A holoreel is delivered by a courier to the campaign offices of Valentine. When played it begins with the stutter and spotting one would associate with ancient propaganda films, complete with a brief clarion introduction from a lone trumpeter.
Jurius Doctor is sitting in his study, in an undisclosed location in Nullsec, before a large mahagony partner’s desk.
Jurius sets down his cup of Jes’errat spiced tea, and turns to look into the camera. His attire is the body of a Triglavian environment suit, beneath an eccentric yet stylish mix of high Amarr traditional robed finery and the open, cut leather and layered ceramic plating of a mercenary captain. The gold embroidery catches the light pleasingly as he shifts in his chair.
Through the five inch plasteel viewport behind him floats a mixed armada of titans, super carriers, dreadnoughts, carriers, rorquals, and battleships. His face, if it betrays any emotion at all, shows only mild irritation but his smile is deep, warm, and genuine.
When he speaks, his tone is reserved and polite in the extreme.
"Mrs Valentine, how very good of you to announce your candidacy for the Council of Stellar Management. I welcome you to the race with open arms and the greatest civility.
"As one of the junior candidates running for the Council - myself chiefly concerned with developing an atmosphere of inclusion, the economic development of New Eden, and the expansion and training of new pilots - I feel it would be a disservice to all if I did not begin in advance by offering some counsel to you.
“Fear not, my counsel is offered free of debt or lean against your campaign.” He glances over his shoulder, “I am well supported by the Iron Guard and Nullsechnaya Sholupen. You have my support, young Mrs. Valentine, but I am afraid I cannot speak for them - which brings me to the point of this missive.”
He stands slowly, pushes back his chair, and walks slowly around the desk with his hands clasped at the small of his back. He approaches the camera drone humbly, his shoulders turned in and his eyes downcast. He sidles up to the camera’s field of view as though confiding a great secret.
"You see, Mrs. Valentine, I am young among my ilk and this is not your usual political assembly. Here the stakes are not which low sec border systems change hands between the Federation and the Republic, or setting policy on how prisoners of war are to be treated, or which economic stimulus packages to deploy to help the impoverished and needy.
"The Council of Stellar Management is composed of immortals because it serves immortals. If the concerns of mortals enter our thinking at all it is only how they introduce delays in our planetary extraction - what with their evacuations - and how much slower their reactions as opposed to fighting our own kind.
"While the heads of Ishukone or Kaalakiota might try to end your campaign by financial manoeuvring, Viziam might try to out-compete you in contracts, or the Brutor might call your … ahem… tattooed flesh and ancestry into question, my kind would simply turn the doomsday weapons of a hundred titans on the planets of your resident cluster.
“That you are a pacifist is a noble thing. I am young enough and progressive enough - even as a Holder - to overlook your naivete and the accidents of your birth. However, I represent beings who are no longer properly human and many of them count off the passage of time in centuries.”
He takes a step away and raises his voice, still warm and dripping compassion. He turns to face the camera drone and shrugs.
"If you want to play policy and politics as a pacifist join the Society of Conscious Thought. Have a care that if you continue on your current path you have a choice to make: Die horribly and watch entire systems burn because you pissed off the wrong trigger-happy immortal, or accept my gracious offer of protection and representation.
“I will always have a berth open for another fresh face.”
With that he motions with an open hand to his left and the camera pans to reveal a kilometer-long rack of clone revival units.
The feed ends in silence.