The Admiral and the Assistant

Elias Rhade hopped down out of the shuttle. He sniffed. There was a strange smell on the air.

He'd finally landed on Brolla. He waved at the shuttle. The pilot waved back, and the shuttle lifted into the air.

Elias' brow crinkled. The landing zones were shockingly bare. He'd never seen the Emberbleak spaceport this quiet.

He'd heard that people had been clearing out after the whole incident with Sehren Senn, but the panic must have been worse than he'd heard.

He hoped he'd still be able to find work. The non-violent kind, for preference. Maybe farm work on the outskirts of town.

He walked in to the spaceport. Lost in thought and concern about the finding a job, he didn't immediately register the emptiness that surrounded him. He wandered through the spaceport toward the bus counter.

He waited a few minutes for someone to come to the counter, and small realizations began to trickle into his consciousness. The spaceport was empty. Not just low-traffic, not just quiet, but empty. Luggage sat next to seats, unclaimed. Behind the bus counter, a disarrayed mass of slips lay on the floor, clearly having been knocked off the desk. A greasy, ashy kind of dust covered the floor.

"Hello?"

His voice echoed hollowly in the bare spaceport.

With mounting alarm, all thoughts of employment forgotten, he moved through the spaceport to the parking lot outside.

The heavy, humid air was still and quiet. Low clouds hung overhead, threatening rain. The parking lot was crowded, jumbled. The exit was clogged with vehicles. Elias walked over to investigate.

It took him a few minutes to tease apart what had happened. There had clearly been a fender bender between two cars in a rush, then other vehicles had tried to jam past. All the vehicles were empty, everybody had just left things where they were. It had clearly happened a while back, the interior of the every vehicles was covered with gray dust.

Elias frowned. How had the insides of these cars gotten so dusty? What was going on?

"Bunk this," he said, and pulled out his scanner. He punched up the contact for local emergency services. He didn't even care if he got a fine for a non-emergency call, as long as he could talk to someone.

"Emberbleak Rapid Response, what is your emergency?"

Relief flooded Elias. For a few minutes there, he'd had a crazy fear that he was the only person left alive in Emberbleak.

"Oh, hi, great, look, I'm at the spaceport and there's been some kind of accident or something. There are wrecked cars, but there's nobody here."

"Thank you. Your report has been recorded, and will be handled by the first available dispatcher."

Elias stared in horror at his scanner. It had been a recorded voice. He waited a bit, but no dispatcher came online. After a few minutes, the voice repeated: "Thank you. Your report has been recorded, and will be handled by the first available dispatcher."

Where was everyone?

Admiral Stonefist paced in his office. On his desk lay his scanner, open to the report that had just come through. Kinnit sat at her desk with a concerned expression, watching him worry.

"What happened to the Arrowhead?" he muttered. The Infographers' in-depth analysis of the black box had yielded no more useful information than Sergeant Mentel had already provided. Even Kinnit had gone through the findings and had come up empty.

"They saw a ship, they scanned it, they tried to contact it, then... they tried to run," Grimthorn said. "I wish we had the results of whatever they'd scanned."

Kinnit nodded.

"Yes, sir." She glanced at her console. "Have you contacted the Cryptographers about it?"

Grimthorn stopped in the middle of his office.

"That's right!" he said. His face brightened for a bit, then darkened again. "Why haven't they been in touch? We were talking every week, before."

"Maybe they got busy? We've had a lot going on."

"Maybe so."

Grimthorn pulled out his scanner and set up an encrypted channel to contact the Cryptographers, the shadowy eldritch species that served the Emperor directly.

The scanner buzzed for an unusually long time. Finally the comms clicked open.

"Hello?" a woman's voice came on the line. Grimthorn's brow wrinkled.

"Hello," he said. "Sorry, I was expecting to speak to Lieutenant Brangwin."

"Lieutenant Brangwin was promoted," she said. Her voice was unsure, quavering. "I am Lieutenant Osira. I've taken his place."

"Who is that?" Kinnit mouthed.

"New facilitator to the Cryptographers," Grimthorn whispered to her. "Brangwin got a promotion."

"Oh, good for him," Kinnit whispered back.

"I have a question for the Cryptographers," Grimthorn said into the scanner. "We have a ship that we've found, the ISS Arrowhead. All the crew... just vanished, as far as we can tell. I was hoping they could give me some insight."

