The Admiral and the Assistant

Kinnit hung by her neck from the Aberrant's grip, clinging to its talons, trying ease the pressure on her throat. She kicked weakly at it, hoping to get purchase with her claws, but they slid uselessly off the Aberrant's red robe.

Grimthorn lay on the floor nearby. He began making awful, violent retching sounds as he spasmed and thrashed. His eyes rolled up in his head and he ejected the contents of his stomach on the deck as his body rejected its own existence.

The Aberrant shook her again. She rattled and swayed in its iron grip.

"You... tamper." It tightened its grip. "You... interfere. You... complicate... the... future." It drew her closer to its face and gripped its goggles. "But... no... more." It prepared to draw off its protective eyewear.

With the last of her strength, Kinnit raised a shaking finger, pointing at the Aberrant's face. She managed to choke out two words with all the air she had left.

"F-Flander... kill!"

The shrill, shrieking sound of metal on metal filled the throne room. The Aberrant turned just in time to see the robot hurtling toward it.

Flander cannoned into the Aberrant like a highballing freight train. Kinnit flew free, tumbling along the deck with bone-snapping speed.

The Aberrant fell to the ground. Flander clambered on top of it, continuing to emit the squealing screech of metal on metal. The Aberrant raised one arm defensively. Flander roared with a sound like stripping gears. One of Flander's grippers closed on the Aberrant's arms and slammed it to the floor with sudden violence, pinning it. Flander's many other arms came up, then began to descend with terrifying speed. Each arm had a specialized tool, and Flander used them all. Striking, grabbing, pulling, pinching, twisting, smashing, yanking; dozens of arms relentlessly tore at the Aberrant as it flailed helplessly at the mad robot. All the while, the screeching continued as Flander unleashed decades of pent fury on the Aberrant's body.

Scraps of robe and flesh and bits of bone flew from the entangled pair. The whirling psychic oppression rose to a shriek. Kinnit cried out as waves of overwhelming despair, hatred, and loneliness washed through her.

The oppression began to crumble. The robot still screeched, but the Aberrant's movements slowed, then stopped. Clarity began to dawn in Grimthorn's mind again.

Gradually, Flander wound down. The screeching stopped. The pistoning arms slowed.

Flander stopped and stood in the midst of the remains of the Aberrant.

Grimthorn lifted his head. In a burst of panic, he scrambled over to Kinnit on his hands and knees. She lay on her back on the deck, breathing steadily. He gently lifted her eyelids, checking for dilation. She gasped and sat up, coughing.

"Kinnit? Are you okay? Don't move," he said.

She laid back for a moment.

"I... I'm fine, Grimthorn. Just a little dizzy."

He ran his hands over her body, checking for injury.

"How are you feeling? What hurts?"

"Everything," she chuckled. "I feel like I was hit by a cannonball. But I don't think anything's broken."

Grimthorn let out a sigh of relief.

"I'd like to get up, sir. The sooner we're off this ship, the better I'll feel. What happened to the Aberrant?"

Grimthorn turned back to Flander. The echoes of the robot's screeching still echoed in his mind. The robot itself simply stood amidst the remains of the Aberrant. At Grimthorn's look, it moved forward. Grimthorn reflexively angled his body in front of Kinnit's. Flander backed up.

Grimthorn's face flickered through expressions as complex emotions rushed through him. He looked at the remains of the Aberrant. There were scraps of robe and bits of flesh scattered around, but no blood. The remains did not look quite like enough to have made up the whole Aberrant. Cryptographers must be a lot thinner than they looked, Grimthorn decided.

"Grimthorn?" Kinnit prompted.

"The Aberrant didn't know as much as it thought," he said finally. "Flander saved us."

Kinnit smiled. "I told you he was sweet."

Grimthorn frowned. She hadn't seen her 'sweet' robot tearing the Aberrant to shreds. But that was a discussion for another time.

"Flander," he said finally, "Thank you." Grimthorn was not clear in his own mind whether he was thanking Flander more for attacking the Aberrant, or for stopping. "I think I'm going to put you in for a medal."

Flander tapped twice on the floor. Grimthorn's eyebrows rose.

