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Tales des Révélateurs

These are the stories of the people whom the random hand of fate has delivered to Escadron XXII. Some of them decided to fight for what they thought was right, and others didn't have a choice in the matter. Regardless, they are here now, and it's not something that they'll be able to shrug off or put behind themselves. "Once a Révélateur, always a Révélateur" may sound like cliche, but it's a hard fact. Insurances have been made to that end.

Spoiler

La Sorbonne District, Planet New Paris
12 May 728 AGS, 16:24

Spring has long settled in these parts of New Paris and in the hearts of the youth. The parks surrounding the campus were teeming with life: the lush green of grass and leaves, the purl of water, the ever-present twitter of birds... But most notably, crowds of students walking around, sitting on benches and by the trees, playing outdoor games, or just kidding around. Yet all of it was muffled, thanks to the lake between here and there.

Here was deeper in the park, on a bench in the shade of an tall wide oak. Compared to the more crowded areas of the park, it was almost as quiet here as in a lecture hall. A perfect place to revise Gallic history before the upcoming exams. Except for when you suddenlty can't see anything and only feel the warmth of someone's palms on your eyes.

"Guess who it is," a quiet and cheerful comment follows, as the breath tickles the neck pleasantly and evokes pleasant chills. "The most beautiful girl in the world," my cheesy, yet sincere reply evokes a giggle, a chin landing on the shoulder, and a quick peck on the cheek accompanied by the slight tickling from a strand of her red hair.

Before I can react, a red hurricane circles around the bench and lands right next to me, the piercing of her green eyes diminished by a wide and happy smile. "Hey, Ade," I respond with a smile of my own. "You look happier than usual." Her eyes dart away for a second, and although they return momentarily, the smile is not nearly as wide now. It's... apologetic?

"I... talked to the professor again," she replies, and my heart skips a beat. There is a lot I want to say, but I let her finish. "He said... That I passed all the tests." Now I can't hold back; I know what it implies. Keeping calm and quiet is almost impossible but I try my best, not to upset her: "Ade... Do you really want to go through with this? Your parents..." The redhead's raised hand stops me, yet she's still smiling.

"Max," she addresses me calmly and in a friendly manner, but with that slight condescending she picked up a couple of years ago after enrolling at the military academy. "I know what you're going to say: my ancestors have earned nobility already; the military service is dangerous and ethically questionable; even the holotainment tech they use in flight sims could be dangerous. I should give up my dreams, pursue arts such as literature or painting, and enjoy my life as your future wife." She chuckles at her own pun, but then raises her palm again before I can get too upset or come up with a retort.

"We've talked about it a million times. I just can't sit in one place like you do, Max," an old reproach that I take lightly, because I know she wrong about that. "A part of me longs to stay, but the other part draws me out there," she points up, towards the skies and beyond. "Besides, I'd hate to be the first Gauthier who'd resign to the role of a housewi... I'm sorry, the lady of the house."

She leans closer for a hug, knowing too well that I can't resist it. With my chin on her shoulder and hers on mine, I whisper: "Just promise to stay safe and come back one day... cadet." A giggle and the touch of a nose on my ear follows: "Wouldn't have it any other way."

La Bastille, Planet New Paris
14 November 734 AGS, 22:34

Multiple footsteps on the stone floor echo across the corridor. The sound spreads forward, reverberating from the stone and metal, almost giving this pitch-black maze a shape. For a moment, it's as if I can see where we're going and where we're about to turn. But we've walked so far already, that I wouldn't be able to find my way back, even if I had that option. Not that it matters anyway.

We finally stop. A hiss of hydraulics and the long clang of metal indicate a door opening right in front of us. Me and my convoy step inside. Then my blindfold is removed, and I finally see where I am. A small room, not much larger than a closet. The bulb at the ceiling emits just enough light to see a table with some documents, and a free chair in front of it. A nudge from behind follows, and I sit down. Then she steps out of the shadows and sits opposite of me. I can't hold the question any longer: "Ade..?"

I recognize her almost instantly. Despite the white Royal Navy uniform, lieutenant's insignia, the tired look, and bags under her eyes. But her expression... Ade's lips are a flat line, devoid of any emotion; her normally shrewd and piercing green eyes gaze at the table, and then past me. She doesn't try to meet my gaze, like she used to do when she knew she was in the right. And this time, in the right she should feel.

