The Admiral and the Assistant

Chief Roeder looked up as Herin Kasra walked in. The man was dressed in black, as always. He wore his weird little round glasses, like always. He had his stupid, slice-of-moon grin, like always.

Roeder might have hated him, but the man got things done.

"I have made progress on my assignment," Herin said. His voice was smooth, conciliatory, almost greasy, with an underlying amusement, as though he were playing some private prank that the rest of the world was falling for.

"Great," Roeder said gruffly. "It's only been a top priority for two weeks now. What did you find?"

Herin's smile widened. He pulled out his scanner and went through his notes.

"The Riftborn gang is the largest Terran-only gang in Techterra. They've long had control of vice and grift on the east end of the city, out nearly to the Rusthollow Quarters. After the breakup of the EVC, they started to gain influence, fill the power vacuum."

"You're telling me things I already know, Herin. I pay you to tell me things I don't know."

Herin nodded and spun through some more notes.

"Just setting the context, sir. Recently, the gang was taken over by the second in command, one Race Ozan. It's not clear how he seized control of the gang. He's been number two for years, and seemed happy where he was. Now that he's in control, though, Riftborn has been negotiating with other gangs."

"What do you mean 'negotiating?' Gangs don't negotiate."

"Historically, no. But Riftborn been developing a network of smaller gangs. Rather than fighting for turf, Riftborn has been providing protection and contacts for other gangs, in exchange for a cut of their profits. Setting up subject fiefdoms, essentially." He spun through to some other notes. "This cooperation and the market flows have created a great deal more efficiency in what we might call the Techterra 'crime economy.' Riftborn is quickly becoming the largest, wealthiest gang in Techterra."

"Again, you're telling me things I know. Except for this Race Ozan. It's good to have a name. He sounds like some kind of criminal mastermind. We take him down, and this whole Riftborn network should fall apart."

"It's not so simple, sir. Race has long been simply a secondary player in the gang. He's never shown any special insight or wisdom. In short, it's not his wit that's driving the ascendancy of the Riftborn."

"What is, then?"

Herin flipped to a new note.

"He's been consulting with someone that's guided this consolidation of power. It's hard to get much information, but there's someone called 'the Oracle' that has been the real driving force behind the ascendancy of Riftborn. Even if we were to arrest Race Ozan, I suspect that he will be quickly replaced, and Riftborn will continue to grow in power."

"So go find this Oracle, then."

"There are more complications there. The Oracle is off-planet. He's not in Techterra."

Roeder sneered. He looked around his messy office, thinking.

"You want to go off-planet to chase this Oracle," he said.

"It would be the most effective way to stop the growth of the Riftborn. Halt the strategy at its source."

Roeder frowned.

"Fine. Go find this Oracle. Shut him down. We'll set up something here to stop Race Ozan."

"There will be... significant expenses, sir."

"Of course there will." Roeder frowned. "Use the community relations budget. Now that the SS riots have died down, we don't need so much focus there. You know the routine. Cash only. I don't want a bunch of receipts that I'm going to have to explain to an auditor someday."

"Of course, sir." Herin turned to leave.

"Herin?" The man paused. "I know you have your methods. Don't do anything that can be traced back to this department. Be discreet."

"I always am, sir." And with his cold, cold smile, Herin Kasra walked out the door.

"Admiral? Sir, we've got an energy signature you'll want to look at."

Admiral Stonefist stood on the captain's dais and looked down at the folks working on the bridge. Lieutenant Kinnit stood at his side, as always.

"Yes, Lieutenant Renning?" he said.

"Sir, you know about the loss of the ISS Arrowhead?"

"Naturally. The interceptor from the Third Fleet. Did they ever find out what happened?"

"No, sir. The Arrowhead was on a routine patrol, but lost contact with the fleet. The last transmission was a report of some kind of contact with an unidentified vessel. They've been missing ever since."

"I see. So what did you find?"

"Well, sir, one of our buoy scanners picked up an energy signature that kind of matches the Arrowhead's."

"What do you mean 'kind of?' The energy signature either matches or it doesn't."

