The Admiral and the Assistant

Kinnit stretched out along the sofa, reading through some data on her scanner, a worried frown creasing her brow. She was leaning again Grimthorn. He was leaned back, looking out at the stars through the portal, one arm draped across her.

So many years after he'd thought it impossible, he'd discovered he could enjoy the stars again. He unconsciously hugged her a little closer.

"Grimthorn?"

"Mmhmm?"

"What happens to my name when we get married?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well, in the novels... in my research, I mean, I'm seeing that the bride takes her husband's last name?"

"That's the tradition, yes. The family name is carried down through the man's side of the marriage."

A confused frown crinkled her nose.

"But I just got a last name," she said. "Now I'll have two?"

"If you like. Most of us have three names."

"Why do Terrans need so many names? On Takkar, I'm Kinnit. That's the only name I need." She smiled a little. "Well, except now I have a last name, so people know what I'm famous for."

Grimthorn shrugged.

"Because there's so many of us, I guess. Makes it easier to tell everyone apart. There are what, about eight million Kobolds on Takkar? There's something like thirty quadrillion Terrans in the galaxy."

"Oh," Kinnit said quietly. "I didn't think about that. I guess it's hard to have a single name that would identify you in all that." She brightened. "But if I take your last name, that tells people something else I'm famous for!" A crooked smile crept across her face. "Kinnit Longlegs Stonefist." She giggled. "I like it. Everybody will know who my one and only is. And whose I am."

She nodded firmly.

"That settles it then. I like that just fine."

Grimthorn smiled and held her close.

"Well, in addition to getting a new name, you have one other benefit open to you, now that you're a citizen."

"Oh?"

"Have you considered enlisting in the Navy?"

Kinnit's mouth dropped open. She was technically a civilian contractor working for the Navy. As an SS, that was as close as she could get to military service. But as a citizen...

"Wait, that's right. I could actually enlist! I could get a rank and everything!"

"And medals, and a pension," Grimthorn said.

She began bouncing up and down on the sofa in excitement.

"Oh! Oh! I could actually join the Navy!" Unshed tears glistened in her eyes. "I could serve the Imperium for real! I could really be in the Navy! Maybe I could make captain! Or admiral!"

Grimthorn chuckled.

"Well, one step at a time." He smiled fondly, reaching out to stroke her happy face. "If I could, I would keep this smile on your face for your whole life. I love your smile."

She closed her eyes and held his hand to her cheek. She looked up at him with her eyes half-closed.

"Well, you're good at putting it there," she said.

Sehren Senn sat in the dim evening light of his hideaway, muttering. He was trying to enjoy a holo movie, but the tiny set had poor resolution, and flickered at the edges.

He spat a curse at the little device. He missed his apartment, with its comforts and grand views of Techterra. He missed his Beta Pelean tea. The best tea he could get out here at the end of the galaxy was some plebeian mass-produced blend.

If he was being honest with himself, he missed the bustle and life of Techterra. He missed being in the flow of activity. He missed his job. He even missed the conspiracy.

He missed being important.

Now, he was tucked away on the edge of the galaxy, waiting. Waiting for the Feeders. Waiting for his destiny.

Sehren Senn was slowly discovering that he was spectacularly bad at waiting. He wanted to be doing. For years he'd been pulling the strings of the conspiracy, molding the opinions of the people through the Clarion, making the Imperium dance to his tune.

That had all stopped, and now he waited for his prize. Simply waited, here in this quiet house, with its small holo. He'd traded the views of bustling, lively Techterra with a view of lighthouse ruins and the cold, gray sea that dashed itself against the cliff below his hideout.

He frowned.

It had been a couple weeks since he'd heard from Droma, his contact. He pursed his lips. Groceries and supplies were getting low. If Droma didn't answer his scanner soon, Senn was going to have to go into town himself and get his own supplies. Which was exactly what he'd paid the man to avoid having to do. It was an unnecessary risk for Senn, but it was also tedious, menial work that was beneath him.

Soon, he would remake the galaxy and all humanity in his image. Senn felt strongly that the god of the galaxy should not have to purchase his own apples.

He had a groundskimmer, of course. It was a classic vehicle he'd bought for himself years ago. He'd have to dust it off and remember how to drive. He hadn't kept in practice. Techterra was densely packed; everything he'd wanted was either in walking distance or a short taxi ride away. Out here on Brolla, walking distance was measured in miles, and they hadn't bothered to develop a decent taxi service. Any trip into town would require a skimmer.

