For so long have I watched in anxiety at the fields that had separated our bountiful sector from the unknown and mysterious Sirius. To the outsiders of my Kingdom, it must have seemed queer that an entire sector of space should be isolated so thoroughly and impenetrably; that an entire civilization should declare itself independent of all matters that are beyond its borders.
A Kingdom deserves peace and quiet. Due to the crippled state of the Gallia and the slow departure from Sol, we had feared the worst for our fellow sleeper ships and saw fit to defend ourselves from the merciless punishment that could come from any pursuers that would see a killing blow towards those who lived the only solution. And we shied away from such atrocities and possibilities. The borders of our new home had to be secured, our futures assured, and our fears done away with.
And then my ancestors forged the ultimate shield with which to defend the DeFrance family and the entirety of Gallia alongside the ultimate sword to strike quick vengeance to an enemy with technology and power most unknown. And now I bare that sword and shield. Fear not, my Sirian cousins, for these are not threats. I am not issuing an ultimatum or having you quiver in terror at my power. For too long have we been separated, for too long have we been watching one another with nervous and wary eyes. And now that ends.
The collapse of our veil was of utmost travesty. For centuries, we had sought to keep our impurities of a most vile category from seeping out into your sacred space. Even with our wealth and power, the smallest of the things can be the most troublesome. Cast aside like the clothing of a cheap lover, the minefields had been torn away so that the vile renegades known as the Council could throw their impoverished and unwashed masses at your feet in a plea of pity and mercy; Terrorists, pirates, and spoiled children who stare at my might with glazed eyes and dirty faces. Those who so willingly cast themselves from my domain after I had fed them, protected them, and housed them.
And now they seek to impose on you; vagrants who will squander your resources to fight a grand ‘injustice’ that simply doesn’t exist. How futile. How childish. But you, my Sirian cousins, you would not be taken for fools. The experiences you must have held during your inhabitation of Sirius will surely have left you aware of the lies and the filth that come from a human being’s mouth.
And now, we, your Gallic cousins, wish for you to understand one crucial piece of information. That the specter of our fleets seems to block out the very stars themselves, I have decided, in all my benevolence, to lend you assistance with your pest control problem. For too long, those rodents that call themselves the Council, have existed within the walls of my house. The rat catchers of my Royal Police and Navy have driven them from my bountiful shore into the woe-begotten wastes you call the Taus. Fear not, citizens, while you stand on stools and shriek. We will be the cats you need to hunt these pests. Turn your attentions to your own troubles and strife and allow the glorious Gallic Royal Navy to exterminate this insignificant problem.
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