A man’s palm adjusted a camera bulb before pulling away to reveal a mop of greying curled hair. The palm returned and futzed with the angle until the fuzzy feed resolved into a rail thin man with tired eyes sitting in a room laden with data slates and holo maps of dead interstellar nations.

“System, note date and location. This is Francesco Muston of the Umbrian Coalition Scholarship Foundation,” the man said. He sat up straighter, frowning at something, then reached for a brush and tried to tame his unkempt hair. “System, apply my usual filter and recut with my usual introduction.”

A faint chirp sounded.

“Again, this is Francesco Muston and I’ve just now come into ownership of a critical piece of the historical record concerning the Hegemony Collapse of 2658. I want my initial, unvarnished, reaction to the record as my generous patron from the Bayraktar Group insists on undiluted content for his records while I am allowed more leeway when it comes to peer review submissions. While I have paid for . . . numerous . . . copies of already established records and outright forgeries, my source of this document makes frequent trips into post-Hegemony territories and has delivered reliable information in the past. I do hope to make my own fact finding journey once the security situation improves, though that’s been an aspiration for many years, and warfare between factions has gone from a simmer to new conflagration as of my source’s latest field report.”

Muston sighed and held up a small amber colored rod.

“Initial scans confirm this quantum fused data core is of late-Hegemony manufacture and the headers indicate it was sealed on the planet Dahrien, which has been subject to some speculation amongst Hegemony scholars, though the planet is on the other side of the Fire Break and it will be difficult to independently verify this information. Let’s have a watch, shall we? Sure hope this isn’t another Skein soldier snuff film or the more esoteric adult orientated—System delete that last sentence before dissemination.”

A faint chirp sounded.

Muston’s image shrank to a small portrait in the upper left side of the screen as a massive starship in orbit over a garden world appeared, accompanied by a fanfare of horns and orchestral music.

“And we have the usual ‘Hegemony, My Heart’ anthem opener,” Muston said over the music. “We’ve all seen this a thousand times so let me skip ahead . . . ”

The video jumped to an auto-combine harvesting fields of grain, then to smiling, happy soldiers in exo-frame armor marching down a boulevard in a city of skyscrapers, whose tops vanished into a cloudy sky. The final image was of two rows of opulently dressed men and women standing around an Art Deco rotunda beneath a glass dome showing a deep star field above. The anthem ended with a fanfare.

“Those were the final members of the Most High council.” Muston took a sip from a steaming cup of tea. “Consistent with the time stamp.”

The video cut to an apparently habitable world in space, flanked by a pair of newscasters.

“Them again.” Muston rolled his eyes.

“Hello, I’m Chad Storm,” the male with perfect hair and even more perfect teeth said. He had a soulless depth in his emerald green eyes.

“And I’m Vanessa Blanco.” The woman to Chad’s left had a perfect coif of blonde hair that had a timeless quality to it. Her chin was chiseled by the finest plastic surgeons and her exposed cleavage was dangerously close to being indecent by most civilized standards.

“Welcome to the Dahrien Report. Where you learn the truth.” Chad leveled a finger at the camera.

“We begin this evening with excellent news from Governor Van Wyck out of Fort Equity.” Vanessa’s voice was almost sultry.

“System pause.” Muston set his tea down and adjusted his seat as the recording stopped. “Note the vocal fry from the Blanco bot. Hegemony Intelligence Agency would typically modify her vocal patterns to . . . distract . . . male viewers with more primal stimulae when covering up bad news. Interesting. System start.”

The video cut to a city with a skyline of ugly, Brutalist architecture. The sky was thick with humidity and smog. Few air cars moved between the buildings and there were even fewer drones in the sky in and around the city.

The feed cut to a street with slow-moving traffic and the occasional pedestrian walking with heads up, shoulders back and with a great deal of confidence. Pregnant women with one or more children in tow walked without care or concern as a robo-servant carting groceries and other commercial goods trailed behind the safe and secure noncombatants.

