Cycles of War: History, Politics, and Destiny — Excerpt — Saphira Don
It has often been said that the Universal Government was born out of necessity, but few ever point out the cunning with which it turned that necessity into faith.The first leaders of its history understood an uncomfortable truth: no constitution can survive the erosion of centuries unless it rests upon something stronger than reason. The word people can unite a nation in crisis — but what happens when the crisis ends? How do you preserve obedience once the promises of prosperity begin to fade?
The answer was the sanctification of power. The First Delegate ceased to be an administrator and became the axis of a near-liturgical narrative — almighty, unquestionable, chosen both by the people and by destiny. The government's supreme speaker, in turn, became his ecclesiastical mirror. The U.G. was not merely a nation; it was an esoteric will.
Much is said about how the Universal Government guaranteed unity across distant worlds. Less is said about how, in doing so, it turned politics into a perpetual mass. Curiously, in that liturgy, faith replaced memory. And when a society forgets where it came from, all that remains is to obey the nearest altar.
Perhaps that is why every anniversary is not a commemoration of the past, but a ritual echo of the same story — repeated until no one remembers what was invented and what was real.
Lin walked with measured steps across the gleaming surface of Klynos. The ground was neither metal nor glass but a living, organic floor that pulsed faintly beneath his boots, as if the city itself breathed to the rhythm of some hidden consciousness. With the images of Tau Ceti IV still raw in his memory — the dust, the trenches, the ruined cities — it was oddly comforting to know that Klynos remained Klynos: intact, unbreakable, refined even in its decay.
The migraine hadn't left him for a week. A side effect, he knew, but one he tolerated for the advantages it brought — even if it burned through sleepless nights like fire behind his eyes.
The buildings didn't reach upward in straight lines but flowed in soft curves, woven in iridescent threads that shifted with every change in the artificial climate. For Lin, that lack of angles wasn't accidental; it prevented long perspectives, as if the city itself ensured that no one could see too far. The wind, generated by hidden systems, carried the scent of alien vegetation and the melodic hum of surveillance drones. None of it was decoration — every vibration in the walls was a pulse of control, a reminder that Klynos both breathed and watched.
Around a bend in the main corridor, a fallen sign flickered between shadows — a collage of political slogans, official announcements, and suppressed rage. For anyone else, it was just trash; to Lin, it was a clear sign of fracture. The last protest had left no dead, but it had left a visible crack in the illusion of perfection. Farther ahead, an entire façade shimmered too brightly — newly repaired, too pristine. The reconstruction was flawless on the surface, but to Lin's trained eye, it was makeup: another reminder that even Klynos, the supposedly untouchable city, carried scars beneath its polished skin.
A small group lingered in the winding streets, among shrubs that shifted color in reaction to human movement, as if observing. A woman's voice rose from one of those living corners, her face briefly lit by a vine that glowed under her touch.
"The people of Tau Ceti are not a sacrifice!" she shouted, her voice cutting through the gentle background music generated by Omnis — a melody that now sounded less like harmony and more like warning.
The city, designed to absorb dissonance, swallowed her cry with perfect efficiency. No echo. No response. As if the protest had never happened.
Lin didn't answer. He didn't even turn his head. He knew that in this place — the heart of power, symbol of order, mother of all decisions — a single gesture could ignite a galactic debate.
When he reached the Central Tower, he looked down. A crumpled sign, written in reactive ink, still shimmered faintly:How many more, Santiago?
He ignored it.
Inside, the organic complexity of the exterior vanished. The heart of the system awaited him: a technological chrysalis. Walls of polished quartz reflected his figure like liquid mirrors. Pale lights rose directly from the floor, dimming as he passed, following his movement like a quiet tide.
At the far end, the elevator awaited — a transparent glass cylinder that ascended and descended with organic smoothness. When the doors closed, the outside world vanished. Silence consumed everything until he could hear his own breathing.
As he rose, the city revealed its true form: from above, Klynos resembled a living organism, its iridescent veins pulsing with information.
When Lin stepped into the upper corridor, the air carried a sharper scent — sterile ozone, an artificial perfume crafted by Omnis to evoke control. Holographic screens floated by his side, displaying cold numbers and statistics about the war. They said nothing of the human cost.
He paused before the final door, straightened his collar, and took a breath. On the other side waited an uncomfortable conversation — one that could shift the balance of everything.
The meeting room wasn't empty.Loran Vek's sharp, commanding voice filled the air. Lin froze at the threshold, assessing the scene.
