Part V - Doctrine and Arithmetic
ROYAL SESSION LOG — INTERNAL
Recorder: Wila, Office of the Crown
Location: High Council Chamber / Anti-Gravity Table
Status: Secure / Active
Timestamp: 04:11:09
The anti-gravity table stabilized before His Majesty entered—concentric rings lifting in disciplined sequence, then locking into a silent hover. No vibration. No drift.
The chamber felt as though it had completed its preparations and was now waiting to be addressed.
Holographic presences resolved around the table's perimeter.
High Counsellor Varak Hemrit manifested first—full-spectrum projection, posture upright, hands folded at midline. Civil Bloc seals hovered faintly behind him, subdued by protocol dimming.
High Commander Suthep Rattana followed—hard-edged resolution, minimal bandwidth allocation. Tactical overlays flickered briefly at his shoulders before collapsing into standby. He did not acknowledge the room.
Morren, Director of Ideological Compliance & Internal Doctrine, appeared last among the individual delegates. A woman in her early fifties, her projection was narrow and clearly resolved, dressed in an elegant black long dress beneath an SAI militia jacket. Her posture was calm, unhurried. Doctrine sigils rotated slowly at her back, never fully resolving.
The Strategic Threat Oversight Committee occupied the remaining arc—multiple faceted silhouettes bound to a single compliance node. No faces. Only layered data halos, pulsing at regulated intervals.
All feeds stabilized.
His Majesty had not yet entered.
At 04:11:17, the King arrived.
I approached immediately and confirmed quorum.
Present and logged:
Varak, High Counsellor Suthep, High Commander Morren, Director of Ideological Compliance & Internal Doctrine Strategic Threat Oversight Committee (STOC) — Compliance Node active
No objections raised.
No recusals noted.
The Compliance Node did not signal.
At 04:11:34, the session was marked live.
The High Commander began without preamble.
High Commander Suthep Rattana did not wait for formal prompting.
"Tactical report."
A projection unfolded above the table—no flourish, no delay. Red vectors bloomed across the perimeter zones of the Central Sector, layered over infrastructure schematics and population density grids.
"The last seventy-two active monitoring cycles prior to this session." Suthep continued, "we have recorded a forty-three percent increase in non-human hostile encounters along outer parameters and transit dead zones."
Markers pulsed—then multiplied.
"Entities exhibit inconsistent morphology. No standardized combat doctrine. No identifiable command structure."
"Survivability exceeds projection models."
The display rotated. Footage fragments appeared—partial silhouettes, impact distortions, thermal afterimages that refused to stabilize.
"These are not standard CC herd events—nor what doctrine classifies as angels," Suthep said.
"In engagements involving frontline units without a commander in proximity, survivability is zero percent. No successful withdrawals. No recoverable personnel."
He advanced the report.
"Recovered remains show complete vascular depletion. Blood loss is total. Core body temperature at discovery indicates death occurred far earlier than engagement timestamps suggest."
Suthep's jaw tightened almost imperceptibly as the data advanced.
"In cases where a commander is present, post-engagement survival for remaining units rises to approximately thirty to forty percent."
He looked around the table once, frowned.
"This is a mass slaughter."
His gaze remained steady.
The King's posture stiffened as casualty figures scrolled across the holographic chart. Survival ratios collapsed into red bands, each narrower than the last.
He reviewed the recovered combat footage in silence.
The images were fragmented—sensor lag, corrupted frames, exposure pushed beyond tolerance. What remained was little more than motion: a single cut of an immense silhouette moving faster than the capture rate allowed.
Scale was suggested, not confirmed.
The frame darkened before shape could resolve. Too fast to find identical features. No clear anatomy. Only appeared as blurry footage.
"With a commanding officer present, survival rates improve—but only marginally. Thirty to forty percent at best. The rest are lost."
"Behavioral analysis suggests probing activity. Stress testing. Response measurement."
The map shifted again. Several nodes dimmed—then vanished.
"Three biolab-linked containment facilities reported anomalous dispatch activity prior to loss of trace. No recovery. No wreckage. No signal residue."
His jaw set.
"We assess this as coordinated emergence rather than isolated incidents."
