Singing Senator Patreus' Beard - Part VIII
20 May 2018Jellicoe
Malenchenko City, Coma SystemIt was unlikely that the Grand Ballroom of the Constellation Hotel on Malenchenko City had ever witnessed a scene anything like this before, Newton's Fusiliers had taken the station and were celebrating with typically unrestrained vigour. All were drinking heavily, here and there a man heaved onto either the highly polished floor or expensive deep pile carpets, local girls in various states of undress cavorted with the pilots, some openly coupling on the floors or tables. In one corner a group of men and women sat drunkenly using the crystals of the great chandelier as targets in a contest of pistol shooting in between taking slugs from a variety of bottles of expensive spirits looted from behind the bar while in another a young fusilier drunkenly urinated over an upturned bust of Denton Paterus to the raucous laughter of his fellows, above the room hung a fug of tobacco and onionhead smoke so thick that even the best filtration system on the market was struggling to cope. Jellicoe and his crew sat to one side, half shocked by, half enjoying the chaos around them, it was a strange feeling, a signpost on how far they had travelled.
"You know that not so long ago we were going up against people like these?" Claude said slowly.
"Yes," Jellicoe replied with a wry smile, "and we were wrong. These chaps may be rough around the edges but at least we're on the right side now."
At the far end of the hall stood a table seating the Fusiliers leadership, all drinking lustily themselves alongside the shell shocked looking officials of the Malaka Purple State Industries brought here to officially surrender the station along with the senior officer of the Federal Navy, looking utterly horrified at the men who had just defeated his flotilla. Next to them, and slightly apart sat a man dressed in the Imperial style, his head erect, his deportment haughty, looking down on the scene before him with searing distain.
"Why thank you gentlemen," Phisto said taking the signed handover document from the president of the Purple Industries, "Ya'all welcome to stay for the party." He added with a broad grin. "Now Pattycake, would it be reading or writing you strugglin' with?" Phisto asked the Imperial.
"Mr Sobanii," the Imperial acknowledged Phisto with an almost imperceptible nod, "I'm sure that the minutiae of inter-stellar law will be new to you, likewise the intricacies of galactic diplomacy but the government of Coma, the lawful government of Coma, entered freely into a long term treaty with Senator Patreus, a treaty which is not affected by a change of government and one that the Senator expects to be honoured, so while I was quite able to read your terms, I regret that I shall not be able to sign them. The existing treaty remains in effect."
"You go tell Senator Patty to take his treaty, his diplomacy and his inter-stellar law and shove them up his perfumed ass." Phisto responded to a roar of approval from the Fusiliers. "I want you and all Denton's other lackey's out of Coma by the end of the week or it's open season on the lot of you."
"Mr Sobanii your.... 'regime' here is new, you will face many pitfalls and obstacles, you will find enemies at every turn, why make one of the most powerful men in the galaxy count amongst them? The Senator I'm sure can be persuaded to accept Newton's Fusiliers rule of Coma, but you must give him something in return, say supplying our personnel stationed here?"
"So Patty'll kindly let us keep what we've won if we bend over and lube ourselves up for him?" Wallaby yelled from beside Phisto.
"Or we could consider finding you a new home perhaps? One not so... sensitive to the Senator's interests in this sector." The Imperial continued ignoring Wallaby's outburst behind the unflappable calm of a career diplomat.
"So after we kicked Patty's ass you think we're going to roll over and kiss his boots?" Another voice demanded hotly. "Go get fucked."
"You have not even mentioned the reason we did this Ambassador Storrar," Isaiah said slowly and clearly and the Imperial, Storrar turned to look at him, their eyes locking, everyone in the room knew Isaiah's past as one of Patreus's senior combat irregulars before abandoning his service to stand with Salomé in her hour of need and the hatred this had earned him from his old comrades, "We did this for liberty, we did this so we do not have to bend the knee to men like Patreus, so we do not have to hide behind the powerful accepting servitude as the price of our safety, so we will not be pawns in other peoples games of power, to be free men standing on our own two feet looking only to ourselves and our comrades for our protection."
"And what of loyalty Isaiah Evanson? What of honour?" Storrar hissed, his voice like a lash.
"Where was Patreus in Anumclaw?" Jellicoe called across the room. "Where were his forces when the fate of the galaxy hung in the balance? Whose side was he on while we fought for the truth? Let me remind you, the wrong one. Loyalty and honour are two way streets Ambassador, and your man knows neither."
"From an Imperial turncoat to a Federation one," Storrar said smoothly, "murderer, terrorist and deserter, a man drunk on blood lust, you should fit in perfectly here. Now listen to me all of you, Senator Patreus will not suffer Newton's Fusiliers to rule in Coma without a lot of assurances, this system is too important to entrust to a group of bandits, but accept his terms and you will find the Senator is a reasonable man, reject them and he will destroy you."
"You got your answer," Phisto said, "Now get the hell off this station."