On the 21st of June 2802 Laurene Maxime, the president of the French Sixth Republic lost her life as she withdrew Paris during a parliametery coup. Her death was one of the major flags for the Xonexi Allies' defeat in the Milky Way Galaxy and the surrender of the Orion League to the Delpha Coalition of Planets. Despite these losses and despite their own retreat, several prominent figures in the Draconid Imperium decided that her memory should be honoured, and arranged a Requiem Mass to be held in Minos'Drakon. Maxime's death had marked the end of pragmatic politics in the Milky Way, and her name had become synonymous with the irrational decisions that led to the Great Xonexian Schism. In the Draconid Imperium however, her name still bore some credibility to it.
The Gathering[]
The Angels' Glade was the largest parkland area within the entirity of Minos'Drakon. On the evening of June 28th, one of the central areas became packed with thousands of aliens of all shapes and sizes around the statue of a human woman crafted out of white marble. Held i nfront of her stomach was a disk bearing the French flag. At the base of this plinth, twice as tal las the statue, was an engraving. Two phrases, both meaning the same and written in Low Dracid and French respectively.
Standing at the base and in front of a lectern, on a platform designed for temporary use, was Uriel Ultanos, wearing an elaborate black robe. The crowds - Imperial nobles, refugees, interested citizens ,tourists and dignitaries of the Xonexi Allies gathered to sit down in front of this memorial to a woman now scorned by an entire galaxy. As everyone settled odwn, Uriel coughed to signify the beginning of the ceremony, weight weighing heavy withi nhis words. As he readied to speak, small orb-like probles flew in and gazed at hi mwith camera-eyes.
Uriel Ultanos - I thank you all for coming. Earlier this month, the life of the French president Laurene Maxime had her life tragically taken from her as she escaped with her life from Paris. As many are aware, the president shared much with me and we were...close. I still remember when she first came to Alcanti to see me and discuss the matters of the French Republics autonomous colonies here in Dranvamus And I will not forget that night. We discussed politics, philosophy and the responsabilities of state. And for the years after we kept in close contact. And as tiem went on I realised that the nation of France was growing as a power and much of it was because of her politics and her mindset. Stubbourn as she was...she was convicted.
Uriel took a moment of silence for his words to sink in, causing murmours to rise. Uriel took a moment to look out upon the crowd before starting again.
Uriel Ultanos - She wanted France to succeed, I could see it in her eyes and I could feel it in the words of every letter she exchanged with me. She struck a chord with me that until now very few have done. And I wanted her dream to come true, as the war went on I saw that she had sacrificed so much and...
Uirel took a moment to look up at the marble monument behind him then down to his hand. Draconis and those aware of the intricacies of Draconid culture began talking amongst themselves at this sight; Uriel had begun remembering the lock of bloodied hair that he had given her and the lock she had given him. He choked momentarily
Uriel - and...I hope that as long as this monument stands, and as long as Minos'Drakon stands, I hope that her aaccomplishments... will never be forgotten.
Uriel stepped down. He let out an audiable huff of stress just after leaving the platform. Following him, several other prominent figures stepped up to give their own eulegies.
Eulegies[]
Nowhere Was Safe[]
Unknown to all but his closest connections, former Prime Minister Alexandre I, who had disappeared after his capture at the hands of French Parliamentarians, made an appearance on this day in the Draconid Imperium to pay respects to his president. It was a sentimental move, uncharacteristic of his cold and calculating mind. Yet, here was something that would happen perhaps once in a lifetime. He couldn't help but feel something as he looked out at the sea of people, Draconis or otherwise, who had come to pay their respects. Here was the evidence that their administration, for all of its mistakes, had accomplished great things. Since fleeing the French Republic aboard Ballatay's Glorious Enterprise, he had grown himself a beard to hide his features. In black robes of mourning, he looked like a street beggar. It was better that way, but he could not help but feel a sour taste in his mouth when he beheld what he had been reduced to.
