Alliance Year 58 (307 AC)

The streets of Victorum were festive, the massive, blocky buildings of the city draped with banners and flags, their broad marble columns and facades polished to blinding white and shiny midnight black. The air was alive, strident chords rising from a seemingly endless procession of marching bands. All the martial brilliance of the Alliance was moving down the Via Magna, to the delight, real or feigned, of the hundreds of thousands present along the line of march.

The day was a special one. Indeed, its like had not been seen for many years. Life in the Alliance was generally a Spartan affair, its culture and economy focused almost entirely on feeding the endless needs of the military machine that formed the centerpiece of its society. Armed strength was almost a religious imperative in the Alliance, and frivolous pursuits were usually sacrificed to the call of war. But the arms being celebrated had just won another great victory, perhaps the most momentous in their history, conquering more neighboring systems, rich prizes that would bolster the strength and power of the Alliance, and launch it once and for all into the ranks of the great powers. That was a cause for celebration, one of the few events worthy of an official holiday, of a break from the endless toil and discipline of daily life in the Alliance. There were speeches and parades, fairs and festivals in every town on Palatia’s three continents. And with the fall of night, fireworks and glittering balls would follow the day’s reveries.

Commander-Princeps Katrine Rigellus sat quietly and watched the procession go by, rank after rank of stormtroopers clad in their crisp black uniforms, marching perfectly in unison, each step a model of precision.

Just like they were taught to do. Born to do.

The troopers were mostly Probs, natives of Palatia and probationary-citizens of the Alliance. The Probationary-Aspirants who served thirty years—and survived—would retire as full Citizens, their children guaranteed enrollment in their old units, perpetuating a system so successful it had allowed a single planet to field an enormous and extremely effective military, one that had known nearly sixty years of uninterrupted victory. One that had subjugated thirty systems and more than fifteen billion people in just over half a century.

The processions were spectacular, the best ever staged, many were saying, and those in the multitude whispered with joy and pride. The celebration had been going on for hours, since dawn, the parade route lined with cheering Citizens and, behind them, the throngs of Probs, even louder and more excited, making sure to broadcast their enthusiasm and patriotism to any who might sponsor their citizenship one day. The life of a Probationary-Aspirant was an ongoing audition for promotion to the upper ranks of society.