It was approaching closer and closer to Exeter's ground. It was red.
It was past midnight in Chateau d'Or, where the general-governor had just been woken up by a call. The defense protocol was not entirely dependent on her approval, but it was only one ship, so it might have been an emissary rather than an invasion. It had been let through by the orbital fleet, after all, though for some reason the ground was not informed why. Perhaps it was not let through, perhaps the orbital fleet had been destroyed? Still, the governor-general's greatest worry at the time, save the interrupted sleep, was that she would have to hold yet another meeting without having dressed up her hair.
It was still day where the craft had landed. The appearance of a Red Hessian fighter (and this one really was red) at Exeter's very spaceport was not something that would greatly disturb the robust Leeds refugees, who had already seen much worse and who made up most of the planet's population. It was still enough to stiffen their upper lips with passive disapproval and cause them to interrupt their five o'clock tea and look outside. Looking outside was something a Loiner did not have a habit to do, having the climate on Leeds in mind and the fact that whatever was happening outside was rarely worth looking at.
All anti-air defenses present at the spaceport were tracking the lone fighter, ready to fire at any time. It was surrounded by soldiers as soon as it landed. Despite the possibility that this was a terrorist attack and that there could be a bomb on board, the men and women in red BAF uniforms stoically followed the requirements of the service and they all surrounded the craft. All with their rifles set and ready, they awaited who, or what, was to come out. Their orders were to arrest the individual, or individuals, and await the arrival of the governor-general, who would decide what to do next.
This might not have been the brightest of ideas. But he was confident enough that general curiosity would outweigh the need for brutality, just this once. A stir certainly meant that there would be no queue and no need for an appointment, he would be a priority whether people liked it or not. Though hesitation and indecision ran rampant in Keller's mind, akin to sheep without the necessary deterrence of a disciplined dog, it was clear why this had to be done.
By the time the ship had made contact with a landing pad that it had not requested clearance for, it was clear that aggressive action was not the intention. Instead, the canopy was thrown open and the pilot slipped out rather deftly. A practiced motion that came with experience, likely from having flown this craft for years now. He looked young, and seemed to be holding in quite a bit of frustration. Upright, he stood like a soldier, no slouching and no unnecessary movements. It was quite the welcoming party, if some degree of humor was indulged. Nevertheless he represented the fact that he had no weapon, keeping his hands visible and remaining still. Surprisingly submissive in contrast to his usual tendencies, but these were unusual times.
The standard -- two soldiers approached and cuffed Lukas Keller. That was the end of the day's commotion and the Loiners looking outside curiously could continue with their tea before it would go cold. The ship was attacked by a few mechanics with wrenches and screwdrivers -- only a few not to risk many lives -- whose job was to check whether it was safe to stay.
The governor-general of the Exeter System was Commodore Elizabeth Hall. Although her authority was primarily military because the system still needed to be pacified, she was more of a governor than a general deep inside her mind. As soon as she was informed who had landed, she ordered that he was to be kept in custody until her arrival. She was intending to demonstrate Keller, who once so arrogantly meant to instigate war with the Realm itself, was now entirely at the mercy of the Realm's whims. He would wait. As another benefit, Elizabeth could sleep more and she would have enough time to finally fix her hair and even dress majestically, which she knew Keller despised. Fetching for the original Sydney Accords document could be useful as well, having in mind one of the signatures was Keller's.
A day in lockup gave Keller an opportunity to think in peace.
Caged now like a dog that had ceased deterring the sheep and instead turned its teeth on the farmhands. At least the cell was clean and the morning tea, provided to him with the utmost of reluctance was served appropriately. Milk first was a travesty that thankfully hadn't been committed, though it was regrettably not his preferred variety, that being mint. Confinement from the outside felt surprisingly calm, there was very little to bother him when locked away and isolated from contact of any sort. Rather than express frustration or grievance with his situation, he would instead prove to be quite the model prisoner.