“Dahrien City remains as peaceful and prosperous as any city in our Hegemony. We give thanks to the righteous guidance of the Most High,” Chad Storm said.

“Did you know Dahrien residents have a zero point eight higher standard of living quotient than the Hegemony mean?” Vanessa Blanco asked as the video cut to a multi-tiered fountain spouting crystal clear water.

“I did not,” Chad said and broke into forced laughter.

The video froze. Grainy pixels pulsed on the screen as the cheery background music continued. Muston frowned and leaned to one side, then leaned closer to the workstation he’d plugged the data rod into.

The screen jiggled and the impressive fountain changed to a dilapidated wreck, grafitti and garbage strewn about. A man in a tattered Hegemony Army uniform slept against the bottom of the fountain, feet bare and dirt blackened.

Footage of emaciated children in little more than rags in a shanty town, a stream of sewage ran through a dirt street, the same sky line loomed close by.

“What’s this then?” Muston squinted at his screen. “This can’t be a sanctioned broadcast.”

“Dahrien’s void port is always bustling with trade and raw materials generously donated by the greater Hegemony to complete quality of life initiatives laid out by Marshal Van Wyck at the directives of the Most High Council,” Chad Storm’s voice over continued as the video switched to a low drone sweep of commercial shipping vessels moored inside a walled landing dock.

Smiling longshoreman supervised the offloading of massive cargo containers. A Hegemony naval officer and customs inspector shared a belly laugh, hot cups of coffee in hand.

The video pixelated again and the feed changed to a run-down section of the same void port. A tramp freighter crewed by men in common work overalls with no care for uniformity or cleanliness kept a nervous lookout from the ramp. A man handed over a stack of Hegemony credit certificates to a sailor who thumbed through the bills before jerking his head towards the ramp.

The paying customer waved his family out from hiding and they hurried into the ship, carrying their worldly possessions in a few small bags.

A jump cut to a worldwide map of Dahrien showed the many provinces on the main continent and surrounding island chains. An icon of a star inside a white circle pulsed to draw the viewer's eye to the capitol city.

Red streaks shaded surrounding provinces to accompanying threatening music.

“While the peace and prosperity of Dahrien City is a beacon of hope and the efficacy of the Hegemony system, not everyone wishes to be part of the winning team,” Chad Storm said.

“Ugh, who wrote this?” Muston sipped his tea.

“That’s right, Chad. A small insurgency force dubbed the ‘Red Banner’ have attacked civilian population centers in the Quang Tri,” the map shifted from one province to another, “Phu Yen. Kampong Chang, Kampot, Bokeo—“

“That’s too many. Stop there!” a phlegmy voice called out from off screen, cutting off Vanessa Blanco.

The red streaks vanished from several outlying provinces to much fanfare from the music track.

“But thanks to the amazing efforts of our Hegemony’s brave defenders, insurgent activity in almost all outlying provinces has been eradicated!” Chad Storm announced.

The video switched to soldiers in exo-armor flanking taller soldiers in mech armor, the arm holding large rotary cannons oversized and heavily shielded with metal plates, giving them a crablike appearance. Civilians of a different ethnic group than the soldiers stood around clapping nervously. A city smoldered in the background.

The screen pixelated again to low altitude aerial footage outside of a city built at the confluence of several rivers, high levees along the banks made from red stone bore high-water marks from countless flood seasons.

A flash in the sky heralded an object as it descended from orbit.

“Oh no.” Muston set his tea down. He winced hard as a kinetic energy weapon struck near the city center, landing with the force of a nuclear warhead. Blast waves crumbled the façade from buildings, blowing a gray squall through the city. Exposed structures remained after the blast settled, soon marred by black smoke from thousands of fires.

