The Admiral and the Assistant

The ISS Swordheart rested in one of the repair docks in the Copper Grove shipyards. Exosuited technicians swarmed over the exterior of the vessel, evaluating and repairing damage.

Admiral Stonefist and Lieutenant Kinnit sat in their office, going over repair reports. Grimthorn's face was set in a fierce frown.

"Six months," he scoffed, flinging down the stack of slips. "We don't have six days, much less six months."

"Two of our engines are completely gone, Admiral," Kinnit said quietly. "They'll need to be built new, from scratch."

"I know, I know," he groused, rubbing his eyes. "They can't just run down to the engine store and pick up new ones." He sighed. "At least the inertial dampers are easier to replace."

Kinnit smiled a little. She was pleased to see him griping. It was better than the blank deadness that had filled him since the battle over Ceon 12.

Grimthorn leaned forward.

"Okay, if they replace all the cracked dampers and finish fixing our second engine, we should be spaceworthy again, right?"

"Yes...?"

"The reactor's fine. Main cannon's still operational. We'll replace any damaged hull blasters. Quick and easy. The wrenchers can bolster the fatigued stringers and beams. Then we can get moving again."

"What are your thoughts, Admiral?"

"The Feeders will be back. We need to prepare to stand against them again. We sent a ton of data to Atlas Station. Perhaps the infographers there can find something to help us in this fight."

"But we don't have a fleet, Admiral."

"Then we'll start building a new one."

Kinnit paused for a moment. She was happy to see him breaking out of his funk, but now he was back to having unreasonable expectations.

"Sir, how are we going to build a fleet? There are no usable ships left."

"We have those privateers, what were they called? The Clankers. We'll mount some weapons on their ship and dragoon them into the Ninth Fleet. With appropriate compensation, of course. Boom. That's two ships, technically a fleet."

"Well... yes, sir. Technically."

"What else? Where else can we get some ships?"

"Well, sir, there were probably some ships in dry dock or getting refits. Oh, we could check on the ISS Astral, Captain Denth's ship, see how far along that is."

Grimthorn nodded.

"Good thinking. The problem is not just ships, though, it's people. We lost a lot of good folks in the battle over Ceon 12." He frowned.

"We could rally the survivors from the battle," Kinnit said. "Even if their ships are not salvageable, if we can get them into new ships, they can still operate as a fleet." She thought for a minute. "What about the garrisons? Could we pull from them?"

"Maybe so. We wouldn't want to pull too much-- that would leave them defenseless-- but there are a lot of garrisons out there." He frowned more deeply. "Problem is, most of them will not be versed in fleet tactics. They're used to dealing with raiders and pirates, one-on-one. Maybe rescue operations. They won't know how to operate as a fleet."

"Oh!" she said brightly. "What about Captain Cohrmere and his Wraithfleet? They already know all the formations and tactics, even if they're old ones!"

Grimthorn bit back his initial response, which would have been a firm "No." He forced himself to think about it.

"It's a risk," he said, "and one I don't care for. But we're in dire straits. That... is something to consider." He deflated a little. "It's a good idea," he said finally. He sighed. "I'll contact the Cryptographers, too, see if they'll work with me any. Every time I talk with them they tell me less and less."

"Yes, sir." Kinnit brightened. "Sounds like we'll have a fleet again in no time, sir! Now we can carry on the fight!" She beamed, her hope beginning to restore.

The haunted, broken look crept back onto Grimthorn's face, but he forced it away. He knew that the Navy's next stand would be its last. But he was determined to make the Feeders regret ever having come into his galaxy.

The Emperor strode into the rotunda, stroking his thick beard. The domed room was brightly lit, almost painfully so. The floors, walls, and even the dome above were stark white, lit by bands of blazing lights.

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He walked to the center of the room and turned slowly, taking in everything. The room was circled by detention chambers, done in the same stark white. Thirteen cells ringed the room, with only a single hallway leading outward.

Each cell had a buzzing shield keeping their occupants secure within. The bunks, toilets, sinks and stools were covered in the same white as the rest of the chamber.

Ten cells held the former members of the Imperial Council. The only marks of color in the room were the glaring red robes they wore.

The Emperor stopped.

"Rarely has the Hall of Treason been filled so," he said. "Only three cells are empty."

The Ministers of the Imperial Council began babbling, talking over each other, making excuses, blaming others, pleading for mercy. The Emperor held up a hand, silencing them.

"You will each have the opportunity to plead your case," he said. He focused on Aster.

"Why treason?" he asked.

Aster held himself stiffly. His appearance was far less refined than he customarily kept himself. He was thinner, more haggard, and his careful coiffure was growing out. He lifted his chin.

"I only ever acted in the best interests of the Imperium," he said.