"Well, sir, the frequency matches, but the power output is very low and inconsistent."

"Does the transponder match?"

"There's no transponder signal, sir."

Grimthorn frowned.

"If it's the Arrowhead, then the transponder should be transmitting. The transponder is first in line for power from the reactor; if the engines have power, then the transponder certainly has power. We always want to be able to find our ships."

Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road.

"I don't know, sir. There's no transponder signal at all."

Grimthorn 'hmmed' thoughtfully.

"It could be a civilian vessel that just happens to be similar to the Arrowhead," Kinnit said.

"Not likely," Grimthorn said. "The Naval engines have a very distinct frequency."

"We're only a few jumps away, Grimthorn," Kinnit said. "Should we go check it out?"

"I think we should. Kinnit, would you map our course?"

"Of course, sir. Who will we be taking?"

"Let's do a small detachment," Grimthorn said. "Some destroyers and interceptors. Bring a recon ship along, too, so we can do some deep scanning, if need be."

"Yes, sir." Kinnit busied herself at the console for a few minutes. "Nav plan ready, sir."

"Very well. Helm, lay in and execute."

The ISS Swordheart broke away from the main fleet, followed by a dozen smaller ships. They angled toward the jumphole. One by one, they tipped in.

Grimthorn crossed his arms and kept his face stony as space and time dissolved around him. He kept his jaw set as the universe compressed to a tiny dot while he expanded to encompass it. His mind slid around in n-dimensional meta-space, trying to find anything familiar to latch onto.

Jumpspace was not for the faint of spirit. For all his decades of experience in the Navy, jumpspace was not something he'd ever been able to get used to. It was only something to be borne.

They emerged from a jumphole in another sector entirely, many thousands of light years away.

"Eight point seven relative minutes in jumpspace," cried the temporal officer. The detachment immediately angled toward the next jumphole.

The jumphole network was the backbone of the Imperium. All its military and economic might traveled the jumpholes.

The Swordheart traveled through the rest of Kinnit's nav plan without incident. They emerged in a quiet, out-of-the-way sector with no star.

"Lieutenant Renning, scan this sector."

"We've located the ship, sir. It's... not the ISS Arrowhead. It's... civilian, I think."

"Deep scan them. See if you can figure out why their engines are running at a Navy frequency."

The bridge was quiet as the Swordheart probed the vessel.

"Admiral... the vessel is civilian, but the engines are Navy." He squinted at his console. "Well, some of their engines are Navy. They're being driven by an underpowered reactor, and the other engines are interfering with the frequency. That's why it didn't seem quite right."

"What are Navy engines doing on a civilian ship?"

Renning drew a sharp breath in through his teeth.

"What's wrong, Lieutenant?"

"Sir, it is the Arrowhead. Its hull, anyway." Lieutenant Renning stared at the scans, a sick look on his face. "It's been burned out. Looks like a reactor rupture." He turned to the Admiral. "The hull is strapped to that vessel like some kind of sick trophy."

Grimthorn's brows drew down and his face darkened.

"Pirates," he growled. "All ships, get your weapons hot. We're going to make the galaxy one pirate safer today. Open comms to that vessel."

A scruffy face appeared on the bridge monitor: lean and baggy, with black hair and an unruly beard. He looked a little shell-shocked.

"This is Admiral Stonefist of the ISS Swordheart, Ninth Fleet. Identify yourself."

"Ah... ah, I are Captain Minius Fremlin of the Ocher Dawn," he said. "Ah, to what do I owe the pleasure, Admiral?"

Grimthorn's features hardened.

"My pleasure is ridding the galaxy of pirate filth. Your lives and ship are forfeit. Surrender, and you will be spared."

"Pirates? Us?" Minius looked a little panicked. "We are no pirates. We're a... a salvage crew."

Grimthorn's mouth twisted.

"Very well. If you're a salvage crew, what company are you with?"

"We answer to no company. Er, we are independent, is what I mean to say."

"Which planet are you operating from?"

"Ah... we have no berth. Space is our home."