“Pause!” Muston slapped a hand against his desk. “The use . . . the use of dead-head orbital munitions, referred to as ‘rods from God’ by most Hegemony service members, was common place during the later stages of Hegemony control on their outlying systems. The Most High council turned a blind eye to their use while officially condemning any such attacks if the news leaked out to the nets. The media suppression for any and all blatant attacks on civilians was rather effective as reports of their use didn’t reach the Umbrian—or even the Alliance—until after the Hegemony’s collapse. Naturally, this data rod begs the question of just how such footage was spliced into an official record for dissemination . . . hmm.”

Muston spun his chair around and picked up a slate without stopping his rotation until facing the camera again.

“My initial suspicion is that this record was produced by the Elisabeta Richter Resistance. For those of you less up to date on late Hegemony ‘terrorist’ organizations,” Muston gave an exasperated glance at the camera, “it was famous—well, infamous really—for exposing corruption and deceit within the Hegemony, particularly the Most High oligarchy. It had its beginning with a once well connected High Guard family that fell from grace—Elisabeta Richter was executed for high treason five years after the Armistice agreement with the Alliance. But she established a network that outlived her and treated her death as a martyrdom. I suspect we’ll see further fingerprints of the Elisabeta Resistance as the Alliance supplied AI they used to hack Hegemony systems is out of date and its fingerprints should be detectable in a deeper scan. Let’s continue. Hmm . . . I wonder what city that was?”

Chad Storm’s narration continued as the video restarted.

“That’s right, Vanessa, the Skein Corps of enhanced soldiers brought a quick peace to the restive areas.”

Deathly pale soldiers in cut-down uniforms rode atop Wolverine tanks, all carrying carbines. Blood red kill tallies were tattooed to forearms and shoulders. The soldiers leapt off the tank and charged into a village surrounded by rice patties. They fired wildly into the pre-fab homes covered with grass roofs, driving civilians out in a panic.

Launchers on the back of the Wolverine tank coughed, spitting small drones into the air that deployed anti-grav engines and raced towards the civilians. The pale soldiers cheered as the drones exploded over a road leading away from the attack.

“System pause.” Muston rubbed his chin. “System, flag this footage for war crimes and work up a censored version as per Foundation standards for later dissemination. I don’t care to watch such activities but I am a historian and we must take the good with the bad. Those mature enough for the uncensored footage can access it at their leisure. This is what happens when you dedicate your career to the Hegemony.”

Muston sighed.

“System, resume.”

Footage of the pale soldiers throwing bodies into mass graves while some of their number set fire to the village played out. More than one had a bottle of alcohol in hand.

“No doubt those Hegemony citizens are thankful the Red Banner have been driven from their homes.” Chad Storm narrated with barely contained pride. “While search and clear operations continue, some citizens have resisted the mandatory relocation efforts aimed to move them to safer areas.”

Video of burnt out Hegemony tanks on a raised road was in stark contrast to the newscaster’s picture. Dahrien civilians pulled a dying Skein soldier from a tank and set upon her with clubs and feet.

Muston looked away.

“While counterinsurgency efforts continue,” Vanessa Blanco spoke as the video suddenly cut back to canned imagery of Hegemony glory, a galactic view showing the hundreds of star systems of the Hegemony was surrounded by smaller star nations, though the true extent of their size was cut off by the video aperture. “A final offensive will finally defeat anti-Hegemony forces in the more rural areas. Now with news of this offensive, I give you Marshall Van Wyck.”

The screen switched to a pudgy man sitting in an opulent office with a penthouse view of Dahrien City in the background. His face was emotionless and flat.

Muston raised his tea cup to his mouth.

“Hello, I am Marshall Van Wyck. The Most High council, in its infinite wisdom, has granted Dahrien reinforcements from the Hegemony Armed Forces.” His lips moved out of synch with his words. “As victory is near, reserve forces from Bretton will ensure a quick end to hostilities.”

Muston spat out tea.

“System, pause! Pause!” Muston wiped a hand across his mouth and looked down at his wet lap. “Cut back ten seconds and show subtitles.”

“Subtitles are auto-generated.” A computer voice twittered.

“Just do it.” Muston picked up a stylus and slate.