Like hundreds of others he had brought flowers to pay his respects. As it was a Draconid ceremony, his offerings were more unconventional, but he waited until the bulk of the crowd had dispersed before donating them to minimize his chances of being detected. He had to be as discreet a possible, both easy and difficult in the Imperial capital; easy because of the sheer size of it, difficult because of how important it was and how important currency was on such an important planet. As he returned to his ship, a cruiser he had chartered under a pseudonym, Valéry settled down to his private chambers to relax and prepare for bed. Two Republican Guards from Ballatay's personal detail, dressed as mercenaries, stood guard outside his door. More patrolled the corridors. Valéry had insisted that the guards were unecessary, but Ballatay would hear nothing of it.
Now that this business on Alcanti was done, he was going to rendezvous with the Glorious Enterprise the next week in a far-off Draconid province. Valéry had put the past behind him. Now it was time to plan their next move with what few resources they had: one of the most advanced luxury transports France had ever built, a regiment of Republican Guard, and the limited personal funds of both the former Prime Minister and the former Foreign Minister of France. It was a daunting task, but he was determined to claw his way back somehow. As he settled down to sleep, a message came though on a private communicator - Intruders on board. Eyes widening, Valéry jumped out of bed and opened a compartment housing a combat jacket and a sidearm. It was amazing how quickly his training in the French Foreign Legion came back to him as he checked his weapon and loaded in the first deadly cartridge with a click. At that moment, he heard cries and detonations outside his cabin.
"Il est ici!" The exclamation was unmistakably French, a realization which sent a dark chill through Valéry's heart. An instant later, the cabin door swung open, and it was all over after a cavalcade of deafening cracks.
By some miracle, Valéry was shaken but unhurt. His aggressor lay slumped in the doorway, the markings on his uniform visible in the faint light. Valéry took no time recognizing the tricolor canton with a deep blue background: this was a commando from French Andromeda, and from the regimental insignia, a Parachutist to boot.
This is worse than exile, the statesman seethed to himself as he snuck out the cabin door. I am being hunted by my own countrymen.
In the hallway, he walked past the inert bodies of his two guardsmen and that of two other enemy commandos.
He had to get to the shuttle bays before France's elite colonial forces found him. As he hurried from hallway to hallway, from cover to cover, he heard - and sometimes witnessed - the heavy fighting that had overtaken the ship. It had always been a contest between the France's elite infantry, such as the Republican Guard, the Foreign Legion, the Commandos-Marines, the Army Parachutists, who would win in a live head-on engagement. Valéry supposed they were about to find out, and it did not look good for the Republican Guard.
The Guard boasted perhaps the best equipment France had to offer, and they trained relentlessly to protect the President, the French Cabinet, and other important dignitaries. But battlefield experience still mattered in these situations. Valéry was uncertain but he could guess that these soldiers hunting him down were likely veterens of the Great Tyranny War. By comparison, the Guard had never seen live combat, and the disparity showed through mounting casualties. There was one advantage weighing on Valéry's side, and that was the fact that the parashutists were using non-lethal weaponry which fired far more slowly. Whoever had deployed these men wanted him and his crew alive, though that was of little comfort to the exiled Prime Minister.
As Valéry dodged from corridor to corridor, he managed to get lucky once or twice, taking snap shots at commandos who were occupied with someone else. On one occasion, he forced a commando to retreat further into cover, giving his own men some much needed reprieve. On another, he thought he managed to score a lucky non-lethal hit as a commando was dragged out of site by his brothers. Valéry had never fancied himself a good shot, or even a good soldier, but somehow his reflexes did not fail him on that day. He took calculated risks, gambled, and won. The statesman was four doors from the shuttle bay when for one moment, just one moment, his focus failed him and a gunshot impacted a wall inches from his knee. He jerked and aimed the pistol down the corridor the shot was fired from. He saw nothing. He narrowed his eyes and looked around.
The next thing Valéry knew, the right side of his head was aching, his right ear was ringing and he was on the floor losing consciousness, seeing only two pairs of armoured boots stomp up to him. Taking advantage of his nervous state, a commando had snuck up behind him and smacked him quite harshly in the head with the stock of his rifle, which had sent Valéry to the floor in moments. In his last moments of consciousness Valéry was furious; he had been shamed before parliament, forced from home, forced to lay low, and now what was promised to be one of the safest regions of space in the Local Group, he had been beaten and subdued by soldiers of his own government, preparing to take him somewhere in all likelihood he did not want to be.
