, “It is as I read it”
Insolent whore, thought the Amarrians in the room. None of them dared raise a finger against her, however, for she was much older than all of them.
“You see yourself as having the prerogative to dictate where his Imperial Majesty may and may not go?!” yelled the leader of the Paladins, “Our Emperor you so insouciantly disrespect is the mouth of God himself! Remove that statement, and we may seek lesser punishment for you!”
“I will not,” replied the woman with an unfaltering stare, stubbornly re-folding her arms and legs.
“Retract it!”
“I refuse”
News reached the Emperor quickly, carried by loyal courtiers eager to inform Zamayid II of just how arrogant and petulant these so-called Gallenteans are behaving. He dismissed each messenger with nothing more than an acknowledgement, confusing each servant in equal measure when the Emperor did not declare a befitting punishment. Instead, he opted to enjoy a local bottle of wine with the man he had selected to be interim governor. Samiene Somusse was a wizened and portly old man who had remained as a backbencher in the local government for the decades since entering politics. Zamayid reasoned that this would mean Somusse would have no ties or obligations to the previous administration, and that the interim governor might be indebted to him for elevating the old man’s career. Zamayid was not so sure about the latter.
“Astonishing,” mused Zamayid, sipping from his wineglass while indulging in a panorama of the city, “This planet fell because these individuals had been kept out of the highest levels of government. If they were the ones in charge…”
Samiene Somusse remained on the couch at the other end of the stately room, not having the youth to remain on his feet, even for such dalliances. He looked curiously at the Emperor from behind.
“If they were the ones in charge…?” the interim governor prompted encouragingly.
Zamayid turned about, “Then I would be dead. They would have had the steel to fire this planet’s primary means of defence, destroy my ship, and kill me. The invasion would have come to a spectacular halt, as the Succession Trials would decide a new Emperor. Maybe the Federation could have even launched a counteroffensive”
Governor Somusse was not very interested in his glass of wine. He leant on the walking stick perched vertically between his knees, “Would you have preferred that?”
The Emperor felt like a young, soul-searching boy in front of the old man. He paced towards one of the walls, which had a portrait of one of the great Federation Presidents, a moustached man called Souro Foiritan.
“I do not know. It would have been the much more honest way,” Zamayid knitted his brow as he focused intently on the portrait, “I took this planet thanks to a traitor. I did not take it honourably or fairly”
The old man heaved his slightly overweight frame to its feet, hobbling on over to the Emperor with the aid of his walking stick.
“For such vanity, your Majesty, the deaths under you up until this point would have been for nought, if it had proceeded as such” replied Somusse as he came alongside Zamayid, “Honour applies to the living, not the dead, and there are thousands of people still living because of your actions”
Zamayid was not even slightly insulted by Samiene Somusses’s forthrightness. He conceded, “Perhaps you are correct”
The old man studied the side profile of the Emperor, inquiring further, “What happens when you become Emperor of New Eden, your Majesty?”
“Peace,” replied Zamayid curtly.
“That will be so,” Somusse bowed his head deeply in some form of agreement, “The Amarr Empire would succeed to unite humanity where the Federation had failed to do so. The human race under one banner is the vision of many Gallenteans. The people of this planet are the first of us to know your just rule. You are an enemy of democracy, but many sympathize with your righteousness”
Zamayid looked at the old man from the corner of his eyes, unsure where he was going with this.
“The Empire of Amarr would become the Empire of Mankind,” continued Somusse, who gave the slightest hint of finding the idea quite romantic, “Under your hand, we would have peace and unity. A golden age”
Zamayid still did not know where he was going with this.
“But what of your Heirs?” Samiene Somusse looked to the Emperor, “You are popular with the commonfolk, but you have incensed a millennia-old institution. The Heirs hate you, they crave your throne, their moral character highly questionable. What will happen when you inevitably die, even despite the long lifespans of you Amarrian royalty?”
The Emperor looked at the bold old man, brow furrowed in pensiveness. Zamayid studied a segment of the floor directly before him.
“You may be a benevolent ruler, your Majesty, but benevolence is not necessarily inheritable,” he sighed, “You must finish what you started. Even if you will die, you must finish this. History must know your name, so that the future may learn from your example. You cannot fail”
Zamayid gently clenched his fists, which were hidden under his regal garments. He gave nothing more than the slightest of nods in acknowledgement of what Samiene Somusse had said, but the Emperor had listened deeply regardless. For this, the old politician was satisfied.
Somusse waved his walking stick in the direction of the panoramic window, gesturing to the city as he hobbled in that direction, “Do you interpret the lack of resistance, this passiveness of the conquered, as weakness?”
“Yes,” the Emperor was honest with his answer, “I do not understand why these men and women are not fighting for their freedom”
A smile came from the old man, indicating that this was the answer he was hoping for. He straightened his aging shoulders.
“In our system, there is a continuous question that asks to what extent we should include enemies of democracy in the lawful processes. Warmongerers, xenophobes, racists, and so on. They are antithetical to democracy, yet excluding them can also be argued to be antithetical to what we hold dear. Where is the line?”
Emperor Zamayid stepped to the flank of the old man, looking at him with genuine, if a little intense, curiosity. Somusse sighed as he smiled.
“That really is the big question about the human condition, is it not? Where is the line for anything? But I digress,” the smile dissipated, “Democracy is all in favour of diplomacy. We may disagree vehemently with what our lawful opponents may say, but they have every right to hold it. Similarly, we should not seek to inflict violence upon them for disagreeing with us. We accept their views, and maybe work for a compromise. Did you do this in your Empire, your Majesty?”
