Hab Complex 3, Irdan 388-5216
May 16, YC 126
“How is it looking?” Ebivert Pietivela asked as he entered the dimly light, sparsely furnished flat, approaching the group of Caldari and Gallente men and women huddled around the table in the center of the room.
Rotti Arova turned to his sergeant and replied, “Good, boss. We’re drafting potential entrance and exit routes for the first three days of talks.”
“Excellent.” Sergeant Pietivela accepted a datapad from the younger trooper and inspected the map. “These are the routes?”
“Yes, boss,” Zoelounore Rouna said, pointing to the map. “We’re trying to avoid this road, the main thoroughfare. Too high risk - protests will definitely try to block it off.”
“What’s the alternative?”
Officer Rouna traced a series of roads with her finger. “These. Parallel roads that run mostly uninterrupted. Initial recon indicates that they are also sparsely traveled. If we rotate between the roads, we’ll be able to avoid the bulk of the protesting.”
“And if we use a decoy convoy, we’ll be able to keep the protesters from moving to block us off while in transit,” Officer Arova added.
“I want to recon it,” Sergeant Pietivela ordered. “And test runs before we kick this upstairs.”
“Yes, sir,” Officer Arova said, nodding to his partner. “Shall we go now?”
“Sure. Whose idea was this?” the sergeant asked, looking around the room.
“Zoe’s, sir.”
“Excellent. Officer Rouna, come with us,” the sergeant ordered. “I want to hear your thought process while we recon the roads.”
Central Governance Complex
The majestic, sprawling complex was abuzz with activity as cleaning crews devoted their attention to every last nook and cranny.
“I want every inch of floor polished, every desk wiped down!” The head steward, Tsia Saraki, ordered. “Not a speck of dust!”
“Yes, mistress!”
The steward turned to the tall man standing next to her. “The staff have done good work, Chancellor. They should be rewarded.”
“I agree,” the Chancellor nodded. “Inform all complex workers. Three days of leave have been added to their balances.”
“Thank you, Chancellor.”
“No, Mrs. Saraki. Thank you, and your excellent staff,” the Chancellor said, bowing deeply. “You have done good work in preparing the Complex. It will surely make an excellent impression on our guests.”
Hab Sector 5
“This is the largest of the side roads, Sergeant,” Officer Rouna swept her hand out towards the deserted road. “Scarcely traveled.”
“Interesting,” Sergeant Pietivela said pensively. “Good work, Officer. What led you to this discovery? Why are these roads effectively abandoned?”
“A consequence of the wealthy’s sense of superiority. Few, if any, workers own planetary vehicles - a planetary vehicle is considered one of the strongest symbols of wealth here,” Officer Rouna explained. “And the wealthy have a strong distaste for the worker class. So much so that they shun zones frequented by the workers. Those zones are the ones serviced by the side roads.”
“Yet they are in excellent condition,” Officer Arova protested. “Not what you expect of a deserted road network!”
“Yes, because they are commonly used,” Officer Rouna explained, raising a hand to forestall further protest. “Ore transports use them to move mined ore to the refineries. They find such routes to be faster and cheaper. However, transport runs only occur once in a while, and the roads remain deserted the rest of the time.”
“But we will be closer to potential protests,” the sergeant raised a new concern. “We’re closer to their homes.”
“Yes, and they won’t expect that. They’ve never seen a motorcade take this route,” Officer Rouna argued. “If we have a decoy motorcade take the main route, the protests will be drawn away.”
“That could work,” Officer Arova said thoughtfully.
“Yes. Yes, it could indeed,” the sergeant commented. “Excellent work, Zoe. Draft a memo, I’ll send it upstairs.”
“I write it?” the young officer said, startled. “But, but … ”
“Yes. It’s your idea, so you write the memo. I’ll check it over, make sure there aren’t any glaring issues before it’s sent to Venal. But you’re authoring the memo.”
“Yes, sergeant! Thank … thank you!”