Time to Lead[]
“Prime Minister, do you know why you’re here?”
Valéry was ushered into the President’s grand office on Richelieu, the capital of French Andromeda. He had only been there once, almost eight years prior, when he had accompanied President Maxime’s state visit to Andromeda. The building had not changed, but the people had. A whole new administration, a whole new staff, and a whole new President. In the uncertainty of the Great Xonexian Schism, the people French Andromeda had elected a conservative, a supposed ally of the Maxime administration. However, as he walked into the man’s office flanked by armed guards, he knew that it was not an ally that summoned him. France had caught him, and France would hang him. Every fiber of Valéry’s being recoiled at the thought of his eventual fate, but he pressed onwards. Even in the depths of a desperate situation, he had resolved to carry himself with dignity.
“I have a feeling you’re about to tell me,” the former Prime Minister replied as he stood in front of David Fauvre, President of the French Andromedan Colonies, a well-dressed, clean-shaven man with chocolate-colored skin. The room was richly decorated in the Draconis style, boasting a number of ornaments which Valéry guessed were gifts from other Andromedan states.
“Ah,” Fauvre clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth. With a gesture, he motioned for the guards to leave. He seemed more amused than anything else. “I ask again, do you know why you’re here.”
Valéry resented the look in the man’s eye. Fauvre knew he was in control and relished in it. “Alright, you’ve got me,” the statesman glared at him. “You’ve captured the infamous, all-powerful Prime Minister Valéry who only three months ago was firmly in line to become the next president of our beloved republic. Now I’m a fugitive, the universe is turned upside down, our government is powerless. Now you want to turn me over to the Superstate for a little press, a boost in your approval ratings, and perhaps a little personal fun. All at my expense, of course.”
“No,” came the baffling answer.
“No?”
“No.” He reached into his desk, drew out a datapad and slid it over to Valéry. “Do you know what this is?”
As he picked it up, Valéry could immediately guess by the title, ORDER TO CEASE AND DESIST THE MAINTENANCE OF COLONIAL ARMED FORCES.
“The Unification Council’s got us by the balls,” Fauvre chuckled, shaking his head. “Or at least they think they do. I checked, Galactica received the same order this morning.”
“And you’re not going to do it?” Valéry asked, figuring he might as well play along.
“No, I’m not,” Fauvre’s expression grew serious as he leaned over the table and stared Valéry in the eye. “The Superstate can issue all of the decrees it wants, it can’t get to us all the way over here.”
“That’s debatable.”
The Préfet ignored him. “And you know, I’m not sure they can force us to do anything out here. We’re in the middle of Allied-held space while the DCP invades the galaxy, and we’re not doing anything!”
“So what are you going to do? Finally declare independence and hope for the best?” Valéry mocked him.
“No, better,” Fauvre wheeled on him. “French Andromeda, Mirus, Quadrantia, Bunsen they’re all in allied-held space and willing to keep fighting. Imagine a free French state, the impact a unified French Colonial Empire could have on this war. I need your help to make it work.”
“What use could I possibly be to you?”
“France will follow your lead,” Fauvre spoke with the excitement and conviction of a man who was either a fool or certain of his case. “Declare a free France like De Gaulle did, and there’s no doubt the French people of the colonies will rally behind you. Andromeda will supply the troops, Galactica the money, Mirus the equipment. We can reverse the course of this war.”
Valéry swallowed. He knew it would be much more complicated than that, but it was doable. The Maxime administration had looked at several scenarios where France would be forced continue the fight from the colonies. He figured it was there that Maxime was fleeing when she was killed, but the plans and statistics they had looked at were still correct.
“And after that is done, I have a position I need you to fill,” Fauvre continued.
“What?” Valéry cracked a sour smile. “I’m to be a loyal advisor to you?”
Fauvre smiled widely and shook his head. “No. Emperor of the French.”
Further Reading[]
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