“Not good enough,” howled the memory of Sadia Kaur.
The paragon of his upbringing spoke to him as if she were standing over him looking down. Karim could almost feel the strain in his youngling neck craning up to meet her commanding gaze as he was forced to sit through another round of corrective reasoning, which now that Karim was a little older he knew to be berating bordering on bullying. He had loved his grandmother, sure. But even the nicest of memories of her were sometimes glazed with a sheen of intimidating lesson-learning.
And she was often right in her teachings to him, especially in this case. Karim was an Admiral, a Fleet Admiral, yet here he was a quasi-prisoner on his own ship, under the orders of a weevil like der Waals. He should have seen this coming, caught a faint scent of it, something.
Having limped into the Hirok System six hours prior, The Third Fleet was only now making ready to dock with Hirok Inferior Station, the only such berth large enough to accommodate The Kolkata’s heft. Karim was being led to the airlock on The Kolkata that was furthest from his stateroom, in brash and prolonged display of his ineptitude in front of the crew that had served him diligently these past weeks. His fleet and himself had accepted their fate with their tails tucked inwards.
The averted gazes of his once proud crew as he walked the halls trailed by two armed guards wounded what remained of his pride. As Karim passed an outer corridor window on his way toward the airlock, he stopped. The guards behind him did as well, unease on their faces.
His injuries had mostly healed, leaving only a knowing weightiness to his breathing. The strike across his face was fully sealed unlike the scars on The Kolkata.
“I just need a moment,” Karim said to the guards, placating their mandate to deliver him from this fresh hell for the time being, “We have a few minutes until we tie-off and I would like to remember this sight.”
Through the window, Karim could make out the handful of support ships that had stayed with The Kolkata throughout its transit through riftspace beginning to release their umbilicals and peel off to berths of their own. In their place, hundreds of heavy repair skiffs and automated repair drones attached themselves like barnacles. In a day and with unfettered access to the Sovereignty’s resources, Karim knew the inner decks would be largely restructured and the outer hulls would begin to be reskinned.
In amongst a smattering of other naval vessels in the spacedocks three oddities stood out. One, bearing the shared insignia of the joint Vasser-Sovereignty Commission. Another, an attack shuttle wearing the unmistakable colours of a Quisabar warship that meant one would be looming nearby. And the last and most curious, was an emissary ship painted white standing out starkly against the black. This, Karim knew, to be Alfar in origin; its unknown purpose here was what caused him to pause.
As the melancholy began to grasp at him, Karim’s personal terminal chimed from where it was clasped in the hand of one of his escorts.
“May I answer that?” Karim asked the guard.
Dumbfounded, she said; “orders were to turn this over with the rest of your effects to Station Security.”
“Under the authority of a Commodore?” Karim said, “Take another look at the insignia on my jacket, officer. That man may be commander of this ship by order of The Council, but my rank still trumps his.”
Hesitantly, the guard capitulated, turning the terminal over to his outstretched hand.
“Admiral, for what it’s worth,” the other of the two guards spoke, “I’ve always respected you.”
“Thank you. You’re dismissed,” Karim ordered, waving the guards away. They stalled again, to which Karim replied with a finger pointed to his admiral’s insignia. With a salute they departed.
“What is it, Corporal Chaasker?” said Karim, answering the bulletin.
“Sir I wanted to warn you,” she said as bulkheads moved about behind her while she paced through the halls in toward some unknown heading, “there are guards coming to take you.”
“They’ve just been,” Karim said, sardonically. “I’ve sent them back to their new owner.”
Chaasker seemed confused by this. “They’ve been– how? The warrant for this only just went out on naval channels. No matter, I’m on my way to your quarters now.”
“You’ll find little more than my packed suitcases there. What was that about a warrant?”
“Admiral, there’s a warrant for your arrest,” Chaasker said.
Karim hadn’t expected that. Sure, with der Waals now in command of The Kolkata and The Third Fleet, he had the authority to do as he saw fit. But in a few moments Karim would disembark his former flagship and in doing so step outside der Waals’ jurisdiction, a free man with only a still-raw blemish on his naval career, a far cry from anything resembling criminality.
Karim had half-expected der Waals to be the one to walk him off the ship, if only to gloat. Now however, his absence finally came into clear waters. Karim let out a low snort. Of course der Waals waited until now to have him arrested, Karim thought. Had he done it any sooner during transit, the crew might’ve revolted.
“Let them,” Karim said.
“What–?” Chaasker said, shock stopping her feet.
“Let them arrest me,” Karim said, “Whoever ordered it will be forced to reveal themselves, and I will have my man.”
“Where are you?”
“Airlock Twenty-Three D.”
“I’m coming to you,” Chaasker said, her pace picking back up.