Vek, broad-shouldered and built like a soldier, leaned over the table, fists clenched, his face taut with anger. Across from him sat Robert Santiago — calm, immaculate, almost amused. His black suit seemed carved from the void itself, tailored to perfection, the edges faintly metallic as if authority was stitched into the seams. A small gold brooch glimmered on his lapel — an old emblem of the Senate, from generations past.
Lin didn't just listen. He observed: the whitened knuckles of Vek, the shortness of his breath, the dust on his uniform — all signs of a man burning through control. And Santiago, barely moving, one leg angled slightly backward — the posture of a man who ruled even in silence. To Lin, these were equations waiting to be solved.
"You're not hearing me, Robert," Vek said, voice restrained but shaking with frustration. "My planet is falling apart and people know it. What I need is not another offensive in the outer systems, but support. Reinforcements. Supplies. Anything."
Santiago tilted his head slightly, a trace of amusement curling at the edge of his mouth. His fingers tapped lazily on the armrest."Loran, Loran... when did you start speaking in the singular? My planet, my problems. I always thought you were a man of broader vision."
"It's not about vision," Vek snapped. "If Tau Ceti collapses, everything else follows. You know that better than anyone — lose Tau Ceti, and we lose the war."
Santiago leaned forward, elbows on the table, his voice slow, deliberate."Let me see if I understand," he said, dragging out the words. "After everything we've built, everything we're about to secure, you're considering voting against Operation Bastion because your planet is struggling? That's not the attitude I expect from our people, Loran. I'm... disappointed."
Vek didn't flinch. "I'm not considering it, Robert. I'm evaluating it."
Santiago chuckled softly, reclining again, his tone almost theatrical."And if you distance yourself from us — who do you think will take you in? Lose your planet and you lose power. Walk away from us, and you'll find yourself alone. Think carefully, Loran. For your own sake."
For a moment, Vek seemed to bite back a reply. Santiago went on.
"You know, Loran, I've always admired your honesty. It's refreshing — in halls like these, filled with politicians." He let the last word drip with irony. "But let's be honest: if you were truly set on voting against us, we wouldn't be having this conversation. You're here to negotiate. What do you want?"
Vek's eyes flicked toward Lin, then away. He exhaled through his nose."Let's just find a solution, Robert. Please."
"Of course, Loran. Trust me," Santiago said, standing, voice calm, paternal. "Let's talk again tomorrow, with clearer heads."
Vek hesitated, then nodded. He placed a fist over his chest."Long live the Union."
Santiago mirrored the salute with a faint smile. "Long live the Union."
Vek turned and left in silence.
Lin waited by the door. Santiago didn't greet him, didn't even glance at him, just walked toward the window, hands clasped behind his back, watching the heartbeat of the city below.
"First Delegate Santiago," Lin said. "Is there a problem with Representative Vek?"
Santiago remained silent for a long moment. When he finally spoke, his tone was low, deliberate."This war brings out the worst in some people. Don't you think, Lin?"
Lin hesitated. He'd learned that Santiago's questions were rarely questions — they were traps dressed as philosophy."With all due respect, sir, I can't imagine war bringing out anything but the worst."
Santiago smiled faintly. "You'd be surprised. War is just another move on the board."
He turned toward Lin, that same magnetic intensity he used in speeches now focused on one man."A move," Santiago repeated, eyes distant.
Lin noticed the dark smudge beneath his eyes, barely concealed by makeup. Exhaustion disguised as strength.
He handed over a datapad. Santiago flipped through it with detached ease.
"The protest in the plaza is growing," Lin reported. "Minor unrest in the outer sectors. A small but growing sympathy for separatist rhetoric. Solvyn's influence in the Council is increasing, and Varok seems... open to her."
Santiago set the datapad down carefully, as if it contained something fragile."Solvyn will never give up on her idea of truce. One of those noble fantasies that sound good on paper, but collapse when reality hits." He looked up. "Drink, Lin?"
Omnis reacted instantly — the bar behind them generated a crimson-tinted wine with notes of celeria. Santiago's favorite.
"No, thank you."
Santiago smirked. Lin knew why. It was ritual; the refusal gave him an excuse to pour for himself. He sipped, savoring it.
"Tell me, Lin," Santiago said finally. "What would you do?"
It wasn't a real question. It was a test. Lin answered carefully."I'd talk. Negotiate. Exhaust every possible path before resorting to force."
Santiago smiled again — this time closer to disdain than approval."Always the idealist."
Lin took a breath, then stepped closer."With respect, sir, whatever form it takes — we can't afford to lose Tau Ceti IV."
"We won't," Santiago replied.
He moved to the desk, scanning data with precise motions."In the meantime, politics performs its theater. Tau Ceti becomes a slaughterhouse. People die every day, but none of that matters — what matters is to look civilized, to empathize, to build bridges." He exhaled sharply. "What hypocrisy."