"I'll... I'll ask them," Lieutenant Osira said reluctantly.

Grimthorn pinched his lips together. For all that Brangwin had gotten weird after spending so much time around the Cryptographers, he had done a good job managing comms with them. Now it looked like they were going to have to start all over again.

"I can speak to them directly, if it helps," he said shortly.

"Of course," Lieutenant Osira responded. The line quieted for a while. Grimthorn considered for a moment, then turned on the speaker on his scanner. There was no reason Kinnit couldn't listen in.

Then a familiar, grating, otherworldly voice came on.

If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

"Admiral... Stonefist... does... not... use... the... Wraithfleet."

Grimthorn sighed, suddenly remembering why he didn't like talking to the Cryptographers. They were incapable of holding a direct, linear conversation.

"Yes, they're a risk in combat. We're working on it," he said gruffly. "Look, I wanted to ask about--"

"You... must... speak... with... the... Emperor."

Grimthorn froze.

"Again? About what?"

"He... will... need... your... assistance."

"Isn't that what you guys do?"

"We... are... withdrawing."

Grimthorn gave Kinnit a shocked look.

"Withdrawing? As in leaving? Leaving what?"

"The... galaxy."

"What?" Grimthorn barked.

"The... Solution... is... compromised. The... Anodic... Remnant... will... record... the... outcome."

"The what?" Admiral Stonefist's temperature rose. "What in Geina is an 'Anodic Remnant?'"

"Some... of... us... will... remain."

Kinnit looked up at Grimthorn with a sick expression. She held up her scanner, showing him something she'd just looked up.

Anodic: of or relating to an anode

Grimthorn's brow furrowed. She flipped over a couple entries.

Sacrificial anode: A piece of metal that corrodes at an accelerated rate to protect a metal structure

Grimthorn's face hung open. The implication was clear.

"You think the Imperium is doomed," he said quietly. "You're all leaving because you think there's no hope." His face flushed with fury. "So things are going to get a little tough so you're all going to run away? What about your duty to the Imperium? What about your loyalty to the Emperor?"

"The... Feeders... are... early. The... Aberrant... will... accelerate... them. The... Solution... is... compromised."

"Solution, solution, what solution? What are feeders? None of this is set in stone! Why not stay and fight? Give me a straight answer for once!"

There was a long pause. Finally the Cryptographer spoke.

"We... are... historians... and... explorers. Our... work... is... finished. The... outcome... is... certain."

"Then why leave anyone at all? What is the point of this 'Anodic Remnant?'"

"Grimthorn... Stonefist... makes... things... difficult... to... predict. You... have.... made.... us.... curious. We... will... chronicle... the... end."

"So that's it, then? You're going weapons cold, feet hot?" His nostrils flared and his hand tightened around his scanner tight enough to crack the casing. His entire body trembled with rage. His voice grew dangerously quiet. "I had not thought the Cryptographers of the Imperium would be cowards."

"Our... work... is... finished," the Cryptographer repeated bloodlessly.

"Fine, then!" Admiral Stonefist roared in fury. "Scuttle away from the mess you've made!" His breath heaved in and out. He was angrier than he could ever remember being before. "I hope you all rot in the coward's Geina you deserve!"

Admiral Stonefist slammed his scanner down on his desk. It shattered, sending shards of hologlass and plastic across the room. He grabbed the edge of his desk, preparing to flip it over, when a small movement caught his eye.

Kinnit was edging away from him, a wary look in her eye.

His rage drained away, replaced with a sick shame. He released the desk.

"I'm sorry, Kinnit, I... I shouldn't have done that."

"Are you okay?" she asked, stepping closer.

His body still ached and shook with adrenaline, but he clenched he jaw and did what he could to force his body to stillness.

"I will be." He frowned at the remnant of his scanner. "We will be. Whatever those fools think."

She laid her hand on his back. At her touch, the last of his fury fled. He let out a long breath.

"I know we will," she said. "We'll talk to the Emperor, like they said. We'll figure out what's next." She moved closer, sliding her arm around his waist. "We'll save the galaxy. It's what we do."

He carefully put an arm around her shoulders.

He tried his hardest, but he couldn't quite manage a smile.

Herin Kasra relaxed and stretched his legs out. His cold smile gleamed.