“What’s he done with our guests, Bruin and Karl?” Karim asked.
“They’ve already been turned over to Hirok personnel,” Chaasker huffed, “Those two, Quichek and the device were snapped up by some Royals.”
Royals, or Royal Legionaries, were largely a protective force under control of the royal house of the Karess. That the Karess was in possession of Quichek and the news of Earth was a small relief to Karim.
“Good,” Karim answered. “You can turn back now, Corporal. There’s little need for you to derelict while I’m already an untouchable.”
“Nonsense,” Chaasker said, her voice suddenly more present than before. It took Karim a moment or two to realise she was standing beside him.
“Nice to take this step off the ledge with you, Anit,” said Karim after a silent moment.
“Likewise, Sir,” said Chaasker. “At least there’s an excellent view.”
Karim knew Chaasker understood what she was doing by standing with him now. Her station being on the ship’s bridge, airlock twenty-three D was about as far away from there as she could get. And in doing so, she risked court marshall. That is if der Waals even knew to recognize her absence.
As the two of them stood, looking out at the bustling station docks, at the shifting habitation modules in the distance, and at the mammoth Brahmin cloudscape behind it all, Karim realised that each of his equally-monolithic grandmother’s lessons, each of her morsels of distilled advice, were geared towards one in a place of power over others. Neither the quality of a leader’s convictions, nor her insistence on acting with the appropriate level of mercy, stemmed from a career that wasn't on top.
But the great Admiral Sadia Kaur had never been where Karim now stood. She had never been so high, only to be brought so low. Sure, Karim was still a Fleet Admiral. But he had lost his fleet; it having been given to a man with not the noble intentions nor venerable upbringing as himself, but a weasel.
It seemed that he had more in common with the long forgotten Protectorate weapon battery that had torn through his vessel, being the pin prick that broke the barrel’s hull. Both an implement to be used by councils and emperors, only to be pushed aside and left in the dark.
It was funny, Karim had to admit, that the ladder he had struggled to climb for so many years eschewing any sort of personal pleasure along the way, only for the ladder to be hoisted and moved to a different footing just as he reached the top.
The one question that still trumped all of it– where the hell did Aiden find a weapon battery and how had Bruin reprogrammed it?
“Do you think Commodore der Waals will turn the fleet around and go hunt down Aiden?”
“Without a doubt,” Karim admitted, “He’s likely plotting his earliest departure with Fawes right now.”
“This is it,” Chaasker said, checking something on her terminal, “they’re here.”
“You can still go, you know?” Karim insisted.
“I know,” Chaasker said, unmoving.
The gangway finished extending and the airlock chimed an open call. As the doors quietly peeled open, Karim patted the cold wall of The Kolkata’s outermost level and wondered if he would ever see his ship again.
You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.
“Let me guess,” Karim said to The Hirok Commandos that greeted them, “I’m under arrest?”
The confused guards waivered, looking at each other in confusion that Karim could easily identify even through their opaque battle helmets. With a polite enough, “Sir”, one of them stepped aside and gestured with a battle rifle through the airlock. Karim walked down the corridor into the station without a fuss. The soldiers followed, more than likely thankful for not having to restrain a Fleet Admiral while Chaasker tailed behind.
Without even time to acclimate to the station’s embrace of spin gravity, Karim was led straight into Tarquin's Hall which housed, among other things, the chambers of the Sovereignty’s Grand Council.
Karim, wearing his naval finest and doing his best to mask his belaboured breath, entered the hall ahead of his armed escorts who took back his terminal and remained behind him at the entrance. Chaasker tried to follow, but was barred by battle rifles and relaxed as Karim gave her a reassuring nod.
Ahead of and flanking him on high benches were the sixteen councillors and a dozen or so honoured guests. In the seats on the peripheries were clusters of non-human emissaries, the Vass in their concealing robes, and a Quisabar and it’s soulpair in a paired down version of their tactical battle armour, made resplendent with various paints and woven flourishes.
Then there were the Alfar. Nearly naked if not for their tight environmental suits, the three Alfar juxtaposed the already hulking Quisabar who were seated across from them, and by relation the humans of the room, with their sheer towering height. With no mouths with which to speak and haunted purple-ringed eyes, the vaguely avian species sat in looming silence.
At the end of the short hall sat Speaker Andras Swygg and the regnant herself, Karess Margit. In a lower chair in front of the Karess sat her son and heir, Prince Wardyn Baldasare.
On the left of the hall sat Councillors Evana Concesse, Winslow Dumaine, Annule Avbruten, Jair Biagino, and Tyrone Hernan, while on the right sat Mathis Claren, Giedo Torquàtoa, Miku Loughlin-Zan, Cypress Traustur, Yi qi Yao, Lenny Mandrivnyk, Hu Sfyt Prai, and Banen Onginus. At the end of the left bench nearest Councillor Hernan sat the most curious addition, a sole woman wearing Herd Federation naval gown – Military Attaché Lieutenant Commander Viola Jessup.