"Maybe a financial reward?" Kinnit offered.

Flander tapped once. Kinnit laughed with delight.

"A reward it is," Grimthorn said with resignation. "Now let's get out of here and finish cleaning this up."

The ISS Swordheart carefully bumped against the surface of the Aberrant's ship. The powerful inertial dampers of the Swordheart were projecting outward, buffering the ships.

Admiral Stonefist watched from the captain's dais with his arms folded. It was certainly a novel use of the inertial dampers. As much as he disapproved of Captain Minius' general approach to... well, everything, he had to admit that this idea of his had merit.

Usually, towing another ship required a lot of specialized equipment, but with this damper trick and a little patience, they could simply push another ship where it needed to go.

He supposed Captain Minius had a store of such little tricks he'd gathered over the years, as he had to learn to make do with his substandard equipment. Grimthorn made a mental note to pick his brain for more ideas later.

This book's true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.

The Swordheart pushed steadily against the Aberrant's bright red ship, slowly accelerating it. The ships increased in velocity, faster and faster until they were barreling toward the fat red star that graced the Lantern Field sector.

"That's close enough, Lieutenant Phet," he said. "Lieutenant Renning, release the dampers. Lieutenant Phet, give us some negative velocity."

The Swordheart pulled back from the Aberrant's ship. The red vessel continued on, picking up speed now that it was in the grip of the star's gravity.

Grimthorn watched impassively as the ship streaked into the star's corona. It flared briefly, sublimating into a gas. He nodded. They'd left the remains of the Aberrant and all his work on board and elected to shove the whole thing into a star.

"And that's that, done," he said. "Kinnit, contact the Cryptographers to let them know we've finished one impossible task."

She smiled up at him. "On to the next impossible task, sir?" she asked.

"Of course," he replied. "On to the Feeders."

Most of the Imperial Council sat around the table, fidgeting nervously. Minister Aster glared at the Minister of Justice.

"Have you gotten the law and announcement written?" he asked sternly.

"Ah... it's in progress," Minister Parsa said. He looked at the data on his scanner. "I'm being cautious about the wording. This would be easily challenged in the courts."

"Legal challenges can be dealt with," Minister Aster said. "It's important to get the law on the books. We need to stop the bleeding that the Emperor's decree has caused."

"Yes, I, I suppose," Parsa said. He shook his head. "This is going to cause a terrible upheaval in the Imperium. Eliminating the citizenship of all non-Terrans? There's no telling what kind of violent reaction this might engender." Parsa raised his eyes from his scanner. "Are you certain this is a good idea, Aster?"

"I'd prefer you use my new title," Minister Aster said. "To avoid confusion about who is in authority here."

Parsa paused. The other Ministers sat silent, watching him carefully.

"Of-- of course, Grand Minister Aster."

Minister Aster smiled thinly.

"The Emperor created this mess," Minister Aster said. "We're just cleaning it up. Finish the law."

"There's a legal difficulty. We don't have Imperial authority to create a law without the Emperor. It will put this law on extremely shaky legal ground."

Minister Aster sneered.

"We have the authority when the Emperor is indisposed. And the Emperor is indisposed for the foreseeable future."

"Of course, M-- Grand Minster."

The door to the Imperial Council chamber banged open, startling everyone. The Minister of Communication rushed in.

"We've got a problem," he said.

Minister Aster surged to his feet.

"Minister Kaelen," he barked. "What are you doing here? Isn't today your time to manage the Emperor?"

"That's the problem," he said. "I was checking the camera to make sure it was safe to enter. But it's not working. He-- the Emperor, he destroyed the camera! And he has a gun!"

Minister Aster frowned.

"So? Keep the shielding up in front of the vestibule up and peek in. Make sure it's clear before you bring the shield down."

"But I can't see the whole vestibule! What if he's hiding in the corner?" Minister Kaelen began to hyperventilate. "I knew this was a terrible idea," he moaned.

"Calm yourself," Aster said. "There is a solution here." He scoffed. "I begin to understand the Emperor's frustration with this Council. You can't even get a simple law written, and now you're all panicking over a minor setback. "

He spread his hands.