Four thugs surrounded him, their blasters pointed at him.

"What is the difference between a cop and a criminal?" Herin asked, smiling at the weapons pointed at his face.

"Cops die when they sniff around places they don't belong," said one. His blaster hummed as he powered it up, preparing to fire.

"Are criminals any different? Can you wander into another gang's territory whenever you want? Could you walk into a police station?"

"What are you, a philosopher?"

"In a manner of speaking. See, the difference is that I understand the game. You don't."

"What game?" the thug snarled.

"I get to travel all over the galaxy, get to do what I want," Herin said. "I get to engage in my... hobbies." He examined his fingernails coolly. "I just have to be careful about timing and visibility. Society loves me for it. You do what you want, but you're chased, reviled, and locked up. You're hunted." Herin chuckled, a soft sound with no mirth. "It would be so easy for your kind to get everything you wanted without fear, without retribution."

"Oh, it's so easy, huh? Why don't you tell us how easy it is before we blow your head off."

Herin's grin widened.

"The problem is simple. It's a matter of self-control and information. Myself, for example. I need information about this 'Oracle' that people are talking about. I could simply run around asking, or I could put myself in a situation where I can get everything that I want, if I'm patient."

"What are you talking about?"

"I'm talking about money for information. Would you gentlemen accept, say, ten thousand credits each to tell me where the Oracle is?"

The barrels of the blasters wavered.

"Ten thousand?" the leader asked. "Seriously?"

"I never make jokes, gentlemen." He raised his hands and slowly stood. "If you reach into my inner jacket pocket, you'll find a stack of forty thousand credits. Enough for each of you."

"What if we just decide to shoot you and take the money?"

"Ah, here's where the self-control comes in. Where do you think I'll go next time I have money and need information? I'll come right back to you. I'll be the goose that lays the golden eggs."

The leader licked his lips. Ten thousand credits was a lot of money. And more, for turning informant?

"There's that much money in being a cop?" he asked, lowering his weapon.

"If you understand the game, then yes." Herin nodded down at his jacket. "Simply reach in and see."

The leader stepped forward, his eyes on Herin's jacket. He reached out and began feeling around.

"A little further back," Herin said, his arms still raised. His smile flashed.

The leader reached in a little further.

Herin's arm snapped down, trapping the leader's hand under his jacket. His other hand slammed down into the side of the leader's neck, stunning his vagus nerve. Herin sidestepped and spun, flinging the leader's nerveless body into the thug behind him. The two tumbled to the ground in a tangle of limbs.

Herin ducked as the other thugs started firing. He drove a kick up from a squatting position, driving a heel into the gut of the man to his left. The man gasped and folded over, trying to catch his breath. Herin rolled over to the chair and kicked it into the knees of the other thug. The thug tried to jump out of the way, but tripped over the chair, landing heavily on the ground.

Herin sprang to his feet. The leader was trying to stand, but after the blow to his vagus nerve, the signals to his body were confused, unsteady. Herin smoothly slipped behind him. He viciously twisted the leader's wrist. It cracked loudly. The leader cried out, and Herin plucked the blaster from his suddenly loose fingers.

He stood behind the leader, one arm wrapped around his neck, and the other holding the blaster leveled at his head. The rest of the crew regained their feet.

"What are you doing?" the leader gasped. "Cops don't take hostages."

"See, even criminals think there are rules," Herin said. His cold smile resurfaced. "Once you realize that all the rules are optional, getting what you want is so much easier. Besides, I'm not taking you hostage."

One of the thugs was still lying on the ground, trying to catch his breath. The other two thugs stood back, blasters pointed at the pair, looking uncertain.

"What are you talking about?" the leader said hoarsely. "What do you call this, then?"

"I'm not using you as a hostage. I'm using you as a shield." Herin stretched out his arm. Three blaster shots rang out in rapid succession, echoing in the dark warehouse. The two standing thugs collapsed, and the one on the ground stopped gasping for air.

Herin released the leader. His unsteady legs gave out, dropping him to his knees. He gaped at the three dead men in front of him.

Herin's glasses shone in the dim light. He tossed the blaster behind him, spinning it away into the darkness, and drew a thick, straight-edged tanto blade from under his jacket.

"Now," he said, his grin widening. "You're going to give me everything I want."