“—granted Dahrien reinforcements from the Hegemony Armed Forces. As victory is near, reserve forces from Bretton will ensure a quick end to—”

“System, pause!” Muston raised a trembling hand. A nervous smile spread across his face. “Oh my. Oh my. Praise to Kaishen I think I’ve finally found it. There’s been years of disagreement over where the Bretton 12^th was located within the Hegemony when the Collapse began. While the scholarship of one Yancy Khutughtu led to a general consensus that the Bretton 12^th was stationed in the York System as auxiliaries when the governor declared independence following Supreme Marshal Telemachus’s coup—it wasn’t there!”

Muston nearly hopped out of his chair in excitement.

“This is conclusive proof that Dahrien—not York!—was the point of origin for the Bretton battalion that proved to be so pivotal to events across the Hegemony during the Collapse. I’m sorry, Yancy, but you won’t be able to sleep your way into a grant with your dodgy scholarship, horrendous attribution and even worse sourcing. York! Ha!”

Muston raised his chin and adopted an air of superiority.

“Actually, System, erase that last part. The Grant Council hates petty behavior. At least, they say they do. Just tell that to ‘Imperium of Man’ researchers—moving on.” Muston flapped his hand in front of his face. “But it was Dahrien all along . . . who would’ve thought? Perhaps I should float the hypothesis in a few papers then hit the nets with this somewhat definitive proof. Definitive-ish proof. Let’s see what else is here. System, resume.”

Marshall Van Wyck continued speaking, though his lips stopped moving

“—the ongoing rebellion in the outlying provinces.”

Color drained from his skin. A grid pattern revealed itself at his continued speaking.

“The Hegemony will never tolerate any assaults on its soldiers or failure to pay mandated taxes to support the larger war effort. As such, I am forced to announce a new five percent truncation to all savings account balances and an additional two percent surcharge to all transactions through Hegemony Bank.”

“That’s an AI construct, not the actual Marshal.” Muston’s mouth squirmed like he’d tasted something bitter. “I don’t remember his name being on the list of loyalists . . . ”

The video cut back to the newscasters.

“Taxes are the price we pay to live in a civilized society,” Chad Storm said.

“I donate ten percent of my paycheck over and above my usual taxes,” Vanessa said with glee.

“Great job, Vanessa!” Chad’s smile broadened. “Now let’s go to Kenny Kitsune with the man on the street’s reaction to this great news.”

The video switched to a Dahrien native standing on the shoulder of a wide dirt road, thick jungle in the background.

A small microphone drone flew up to the man’s mouth. Muston paused the screen and noted the muzzle of a rifle that dipped in and out of frame, pointed at the interviewee. He spoke in a dialect Muston didn’t recognize but the video provided a computer generated voice over.

“I am grateful for the Hegemony relocating my family to the camps. There is plenty of fresh water and some food. The implants stop itching after a few days and I have no desire to return to my family shrines to tend to their souls as required by the spirits.”

“And how do you feel about the brave soldiers of Bretton coming to help fight and win final victory for Hegemony control?” Chad Storm asked.

“Who?” The man looked to one side.

A boot kicked out and struck him in the thigh. He sucked air through teeth in pain and lowered his head, shielding his head from a follow up strike that didn’t come.

“And how do you feel about the brave soldiers of Bretton coming to help fight and win final victory for Hegemony control?” Vanessa Blanco asked.

“Line? OK . . . The people of Dahrien will welcome anyone and everyone willing to sacrifice their—” the man narrowed his eyes as he read the answer off something out of frame “—their time away from their home worlds and family shrines. May the spirits grant them protection and strong sons from supple wives.”

“That can’t be a real blessing.” Muston narrowed his eyes slightly.

The video returned to the newscasters.

“What a great boost of support! Welcome to the fight, men of Bretton,” Vanessa Blanco nibbled on her bottom lip.

“And with that let’s return to Marshall Van Wyck with an important message,” Chad Storm said.