The display collapsed into a single designation, hovering above the table:
THREAT CLASSIFICATION: DEMON LORD'S FANATIC EXPERIMENTATION
CONFIDENCE LEVEL: PROVISIONAL
"Our current militia implant standard is insufficient," Suthep concluded. "Engagement success relies on overcommitment, terrain advantage, or unacceptable casualty ratios."
He inclined his head once—report complete.
At 04:13:02, the High Council cross-referenced recent biolab activity.
Multiple unidentified entities with anomalous heat signatures were confirmed dispatched for unknown relocation. Signal traces lost en route. Recovery attempts unsuccessful. No evidence of sabotage presented.
High Counsellor Varak Hemrit adjusted his position at the table—not forward, not back. Centered.
"Doctrine aside," he said evenly, "we are constrained by arithmetic."
A gesture. The hologram shifted—threat projections collapsing into supply chains, energy graphs, maintenance curves.
"Frontline implant enablement," Varak continued, "is not a philosophical decision. It is a fiscal one."
He allowed the numbers to speak first.
"Each combat-grade implant requires sustained power calibration, rare material replacement, and post-engagement medical correction. Even conservative modeling places the long-term cost well beyond current militia allocations."
His gaze slid—not accusatory, merely precise—toward High Commander Suthep Rattana.
"Commander Phawin's division," Varak said, naming the son without emphasis, "should be intimately familiar with this."
The display reconfigured again.
Eastern Sea Gulf. Thorium extraction nodes. Retention costs climbing in sharp, ugly increments.
"When the sea dried," Varak continued, "evaporation ceased. The wind persisted—dry, particulate, and destructive."
"Abrasive particulate now penetrates armor seals. Turbine bearings degrade faster. Vehicle joints seize. Knight plating requires triple-cycle maintenance, their mechanical-alteration weapon, and droid maintenance. Transport trucks burn through replacements at several times their projected lifespan."
He inclined his head slightly toward Suthep.
"You know this," Varak said. "You have signed those requisitions."
Silence.
Varak turned his attention back to the table at large.
"To subsidize implants at scale would require new taxation," he said evenly. "On a population already operating under enforced austerity."
Another projection surfaced—civil unrest indices, thin and brittle. Margins measured in decimals. Tolerances already strained.
"If we push further," Varak continued, "we do not merely risk dissatisfaction. We risk fracture."
His eyes flicked—briefly, deliberately—toward the STOC compliance node.
"And if the Committee is forced to vote on fiscal overreach," he added calmly, "there is no guarantee the fold holds."
The data dimmed.
Varak folded his hands.
"Do you recall how firmly I opposed you," he said, addressing the King without raising his voice, "when you proposed extending State protection to the Dried Yard people along the eastern gulf route to the thorium rigs?"
A pause. Not rhetorical. Measured.
"Now," Varak went on, "you ask the STOC to endorse further expenditure—this time to expand militia implants across all ranks?"
His gaze did not waver.
"I advise restraint."
Morren did not speak at once.
Her hologram resolved at a higher fidelity than the others—an intentional choice, or a quiet assertion of hierarchy. Light traced the insignia at her collar: Director of Ideological Compliance & Internal Doctrine.
"Before we escalate force," Morren said evenly, "we must address deviation."
She lifted one hand.
The table responded—threat vectors collapsing, replaced by personnel overlays.
"Commander Arika's unit," she continued. "Specifically, her sustained operational proximity to non-aligned assets."
Profiles unfolded.
Combat records. Deployment irregularities. Mission outcomes exceeding projected thresholds—without corresponding doctrinal justification.
"And the boy," Morren added, her tone unchanged.
Kaodin's designation surfaced. Sparse. Fragmented. Unsettlingly vacant where institutional density should have been.
"A juvenile with no verified doctrinal lineage," she said. "No ideological imprint. No compliance markers."
"Yet present at multiple convergence events."
She inclined her head toward the King—respectful, never deferential.
"This is not accusation," Morren said. "It is pattern recognition."
The display shifted again. Arika's unit trajectories appeared—mission paths subtly bending, clustering, recalibrating around the boy's presence.
"Commander Arika has demonstrated initiative," Morren acknowledged. "But initiative unbound by doctrine does not remain initiative. It becomes precedent."
Her gaze returned to the council.
"I believe I made this clear to Commander Arika earlier today," the King said. "Her unit will deploy to the abandoned biolab to neutralize the emerging threat—along with the boy—once he has fully recovered."
