Leopoldo Franca, concordant of earth, is dead, shot through the stomach and heart, he lived on for perhaps a dozen minutes, before dying in the hands of the ad hoc medical team that had scrambled to save him.
His body lies facedown on the floor of the conference room he was taken to. His guard is in such a hurry to carry out their orders that they don't even have time to properly deal with the body.
two guardsmen, aspiring young men of no particular distinction, are handed a single data stick, plucked from the concordant's pocket.
"This is Franca's Personal Command Key" explains their superior. "It is coded with contingencies...we've planned for this. Officers, it is up to you to ensure continuity of government. Take this to the transmitting station at Tactical Command. Inform the duty officers there that they are to carry out Command Code 4-7-4, naming Franca's replacement and granting him emergency powers. This may be our last chance to avert war. GO!"
The officers dash out into the corridor. Assuming nothing happens to them on the way, Franca's will may yet ring out to the stars.
For the first time in a century, it looks like civil war has come to terran space. Humphries gives the order, and his fleet of small but deadly laser frigates attacks, eviscerating the enemy laser frigate line before it even has a chance to assemble and fire (superior training versus very long firing delays). Two ships suffer catastrophic damage but hold together, virtually every system aboard them dead. One ship melts beneath high bore laser fire. Only heated metallic gas remains. This lone fleet of tiny ships now plunges toward the center of the enemy fleet. Two light cruisers and two destroyer escorts bar the way, a squadron of interceptors hovers around the
Coronado....worse yet, on every ship in both fleets, teams scramble to load cobalt torpedoes.
One side may yet win the day
but both sides may take severe losses.