The screen cut back to the frozen image of the AI construct.

“All Hegemony citizens are reminded to avoid interfering with any and all actions carried out by our Skein soldiers. They remain under formal command of Supreme Marshall Telemachus and any protests, negative reports or any behavior deemed undesirable by law enforcement personnel will result in immediate transfer to an internment camp until the Skien detachment is recalled to Telemachus’ direct command.”

The video pixelated and resolved into an image of a pale-skinned and platinum-haired soldier standing in the command cupola of a Colossus super heavy tank. His uniform was meant for a parade ground, not a battlefield. He lowered binoculars and muted fanfare played in the background.

“System pause.” Muston let out a sigh. “This sort of canned propaganda surrounding Supreme Marshall Telemachus is common through pre-Collapse records. The Hegemony made a hero out of the Supreme Marshall when the Most High oligarchy was well aware of the length and breadth of Telemachus’ . . . atrocities. Myself and other scholars postulate that the oligarchy intended to lay the blame for all of their excesses needed to quell the security issues facing the Hegemony after the Alliance War. Charging Telemachus with the crimes the Most High turned a blind eye to—correction, authorized with a wink and a nod—would turn him into an effective scapegoat and cast the Most High in a better light once their power was solidified. As we all know . . . that didn’t happen. System, resume.”

Video of Skein soldiers parading through a conquered city, boots stomping, heads turned and salutes rendered up to a stage with Supreme Marshall Telemachus before a bombed out capitol building played.

The screen pixelated and light poles bearing hung civilians and soldiers appeared in the background.

“System, are the recent . . . video artifacts original or edited in?” Muston asked.

“Video editing was removed from the playback. The deceased individuals are likely authentic,” the computer said.

“That follows Hegemony Intelligence’s usual modus operandi. The impact of the Skein’s impact in pre-Collapse Hegemony are well documented. Granted, what did anyone think that soldiers genetically incapable of empathy or disobedience would do? We’re not treading into any new ground with this data rod. I suspect it was produced by the Richter Resistance as they were instrumental in raising awareness of those war crimes inside and outside of the Hegemony.”

“And now for sports!” Chad Storm said.

“Thanks, Chad. Back to Kenny Kitsune with the man on the street reaction. Kenny?”

Muston’s brow furrowed in confusion.

The video switched to a decent sized village. Children played in the streets. Soldiers with red cloth wrapped around their heads and bearing crossed bandoliers over black uniforms. One of the soldiers approached the camera and spoke in heavily accented standard.

“My name is Somnang Munsi. The Hegemony has lost all control outside of the capitol province. Do not believe any lies coming from that bone skin Van Wyck. The people of Dahrien will govern ourselves by our own laws and our own traditions. The Hegemony is a rotten khinzir that only steals from us and gives nothing back but misery and death.”

“System pause.” Muston set his tea mug down. “Rewind two seconds and enhance the upper left corner. The figure in white.”

The video rewound as red rectangles appeared around individuals in the background before pulsing over an elderly man in a white tunic over tattered camouflaged pants. He was clearly of a different ethnicity than the Dahrien civilians. The video centered on him as he crossed the back ground. Children scampered away from him. More than one mother covered their children’s eyes so as not to look at the stranger.

“Huh. Huh now that’s interesting.” Muston brought the mug back up to his lips but set it down without drinking. “System, are there any records of the Antares Temple sending their Shepherds to Dahrien? Pre-Collapse.”

“Records incomplete,” a computer voice said with a degree of cheerfulness.

“Another first.” Muston scratched his chin. He sat back in his chair and crossed one leg over his knee. “The Antares typically don’t show up on a planet unless the conflict’s either over or fighting’s been going for at least two years. Typically. Wasn’t the first—System, where was the first recorded appearance of Shepherds?”

“The first recorded appearance of known individuals with Antares religious affiliation was on planet Ayutthaya by Eugenia Kiesling in the year—”

“Just after the Hegemony-Alliance war. No one doubts Professor Kiesling’s scholarship. Take note of that, Yancey, you absolute slut of an amateur. System delete that last part.”