He had some other muscle hired in town, for his protection. Perhaps he should just make one of them do it.

He sniffed with distaste and tried to focus on his holo.

The little set flickered. Senn sneered and tapped it. It went out. So did the overhead lights.

Senn snorted. Of course. Nothing out here worked as well as it had in Techterra.

He stumbled over to the wall switch and flicked it a few times. Nothing.

Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.

The dark was not absolute, but the little remaining light coming in from outside was dim, not much more helpful than full dark. Senn fumbled his way to the kitchen, feeling around in his utility drawer. After some searching he came up with a flashlight. The battery in it was low, and the beam flickered, but at least now he could see what he was tripping over.

He pulled out his scanner to contact the servicemen for the power grid.

He was mentally preparing a scathing diatribe for them when a terrible sound came from outside, a hair-raising skreeeek of metal on metal. Senn spun, waving the light around. His feet tangled together and he fell to the ground.

With a hammering heart, he crawled to the sliding glass doors that let out onto the patio overlooking the site of the old lighthouse. He looked outside. The stretch of land between the house and the few remaining walls of the lighthouse was nearly bare. Patchy tufts of wild grass bent in the fitful breeze coming off the sea. Only a few crumbling walls remained of the ruins of the lighthouse.

Senn shined the flashlight outside, but the flickering beam did little to reveal the source of the noise.

Skreeek, came the noise again.

Senn scrambled back. His breath came in short gasps. Probably just some old trash from the lighthouse, some old building material had blown over in the wind. Nothing to do with the lights.

Senn cleared his throat and took hold of himself. He stood. He straightened his clothes and forced himself to take a deep breath. He carefully took out his scanner and pulled up the contact information for the power grid. He poked the button to connect.

All he got was a response from an automated system. Of course. He didn't even have the catharsis of a real person to shriek at. He put in his information, reporting the outage.

Using the unreliable light of the flashlight, he moved back toward his bedroom. The wind outside was picking up, the blowing setting up a pulsing, thrumming noise through the house.

Senn frowned. He didn't like the wind when it got like this. The hooting, howling, blowing wind always sounded like a harbinger of disaster.

A quiet tapping sound grabbed his ear. He turned. It sounded like it was coming from the hallway.

Tap, tap tap. Tap, tap, tap. Steadily louder.

His breath grew faster again. Flashing the light around, he backed into his bedroom and closed the door.

Enough of this. This was his house. It was ridiculous for him to be scared in his own house.

Fortunately, he had hired scary men as a solution for scary times.

It was time to bring in some of his muscle. His local bodyguards could check around the house, make sure everything was okay. Senn pulled his scanner back out and poked the button to connect to one of the heavies he kept on his payroll.

The scanner beeped as it tried to connect. There was no answer. He frowned in confusion. He pulled up a different contact and called again. Still nothing. Another. Nothing. The steady, dead beep of the scanner kept ringing in his ears.

He stared in horror at his scanner. Nobody was answering.

Just like Droma.

Skreeek, came the noise again. There was the shockingly loud pop and tinkle of breaking glass somewhere in the house. The steady blast of the wind grew louder.

Senn stumbled to his closet. He felt around on the shelves overhead, panic climbing up the back of his throat. In a rush, he began pulling things off the shelf: boxes, blankets, old clothes, his heart racing, a whine of terror rising in his throat. Finally, his hands closed over cold steel.

With a sigh of relief that was nearly a sob, he drew a small hold-out blaster from the closet. It was an old model, one he'd bought years before. He wished now that he'd practiced with it more.

There was the sound of something heavy being dragged across the floor somewhere in the house. Senn clambered onto his bed, pushing himself into the far corner of the room. He pointed his weapon at the closed door of his bedroom.

"Go away!" he yelled, his voice quavering.

He heard a quiet, cold chortle nearby. Every hair on his body lifted straight up.

"I have a gun!" he cried.

"I don't care," came a little whisper, from somewhere right near his head.

Senn screamed and leapt from his bed. He flung himself at the door. In his panicked fumbling for the doorknob, he dropped his flashlight. He finally tore the door open and launched himself into the hallway.

He rushed into the living room. The sliding glass door was broken, the angry, fitful wind blowing freely through the living room, flaring the curtains, blowing over vases and decorations. The shards of broken glass lay outside, on the patio.

The glass had been shattered from inside the house.