"No company. No planet. Towing a destroyed Navy vessel. Navy engines mounted to your ship. And you say you're not pirates?"

"I can see how that looks bad," said Captain Minius, openly sweating. "It... it does look bad. But I swear to you, we are no pirates. We are honest scrappers who have never stolen a blessed thing." Two metallic taps sounded from off-screen. "Shut up, Flander," Minius muttered.

"By all means, explain how you ended up with a destroyed Navy vessel."

Minius cleared his throat.

"Um... we did find it as part of a scrap bloom. In the Leishe sector."

"That's not even remotely close to where they were patrolling. You'll need to come up with a better lie than that."

"I do swear it," Minius said hoarsely. "That is the gravity-honest truth."

Admiral Stonefist scoffed.

"Your ship will be boarded and inspected," Admiral Stonefist said. "Your crew will be transported and held here on the Swordheart while this inspection is performed."

Minius glanced to his left, and then his right.

"That are going to be a small problem..." he said.

"It may be a problem for you, pirate," Grimthorn said. "Not for my ship and crew. I will see justice served for the crew of the Arrowhead."

A small squad of exosuited Marines waited with Admiral Stonefist and Kinnit outside the docking bay. They watched keenly as a heavy Marine shuttle wallowed in from the cold depths of space.

"Be cautious," Admiral Stonefist said. "These pirates may seem compliant, but I've seen more than one pirate crew use a false surrender to gain an advantage."

"Yes, sir!" barked the squad leader.

Grimthorn looked up at the Marine.

"How are your men holding up, Sergeant Mentel?" he asked.

"We are ready for the mission, sir!"

"I know the loss of Sergeant Charr's squad was not how you wanted to get a promotion," Grimthorn said.

"Sergeant Charr died like a Marine, sir! Fighting for the Imperium! It is how any Marine would want to go." He saluted, the joints of his exosuit rattling. His eyes gleamed. "In flame and glory!"

Grimthorn saluted back. "As always, I'm glad you guys are on our side," he said.

"I am for the Imperium, and the Imperium is for me."

Grimthorn grinned. "Fair warning, if these pirates get rowdy, I'll vent the whole docking bay. We'll space everybody. Marines included."

"If we are spaced, then we can fight the stars hand-to-hand, sir! It will be an honor!"

"Make sure your transponders are working so we can pick you up later, if need be."

"Yes, sir!"

The Marine shuttle settled on the deck of the docking bay. The doors closed and the room filled with air.

The Marines marched in, surrounding the shuttle. Grimthorn and Kinnit followed.

"You have your emergency thinsuit?" he asked her.

"Yes, sir." Kinnit's eyes were fierce, focused. It was going to be her first direct contact with a pirate.

Grimthorn glanced at the control booth, making sure they had clear line of sight. Even if comms were disrupted, he could use hand signals to get them to vent the bay in a pinch.

The cargo door of the shuttle opened, instead of the hatch. Grimthorn's eyebrows rose.

"Stay alert," he said, "until we know what's going on here."

Captain Minius ambled down the ramp. He looked more ragged than he had on comms. His clothes were dirty and ill-matched. He had his hands up, and an uncertain smile on his face.

"Ah, it are the Admiral," he said. "I, uh, hope you are feeling well. And calm. Very calm. Please be understanding of my colleagues."

"Understanding?" Grimthorn raised an eyebrow.

"They are... unconventional."

Grimthorn's face fell open as Brutus crawled out of the shuttle. He wore loose canvas pants and no shirt. His flabby flesh glistened in the muted light of the docking bay.

"A Molgar," Grimthorn breathed. "I haven't seen one of you fellows in decades."

Brutus straightened and stood, stretching his back. He raised his hands as well, peering at all assembled with his single, large eye.

"Oh, it feels lovely to stand up again," he said. "Good evening to you all."

A quiet whisper of movement sounded behind Brutus. Flander peeked out from behind the Molgar's thick legs.

Admiral Stonefist paled.

"Marines!" he cried. "All rifles on that robot!"