A pleasant chirp sounded from the computer.

“So we have a sighting of an Antares Shepherd. I wonder if the cultural similarities between Dahrien and Ayutthaya led to an early appearance. Granted, insurgencies are a target rich environment for those who specialize in finding lost and presumed dead combatants. That’s an unfortunate phrasing. Remind me to come back to that before I push this out for publication.”

A chirp.

“But if Antares was present on Dahrien when the Bretton 12^th was there, then there’s a decent chance the Antares might have records to corroborate the Bretton presence. The unit certainly took significant casualties during the Collapse and they were at nearly half strength before they took part in the Siege of Firenze. I could petition their temple on Colophon but they only accept in person requests and the donation threshold is considerable. But the Grant Council should be excited with these news—Colophon is a bit of a shit hole. Maybe I could get funding to Marmaris? The beaches are amazing. I’ve heard. System, resume.”

“To all Hegemony soldiers on Dahrien. The Flags tell you to leave. We will not shoot you in the back.” He took out a wide bladed knife. “If you don’t leave, we will slit your throats beneath the red moon.”

“Pleasant,” Muston chuckled. “Where . . . where the hell is Dahrien anyway?”

The video cut back to the news room.

“And that was sports!” Chad Storm announced. “I certainly hope—” his voice shifted octaves—“home team wins.”

“I always root for them,” Vanessa Blanco said. “Let’s check in on local weather conditions with ace meteorologist Sofia Garces. Sofia?”

The screen stayed on the two frozen newscasters.

“No Sofia? But she always knows how to turn the weather into something more titillating?” Muston chuckled. “You all can delve into those records on your own. Sofia Garces’ talents weren’t in her ability to give accurate weather forecasts, but from her other ample . . . assets.”

A man with fat jowls, an apple shaped physique and bad skin that looked like it hadn’t been touched by natural light in years waddled into the frame. He wore a Hegemony uniform with several food stains on the sleeves and edges.

“Son of a bitch.” Muston’s face fell.

“Can we do more with this?” the man asked, pointing at Vanessa Blanco’s cleavage. “Because the less attention on the broadcast the better . . . Why not a full on wardrobe malfunction? A what trap? We’re making the easy puns now, are we?”

He walked behind Chad Storm and mussed up the perfect hair. Filaments in the robot’s scalp returned the hair to its original configuration a moment later.

“System, pause,” Muston leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees. “We’ve got a confirmed record of Neville Harris on Dahrien. I’m going to assume the Richter Resistance was only partially active on the planet and this recording is that much more authentic. The Resistance would’ve killed Harris if his crimes were known at the time of this recording. Later crimes. Why was a high ranking Hegemony Intelligence Directive operative like him on Dahrien? I have to put even more stringent war crimes restrictions on my paper if unedited footage of him is included.”

Muston kicked a desk, wobbling the screen.

“This made my grant that much harder!” He buried his head in his hands and took several slow breaths before sitting back and slapping palms against his thighs. “But I have a lead on the Bretton 12^th. We finally have a lead on the beginning of their history during the Collapse. What’s this ‘we’ nonsense? I have a lead and I’m not sharing it. So much more scholarship to do . . . I can practically smell tenure. System! Place this entire recording under War Crimes Act encryption with my gene-lock and end video.

A pleasant chirp and the screen went black.

Copyright © 2024 by Richard Fox

Richard Fox is the winner of the 2017 Dragon Award for Best Military Science Fiction or Fantasy novel. He's best known for The Ember War Saga, a military science fiction and space opera series.

His writing draws extensively from his experiences in the United States Army, where he served two combat tours in Iraq and was awarded the Bronze Star, Combat Action Badge and Presidential Unit Citation. He lives in fabulous Las Vegas with his incredible wife and three boys, amazing children bent on anarchy. His latest novel from Baen is Men of Bretton.