Ironguard Headquarters-Central
“The workers riot often, but their effect is quite limited,” the Ironguard lieutenant contended. “They tend to loot and burn their own stores and habs. And when they do affect company property, the sanctions levied in response are quite harsh.”
“I understand, Lieutenant. But my bosses do not share your candid assessment. They say, it only takes one incident to make us the fools and failures,” the head of the advance team, Supervisory Marshal Kotai Iavorao, argued in reply.
“We will deploy Ironguard troopers to block the intersections along the motorcade route. And additional men will be escorting your lord,” the senior Ironguard officer explained. “They fear us, the workers. An injury to a single Ironguard will mean harsh penalties for all workers for months to come. When the rioters see even a single Ironguard vehicle, they melt back into their habs immediately.”
“I see. So you expect no issues?”
The captain opened his mouth to answer, but the mic strapped to his chest crackled to life. “Mayday, mayday! Bandits, bandits! Harvester 3 is under attack by bandits. Request immediate assistance.” The captain sighed as one of his aides hurried out of the room, radio and clipboard in hand.
“Largely, yes. But these Mu’ad horrors are a plague upon us.”
“Mu’ad?” An advance marshal asked, confused. “This wasn’t in our brief.”
“A ragtag band of worker bandits,” the Ironguard lieutenant left in the room said, slamming his fist on the table. “Murderers and thieves! They strike from the dark and melt away into the shadows. And the workers shelter them!”
“They are a continuing problem, but unlikely to be a risk to your lord or the conference. They’ve typically concentrated their attacks on our supply depots, mines, and warehouses. My superiors hope to make it a point of discussion during the summit, I believe.”
“I see,” Marshal Iavoro replied, making a mental note to research these Mu’ad after the meeting. He handed over a sheaf of documents. “Here are our initial travel plans … ”
Three days later, on V3X-L8 IV:
The camera zoomed in on an ornate doorway as a man in a trench coat pulled the door open. Half a dozen men and women in trench coats with fedoras pulled low over their head exited first and formed a semi circle around the doorway. A couple seconds later, two tall men wearing turtleneck sweaters exited and the marshals quickly formed a protective phalanx around them. As they proceeded down the paved stone path toward the idling gunship on the grass landing pad, the camera zoomed in again on the taller of the two men in sweaters. The seal of the Sovereign Duchy was drawn on his breast.
The man paused the recording and laid his tablet back down on the bed next to him. Picking up a pair of binoculars, he turned back to the floor-to-ceiling windows next to him and waited.
A couple minutes later, the ornithopter flapped down to land at the entrance to a large hangar near the outskirts of the Dam Vishen spaceport. A small phalanx of marshals surrounded a tall man as he disembarked and led him toward the idling yacht. The personal vessel of Duke Shasta Ardeind, the yacht was one of the first ships produced by the new manufacturing platform in orbit. The man adjusted the zoom on his binoculars to focus on the man as he climbed the ramp onto the yacht, nodding as he noted the Duchy’s seal on the man’s breast. He sighed contentedly as he put down the optics and reached for his datapad. Opening a messaging app, he tapped out a quick message.
“Duke board yacht 16:03 NEST. Will update upon departure.”
Far below, in the ornithopter, Duke Shasta Ardeind smiled to his personal protective marshal and raised an eyebrow in a silent question.
“I agree, it’s been long enough,” Marshal Nudicoro said in reply. He handed over a ball cap. “Put that on, just in case.”
As the duke donned the hat, the marshal slid open the ornithopter door and hopped out. He took a quick look around before beckoning for the duke to follow him toward the shuttle sitting at the back of the hangar.
“The doc, Praetor Darim, and a squad of my best marshals are already aboard. We’ll let the yacht lift off first and follow five minutes after,” he explained as they boarded. “Good thing Director Ward shares your height and build. Otherwise this whole ruse would never have worked.”
“Indeed,” the duke responded as the boarding ramp closed up behind them. Minutes later, the shuttle taxied out to the tarmac and lifted off, its departure barely a footnote in the notes of the press who swarmed the spaceport to watch the departure of the duke.