Lin said nothing. Tau Ceti IV wasn't just another battlefield; it was a symbol.
"We've lost more soldiers than expected," Lin admitted. "And communications are still unstable."
"And Omnis?"
"No trace of the main node's location yet."
"That's crucial," Santiago murmured, pouring another drink.
Lin looked out the window. Klynos sprawled like an endless machine of light."This war could last years. Maybe decades."
"For now," Santiago said coldly. "But every day Tau Ceti remains contested, the Assembly grows bolder. And if there's one thing I won't tolerate, Lin, it's a mediocre peace bought with concessions. The Universal Government is the shepherd — not the sheep."
He paused, eyes narrowing."I hate to admit it, but having the Black Spider back would make things easier."
Lin raised an eyebrow."With respect, sir, you've always called Rodrick Viulk a liability."
Santiago smiled faintly. "He was. But his presence alone brought calm. Something I can't seem to replicate. In the public eye, a politician doesn't win wars — he just starts them."
"If I can do anything—"
"You can, Lin," Santiago interrupted, turning sharply. "Push Operation Bastion forward. Fast."
"In the Council?"
"And in the field," Santiago replied, eyes glinting. "What did Anara tell you about the project? Is it close?"
Lin tensed at the name."Engineer Hudson hasn't been particularly clear with me. But according to Gornal, yes — it's nearly ready."
Santiago chuckled. "That spy of yours in Vinnenstein still listening through walls?"
Lin straightened his collar. "Gornal was assigned for his competence, not for espionage."
"Of course," Santiago said, waving it off. "Just move it forward. Focus all efforts on Bastion. Everything else is secondary. I want that session to end with the operation approved — win votes wherever you must."
"That's in two weeks."
"Then hurry," Santiago replied, smiling thinly.
Silence settled. Santiago turned back to the window."Make it look organic, Lin. Chaos can be as useful as order — as long as no one knows which is which."
Lin studied him, searching for meaning beyond the words. Santiago never explained his plans; he only issued them.
"Yes, sir."
"Are you eating, Lin?" Santiago asked suddenly. "You look thin."
Lin sighed, choosing to lie. "Yes, sir. The Council keeps me busy."
Santiago smiled. "And soon, it'll make you fly."
Then, as if the entire conversation had evaporated from his mind, he turned back to the horizon.
"Isn't it ironic, Lin? We spent millennia taming worlds that didn't want to be tamed, planting life where no soil was fertile. And now those worlds spit in our faces — separatists, uprisings, hunger. We strike them... and they strike back."
Lin nodded. Santiago didn't look at him again. That silence said enough.
He left the room without another word.
Outside, the artificial light of Klynos had turned red, mimicking sunset — a tranquil illusion meant to soothe political nerves after long sessions. But in the square below, there was no calm.
Two drones spiraled downward over a scattering of protestors. Others had already fled. One young man, no older than twenty, was surrounded by soldiers in grey armor — uniforms with no visible insignia.
They didn't shout. They acted like machines. One twisted his arm, another slammed him against a living wall of vines. The structure recoiled, closing around him as if the city itself rejected his defiance.
Lin descended with steady steps. He didn't run. He simply approached."Stop."
The word wasn't loud, but the tone was enough. The soldiers froze, turning toward him.
"Lin Shimamoto, aide to First Delegate Robert Santiago," he said, irritated. His own name meant little — Santiago's carried weight enough for both.
The young man glared at him through blood and defiance. Lin knelt beside him, his immaculate coat stark against the boy's sweat and dust.
"What's your name?"
The boy said nothing.
Lin tilted his head, patient, almost gentle."It doesn't matter. You know why you're on the ground, don't you?"
Silence. Labored breathing.
"Not because of your ideas," Lin continued, tone like a lecture. "The Universal Government has room for all ideas — as long as they're expressed where and how they should be."
"This is repression," the boy muttered.
Lin nodded slowly, without irony. "It's also pedagogy. And you've just had your first lesson. Learn from it."
He stood, extending a hand to help him up. His voice softened just slightly."The Universal Government isn't perfect, but it's all we have. You don't want to find out how bad things can really get."
He stepped back."It's imperfect, yes. But it's also the only thing that's good. The happiest we'll ever be is under the Universal Government."
He gestured lightly to the soldiers."Take him. No more violence. I want him home tomorrow, unharmed." He placed his fist to his chest. "Long live the Union."
The soldiers mirrored the salute and obeyed. Lin didn't look back.
As he walked away, the city restored its choreography. the red fading to lavender, the banners dimming, as if nothing had ever happened.