His gaze swept the table in a single, deliberate pass—Varak, Suthep, Morren, the STOC node—
—and finally Wila.
A brief paused before the the table responded again—this time isolating a single personnel profile.
Nyla.
Her combat telemetry expanded across the surface: response latency, force application curves, target suppression efficiency.
"However, the reports confirm," Morren said, "that it was Nyla—not the boy—who successfully subdued the entity under the code name 'Colos-Variant' a few nights before."
She allowed the data to sit.
"Her conduct was measured. Her decision-making adaptive. Not reactive."
A fractional pause.
"She exhibits maturity disproportionate to her age and origin."
Morren's gaze returned to the King.
"I formally request a private audience with Nyla," she said. "Not for interrogation. But to lay a path for further collaboration on various aspects."
She folded her hands.
The display shifted again.
Infrastructure schematics surfaced. Trade vectors. Energy flow projections.
"Such as, to find a sustainable solution on our fiscal constraints raised by High Counsellor Varak," Morren said, "as well as, the operational urgency outlined by the High Commander, I propose a third path."
A new label resolved over the projection:
Technological Exchange — External Node (CSDS).
"Rather than immediately executing new policy to enables implant subsidies," Morren said, "we should pursue a limited technological exchange with the Central Sector Dome Settlement."
Her gaze shifted briefly toward the STOC compliance node.
"Controlled trade. Controlled visibility. No doctrinal concessions."
The data restructured itself—highlighting projected gains: manufacturing efficiencies, advanced material tolerances, systemic redundancy models.
"And," Morren added, deliberately, "an opportunity to evaluate their energy infrastructure."
A fractional pause—intentional.
"If their systems align with our projections," Morren concluded, "we gain leverage without taxation."
She tilted her head slightly.
"One of the boy's stated demands was the procurement of a highly sensitive hybrid bio-mechanical cardiac unit for his injured companion."
Her tone remained neutral, almost dismissive.
"I find it unlikely their technology surpasses ours," she said. "But as the old saying goes—a sprat to catch a mackerel."
The implication settled quietly across the table.
"Balance," Morren said simply.
Varak and Suthep exchanged brief glances through their holographic projections, neither lowering their guard, both maintaining their sharp, measured focus.
The King remained silent, he sat straight overlooking Morren's convincing speech. His left crossing his elbow as the right hand was holding his chin and also talking hold of his Cigar vapor. He drew a slow inhale, vapor curling upward—its scent unmistakable, synthesized aromatic tobacco modeled after prewar leaves. The smoke lingered, heavy with deliberation.
"If the State intends to explore engagement rather than eradication with these outsiders," Morren continued, "then Nyla represents the most stable interface. She understands leverage. She understands restraint.
Her tone remained neutral, but the implication was clear: the boy was volatility; Nyla was currency.
"I ask only that His Majesty remain… impartial," Morren said calmly. "Outsiders cannot be exempt from the discipline that binds the State. However, under my full confidence in our doctrine, I assure you I will deliver a resolution capable of addressing the State's impending challenges."
She let her gaze pass—briefly, deliberately—over Varak and Suthep.
The King exhaled a thin stream of smoke before speaking.
"I find Morren's proposal reasonable," he said. "But when you speak with Nyla, take Wila with you. I want the exchange properly recorded."
He paused, eyes narrowing slightly—not in suspicion, but assessment.
"And be mindful," he added. "Though she has lost a limb, Nyla is no ordinary adolescent. She is perceptive. Calculating. She knows where to bite."
A faint curl touched the edge of his mouth.
"The boy listens to her."
He lowered his hand from his chin.
"So be civil," the King concluded. "And be careful."
04:15:21 — His Majesty attempted to raise an additional matter.
He hesitated. A measurable delay registered in his speech pattern.
04:16:03 — I prepared to annotate a deferred concern—
—an insight reminder originating from Commander Arika's unit doctrine— conceptual ideas regarding the militia incentive to earn implant upgrades.
—but before submission, an alert from Royal Reception overrode the channel.
Medical Bay — Internal Lockdown.
Communications severed from within.
I stood and delivered the notice.
The table did not move.
The Compliance Node remained active.
Session status: Ongoing.
And among those present, beneath a careful façade of impending tension from the outside, one figure smiled.