"Oh, did you, 'Grand' Minister Aster?" the Emperor asked. Aster flinched.

"That was only to keep order on the Council."

"I see. And the imprisonment?"

"You were kept safe and the Imperium was kept safe. It seemed the wisest approach."

The Emperor shook his head.

"Do you actually believe your own self-righteous words, I wonder?" he asked. "Are you a liar, or simply a fool?"

"I am a patriot," Aster said, standing tall.

"You tried to force through a law that would have eliminated half the citizens in the galaxy. It would have destroyed the Imperium. How is that patriotism?"

"It was only to mitigate the damage you did by eliminating the designation of Subject Species."

"Do you even know why that designation was created?"

"To protect the Imperium from lesser species."

The Emperor scoffed sadly.

"Fifty years on the council, and you didn't even understand so simple a thing. So blinded by your own superiority, by your overweening pride."

Aster reddened.

"I ran this empire for fifty years!" he yelled. "I managed the Council! I did it! Me! You just sat back and never did anything!"

"You're right," the Emperor replied. "I didn't. But did anything really need doing?"

Aster stopped, his mouth open.

"That-- there were-- all the matters of the Imperium--"

"Are best left to the citizens," the Emperor said. "You were a meddler, Aster, not a leader."

"You've already just decided to kill us all," Aster sneered.

The Emperor nodded.

"I have."

"Why this farce, then? Lording it over your subjects before you kill them?"

"I want to give everyone an opportunity to bring up any mitigations. Perhaps there's something I'm not aware of."

"Just murder your loyal citizens however you like. Don't pretend that our answers could change your mind."

The Emperor gave Aster a long, unreadable look.

"What did you ever want that I did not provide?" he asked finally.

"What?"

"You felt you needed something, or deserved something beyond what you had. Every traitor does. What did you think you deserved?"

"I only deserved the respect due my efforts. My station."

The Emperor shook his head. "Just like Idrian."

"Don't compare me to that Chrysanthae worm," Aster sneered.

The Emperor smiled sadly.

"If you don't want to be compared to him, then you should stop using his words."

Aster stopped, his mouth open in horror.

The Emperor stepped back.

"Edvar Aster," he intoned, "I find you guilty of treason. Traitors of the Imperium are to be stripped of their titles, divested of their lands, and all their goods and holdings are to be confiscated. Their families will be given new names, to divorce them from the shame of treason. The traitor's names and deeds are to be stricken from every record, except for the record of their treason, so that future generations might be warned. The traitors themselves will be hanged by the neck, until the full justice of the Imperium has been measured out against them. So saith the Emperor."

Aster sank in on himself as his sentence was pronounced, looking more ashen and sick with every word.

"Mercy," Aster said quietly. "Leave me my title. Leave me my record."

"I give you mercy in identical measure to your penitence," the Emperor said. "The sentence stands as spoken."

The Emperor turned away from Aster and moved to the next cell, to hear from the next Minister.

Grimthorn's mouth tightened as he set up the encrypted channel to call the Cryptographers. The line buzzed, waiting, for an unusually long time.

Finally it connected.

"Hello?" came an uncertain voice back across the line.

"Hello," he said. He paused a moment to dredge up a name from his memory. "Is this Lieutenant Osira?"

"This is Osira, Facilitator to the Cryptographers," she said. Her voice seemed flat, faint, and uncertain.

"Very good. This is Admiral Stonefist. I need to speak to the Cryptographers about our preparations for defending the Imperium."

"Oh. Um..." There was a long silence. "I can take a message."

Grimthorn raised an eyebrow.

"Take a message? Aren't there any Cryptographers there?"

Another long pause.

"I haven't seen a Cryptographer in nearly a week," she said finally.

Grimthorn stiffened. "Have they all left, then?"

"No, they're still nearby." Lieutenant Osira swallowed with an audible click. "I... I can tell they're definitely still nearby."

"Well where are they?"

"I... I don't know if I should say."

"Speak freely, Lieutenant."

"Even the Emperor can't really get a hold of them," she said, her words spilling out in a rush. She sounded relieved to be talking about it. "They're only talking to each other. I can catch bits and pieces. They keep mentioning something they call the 'Sacrificial Anode,' and they talk about selecting who will wait in the chamber for the next cycle."

Grimthorn stiffened. There were implications there that made his blood boil, that he wanted to rant about, but this poor Lieutenant at the other end of the call was not the appropriate target for all that.

"Very well," he said finally. "I'll forward our plans. When-- or if-- the Cryptographers show back up, please let them know I'd appreciate their insights on the matter."

"Y-yes, of course. I'll let them know," Lieutenant Osira said.

Grimthorn closed the comms and stared quietly at his scanner for a long time.