Chapter 11: The Exodus

Beginning at 09:10 Sunday morning, small groups of cadets and instructors entered the Admin building with bags in hand. Giving the reason of ‘Since there are no Master Pilots here, I don’t think I can learn anything useful from Instructors that: haven’t entered a Mech in years/ are old enough to be my great-grandfather/ aren’t even Ace Pilots/ are incompetent/ are less capable than the students they teach/ I have a family emergency/ my sister’s cat died, and so on.

In a very well-organized manner, 415 students officially withdrew from Hephaestus Academy, exited the grounds where transports awaited them, and forever left behind that part of their lives. The steady flow of students began with former cadet Tiberius Klenck and ended with former cadet Lieutenant Elanor Crimson.

The exodus of students caught the rest of their classmates by surprise. But all of them understood the implications of the joint action. Each of the students sought out a staff member who was under the rule of their specific Clan only to discover that they had arrived too late. Their Clans had been notified previously and no instructions were forthcoming.

Few of the former cadets questioned the necessity of the action. Only the least aware of the Houses’ children were not cognizant of the uncrossable gulf between the Clans and the Houses and that their time sharing the same planets was at an end.

This event happened at three of the top four Academies at the exact same galactic time.

As for the fourth and most prestigious institution in the human sectors of the galaxy, the Starship Academy, that Academy was wholly owned and operated by the fourteen remaining Houses. Regardless of which threats or promises were thrown from the opposing side, the Houses never for a second considered giving up any of their control over the most important institution in the human galaxy.

The Wright Academy of Starship Instruction on Mars, was located deep in the heart of the Houses’ center of power. They had no reason for their students to depart to safer planets on the eve of the upcoming split.

As for the lower tiered Academies, of the students which were supposed to attend this school year, only half attended so the mass migrations did not happen, or at least seemed to, since their withdraws started earlier in the semester and continued on to that day.

Regardless of how far their heads were in their money vaults or how they disdained the ‘professional’ warriors who fought at the front lines, the mass egress of all of the Houses’ students from the Federation’s top Academies on the same day sent alarms through the various Clan Headquarters and the Senate.

The Senators who represented the Houses, and their sole sitting supreme Justice, were all reported absent that day across the galaxy. Even by FTL, communication enabled by entangled molecules which allowed for near instant transmission of data, they were unable to contact their political counterparts to the Clans’ mouthpieces.

The sole remaining Master Pilot on Amstel Prime, the Capital of the Federation, stood in the center of Federation square with tears rolling down his eyes. Patrick Chen had fought for over a hundred seventy-five years against the worst that the Hive could offer, all to protect his beloved home.

A home that all of his friends had left behind.

“The kids need someone to watch their backs to make sure it’s not stabbed by those unruly brats.” Arthyr Penhollow, leader of the Alexander Club and his oldest living and dearest friend, had told him regarding their collective decision to move in, so to speak, with the House Members.

Patrick Chen agreed. He even voted that the Alexanders follow the houses. The Clans could not be trusted with their own candy, let alone the kid who had one in his pockets and was walking away. But he could not go. He had lived for over three hundred years and wouldn’t see ten more.

“Besides,” he said to himself, “Someone needs to be here to talk some sense into White and her ilk. If they wanted to start a civil war, then only the Hive will win.” He would kill every politician on Amstel personally before he would allow a Civil War to break out.

Starting with the biggest bitch in the galaxy, who resided in the Presidential Palace.

Federation President Barbara Berra received the news grimly. She, like the rest of the upper echelons, knew it was coming. She even had been told by vid in person by Amethyst Terra in person why, just not when. Her advisors suggested that it would take dozens of years for the break to happen and guaranteed that it wouldn’t be a clean one.

Then each of them separated and quietly redoubled their efforts to pressure what they thought would be exposed businesses, hoping to expand their Clans’ interests and power.

“President Berra, Lord Terra in on the Vid for you,” her personal aide announced.

“Put her on, I want to hear what she has to say for herself.” The Federation President was pissed, and when she was angry, business would no longer exist and the perpetrators would find themselves destitute and on the streets. Living people could always rebuild. She allowed them that grace. But everyone would know when the former Clan head of The Berra Clan was crossed what the consequences were.

“Hello, Barbara, this will be the last message I am sending to you,” the hated voice and face of her enemy spoke.

“She must have used a programmed AI, President. My apologies,” President Berra’s personal aide said.

“Now that you are done yelling at your aide, listen up. The Federation has one hundred days before first, second, third, sixth, ninth, nineteenth, twentieth, twenty-second, ... fleets leave federation space. We, the Houses of the Republic, claim the Sol sector, Janus sector, Betelgeuse sector, Sagittarius sector, Danius sector, Einstein sector, ... and Galileo sectors.

“Visitors will be allowed. Your students on Mars and our other Academies are perfectly safe in our care while schooling. If you chose to keep them there, then the same remuneration will be charged as before.

“We have no reason to fight the Clans. We just do not want to witness another House destroyed by their greed.

“If you notice, we left in place the fleets facing the Hive on our fronts and will not remove them. The ones protecting your sectors of the galaxy have already been pulled away or will be relocated in the next hundred days. I’d get a move on, if I were you, Madame President. Don’t forget to ask all of those Mercenary clans sitting around, playing with bandits to help out.

“The Grays are our problem. You can leave them to us. The Trees are yours. They are active again and want to meet with Madame President personally. Good luck with that.