"Maximilian Deschamps," my full name echoes loudly around the room, with an unusual metallic undertone and lack of any emotion to it. She had never called me Maximilian before. "You are charged with high treason against the Kingdom of Gallia. According to this file, your association with the Council goes back to the time when you studied at la Sorbonne. Is that correct?" Chills run down my spine: "Ade, I didn't tell..." "Is that correct?" she interrupts me with the same metallic undertone, her voice slightly louder now, and more emotional. I can't but sigh: "Oui."

She goes silent and gazes at the table with the files. I decide to use this opportunity: "I didn't tell you... I probably should have. But... How was I supposed to? That knowledge would have endangered you, Ade. Especially in a situation like this. It wasn't for the lack of trust." She lifts her gaze at me this time, and I almost recognize the person behind the officer: "You should have told me, Max. Exactly for the reason of endangering me. I should've known that the person I dated had associated himself with traitors and terrorists!" Having vented some of her anger, she goes silent again.

My lips cringe, as I struggle to keep my cool: "They're not terrorists, Ade! They simply want a better Gallia, like you and I did. Better lives and equal rights for all, and a stop to that damned war!" Ade's fist lands on the table, with a thud that echoes across the entire room: "They started this damned war, Max! Breached our isolation, and for what?! To slander us, and stand a chance at taking over!" I stand up, putting my hands cuffed in front of me on the table as I do: "You know it ain't true, Ade! The Navy just bring about the King's will and don't see farther than their own noses. Is it ok to oppress the commoners and throw more meat in the grinder of war? All at the whim of a single individual, just because the King commands it?!"

The officer jumps up in a moment to meet my gaze head on, her eyes and voice radiating anger: "Don't presume to speak for the King!" The corner of my lip trembles just as Ade's eyelid, as the staredown continues for seemingly an infinity. But then I hear a low chuckle behind me, and a strangely familiar voice of a man. It is calm, soothing, yet firm and commanding at the same time: "That's enough, lieutenant. There is your evidence. Guards, take monsieur Deschamps away."

I turn around. It's dark, but I think I recognize the man who had been sitting in the shadow in the corner of the room for the entire time. "Uncle?!" I ask, barely containing my surprise and confusion with this unlikely meeting. But then the blindfold covers eyes again, and I get pulled out of the room before I can say another word.

Amour Contre Raison
an article by Claire Armand, 22 October 605 A.G.S.

We are shocked by the news that came from New Paris today. Prince Henri DeFrance, Duke de Belfort, has announced his intention of marriage. This news would have been met with joy (except for the noble ladies who had their hopes up), if it weren't for one thing: Prince Henri's lady of choice is a commoner. This could deprive the favourite son of Palais Royal, and his descendants, of any chance to take the throne.

Being the third son of His Majesty Richard V, Prince Henri had wasn't expected to ever become the King. This has allowed him to defy the protocol at times, in favor of following his heart. Combined with his outgoing personality and handsome looks, this made Prince Henri one of the most popular members of the Royal Family, especially among the common folk of the Kingdom. His popularity is eclipsed only by his father's.

Despite being far down the succession line, Henri DeFrance still remained an eligible bachelor. Not only due to his title of Duke de Belfort and the wealth that came with it — he also demonstrated potential in the military disciplines. Some residents of Palais Royal speculated that he could eventually become Amiral de Gaule. For the time being, Henri serves as Capitaine of battleship Lance Royale stationed in the Burgundy system.

His bright career is now in question, as Henri has also announced his plans to retire from service and spend more time with the family, away from the public eye. He didn't announce the name of his fiancee, but our sources confirm that she is not of noble descent. If that is so, Prince Henri DeFrance could become Duke Henri de Belfort, as per the rules of inheritance he wouldn't be eligible for taking the throne. He would also have to assume his wife's surname, or any other surname of his choice.

"Le Héraut du Roi" hopes that this announcement turns out to be another jest of the young prince. It would be unfortunate for one of Gallia's brightest sons to turn into a prodigal one. We will keep you up to date as the story develops.

