“Admiral.” She stopped precisely to greet him, offering a perfect salute that should have gone down in textbooks. Her voice sent thrills down his spine, and he swallowed again.

He found himself on his feet, despite having planned to remain seated when she came as a direct snub, and offered her a salute back. “Captain Rantha.” Only iron control kept a stutter out of his voice. “What matter has brought you here to my office today?”

“Sir, it considers your appointment to the Vissica system, Admiral,” she replied smoothly. He thought his ensign had an accent and diction to approve of, but this nymphal’s voice almost seemed to steal his soul.

It took a second for the words to register, so awed was he by her voice. “My... appointment?” he asked faintly.

To the Vissican System? That was the Coreward subsector’s Seat! There was constant conflict from Warp vessels coming from the Rift... it was a place where a man could make his name. His seniority and deeds weren’t enough to make him System Admiral there, but even a Fleet Admiral posting there was a de facto promotion... and could lead to the very top of the Admiralty!

“I was not aware I was being reassigned, Captain...” he replied numbly.

“Sir, it is contingent upon the report being submitted by the Twilight Dukes.” She opened her binder, taking out three old-style paper files as he watched, and she laid them down before him on the desk... perfectly in line. “You should read them in order.” Every motion was elegance, efficiency, and bespoke an incredible degree of precise muscle control. Just following her hands was like watching someone dance...

“Please be seated, Captain,” he managed to say, seeing her return to attention, and knowing she would simply stand there while he read. His cyber eye cycled up, and his augmetics whirred as he took up the first file.

It was his personal assessment file. It wasn’t the Admiralty’s official files, but the lack of insignia assigned to it gave it a dire weight all its own.

His entire career was there, laid out in numbers, assessments, ratings, costs, results, interactions with subordinates, private and personal habits, weaknesses, strengths, personal fortunes and abuse of power, affairs and cover-ups, petty vengeances and back-door deals done quietly...

His blood ran cold seeing it all. He had no idea the Twilight Orders had paid so much attention to what he was doing. It was... they had discovered or known about everything he had done in his career. There was nothing there that would get him shot, and he knew he was far from the only officer using his station to better himself... but he had not thought they had been looking at him.

Now, he knew better. The Umbrans knew. They always knew...

His hand didn’t shake as he picked up the second file. This one did have official seals upon it, from both the Orders Twilight.

It was crushing, damning, and he could find no fault with the assessments they had brought up. The analysis of his fleet’s fight was scorching, the cost of men and materials when contrasted with other fighting actions was simply too great a disparity. If it had not been his own command, he would have drummed the fleet commander right out from his service. A degree of competency was only displayed by those who broke from his command to follow the Rantha Protocols, and their results immediately improved by a measure that could be neither luck nor accident.

Combined with the horrible personal assessment, he was going to be sitting a cold flag somewhere irrelevant soon enough, a single support fleet for some empty transit system, spending his days waiting for Warp or alien pirates to eventually muster enough strength to finally destroy him, chasing after shadows in the dark of the void.

He couldn’t hide the dread in his face and eyes as he put down the second file and picked up the third.

It glowed.

There was no mention made of the Rantha Protocols at all. From start to finish, the planning, the thoroughness, and the preparations were laid at his feet. The Mothball Fleet became a surprise for raiders long nurtured in anticipation, showing incredible foresight and patience despite his remote station. His bloody crude slugfest of a fight became a diversion to pin the enemy in place and massively increase their losses while keeping them away from the planet, so the successful Mothball Fleet could come in and sweep them up, a hammer striking the valiant anvil playing the sacrifice in valor and blood, led by him personally.

Even the actions of Threshold Station’s preparation for longest-range support were an action in coordination with Umbran stealth ships and careful recommendations from his own office.

He swallowed, looking between the two reports.

One was a death sentence, condemning him to the trashbin of history for his mediocrity, moral weaknesses, and lack of ability.

The other was a rebirth, a tempering in fire that had shown his true genius displayed, and a combination of command and willing self-sacrifice that would light a fire in any person who read it.

Anyone who read that third file would be clamoring to have an officer like that beneath them. That officer... who was not him.

The Vissican System...

He sat back in his comfortably padded chair, there in his office on the dreadnought that carried his flag, the heart and soul of his power. He closed his eyes, and for the first in a very long time, his world cracking around him, he thought.

---

Francesca Rantha might not even have been present, she was so quiet. System Admiral Colos said and did nothing for a whole quarter of an hour, and she had to admit it was the longest a man had ever ignored her presence. She found it mildly intriguing, as none of them had expected this small-minded man to do anything other than grab the lifeline thrown to him and remove himself from the system post-haste. What indeed was he thinking about?

