Roc Weiler – Tyrannis Submssion

The plain beige folder sits on a desk. A desk as large as befitted to someone of his status. Its ancient wood polished until the layers of lacquer shine mirror deep, like the surface of lake on a hot summer day. The com unit sitting next to it makes for a jarring note. Machine manufacture against a background of artisanship, ink and paper, wax and seal. History, if you will. A history fraught with struggle and graft fought to a point of delicate equilibrium.

Executive Summary
Probability calculations indicate that the balance will shortly be disturbed, and if action is not taken calamity will ensue. Cross correlation on all standard indices rated 98% at plus or minus 0.05%
ref: C176# govt/intel/forecast/MOC   ref : A-45#govt/diplo/influence/MII
ref: ://K-#govt/econ/council/MOW    ref: K244#govt/—-/restricted/MEA

The man gazed out the window at the pristine forests below. Verdant greens and blues. The local wildlife taking to wing in the last rays of the afternoon sun. A beautiful scene hiding a nearly unimaginable wealth in both the biosphere and in the layers of rock and sediment just below.
The com chimed, and the sultry tones of the secretary to the planetary governor broke the silence with five words.
“The planetary assay is ready”.
“Have the times for the com links been confirmed?”
“Yes, sir” came the reply. We expect the Northern Coalition at 10:23. The Southern at 11:18 – all standard time.”
“Good. Have the teams completed their preparations at of all of the sites?”
“Confirmed. The antimatter bombs are primed. Local militia have been assigned fertilizer based explosives capable of taking out refineries and extraction facilities. The guerrilla cells have been set up in distributed fashion as per the mandate.”
“Thank you Ellen. It is time that you went to the shelter. All indications suggest that we will be able to maintain neutrality and our independence in the upcoming conflict, however we cannot compensate for the complexity that the immortals bring to the equation. Who knows how the capsuleers will react.”
“Sir, I….”
“Ellen. Enough. It has been privilege to work with you. Now go.”

The man looks down at the crystal glass on the desk. Exquisite. Appropriate to hold a 20 year old single malt. As the sun goes down and the last rays shine into the office, he shifts the glass so it refracts the amber light into the corners of the room. “Please, oh God, please…..”