A click there, a click here, switch this, align that, twist that, twist it back because it shouldn’t be twisted at all, get a short panic attack because the green number stating the shield overload is now red, twist it again because it turns out it should be twisted after all, align the sights, find one sunlike object in a sea of black stars, realized it’s just some snot, search again, find again, go pew, pew, pew, boom! Pew, pew, pew, boom! Curtains down, darkness rising, victory in space, damsels rescued, gentleman also rescued, wicked bastards rescued as well, hooray for the Old Brigade! Hip hip hooray!

The Princess exhaled heavily and collapsed back into the luxurious seat. She didn’t realize how draining the exercise was until she tried to do something and found out she couldn’t do anything.

Martina soundlessly materialized behind the Princess, produced a handkerchief, and wiped the Princess’s sweating brow. Martin still looked dazed. The Princess nodded her thanks, finding her tongue too unruly at present to make coherent statements.

She looked at the few screens not reduced to static noise to assess the situation outside. The battle was still raging, but its outcome seemed certain now that heroes of humanity had killed the sun. The chornoi, nearly invisible in the darkness, either didn’t realize the game was over or, not having enough energy to get back into orbit, wanted to go out in style.

The Princess had to admit that, as far as ending lives went, few possessed more style than Tanaka and Ivanov: Ivanov, with his passion, zeal, and earnest courage, the boy hero being brave for the motherland; Tanaka, with his dispassionate, even bored, efficiency, a callous fanatic who killed because there was no reason not to.

Remembering just how much she hated the samurai, the Princess noted that the turret was still active. While it couldn’t descend enough to shoot targets on the roof and even if it could, it would vaporize half the tower, the energy discharge after a shot was quite deadly in itself. If Tanaka came near enough to the turret, she could shoot in the opposite direction and the Japanese would become one with the universe in a haiku-worthy manner. And if Ivanov came by, well, she thought, we’ll burn that bridge when we get to it.

“Would you like some tea?” Martina interrupted the Princess’s daydreaming of vaporizing Tanaka.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” the Princess said.

“Why, I wouldn’t dare, mein fraulein!” Martina said, looking hurt. The Princess looked around and realized that in her haste to save the planetoid, she missed a kitchenette to her left. Say one thing for Von Schmidt, he likes to eat.

However, all her martial plans proved to be idle musings; Tanaka never came by, and when Ivanov presented himself for vaporization, all the Princess did was snicker at how adorably serious he looked. Not having anything to contribute to the outside proceedings, the Princess just remained seated in the turret and sipped tea from a porcelain cup. Martina stood by, pretending not to be fascinated by the drama on the screen. Martin was still dazed.

The chornoi assault was almost over when Tanaka decided on a change of murder diet. Jolting to the side, he grabbed the child with the ruined face and hurled her at Ivanov with such expediency that neither the child nor the woman had time to protest or even register horror. Ivanov’s instincts, however, were flawless and he altered his whip’s motion mid-strike to spare the child, while catching her with his other hand. Unfortunately, the break in his combat routine, brief though it was, was sufficient for a chornoi to slide a serrated edge along Ivanov’s back with a disgusting wet sound and a spray of blood. The man collapsed, still holding the child. The chornoi, apparently deciding the honor of its sail was restored, blasted some ten meters into the air and glided soundlessly into the darkness.

“You have no honor,” Ivanov said, wincing from the pain.

“You have no spine,” Tanaka answered, dead chornoi crunching beneath his feet as he walked towards the bleeding count, who mumbled something in Russian and rested his head against the soiled floor.

Inside the turret, the Princess was trembling with rage and disgust. These were supplemented with terror, the kind of terror that made one feel leaden on the inside and wooden on the outside. She imagined what Tanaka might do to the poor servants who had the misfortune to witness his infamy. That would not do. Why, that would not do at all.

The Princess stormed out of the turret. With her second step, she lost her footing on the slippery remains covering the ground. Looking less than regal on her hands and knees, covered in black goo and red viscera, she shouted, “Leave the staff alone, you blackguard, they can’t tell anyone important of your dishonor. I can.”

Tanaka turned towards the Princess. “If I return with victory, honor is mine. If I am defeated, my dishonor is cleansed by my death. Western decadence produces notions of honor that are obstacles on route to supreme victory. I remove obstacles for the glory of the Emperor!” The last words were shouted with sudden ferocity that died out as suddenly as it had appeared.

The Princess pulled a needle gun from a hidden compartment in her armor and shot him. The weapon could only be used once and was not very effective at this range, but due to her current state of mind, neither fact interested the Princess. She just wanted to hurt the samurai and this was the first method that sprang to mind that wasn’t wholly suicidal.

Like a reflection on troubled water, the Japanese became hazy for a fraction of a second and moved out of the needle’s path with the ease of a man who practiced such maneuvers on a daily basis. The needle bounced off the wall of the other turret and landed on the blackened ground, a tiny monument to impotent rage.

“Let this be lesson to you; spoiled Russian refused to remove obstacle due to arrogant honor of his person. This weakness shamed him and his people as there is no greater humiliation than defeat. He is now dead and I am now closer to victory. Your attempt was pitiful. Be aware of your limitations. I now leave you to contemplate failure.”

The Princess wanted to say that Ivanov was only injured by the treasonous attack and that the fact that the roof was full of living people, one of whom just made her tea, proved that she hadn’t failed. However, neither statement would be true.

More importantly, trying to appeal to Tanaka’s reason or humanity would be a consummate waste of breath. Even if he had any triggers, she’d never find them and even if he had any sense of decency, she’d never provoke it. Ivanov had a lot of decency and a good heart, which is why he lay dead on a pile of shriveled aliens. In a way, Tanaka was right. This was a lesson, but the Princess refused to learn it, even if the price was failure.

Not wishing to spend any more time on the samurai, the Princess simply turned her back on him and pretended he didn’t exist. Surprisingly, it worked like a charm. Maybe he climbed down. Maybe he found a trapdoor. Maybe he was sucked into the ether by the angry spirits of his ancestors. The Princess didn’t care.

She looked at the Milky Way, now glittering in all its glory, and thought of nothing except how the Russian’s last words would be lost forever because no one on the roof spoke Russian. Maybe he said something crucial or wise beyond his years, maybe he just cursed the aliens or the Japanese, maybe he wanted to apologize or present some fact that would utterly redeem him in the eyes of the Princess. No one would ever know. For some reason, of all the horrors that had transpired today and of all the horrors that still awaited her, she found this to be the most discomforting of all.

However, even this faded against the infinity of the cosmos and was replaced by a pleasant numbness that had persisted until something dinged and a polite voice with a German accent announced that the lifts were operational, and the bedrooms were ready to receive tired heroes and esteemed pacifists, following a brief supper event in the observatory. Still, the Princess didn’t move until Martina lightly tapped her on her shoulder and said, “Mein fraulein, may I offer you some tea?”