La Bastille, Planet New Paris
4 September 636 AGS, 02:13

"The Gallic Liberation Movement has toiled long and hard to undermine the monarchy. You being a prominent member of that movement saddens me, especially considering your ancestry. You either plotted against us, or knew about the plot and failed to reveal it. Which one it is doesn't matter — either is deemed high treason against le Roi and the Kingdom.

Your father made a lot of questionable decisions. But had he lived to see this day, even he would have been disappointed. You have abused your his legacy and influence. Perhaps you sought to claim what you thought was rightfully yours? Or maybe you really believed in the nonsense spouted by the Movement... Whatever, it no longer matters now. You went against your own uncle, and rest assured you'll pay the price.

Worry not; your wife and child won't be touched. We're not the barbarians you paint us. But of course, we'll have to strip them of all titles and estates. We'll strike out you and your family from history, as if your father never married a commoner. His title will go to his grave, and your descendants will live on as the common folk that your Movement has allegedly been fighting for. I find it a rather fitting punishment.

This is the last time you are addressed as Thomas de Belfort. Guards! Take my misguided cousin away."

Le Professeur online.

Le Commerçant: Bonjour, maitre. How may I assist?

Le Professeur: Salut. How is our progress?

Le Commerçant: We're on schedule. As per your order, Protocol "Unité" is in effect. It's too early for any conclusions, but initial results look promising. The challenge is to find the right people, and then approach and 'recruit' them for our cause. The groundwork didn't account for a sudden ceasefire, so we have to alter our plans on the fly.

Le Professeur: Any setbacks?

Le Commerçant: A few. Apart from having to improvise, our agents report the lack of 'recruitment hardware'. Apparently, a major part of it was taken off-world during the evacuation, but was never returned to Gallia. We make do with what we have, but the more portable units we have, the better.

Le Professeur: The direst events are over. I granted clearance to redistribute the hardware. Do our agents still lack it?

Le Commerçant: Oui, maitre. But we haven't received any scheduled supplies from Evreux, Lausanne, or L'Itton. We lost contact with the stations. And that's the strangest part. The facilities are still there, we know that much. But we haven't received a reply from any them in days. No distress calls either. If our people were still there, they would've responded to my order. Should we alert the Navy?

Le Professeur: Non, there is too much at stake. Proceed as you do now. Who was the last member of the Inner Circle assigned to L'Itton?

Le Commerçant: Le Duc handled the evacuation of all sensitive data and prototypes to all the fallback locations. To my knowledge, nobody has been there since then.

Le Professeur: Where is Le Duc now?

Le Commerçant: Unknown. His last transmission came from Le Monarque, when he had finished his inspection of L'Itton and proceeded to Zurich. I haven't heard from him since.

Le Professeur: What about Le Monarque?

Le Commerçant: It should be in Ile-de-France still. I received a confirmation after successful evacuation of assets.

Le Commerçant: Hold on, it isn't there. I need to run a check.

Le Commerçant: Le Monarque never returned from Zurich.

Le Commerçant: Maitre, are you thinking what I'm thinking?

Le Professeur: Proceed as planned.

Le Commerçant: Maybe we should alert the Navy what they're dealing with?

Le Professeur offline.

Sender: Escadron XXII Command
Recipients: Adelaide Gauthier
Message Type: Voice
Encryption Strength: Absolute

The wheel has turned, and the King demands obedience. You and your Escadron have new orders:

Keep your forces in the Gallic Hebrides, mainly Aquitaine.
Cease all communications with the Core Worlds until I lift that order in person.
The only exception are "Méridien" devices. They can be used freely, except for contacting la Sorbonne node and the Inner Circle.

I'll arrive in the coming weeks to assume command. Until then, les Révélateurs are ordered to break up, spread out and reinforce other Gallic units in the sector. Make connections, gain influence, climb the ranks as high as you can. Have Lieutenant Inkura pose as captain, along with Germain and other loyalists, if need be. It will all make sense in the future.

One final order: I need you to test the waters. Start spreading rumors among the Escadron and the military that some members of la Famille Royale are in the Enclave, incognito. Don't go overzealous on this one. It is paramount that these rumors can't be tracked to us.