His remaining organic eye opened as his augmetic lotused back open brightly. She was disturbed by neither. He had not seen her trying to be intimidating, and she was a Rantha Hag, and Dauntless. She was not scared of a barely-Six who could not take the next step.

“I have some questions for you, Captain.”

Well, how unexpected! “Admiral, sir?” she answered smoothly, and even with the mélange of emotions riffling through the man, she could see the relaxing effect her voice had on him. Ten Ranks of Diplomacy and a 50 Charisma was not just for show.

“I have heard rumors related to the Ranthas and the Briggs. They say... you are capable of taking people to Seven, and even to Ten, who would never make it there.”

The Beacon psions and gutter-born of the G&G were not secrets. “Sir, it is true there are a remarkable number of Sevens under the command of my family,” she agreed, without actually affirming that.

His hand touched the leftmost report, and then the center. “It would not be at all a stretch to say that those who are backing you want to get rid of me, and have the means here to do so. For my own benefit or doom, I doubt that I can stop either fate laid out before me.” His eye was cold and grim, a trace of brokenness behind it.

He had thought he was something, a success, ignored by those above him in favor of the less-talented, the low-born, the sycophants, and smooth-talkers.

It had turned out they had not ignored him at all. They knew him very well, indeed, and every action he had taken had led him to where he was now, his future a yawning pit that was going to devour him and what he thought was his legend, and leave nothing behind.

His hand touched the third file. “This choice would ruin me,” he stated coldly. “I am not this man, and those who truly know will know it. The posting will be a hollow choice, even if I take it. It is perhaps a chance to die in glory for the Emperor, and a way out from this system.”

She barely inclined her head. “Sir, shall I be frank?” He slowly nodded to her. “The Dukes Twilight would hardly let you go to such a position without something to back up your performance here. Your appointment would be contingent upon my going with you, to give you the foundation you would need to retain the respect of your peers.”

She saw that give him pause. “And who are you, that you would be sent along with me?” he asked.

“Admiral, I am the one who administered the restoration of the Mothball Fleet and set up the long-gunner strategy for Threshold Station. My sisters are superior in tactical and strategic planning, but my strength is foresight and pre-planning. If you look at my tactical simulations from Academy, you will find that a great degree of my success was because I was more ideally prepared for what we had to face than other commanders.

“I prepare them, others plan the action, and others command in the action to deliver the results, sir. Bring me with you on your tactical team and take credit for my recommendations, and you will deliver on that report.

“If you do not, you endanger the reputation of both the Coronals and the Umbrans, sir.” And he would be removed abruptly, without a doubt. A last burst of brilliance, dying before his mediocrity was made manifest.

She didn’t truly want to go, as the opportunities for personal combat would be minimal at best, but given her Talent of Forward Planning, the fact she would be manipulating a solar-wide strategic plan would doubtless be delivering her loads of Karma. The fact a Fleet Admiral would just be a figurehead for her skill was not her problem. Karma was more important than recognition.

The family did need more connections in distant locations, after all.

He sighed deeply, eyes closing, lost in thought for another minute or two. She waited calmly, the very attractive model of patience.

His head rose and looked back up at her. “I want a third option.”

She neither blinked nor reacted otherwise. “A third option, sir?” she repeated with perfect calm and poise, her voice solidifying his thoughts.

“Yes, Captain, a third option.” He nodded to himself, and then focused on her. “I want to remain in this system, in this position. I want to make Seven. I want to see what madness, deviltry, or inspired foolishness you and your family are going to make of this system.”

Well, wasn’t that surprising? “Sir, I did not design the offers, I merely delivered them, and agreed to accompany you if you transferred away.”

“But you can arrange for the counter-offer, Captain?” he asked with a strange, uneasy calm, as if he had realized something.

“I can, sir.”

“If you will, Captain.” He was watching her closely, but she supposed it did not matter much. She tilted her head slightly, and the eyes watching through hers chatted among themselves as she waited, making no other design or move to leave. She could see the hackles rise on his neck as he realized she was speaking directly with those who had made the offers, which meant she was connected to the Dukes Twilight directly...

Her head straightened again. “Admiral, it goes without saying that the Dukes have been disappointed by you and your command capabilities. A good part of this is the fact you have remained at Six for your career. If you are willing to unilaterally accept Rantha Protocol command decisions until you have proven your own increased competence and reliability, subject to the review of the Dukes Twilight, your offer is acceptable.”

His face was bitter, his eyes turned to the two damning reports. Their opinions of him were clear as knives. It did not matter what he thought of his own ability, the numbers damned him right back.