normally ceremonial unit, was also charged with security of the center of the Solarian Government. All 9,000 Premier’s Own from officers to the lowliest private were veterans with at least ten years of experience. They also were not short on modern kit. They had traded their ornamental uniforms and obsolete rifles for modern weapons and combat armour. The ground car slowed as it eased between two menacing looking APCs that were guarding the checkpoint on First Street. Pulling up to the Admiralty, Jonathan practically lept from the ground car and hurried into the marble and stone structure. Jonathan was mentally calculating what exactly had warranted his early morning rousting by the Provost. The most likely scenario was that recent events had undone the bureaucratic inertia and freed him from his limbo. On the other hand, some Landed glit who held a nice cushy desk job and was a dear friend to a certain senior member of the Conservative Party, was going to give Jonathan a good tongue thrashing for showing such blatant disrespect to his betters. It was possible. Even with all that was going on, the Republic wasn't immune to the short sighted idiocracy which permeated any government or society. To Jonathan’s delight, though, the Provost led him not up the grand staircase to the warren of offices that housed the administrative machinery of the Fleet. Instead, they went down into the sub levels where in an equally vast warren of offices and departments the Navy made ready for war. The Solarian Fleet’s primary headquarters was actually on Macran the massive space station, which orbited Solaria secured to the planet by a elevator tether. But while Macran housed numerous vital Navy command and control sections not to mention large contingents from the Office of Personnel and the Office of Ship Building, it lacked the space and resources to adequately house the backhaul. In times of war, the Fleet was under the command of the Admiral of the Fleet, who in turn relied on the Chief of Fleet Operations, who was referred to as 1st Admiral, to plan and carry out the grand strategy. The 1st Admiral in turn relied on his deputy the Head of the Office of Operations, who was called the 2nd Admiral, to execute the minutiae of waging a war. That minutiae took staff power, and the secure bunkers under Parliament Hill held more than enough space to fill with the necessary staff. This part of the Admiralty had an inordinately high amount of activity today. The place was buzzing at a frantic pace, junior officers and MOD bureaucrats scrambled about taking old war plans out of storage, updating them to suit revised estimates of enemy strengths and weakness, while also ordering supplies, calling up reservists and doing everything else necessary to mobilize a nation for conflict. The Provost finally led Jonathan to a door buried deep within the labyrinth with a plaque which read Vice Admiral Hopper, Commander Fifth Fleet. Straightening his jacket best he could, Jonathan strode into the office while the Provost waited outside. The air in the office was thick with smoke. Harry Hopper, who for good reason was known as ‘Hatchet’ Hopper, was an avid user of fumigin. The noxious weed, which was native to Solaria, had a similar effect on humans as tobacco, but was less harmful. Modern nanites could mitigate the side effects of smoking, but fumigin actually had helpful side effects since it oxygenated the blood. Despite the helpful byproduct, it stank to high heaven and the Admiral’s office reeked of it.
‘Hatchet’ Hopper was sitting behind his desk puffing away on a thick fumigin cigar, and seemed to be carrying on three or four conversations at once with the three Captains, four Commodores, two Group Captains, and a Rear Admiral circled around his desk.
Jonathan stood quietly off to the side doing his best not to puke again at the overwhelming stench of fumigin smoke.
Noticing Jonathan’s arrival, Hopper finished what he was
‘Hatchet’ Hopper was sitting behind his desk puffing away on a thick fumigin cigar, and seemed to be carrying on three or four conversations at once with the three Captains, four Commodores, two Group Captains, and a Rear Admiral circled around his desk.
Jonathan stood quietly off to the side doing his best not to puke again at the overwhelming stench of fumigin smoke.
Noticing Jonathan’s arrival, Hopper finished what he was
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