"Everyone sit, and we will work out this new problem the Emperor has given us. We will fix all the Emperor's mistakes."

Race Ozan stirred in his sleep. Something in the darkness of his bedroom disturbed him, drew him toward wakefulness.

The moons of Techterra shone in through his bedroom window, but they were both in the waning phase, so their light was dim. They didn't illuminate the bedroom so much as give texture to the darkness.

He sat up, a dark premonition running through him. He flexed his left hand, feeling the stiffness of scar tissue as it prevented him from making a full fist.

Race shook his head. He'd stayed alive for many years by being paranoid, but now he-- by leading the Riftborn gang-- he'd become too important, too valuable for anybody to want to kill. All the smaller gangs liked what he was doing.

It was good to be respected. It was thrilling to have such power. It was all working so well.

The Oracle's advice had been worth every single credit.

So why did he suddenly have that old feeling, the jumpiness he'd get right before a raid, or before a nasty turf battle?

"You're being foolish," he said to himself, trying to force the feelings away.

"Not as foolish as you think," came a voice from the darkness.

Race's hand darted underneath his pillow before his brain even engaged. He felt around for the blaster he kept there, but there was nothing. A dark chuckle rolled out of the darkness.

"I borrowed your toy," said the voice. A man stepped forward, holding Race's blaster. He wore a dark suit, little round glasses, and a cold, cold grin.

"Guards!" Race yelled. He wished his voice had been more commanding, less fearful, but if it brought his loyal bodyguards, he'd live with it.

"Oh, yes," the man said, his grin widening. "Let's wait for your guards." He stood silently for a moment. "Hmm. They don't answer. I suppose they must be busy."

"Who are you?" Race cried. "What do you want?"

"Ah, so many questions." The man nodded a slight bow. "Herin Kasra, Techterra Protection Force."

Race relaxed slightly. It was a cop. Not someone out to kill him.

But where were his guards?

"As for what I want?" Herin continued. "Well, my masters have given me a directive. And I always want to do a good job. You see, Techterra needs... a little chaos."

The blaster rang out, its bright bolt of energy lighting the darkness for a moment. Race shrieked in pain. One leg lay mangled, twisted on the bed. He clutched his ruined knee. His mind scrambled, trying to make sense of the situation. Why was a cop shooting him in his bed?

"What are you doing?" Race screeched. "Don't you know who I am?"

"More questions. Yes, I know exactly who you are. And I know exactly what I'm doing." The blaster fired again, hitting Race's other knee.

Race cried out in agony. He rolled around on the mussed sheets, spotting his bed with blood. Herin pocketed the blaster.

"I don't want you to think I'm being needlessly cruel," Herin said. "Unfortunately, I don't have the time for that. You see, I need to distract the important men in CenCom." Herin affected an exaggerated frown. "I don't really have any contacts in the Navy, so that makes things difficult." He brightened. "But I do know a lot about the workings of Techterra outside CenCom."

He raised a piece of cloth.

"Know what this is?" Herin asked.

Race was sniveling, weeping, holding his legs.

"To Geina with you!" he yelled.

"It's a Zenith's Edge vest. It came off the body of one of their gang who was horribly murdered not an hour ago. Apparently by someone from the Cryptocult gang." Herin shook his head. "No honor among thieves, I'm afraid. And now this vest is going to be left behind at the murder scene of the Riftborn gang leader, Race Ozan. I wonder how all of that will affect the new cooperation that has been blossoming between the gangs of Techterra?"

"You're sick," Race squeezed out.

Herin chuckled.

"I'm not sick, I'm just a clearer thinker than you." He drew an incendiary grenade from beneath his coat. "If I were sick, I'd put all my goals at risk to stay and see how close you can get to escaping the flames without any knees. But I really haven't got the time right now."

Herin stepped back out of the room. He casually tossed the grenade in. Race screamed and lunged, falling off the bed, unable to stand.

Herin closed the door behind him as the grenade belched round, orange flames, rich with fuel. Race's room was instantly engulfed.

Herin walked away, listening for as long as he could as Race's screams grew in frenetic intensity.