Cuffs and bars, rigid, definitive and cold. He sought to bring his thoughts in line with those observations, but felt that knot in his gut tighten upon the realization that unlike these restraints, he'd been bent and broken according to the will of various demagogues time and time again. The most recent transgression was likely the most significant in terms of how it impacted his behavior and attitude towards people. Had things occurred differently, Exeter would have been the last place he'd want to voluntarily visit. Let alone wait while some woman likely adorned herself with enough jewelry to give a certain Cretan savage competition in the weight department. At least he was motivated, and could leave his thoughts to simmer a while longer.
Raw meat wasn't particularly appealing after all..
Elizabeth was coming with the sun. When it was at its highest and brightest, she had just arrived. The glitter of Dublin gold that garnished the most exquisite of her dresses rivaled the cloudless Exeter noon. She had her soldiers bring Keller to her from his cell.
It was not an ordinary kind of room. It looked like a banquet hall. The room was surely used by wealthy Zoners before, and now the Kingdom had embellished it even wealthier. Bretonians never missed an opportunity to flaunt all the gold that only they had the privilege to acquire so cheaply, from Dublin -- on the backs of exploited workers. But gold was not all of it. The chairs, finest mahogany cultivated on Cambridge; on the wall, a mechanical clock, one of the few delicate mechanisms that survived from Leeds; on the table, an intricate Daam K'Vosh artefact from Sprague that emanated a phantasmal glow, a ghost from eons ago, eons which were now arrogantly appropriated by the Kingdom; a small tin box containing homegrown, Exeter black tea, fresh from this year's harvest; and finally, a Londonware pewter teapot with floral engravings that was exuding gentle steam, and a cup, this one imported, finest porcelain from Kusari, filled with Exeter Black, which rested in Elizabeth's calm hands. She was sitting at the furthest end of the long table, content and royally serene with her tea, as if she was some sort of a viceroy rather than mere governor of a not yet pacified, distant province. But this image was intentional and it testified this: Bretonia was an empire, Elizabeth was merely one of its servants, and Keller was a clueless fool who thought he could matter.
The clock hanged on the wall behind Elizabeth. Time was hers: she would not be rushed.
"I see that your head injury has healed", her resonant alto remarked with intentional brashness. She put the cup down on its tiny porcelain saucer, and the sharp sound echoed throughout the vast, silent room. "Don't be ashamed. Everyone whose head injuries heal makes the rational decision to come to me in the end. What, then, is the reason of your visit, Mister Keller? No, don't sit", her eyes met with a soldier's, as if that was some sort of a secret cue, and then she continued to Keller: "For now, you will stand."
There was a piece of paper that was turned on its face resting on the right corner of the table, Elizabeth's right. On her left, there was one of those decorative antique swords that were mass produced on New London. The piece of paper, Keller could surely recognize, matched the dimensions of the Sydney Accords.
From the time of his arrival and till this moment in time, he'd been totally silent. Not even so much as as a sarcastic cough in the face of all the hollow opulence he was currently confronted by. "My original intention was to simply announce my lack of a desire to be a party to a conflict that holds no meaning to me. Given what I can assume was an intentional delay, that is no longer the sole reason. If I'm standing here now and subjecting myself to these displays of pride and power you're so fond of. It's because I've come to realize a few bitter truths." He was most certainly not drawn from the same pool of recruits that the Hessians traditionally made use of, Rheinland had plenty in the way of pirates that could be swayed with offers of more wealth and power. His accent rung with extremely subtle German tones, but perhaps the most telling tendency was when he enunciated a word and instinctively relied upon a high status and possibly noble variation of pronunciation, complete with sharp tongued positioning. All of this stood in contrast to his former brethren, who at times spoke an entirely different language.
Keller was, at least according to his own account, from a working-class albeit accomplished family. The son of a Doctor and Lawyer. Naturally there was both truth and misunderstanding inherent in these assumptions. All the more so when he did very little to understand the nature behind the choices he'd made. And with the situation being what it was, it presented little reason for introspection on the matter. By now he'd noticed the document she had with her, but her intentions with it remained unclear, he was no longer a Military Official of the Coalition and as such had no authority to enforce the provisions that the Accords laid out, let alone administer punitive measures upon all those in violation of it.
In expectation of another question or an explanation as to the presence of the document, he grew quiet once more.