As Karim approached the bench a courtly and gaudily-dressed barrister stepped from an alcove to direct him to a seat, then returned themselves to appear as a piece of featured furniture rather than a servant of the empire. As a former Commodore and confidant of the Karess, he had been present in hearings just like this. Looking around the room though, Karim found the absence of representation of the Navy most notable if not peculiar.
Karim went to speak, only to be interrupted by an unceremonious woman, with short ashen hair, a brassy shoulder coat, and a rash-like scar across her eye-line, that stood and drew the attention of the assembly, who Karim knew to be Councillor Evana Concesse.
“How dare you walk in here with your head held high, Admiral,” barked Councillor Concesse, a transparent rebreather over her mouth and nose that hissed with every word, “It’s actions like your own that show the level that such blatant and deep-rooted disrespect exists within the navy towards the crown and council!”
“That’s quite the accusation, Evana. Sit down before you embarrass yourself further,” spat Councillor Mathis Claren from across the aisle, undercutting her anger all while his standout iroquoian accent added a honed edge to his words.
“Please, Councillors. Surely we would like to hear the circumstances that led to the catastrophic loss of The Relentless, it’s captain, and crew,” urged Speaker Swygg through a silver tongue, his own words a buried knife that seemed to favour the sentiment of Councillor Concesse and the other like-minded councillors nodding in concert that dotted the benches.
Nervous Vass shook their brambles as they shifted in their seats and looked about, uneasy with the undertones all while Quisabar and Alfar delegates remained bored and unmoved respectively. The Karess however remained steeled, not letting her face betray a sign of favour to either of the sides. When Karim tried to make eye contact, she instead stared past him as if not dignifying him with acknowledging his presence.
Bruised, not just in pride, but in his still healing ribs, Karim felt compelled to stand, to speak, to defend himself. Instead, Karess Margit herself raised two slender fingers that compelled him back into his seat.
“Now, if we’re ready to commence, I would like to start with the facts,” said Speaker Swygg. “The Council would like to thank our sovereign, Karess Margit Baldasare and her house for overseeing the proceedings. And also, honoured guests from without the Sovereignty; allies, economic partners, and observers alike. We welcome you in these troubling times. This Council convenes to deliberate over the matter of The Third Fleet’s mission into the so-called Brigande’s Breach outside the worlds of humanity, and the recognized bounds of the other nations present here. While tasked to discover the origin of these pirates that threaten the sanctity of each of our spheres, let the record show that the actions The Kolkata’s captain, and commander of the Third Fleet – Fleet Admiral Karim Ashok – did undeniably lead to the sacrifice of Captain Kovarova Vermalen, the destroyer Relentless and the whole of her crew.”
From her place beside the Speaker, Karess Margit was doing her utmost to maintain composure and not betray her true emotions. From the years that he spent working alongside her, Karim knew better, and yet even he doubted her true emotions. He had to commend her. Despite the shifting and unease that was present throughout the council chambers, she remained resolute. It wasn’t until Karim looked down at her son, The Prince, that the shared familial sentiments were revealed.
Not the model of his mother’s practised fortification, Prince Wardyn Baldasare bore a scowl that was directed over his shoulder at the Speaker.
“The facts are plain as day!” stood Councillor Avbruten, her robes colourless compared to the others’ with her hair simply collected into a bun, a drab standout amongst a pride of peacock, “This man was in charge during one the Soveriegnty’s most crushing defeats in living memory. He should be sacked!”
“Keep your conjectures to yourself, Annule,” barked Councillor Torquàtoa. “Hear the fucking man out!”
“I will have order!” bellowed Speaker Swygg, a man acting as a shepherd dog and looked nearly the part, well-groomed despite a shaggy mane. The councillors seated themselves once more. “The facts as relayed to us by the Sovereignty's Navy, do appear undeniable. However, as Speaker I would have the accused explain themself.”
Karim looked around the room again. Of the councillors that leaned towards his spot on the floor in anticipation, six were nearly salivating. He had been made a patsy, that was undeniable at this point. But which one amongst this pack of jackals was the one that bit down on his neck, he questioned, or was it all of them?
“I have something to say first,” said Prince Wardyn, interrupting the councillors’ meal.
“What could The Prince possibly say that will bring back the ill-fated fools that were ordered to death aboard The Relentless?” spat Councillor Yao, herself in a glittering gown and her crisp words bordering sedition that offended Karim. Something had happened in his absence from the capital, something that had emboldened these councillors to speak out with such recklessness towards a member of the royal house. “What can either of them say? The logs forwarded to this council by Commodore der Waals are clear, I don’t see of any way that can be refuted.”
