Holy Shit! An Update!

Someone told me they liked the "Rebel Earth" whatsit, so I rewrote it a bit. Maybe it's less cheesy, maybe more so. Who knows? I don't.

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The following is a communiqué from Edward Gamdana, Minister of Foreign Affairs of the Earth Republic, to the Imperial Senate.

We, the people of a free and independent Earth do address the Senate of the Palmyran Empire:
The government of the Empire has a long history of racism and bigotry which has culminated into genocidal policies of hatred and murder during the late plagues. It has forgotten its guiding ideals laid out in the Declaration of Principles of 2099. It has, during the late plagues most egregiously forgotten its own origins on this pristine planet. It seems only just that we, the Free Peoples of Earth do declare our intent to establish a free and independent world. One not guided by a lust for power and expansion, but by compassion for our fellows and a true belief in the Guiding Principles.
As you, the elected officials of the Empire, read this message, a negotiating party is en route to Palmyra. We hope and pray to the Almightys that you will see our intentions to be peaceful and agree to a negotiated understanding.

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Young Petr sat quietly next to his father. All around him, men and women were shouting at each other. The morning’s paper explained what it all the fuss was about. Earth had declared itself independent of the Empire; parts of Earth, anyway.
“If Africa and Eurasia have declared themselves independent,” a corpulent man on the floor of the assembly building shouted, “that’s fine! Let them have enough rope to hang themselves by!” His words were met with applause and cheers from his supporters behind him, and with catcalls and hisses from his opponents.
The newspaper also spoke of this event, which would be televised around the continent. “A meeting of the continental assembly, to decide issues of independence and war”, the paper had said. From what Petr could see, there was not much decision making, rather the two sides were close to physical violence.
The fat man continued, “One planet cannot possibly win even a compromise peace against the Empire. It has a fleet and millions of soldiers. They will rain death from space and then send overwhelming numbers down to mop us up. We cannot win, therefore we should stay out of it.”
On the opposite side of the room, a voice arose over the din of applause. Petr couldn’t see who was speaking, but he was impressed by the words. “Ladies, Gentlemen and Sentients. The words my esteemed opponent spoke have truth within them. However, he only shows you the parts he wants you to see.”
The words were met by boos and hissing from the opposite side.
“You may batter me all you wish with insults and drag my name through the mud, but it doesn’t change the facts. Yes, one planet cannot defeat an Empire. Yes, they have a massive fleet and millions of soldiers. Yes, they can level our cities from orbit. But, they won’t. The moment they kill a single civilian, the galactic press will spread the word. By the time it reaches Alpha Centauri, it’ll be fifty. New Ireland, it’ll be a public school leveled and two hundred children dead. By the time it reaches the core worlds and Palmyra itself, it’ll have been turned into a massacre of epic proportions.
“The public opinion of the galaxy is in our favor. The Palmyrans can’t afford to misuse their firepower or superiority in strength. That is their weakness. They will never bring overwhelming force to bear against us, because that would result in an ideological victory for us. They will bring as little force as possible.
“We meet them on an equal battlefield and we beat them on an equal battlefield. This will bring more planets and systems in line with us. We use the Imperial populous against their government. They are the bad guys here and we will not allow them to deceive their people into thinking otherwise. We treat prisoners as honored guests; never kill unless we have to, allow the enemy to retreat un-harassed. We take the moral high-ground.
“We must join our brothers in Africa and Eurasia. If we don’t stand as one, we all burn. Do you really think that the Empire will treat one continent differently than the next? We are but a single world in their minds and so we must stand as a single world. Our sons and daughters may not die in battle, but they will still die from starvation, disease, and all such maladies associated with an overpopulated world under siege. If London, Paris, Cairo and Pretoria suffer, so will New York, Toronto, Mexico City and Los Angeles.”
“You cannot escape this immutable fact. All your angry words about loyalty and safety are asinine when compared with reality.”
The fat man stood up. “Nice speech, I see your point,” he said, “but who will lead us?”
Petr looked on in awe as his father stood. “Mr. Assemblyman, I will lead our forces into battle.” The boy looked up at his father, standing tall in his Sunday suit and imagined the leaders of old he learned about in school- Washington, Lee and Grant, Teddy Roosevelt, and two founders of the Empire, Eugene Bradford and Kenneth Slocum. He cringed at the last two, they may have been heroes in their time, but now they were the source of the oppression.
The rotund man looked up at Petr’s father and said, “Admiral Burnside, I did not believe you would come to this meeting, being a hero of the Empire.”
The bodiless voice spoke. “Admiral,” he spoke, “what my distinguished opponent wishes to express is his deepest admiration for your achievements, but he feels that you will turn us all over to the Empire.”
“I said nothing of the…” the fat man shouted back, but was cut off my Petr’s father.
“I served the Empire with my loyalty. However, the Empire has shown none back toward me or my world. Such a disgrace deserves to be punished.” Petr’s father sat back down to a standing ovation.
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Later that day, Petr’s father was pacing back and forth in the family living room, Petr sat quietly in an overstuffed chair, following his father with his eyes.
“Jesus,” his father sneered, “that was cheesy as all hell. ‘Who will lead us?’ ‘I will.’”, he spoke in sarcastic, mocking voices, “Fuck. What was I thinking?” He looked at his son, “What are they going to do to your brother? Jesus, I should have thought of that. Why couldn’t I have sat still and kept out of it. I should have.”
“Dad?” Petr spoke softly, almost a whisper.
His father didn’t hear him. “What the hell am I going to do? The moment I step into a uniform, my image will be sent all across the galaxy and they’ll know that I’m his father and they’ll arrest him, torture him, something. Christ, I’m in deep…”
“Dad!” Petr almost shouted.
His father came to a sudden halt and sharply turned toward his son. “Huh?”
“Dad, is it true that you’re an Admiral?”
“Yes, it’s true.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because that part of my life is over with and I would have preferred not to dwell in the past.”
“I don’t understand.”
“When I was in Imperial service, my job was to fight battles. I’ve seen enough of them. I got tired of people dieing. Your mom dieing gave me the excuse I needed to leave.”
“I don’t get it.”
“I know you don’t, but you’re only 9, when you grow up, you’ll understand.”
“What was that about Wilhelm?”
“Don’t let it trouble you. Your brother will be fine; I’m just worrying for no reason.”