The cup of tea was a useful accessory. Taking a sip would allow Elizabeth to think before she speaks, without awkward silence. She was preparing to take a sip, but then stumbled upon Keller's bemusing confession. She put the cup down on its saucer again. "What... bitter truths?"
He wasn't quite expecting her to really bother about the latter half of his response, but perhaps he was right that the human spirit of curiosity outweighed the need for alternatives. Though it was unlikely that she would care about the answer, curiosity was rarely a sincere expression. A rather sickening trait associated with humanity as a whole. Blind pursuit for answers to even the most remotely interesting questions, but without much of a care for what the answers just so happened to be. "Honestly, I didn't think you'd want to know. It seemed unlikely that my personal realizations would matter to you at all. Especially given my reputation and what I've done", A moment of silence ensued after those words. Primarily because his mind thought it necessary to relive the instances that brought about such realizations, and also because the silence would make his next choice of words more impactful. "Quite ironic that the worst betrayals of trust can only ever come from friends. When Bretonia first made its intentions in.. Exeter clear, I had no intention to oppose it. The late Commodore Dagon approached me directly about what would be happening, but I'd made the mistake of giving someone else leverage over me. Worse yet that in the recent past I'd killed a Hessian officer for his crimes. So like it or not, I had to guard someone else's interests. Or face personal consequences if I disobeyed."
It might have been fairly obvious who the perpetrator was, or at least he was hoping Hall was sharp enough to connect the dots he'd provided her with. There was also the likelihood that she'd pick up on the fact that he wasn't telling her the full story. But that was to be expected given the mutual lack of trust. Then again again, Keller felt he could have trusted only two people, out of which one had met an untimely demise and the status of the other was doubtful. The fluctuations in his behaviors, even to someone on the outside should have been obvious. From adamantly opposing the annexation, condemning the IMG for associating with Gallia, and ordering a direct intervention during the Leeds crisis. It was as if two people had been making these decisions, but at least now it was somewhat clear that there was a second person and that Keller himself wasn't mentally disabled.
He had no expectations of sympathy for his position or what he might have endured thanks to 'allied' interference and the Coalition's cutthroat politics. But something he felt he could count on was for Hall to exploit the potential his position represented. "I have bridges that I need to burn, and each act of arson would be justified."
Keller's ardent confessions were met not with acknowledgement, but perhaps a bit disrespectfully, with the sipping of tea. "Still very warm. And remarkably aromatic! It's the soil, I suppose... The unadulterated land, farmed for the first time in its existence." She was describing the tea, of course. But what she meant to say was compare the many amenities of Exeter, and their lack on Volgograd, Jiang Xi, or Tangier. Even a stoic would fall for a warm cup of tea, every Bretonian was aware of that. But after another sip, and one more moment to calculate her moves, she came to the point: "I take it you regret turning on Selim?"
Deep breath in, count to four and then release. It helped take some of the edge off and numb the frustration caused by both her arrogance and the fact that he just recollected painful memories for nothing. "Selim is a friend, I had my reasons for turning on him. I regret betraying his trust, not for doing what I believed to be the right thing. Though current circumstances have revealed even those intentions to be an error in judgement."
He paused himself momentarily, feeling the inevitability that he'd be more frustrated the more he spoke of this. But it wasn't as if his statement was going to complete itself. "Not to mention that the current status quo seems to think that the Zoners are these downtrodden innocents who've done no wrong all their lives. Completely disregarding the fact that not so long ago they played host to one of our main enemies and enabled the slaughter of our own pilots. But why would they have cared? Especially when it was my reputation suffering the damage every time one of the savages broke into New Moscow and butchered some hapless fool!" When he was mad he'd growl the words through his clenched teeth, this aggressive mannerism peaked as he uttered those last few words and quickly dissipated as the rest of his muscles tensed as if to carry all of it away from his jaw.
His restraints likely had to undergo the brunt of this dissatisfaction, and the tightness of it was only serving to agitate him further. Though he felt no need to comment about it directly, knowing all too well that she would only do something about that if she felt the need. She had still not even begun to discuss her intentions behind tabling that document, blabbering on about the tea she was enjoying instead, though it was likely as good as she described it to be.
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