I know you'll follow these orders to the letter, Ade. The King commands it.

Le Professeur online.

Le Professeur: I assume you saw the news?

Le Commerçant: Oui, maitre. I took every precaution to keep it under wraps, but the mention of Desper's state leaked somehow. I still think we should've warned the Provisional Navy and Police.

Le Professeur: Perhaps. But even it was Desper's doing indeed, this warning wouldn't have saved LaFlamme. They couldn't hope to check every possible suspect in time. Besides, project "Parole" can't be disclosed, especially now. My main concern is that the news leaked in the first place.

Le Commerçant: Do you think it was

Le Duc online.

Le Commerçant: You've got some nerve, Maximillian.

Le Professeur: To what do we owe the pleasure?

Le Duc: Sarcastic as ever, uncle. I just came to say goodbye. And to thank you. For your tutelage, my rank, and more importantly, your research at Lausanne.

Le Professeur: I figured as much. Ambitious as ever. But what you did with "Parole" and les Révélateurs was reckless.

Le Duc: Perhaps. But there's not much you can do about it. After all, our interests align, if only in keeping "Parole" under wraps.

Le Professeur: Oui. I only hope that your actions don't stain our family name further.

Le Duc: As if it could fall much lower. Besides, you were quick to forget that Deschamps isn't our name. I'll simply reclaim what should've been ours for centuries.

Le Professeur: The Enclave is a losing bet for that.

Le Duc: Perhaps. But it is better to reign in hell than to serve in heaven. Farewell, uncle.

Le Duc offline.

Le Professeur offline.

Le Commerçant offline. Relay scuttled.

Sender: Damien Germain, Capitaine des Révélateurs
Recipients: None (Personal Record)
Message Type: Audio Only (Date Unknown)
Encryption Strength: None (Personal Record)

I've been here before. It's funny; it's as if history teaches us nothing. We think things important in the moment; but they quickly become footnotes, or get forgotten entirely soon after. And then, once history repeats itself in the weirdest of ways, we are none the wiser.

Nowadays, who would even remember some Border Worlds squabble between Grand Marechal Lilith LaCroix and Lord Enzo du Sable? Those who went into active duty during our war in Sirius won't even recognize the names. But back in the moment, that felt important: a squabble leading to an entire Royal Navy battlegroup going rogue and getting scattered, only to re-emerge as members of the Gallic Underwrold. Of course, the King wielded so much power back then, that even an event of that magnitude was deemed negligible. And once the Tau Campaigns and the Conquest of Bretonia started, they eclipsed everything that had come before.

Here you go: years and experiences of countless people compressed in a couple of sentences. But to me, this was a large part of my youth. An Aspirant, fresh from the Academy, who chanced upon a Royal Navy patrol in Lorraine led by Lord du Sable himself. He treated me like an equal and brought me into the fold. Flying with them felt like where I belonged. But then the grinders of history and a couple of decisions above my paygrade saw us seeking refuge among the Brigands.

It's had to tell where exactly things went wrong. At first, it were my comrades whose persistence kept me going as well. But eventually, as our crew went their separate ways, I realized how far I had fallen... And just how much I missed Nevers and New Paris. Being less than a footnote in the whole du Sable/LaCroix debacle, I found some people who offered me a chance at redemption. The price didn't seem too steep at the time: absolute loyalty to the King and my commanding officer. That's how I got inducted into Escadron XXII, Les Révélateurs.

We can go further and compress the following events into words rather than sentences—even though they exacted a much heavier toll on both sides. The Glassing of Leeds, the Siege of New London, more squabbles between upstart powers, and hasty retreat from Fort Ansel on Bordeaux... Or Gaia as they call it once again. And after all of that, I may be finding myself in the same predicament as years before. The Royalists aren't quite welcome anywhere, even in a place they once protected and called home.

It all comes down to Command now. They might choose to side with the new regime, or disappear quietly into the Taus... Or, if the King commands it, I might end up right where I started: against the overwhelming odds, and denied a chance to see Gallia again. But the choice has been in someone else's hands for a long time.

Loyalty can be a steep price to pay. It might take us places we thought we'd left behind. If only for a briefest moment, just to make us reminisce.

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