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Wilhelm stood as still as he possibly could. His back was straight, his arms perfectly folded in the small of his back and his eyes unblinkingly stared straight forward, through the green tents many meters away and into infinity. He fought the urge to blink. He knew that if he gave any reason, his instructor would use corporal punishment against him. Usually a swift swat to the back with his baton and then an impossible number of pushups so by the time he passed out from exertion, his muscles were black and blue and torn up.
“Wilson! Your back is not acceptably straight. I am not satisfied. How does that make you feel?” The instructor’s name was Master Johnson. Master was his rank in the Navy. “Master” is the same rank as Ensign, but was earned in battle and a Master cannot hold a command. Master Johnson was a tall man, taller than all his trainees, not a big man, but all muscle and no neck. He had worked his way up through the ranks of the Marines and earned his commission fighting off some alien invasion ten years ago. Since then, he has been sending recruits through basic training. He could sit back and let his NCOs to the work, but he liked doing it himself.
Wilson responded to the question, “Sir! It makes me want to improve! Sir!”
The reply was answered with a quick whack to the hip. “Then get your back straight!” Master Johnson shouted directly into Wilson’s ear.
The Master walked toward Wilhelm with a menace in his eyes. He stopped in front of Wilhelm, pivoted on the balls of his feet and came face to face with him. Master Johnson was a good head taller than Wilhelm, so he lowered himself down to brow lever before shouting. “Burnside! The hell you doing to my trainee company? Every time I come past you, your posture is perfect, your arms are perfectly in the small of your back, and your eyes are always looking right through my chest. You’re making everyone else look like morons. They say that retards take well to instruction. Are you a retard, Burnside?”
“No, Sir!” Wilhelm yelled back.
“I’m sure you’re so perfect because you think I’ll be impressed by your performance. Well, as usual, I’m not. I want you to do…eight hundred pushups. And since you’re so used to them: this,” Master Johnson raised his baton and struck Wilhelm’s right arm, above the elbow, then the left at the same place, “ should make it harder. Good luck, the rest of us are going to go eat. On your face!”
Wilhelm dropped to his knees, the baton strikes had left his arms numb and weak. He hadn’t gotten to five before the rest of the company filed into the mess tent for breakfast.