Karess Margit retained her calm, despite the attack on her son. Karim could feel that something was restraining her that wasn’t the astringent lilac gown that wrapped her.
“I have known the Admiral for many years,” started The Prince, “we trained together at the academy. He is nothing short of honourable and tactful, traits he’s displayed time and time again over his long service to the crown. Instead of vilifying an exemplary asset to our command with this obvious seal hunt, we should keenly examine the turn of events that led to this tragedy and the foe behind it all. And, make no mistake, this is a tragedy.”
“That’s convenient,” spouted Councillor Concesse, “And who do you suppose we focus our attention toward and away from your dear friend Admiral– some prodigy pirate king that somehow outsmarted the best we have to offer? No– what we have here is a man late in his years, years filled of exemplary service don’t mistake my words, but years that have worn down his senses and led to the tragedy as you say. No, it’s not pirates that this council needs to worry about. It’s the failings of those complacent around us.”
“Complacency is a real problem, even amongst those seated here Councillor Concesse, wouldn’t you agree?” prodded Councillor Claren with a sly grin, triggering an uproar of accusatory howls. It was several moments before the grating voice of Evana Concesse’s hissing rebreather with its volume cranked up cut through the noise.
“There is at least one in this room that has overstayed their welcome,” Councillor Concesse gleefully conceded.
“I hope that’s not directed at me, Councillors,” said Lieutenant Commander Jessup, “I’m here because you all invited me.”
“Our council still recognizes our partnership with the Herd, and your place amongst us as an advisor,” answered Speaker Swygg.
“Thank you, Speaker,” said Jessup, easing back into her seat. From her expression, Karim wondered if the Lieutenant Commander would be happy to have a bucket of popcorn to watch this all unfold.
To his surprise, when his eyes met hers, Lieutenant Commander Jessup rolled hers almost to say, ‘They do this a lot.’
“If I may speak for myself,” Karim said, turning heads towards his little spot on the floor. Karess Margit leaned in and shook her head, which he knew to be a warning to choose his words carefully.
“The Council recognizes Fleet Admiral Karim Ashok, former commander of The Third Fleet and captain of The Kolkata,” announced Speaker Swygg, gesturing for those of the squabbling Councillors that were still standing to take their seats.
“Thank you, Speaker Swygg. And thank you, members of the Sovereignty’s Grand Council,” Karim began, “I do not wish to disparage the records of The Battle of Bedalajara and the loss of The Relentless and Captain Vermalen. The facts are damning, and I dare not detract from my blame at the helm of it. Nor do I wish to deflect onto another under my command. The fact remains that these pirates were too well supplied. Not only that, they were versed in our fleet’s movements well before our arrival at numerous engagement points.”
“Preposterous!” blurted Councillor Avbruten, “You’re implying a mole was in your midst. That’s the only way your ships’ locations could be given away.”
Despite the councillor’s outburst, it was an implication that Karim left hanging.
“Those are serious accusations, Admiral,” said Councillor Torquàtoa. “Do you have any proof?”
“The pirates in lock-up might speak to that. Though they’ve been tough to crack,” Karim admitted.
“What pirates? The Council is in possession of no such captives!” Councillor Concesse refuted.
“No. No you are not,” said Karess Margit, breaking her silence at long last. “We took the liberty of instructing our legionnaires to safeguard the removal of these witnesses, lest something happen to them on their way to questioning.”
Councillor Concesse was stewing in her seat. Karim was surprised at her and the other’s level of shock. Surely the one tugging der Waals’ strings would have spread the information about the pirate captives to their peers. Or, had the Commodore simply not told them? And on the news of Earth– did no one know?
Suddenly Karim knew what specifically The Karess had been cautioning him against disseminating. He knew his duty and who he swore allegiance to; The Council wouldn’t get any of this information from him. Perhaps that’s why The Karess had gone to such pains as to smuggle the pirates away before their notice; another secret he just sent on wideband to the room.
“The crown has some nerve, keeping this from the council!” Councillor Concesse said, sending the room into uproar. The Speaker attempted to call for order, but it was lost in the dissonance.
It was in moments like these that weighed the quality of a leader’s convictions.
A sentiment that no longer meant anything to Karim. He was no longer a leader, put on a mock trial for crimes crafted by another. And all around him so-called leaders were howling like wild dogs. The Karess, the leader to them all was silent once more as if contemplating when to pounce – a predator of predators.
It was then that Speaker Swygg barked the dreaded words that the guilt of The Relentless’ loss had sewn into his heart.
“Karim Ashok, you are henceforth decommissioned and stripped of all rank pending a formal examination!”
And all around him the voices of the room continued their beastly chorus, while the space inside him fell distastefully silent.
