The Admiral and the Assistant

Admiral Stonefist was in his quarters preparing his uniform for the next day: brushing, ironing, and hanging it. It was getting late. Kinnit should be back soon.

He looked around his quarters-- their quarters, he reminded himself-- with satisfaction. In all his time in the Navy, he'd never bothered to decorate at all. Even early in his career, when most of his peers were hanging posters of bands, or pictures of heroes of the Imperium, or their paintings or whatever, Grimthorn left his walls bare.

Quarters were only a place to sleep and shower. He'd never felt the need to get sentimental about it all.

Except that now something was different. With Kinnit, their quarters had a different feel, an importance he'd never felt before, a peace he'd never known.

His only memory of such a feeling lay across the years, all the way back to his youth on Dorvalla, before the Bloody Thorn pirates. All the way back to his dimmest, earliest memories, when he still had a family. Sitting around the table at mealtime. Roughhousing with his sister. Listening to his grandfather telling stories. That feeling was the same.

With Kinnit, his quarters now felt like home. They'd never felt like home before.

She had put up some prints, of course, and kept a few flowers in a vase on the desk, and spruced the place up some. She'd put up the decorations he'd never have bothered with. But the decorations were only a tiny part of that feeling.

This was where he belonged. He and Kinnit. That's what made it home. He smiled.

The door paneled open. He turned, opening his mouth to welcome his wife home.

"Grimthorn Stonefist!" she shouted.

His happy greeting withered on his lips. She was heaving, with tears standing in her eyes, her face contorted with rage. In one hand she held her scanner, data streaming by unheeded.

His body tensed. Somebody had done something terrible to his wife, and his spirit was immediately ready to do something terrible to them.

"Kinnit, what's wrong? What happened?" he asked, reaching out to her.

"Did you know about this?" she snarled, holding up the scanner between them.

He had to back up a step, the scanner was so close to his face. He scanned through the document she had up. It was some old Imperial process documents, dense with legalese.

"Um?" he said uncertainly. "About what?"

"About SSes and the Imperium!" she cried, snatching the scanner down. "About the fact that no Subject Species has ever achieved citizenship! About the fact that there's not even a legal process for a Subject Species to achieve citizenship!"

Relief flooded Grimthorn. Nothing terrible had happened to her.

"Oh," he said, his shoulders visibly relaxing. "Is that all?"

"All?" she screeched. "You lied to me!"

"What? I never lied to you!"

"You knew it was my dream to bring Kobolds into the Imperium! You knew that! And you let me think there was a chance!" Tears spilled down her face. "I can't believe you lied to me!"

Grimthorn's mouth locked open as he tried to think of a response. At first it had seemed irrelevant to discuss, then as their relationship had progressed, it moved to awkward. Now it was a problem.

"I didn't... lie," he said lamely. "I just didn't... bring it up..."

She stared at him for a moment in stunned disbelief. Then she spun on her heel and stormed off.

Elias clenched his jaw. He hated his job, and he hated it more when someone like Fitz Lom made it harder.

Elias was broad and thickly built. His physique fairly dictated that he choose a profession as some kind of enforcer. Unfortunately, he had a sensitive spirit. Too sensitive for the brutal work of the underworld. He'd joined up with this Oracle, thinking that a philosopher would be easier to work under than a crime boss.

He'd been wrong. He'd been so, so wrong.

Whispers in the corners said that the Oracle had been a Cryptographer at one point. Quiet rumors said that he'd been called "the Aberrant."

Elias didn't know why anybody bothered whispering. The Oracle seemed to know everything anybody said, regardless.

His heavy, muscled arms pushed Fitz Lom down the hallway. The small man was babbling, begging, sniveling. Elias kept his face grim, unmoving.

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There was no point in showing any kindness to this fellow now. It was all too late for that. Because of this idiot, Elias had to face the worst part of his job today.

"It's the family business!" the little man spouted. "I could do everything else, just not the favor! It was the one thing I couldn't do!"

"Tell the Oracle about it," Elias growled.

They came to the wide, bare throne room. Most of the assistants had already left. Only one other remained. Nobody wanted to be here for this if they didn't have to.

They came to the foot of the riser. Fitz struggled weakly, but Elias' thick arms held him in place. The other assistant came forward and grabbed Fitz' other arm.

The Oracle stood and descended the tall, narrow stairs. Its advance was slow, measured, ominous. Elias ground his teeth as fear and anger swirled in his mind, faster and faster as the Oracle drew nearer.

"You... neglected... the... favor," it said as it descended.

"I couldn't!" Fitz said. "Not this month! I know you said to send the financials to my brother's wife in the second month, but the third should be just as good, right? I couldn't send her that report! My brother, he-- he made some expenditures from the company funds-- he-- in the brothel-- it would destroy their family!"

