Chapter 13: Political Theater

"Hey! Clini! Look at that!"

As the vehicle pulled into the garrison parking lot, Andrei nudged Makarius on the shoulder.

"What is it?"

Makarius turned his head and saw a black sedan parked there, adorned with the Earth Federation flag and the Space Force ensign on its hood. Beyond the license plate reading "001," a large emblem of the First Fleet was emblazoned on the door.

"Is that Santa Claus's car?"

"It must be!"

"Holy crap!"

"He actually came?"

"Santa Claus" was merely a nickname for the Commander-in-Chief of the Federation Space Force, Lieutenant General Johann Ibrahim Revil. This elderly man, a paragon of the Federation military, was known for his thick white beard, which earned him the moniker. As the preeminent figure in the Federation military, he usually spent his time either at the Earth Federation headquarters or the Luna II Space Force headquarters. Unless something major was afoot, he certainly wouldn't visit a place like the Principality of Zeon. As for why they were so certain it was him: among all the high-ranking officers in the Federation, only his official car was so modest; the vehicles of other generals were all top-of-the-line.

"With a big shot like that here, our exercise is probably just a political show for both sides to watch."

"You're that sure?"

Makarius looked at Andrei, who wore the expression of a primary schooler deducing a crime, before answering with conviction.

"Absolutely. If General Revil is here, then someone from Zeon will definitely show up too. Though it’s unlikely to be Degwin; it should be Gihren. It certainly won't be Dozle—that guy is the Commandant, so he was already scheduled to attend."

Gihren Zabi, the eldest son of Degwin Zabi, currently served as the Sovereign of the Principality of Zeon—a true monster of a man. Dozle Zabi, the third of the Zabi siblings, served as the Commander of the Zeon Defense Force and was also the Commandant of the Zeon Higher Military Academy; he was the one responsible for the annual military exercises with the Federation.

"So, what do you think these big wigs are here for?"

"It's definitely not to watch our exercise!"

Although it wasn't mentioned much in the original records, Makarius guessed that both sides were likely there to negotiate arms or economic issues. After all, surface-level calm meant nothing; the undercurrents were what mattered. If nothing went wrong, this exercise would likely be the last of its kind. No matter what terms Zeon proposed, it was unlikely Revil would budge. Though "Santa Claus" appeared kind and approachable, he was, in reality, a resolute and fierce general. He understood the problems with Zeon all too well, and therefore, any terms that would allow Zeon to grow stronger were completely out of the question for him.

"Is our father still pinning his hopes on the Federation making concessions?"

Inside the Zeon Sovereign’s residence on the Side 3 colony of Zum, Gihren Zabi, the Sovereign of the Principality—dressed in a luxurious military uniform with sharp, short-cropped hair—sipped a glass of wine and spoke nonchalantly.

"Indeed. He intends to have another sit-down with the Federation military brass led by Revil. After all, our situation is quite dire."

A woman dressed in a crisp riding habit, her fiery red hair rising in two sharp, horn-like points on either side of her head, replied with a sneer.

"Naive old man. Does he really think that by groveling, the Earth Federation will lift their blockade?"

Gihren set his glass heavily on the table, threw his arms wide open from his chest, then clenched his left hand into a fist, as if seizing something firmly.

"Utterly foolish. Those damned Earthlings will never step back. The only way to communicate with them is through force. Only by completely annihilating the Earth Federation can we secure a glorious future, and allow the Zabi family to become the embodiment of the world, the masters of all humanity. Kycilia, do you understand?"

"Yes, brother. I understand."

The woman was the eldest daughter of the Zabi family, Kycilia Zabi. Like her elder brother Gihren, she was ambitious and stopped at nothing to achieve her goals. Back when Gihren purged the opposition, Kycilia, as his deputy, had played a significant role. If the Zabi family were divided into moderates and radicals, Sovereign Degwin was the moderate, while Gihren and Kycilia were radicals who considered even the "radicals" too conservative. Of course, they were also the most clear-headed of the bunch. Unlike Sovereign Degwin, who still held illusions about negotiation, the siblings were acutely aware that Zeon had to go to war with the Federation. Thus, for years, the buildup of Zeon's military had been led primarily by the two of them.

However, it was precisely because of this that Zeon had suffered through decades of blockades and sanctions. Their economy had been severely crippled, agriculture could not sustain them, and the population had plummeted from the original two billion to a mere 150 million. Zeon had fallen into a vicious cycle: the more they were sanctioned, the more they developed their military; the more they developed their military, the more they were sanctioned. By now, Zeon's treasury was on the verge of total collapse, and even providing basic rations and electricity to its residents had become a struggle. Most ridiculously, to keep up appearances of peace, Gihren ordered the power department to keep the lights on in abandoned satellite cities, creating a facade of prosperity.

Even more terrifying was the crushing tax burden imposed on the people to fuel military expansion. To squeeze out every drop of war potential, they had even invented taxes on air and gravity. Those who could not pay were simply tossed into decompression chambers to wait for death.

Aware that domestic issues could no longer be ignored, Sovereign Degwin had used this military exercise as an opportunity to seek some agreement with the Federation regarding the blockade, hoping to relieve the financial pressure suffocating the Principality. In fact, the negotiations were inextricably linked to the exercise; whichever side performed better would hold more leverage at the table.

Makarius could guess a fraction of this, but it was nothing more than speculation. He was only a sixteen-year-old cadet; he lacked the influence to change the world. Reaching his current rank was already the limit for him.

"Who is Makarius Clini?"

Not long after the cadets settled into their quarters, a knock at the door was followed by a squad of armed military police wearing red berets, led by an officer.

"I am. Is something the matter?"

Pushing aside his seven comrades, who, despite their confusion, had stepped in front of him, Makarius walked out to face them.

"Someone wishes to see you. Please come with us."

The officer’s expression remained blank, though he spoke in as polite a tone as possible. As if worried about startling him, he added, "It is someone you are familiar with."