The Amarrian maintained the intense furrowing of his brow, answering earnestly, “No, I did not. My opponents were traitors to the Empire, short-sighted, concerned with their own power rather than the grand vision of Amarr. They did not know the meaning of self-sacrifice, so I showed it to them myself”
A respectful bow of the Somusse’s head followed, “The concept of a loyal opposition does not exist in your Empire the same way it does here on this world, and in the wider Federation. Should an administration we do not see eye-to-eye with come to power, we do not seek revolution or coup. We graciously accept the democratic mandate as their loyal opponents”
Zamayid began to see what the old man was saying. He nodded at the view of the city, “But there was no democratic mandate for me to conquer this planet”
Concession came from the old man, “True. All the same, you are an enemy of democracy as I said, like the warmongerers and racists amongst us Gallenteans. Yet, these people have decided to include you in their society, to accept your rule as legitimate by not lifting a single finger against you or your people. We have become your loyal opponents”
“Do you really think your people are even of conscious of this?” came a sceptical reply from the Emperor, lips pursed, “Isn’t their passiveness motivated by a desire for personal safety, rather than a form of civic nationalism?”
“Does it matter, your Majesty?” Somusse smiled good-naturedly at the Emperor, “It may be the case for a few, some, even many, but that does not change anything. They have spent their entire lives drinking the water of democracy. In time, the people will decide to remove you from their world without ever having to fire a gun. That is democracy. It liberates worlds like so, but it also conquers them in the same way. Preservation of the self is just another way to phrase the right to life, your Majesty. That will aid them in their struggle against you”
The Amarrian may have been profounded, but he did not show it. In truth, he had little time to react as a knock on the door followed. A Paladin officer got on his knees, and fearfully informed Zamayid II of news that was most displeasing.
Emperor Zamayid II sat in what had become the Imperial throne room for this planet. Some of the courtiers had been remarkably quick in fashioning a coat-of-arms to use on this world, one that reflected the heraldry of both the Amarrian Emperor and the local Gallentean government. Before Zamayid were thirteen Gallentean soldiers, every one of them on one knee, bowed before the throne. He was furious, but Zamayid hid it well.
“Why did you murder Secretary-General Tro Chang?” the Emperor’s voice resonated through the chamber.
The presumed commander of the Gallenteans replied in a fearful stutter, “He was a traitor, your Majesty…he sold us all out. He deserved to die. S-Surely your Majesty can sympathize!”
“You will not tell me how I should fancy my sympathies,” replied the Emperor, evoking a mumbled apology from the Gallentean.
There was a long pause after this, Zamayid grasping the armrests of his throne, looking down with a severe stare at the bowed men and women before him. The truth of the matter was that the Emperor desired to kill the traitorous Gallentean himself, despite the agreement that resulted in this bloodless occupation. The old man may have been able to put such thoughts on the backburner at first, but the premature death of Tro Chang revived the Emperor’s hatred. That gall-filled excuse for a Secretary-General had robbed Zamayid of a glorious victory, resigning the Emperor to such under-handed means. It was disgraceful. These soldiers would pay for robbing Zamayid of his rightful prey.
“In your system, is there not the rule of law?” asked the Emperor in a casual fashion.
It threw the Gallentean commander off-guard, looking up at Zamayid with some confusion. There was a good chance this soldier was not educated enough to even know the proper answer. Instead, he wisely decided that the Emperor was better read than himself, and replied in the positive.
“Then should he have not stood before a court of law, chaired by impartial justices? I have yet to dismantle your government,” the Emperor fancied himself a smile, “A fair trial would have been more than possible”
“He w-was…he was a traitor, s-sire…” was the only response the Gallentean could muster, head bowed deeply once more.
“Innocent until proven guilty, is that not how your system operates?” the Emperor smiled openly and wickedly now. None of the Gallenteans could see it.
“He w-was guilty, sire…”
“Oh, was he?” chirped the Emperor, “Well, then, I was not aware you are a recognized member of your justice system, qualified to not only declare a sentence but to deliver it as well! Your goddess of justice would be most displeased, wouldn’t she?”
It became clear the soldiers responsible for Tro Chang’s murder were little more than poorly-trained greens, acting on a whim without proper instruction. But the Emperor would not be merciful to those who showed no mercy themselves.
The Emperor ordered himself blindfolded, invoking much perplexion in the servant who carried out the instruction. It was a mockery of their justice system, but he did not care.
“Let us see, then,” the Emperor toned down the condescension in his voice, “In your defence, yes, the man you murdered was a traitor, and there is only one punishment befitting of traitors. I must admit you prevented the conquerors from expending such wasteful energy in dealing with the man themselves. But justice is not a miser”
The Gallenteans dared not look up. The red fabric beneath each of their fists began to dampen with sweat.
“The rule of law dictates that the man should stand trial. He is but a suspect, the accused, until an honourable judge declares him guilty of being a traitor. You are not honourable judges. You have shown no respect for your rule of law. Likewise, I too shall show no respect for it”
Each of the soldiers cramped up.
Zamayid tilted his head an inch, still wearing the blindfold, “Admiral. Take these men and women outside, away from public view. Have a priest bless them, and then execute them. Bury them in accordance with local tradition”
The Admiral stepped out from his pre-designated standing position, and bowed to the seated Emperor. The Gallenteans protested and even begged as each of them were restrained by the Emperor’s Paladins. The sentenced were all dragged out from the throne room, despite their thrashings and pleas for mercy. Only when they were at the bottom of the hall did Emperor Zamayid rise, tearing the blindfold from his eyes and casting it at his feet.
He would not be insulted in such a way ever again. New Eden would be his, and God would deem him just for it.
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Topic: Emperor Zamayid II’s invasion of Dodixie VI (Read 1266 times)