"Circumstances... are... irrelevant." The Oracles continued to draw nearer.

"I can do it next month!" the little man gibbered, writhing in fear. "I'll pay you another hundred thousand! I'll do another dozen favors! I'll-- I'll--"

His blabbering clattered to a stop. The oracle loomed over him, tall, terrifying.

Elias turned his back to the Oracle and put one of Fitz' arms in a lock, holding it tightly. The other assistant in the locked Fitz' other arm.

"The... task... was... clear. A... price... must... be... paid," the Oracle said, its voice rasping like a rusty joint. "An... example... must... be... made."

Elias squeezed his eyes shut as tightly as he could, facing the back wall. It wouldn't do any good, but he couldn't control himself.

"No... no..." moaned Fitz.

Elias heard the soft rustle of fabric as the Oracle pulled its hood back. He heard the soft clicking of the Oracle removing its goggles.

"Look... into... my... eyes."

Elias braced himself. His whole body strained to follow the Oracle's command, even though the command was not for him. His eyelids began to loosen against his will. His body involuntarily started to turn.

Fitz resisted as well. He squirmed in the grips of the two enforcers, forcing his eyes away.

"Please! One more chance!" Fitz said, his voice hoarse with terror and effort.

"Just look at it, you stupid krellspawn!" Elias whined. For all Elias' experience as the Oracle's assistant, Fitz was resisting better than Elias ever had.

It wouldn't change the outcome, though.

"Look... at... me."

Elias never knew what they saw when the goggles were off. He'd never been even a little bit curious. He didn't want a cell in the hallway.

Fitz must have finally opened his eyes. His body locked up hard. Every muscle rigid, tightened to the breaking point.

He began shrieking.

Long, uncontrolled expulsions, tearing the throat raw, tongue flapping with the force of the breath leaving his body. He gasped in desperately, only long enough to gather breath to shriek again. And again. And again.

Elias squeezed his eyes shut, and wished he could close his ears as well. He hated the shriekers. Shriekers were the worst.

They never lasted more than a couple days, though.

The Oracle straightened and replaced his goggles and hood.

"Release... him."

Elias and his compatriot dropped Fitz. The little man landed heavily on the floor, still shrieking. His every muscle was locked: hands drawn into claws, arms pulled tight against his body, legs locked at an impossible angle. His eyes were wide open, staring blindly, only seeing... whatever it was he'd witnessed in the Oracle's eyes. And always, always, never stopping, the high, inhuman screaming, relentless, constant.

Other assistants arrived to drag Fitz away and put him in a cell. His screaming didn't slow, didn't quiet any. From experience, Elias knew that Fitz wouldn't eat, wouldn't sleep, wouldn't do anything for the rest of his life but scream, every cell of his body devoted only to crying out its revulsion and horror at what it had seen.

The shrieks faded as other assistants dragged him away. Elias stood in the throne room, shaking. His ears still rang from the unhinged sounds.

"Your... heart... hurts."

Elias started. Normally, after one of these incidents, the Oracle returned to its throne. But it was still standing there, staring at him. The cold, round goggles gleamed within the hood.

"N-no!" Elias said, his legs turning to jelly. "I'm fine!" To his horror, he realized that his voice sounded just like Fitz' had a few minutes ago: helpless, hopeless, pleading, anguished. "I will serve you faithfully! Always!"

"You... are... broken." The Oracle reached out, its taloned hand open wide. Elias cowered. The black claws stopped millimeters from his face.

"I... release... you."

The Oracle turned and began climbing the stairs.

"S-sir?"

"Be... free. Go... to... your... home. Share... what... you... find."

A tsunami of relief washed through Elias. He'd been fired! He scrambled for the exit.

His spirits rose as he bolted down the hallway toward the docking bay. He belatedly realized that he'd wet himself at some point in the proceedings, but he didn't care. And he had no idea what the Oracle meant by "share what you find," but it didn't matter. He was free.

Elias nearly wept with elation.

Now he could go back home to Brolla. He swore to himself that he would never work for philosophers, oracles, or anybody of that ilk ever again.

The boneship of the Ash-Tongues zapped into another system.

A bright white star, young and energetic, blared its energy into the void. Two small planets circled it. The boneship zipped to the planet nearest the star, moving faster than thought.

It hung over the planet for a long moment, but there was no odor of sentience there.

It zipped to the second planet. No sentience there, either.

The boneship zapped away to another system. It hopped from star to star, moving faster than light itself, sniffing, checking each system like a schoolgirl gathering berries from a field.

Brolla had been easy to find. That was where the initial transmissions came from, after all. The rest of the inhabited systems would be harder to track down. The Ash-Tounges simply flew around blindly, feeling around the galaxy for good things to eat.

It was fine, though. They were nothing if not eminently, eternally patient when gathering their food.