Senn turned and ran through the house in a blind panic. He blasted into the kitchen, knocking utensils and dishes off the counter, and scrambled for the back door. He flung it open and dashed out into the open air.

The wind outside buffeted him. The light in the sky was nearly gone. Long, dark shadows stretched across the ground.

He ran for the garage, where he stored his groundskimmer. He wasn't very practiced at driving, but he knew he had to get away. He had to escape.

With strength born of terror, he yanked the roll-up door open.

His skimmer sat there, just as he'd left it, except that the hood was open and the power cell was missing.

"No," he said. He stepped forward on unsteady feet.

The power cell had been carefully removed. It was nowhere to be seen. The groundskimmer wouldn't even start without a power cell.

A wispy voice floated through the garage.

"I see you," it said.

The roll-up door behind him slammed down.

He shrieked and spun. His hand with the blaster came up and fired a half-dozen times into the door before he even realized what he was doing.

The garage was empty. The silence buzzed in his ears. Terrified breaths sawed in and out of his lungs. He made his way to the small side door of the garage. With jerky motions, he pointed the blaster at every noise, every movement, real or imagined.

He opened the door and peeked out. The relentless wind blew across the bare yard.

A little giggle sounded through the garage.

Senn's nerve broke. He launched out of the garage and across the yard. He ran for the road. He couldn't run all the way to town, it was ridiculous, but the demon of panic filled his mind, driving away rational thought. His feet flailed him forward, his lungs heaving, tears streaming back from his eyes.

His right foot fetched up in a small hole, no more than a dent in the uneven yard. It brought all his frantic flight to a tumbling halt as he slammed into the ground. The impact drove the wind out of him. His chest convulsed as he desperately tried to draw breath.

His bruised diaphragm finally relented enough to let him draw in sips of air. His exhalations were paired with bleating cries. He rose to his feet and tried to run again, but his right ankle folded under his weight. He looked down. Sharp pain shot up his leg. He pulled up his pant leg. The flesh around his ankle was bruised and swollen and shiny.

"No, no, no," he moaned. He stood again and tried to hop on his left foot, but the uncertain light of the early evening and the uneven ground soon threw him back to the ground. He began crawling, dragging his right leg behind him.

"Well, well," a voice floated through the night. "The little mousie has hurt himself."

Senn flipped over, raising the blaster. Something knocked it out of his hand. It went spinning off into the gloom. In the lowering light he could see a dark figure, highlighted only by tiny, round glasses and a wide, wide smile.

"Boo," said the figure.

Senn tried to turn, tried to flee, but the dark figure leapt on him. It pinned him to the ground, sat on his chest, pinned his elbows to the ground with its knees. The figure drew a long, blunt-nosed knife from under its coat. It grabbed his hair and held his head to the ground. It raised the knife high.

Senn screamed with all the last of his strength. The figure brought the knife down in a grand overhand sweep.

The thick blade crunched into the ground next to Senn's head.

Senn's scream wound down as he ran out of breath.

"You're under arrest," the dark figure said.

Senn stared at the man in terrified incomprehension. The man stared back with his cold, gleeful smile.

"Isn't it such a relief?" Herin Kasra said. "You're only being arrested for forty murders and high treason against the Imperium."

Small, broken sounds escaped Senn. Herin plucked his knife out of the ground. Senn squeaked in fear at the sight of the blade.

"Oh, don't worry," Herin said. "I won't hurt you. You're my arrest. I need to deliver you in good condition." His head cocked. "That doesn't mean I can't have some fun along the way." Herin frowned. "You were so disappointingly easy to find. I had to find ways to keep my little job interesting." He looked along the blade of his knife with loving affection. "Isn't it amazing what you can do with a couple cheap broadcast speakers, some hand tools, and an understanding of how to bend a man's mind?"

Senn gibbered. Herin drew out a pair of handcuffs.

"You fell into the same trap as so many. You think that because you're a terrible person, you're somehow exempt from terrible things. But the galaxy is full of terrible people. Sometimes you need a monster to stop a monster." Herin giggled, a high-pitched, crazed sound. "Don't you feel more alive than you ever have before?" he said. "The thrill of terror! The agony of demise!" He leaned down to Senn's ear and whispered. "It's delicious to watch. I can only imagine what it feels like."

The manacles closed on Senn's wrist.

"Now I'm going to give you a special glove and call some friends of yours to come pick you up. Have you ever been on a Navy vessel before?"