As an expansionist Empire, it really didn’t surprise Jason that the most prestigious Imperial Officer Training Academy on Shil had not one, but multiple auditoriums across its campus.

Or that it had campuses. Plural.

Because of course the premiere training facility of a galactic superpower has more in common with a small city than anything else, he thought as he stood impatiently backstage.

It had certainly made for a hell of a sight on the shuttle ride over. The ‘Blackstone’ was a sprawling military complex that housed tens of thousands of instructors, officer trainees, guards and support staff. And unlike most other Marine focused complexes he’d come across that were more utilitarian in nature, the Blackstone had more in common with the Aviary. Which was to say it was lavish.

He couldn’t even begin to imagine how much a place like this cost to run.

Yet it was clear the Imperial government was all too happy to foot the bill, since the Blackstone had existed since the days of the first unification war – and had only grown in the intervening centuries, until it had reached the gargantuan size it was today. All in service to churning out more and more young officers to meet the ever-growing needs of the Imperium and her armies.

Certainly, it wasn’t the only institution within the Imperium built to meet those needs, but it was certainly the largest.

And the most prestigious, he thought as he glanced out from behind the backstage curtains to the massive audience of Humans, Shil and other assorted races that lay beyond.

“You ok, Jason?” Nora asked, standing behind him in her dress-bronze.

He just nodded, mentally keeping track of the droning voice of the General on-stage as he waited for his cue to walk out. As he did, his eyes continued to roam over the Humans who sat in pride of place amongst the frontmost rows.

Nearly a hundred members of the Terran First were present as future students of the academy. An insane number given that the regiment itself only had four thousand members to begin with. Four thousand green members at that – because he knew for a fact that none of the ex-tankers were present.

What had become of them, he had no idea. Apparently during the fighting, they’d just vanished – sans tanks. Nearly two months after his flight from the planet and that mystery seemed no closer to being solved. Some had suggested they’d fled during the fighting, while others proposed that the Alliance had brought to bear some kind of brand new weapon system that erased fabric and flesh.

Jason didn’t know. He just hoped that wherever they were they were ok.

Dear god, he thought, do I actually… care about those assholes?

Huh, he supposed he did.

Whatever, they’d find out what happened to them eventually. The Imperium had the planet on lockdown, so the Alliance troops that remained were going nowhere. Which meant the military had all the time in the world to call in a few battalions of Deathshead Commandos to root them out.

A few members of which he’d had the privilege of meeting before the Terran First had been flown out – and he did not envy those shark girls one bit. In contrast to just about every other Shil’vati he’d met, the Commando Captain he’d spoken to had seemed positively giddy at the prospect of hunting her professional equivalents through a planet-sized cave complex filled with equally deadly fauna. He resisted the urge to shudder as he remembered the grin that had stolen over the woman’s face when he’d mentioned that the group that ambushed him had been sporting active camouflage and how they’d managed to escape by turning the gator-sharks on them.

He momentarily wondered if Freyxh would be amongst their number? The surly recruit would have had ample time to complete her vocational training in the time since he’d last seen her.

She’d be even more of a badass by now.

He couldn’t deny that the thought made him a little bitter. Not that Freyxh would be a badass – he’d stridently deny it if anyone asked if he had a “bad girl” fetish – but that she’d be fully trained while he was still… Well, he didn’t know what he was. And neither did the clerical officer who’d looked over his file.

Though it did make him feel a little better that she’d seemed as disgusted as he was at the situation he was in. Not just because it was unfair to him, but because it was dangerous to just about anyone who might serve ‘under’ him. He didn’t know whether it was the note she’d put in his file – in bright red ink – that had landed him here, but he was thankful for it.

It had certainly helped that she’d been muttering rather unkind things about ‘nobles and their games’ as she’d done it.

Of course, none of that professionalism had been on display when his new standing orders had finally filtered down. No, he’d gotten the feeling that from the perspective of the Shil’vati Captain that had shown up at his apartment, he was just supposed to be happy that the ‘oversight’ was finally being corrected.

Admittedly, from her perspective, it was being corrected in a big way. An invitation to Blackstone was not a small thing. Big as the place was, prospective officers were sent here from all across the Imperium, and competition for a spot was tough.

Which was why he couldn’t see the presence of so many faces from the Terran First without some suspicion.

Him? Sure. He was self aware enough that he was kind of a big deal in certain circles. As the ‘Hero of Gurathu,’ he’d been a recruiting officer’s wet dream. Human. Male. Reasonably attractive. The military had chosen to capitalize on his story because of what he was as much as for what he’d done.

So yeah, he was a known quantity. Having him attend Blackstone as a ‘reward’ for his most recent ‘heroics’ made sense.

…He was also conceited enough to think he might have been smart enough to make it on his own merit.

Near a hundred other Humans, though? One in ten of a given sample of Humans?

Hell, more like one in six given how many people didn’t survive Raknos, he thought.

No, that spoke of politics on a wider scale than just the Imperial brass performing the PR equivalent of kissing babies or handing out participation trophies.

If they were willing to throw Humanity that big a bone – and no doubt piss off a lot of blue-bloods who’d see it as cheapening Blackstone’s reputation – it suggested to him that a lot of people back on Earth might have been unhappy with so many kids coming back home in coffins.

Even if those deaths equated to what? About sixteen, maybe seventeen, days of fighting during the Vietnam war? he thought cynically.

He’d done some research. And while it felt in more than a little poor taste to reduce the lives of the people he’d been fighting with to mere statistics, he was the sort to take refuge in math and statistics over emotion.

…To the detriment of a number of his relationships over the years. Both romantic, familial, and platonic.

That was when he heard his cue.

“…against all possible odds, the Hero of Gurathu.”

He stepped out onto the stage as the Marshal looked over at him, the footsteps of his polished boots echoing through the almost entirely silent auditorium. He imagined that in different circumstances there might have been applause to accompany his arrival. This was a military function though, and like most ceremonial events of a military nature, ran much closer to sombre than celebratory. Still, he’d done this rodeo dozens of times before when he’d first been dubbed the Hero of Gurathu. So rather than focus on being blinded by the spotlights overhead, he instead focused on counting his steps as he swiftly – but not too swiftly! – made his way over to the General.

Coming slowly to a stop before her, he saluted, placing his hand over his breast in the Imperial fashion. A salute that was returned by the woman and the officers behind her. A salute that had far too much enthusiasm, given the way he heard the audible thumps of firsts hitting breastplates. Ignorant of his discomfort, the scarred woman grinned widely at him before gesturing to the podium.

Nodding his thanks, he stepped up to the smooth wooden construct, running his hands along the varnished exterior as he clicked on the microphone. He didn’t speak though. He waited. For just a moment. Long enough for his gaze to roam over the crowd in a casual and unhurried manner.

Just like we practiced, he thought as his recent readings on public speaking for dummies came back to him – borne of some perhaps misplaced guilt at his most recent complete failure as the Terran First’s morale officer.

Sure, while he didn’t quite blame himself for the dissolution of the regiment’s discipline on its final day, he wasn’t so callous as to deny that the maintenance of morale had been amongst his primary duties. Duties he’d immediately abandoned in favour of doing what he could actually do, instead of pursuing a line of work for which he was clearly unsuited… but the point remained.

He’d failed.

Because Terran First was definitely a lot more Lord of the Flies than Charge of the Light Brigade towards the end, he thought with a hint of melancholy, before straightening up. Alright, don’t appear unsure, don’t appear unhurried and don’t look like you’re reading from a script.

Which meant he was supposed to take a moment to ‘think’ as he stared out into the crowd.

His eyes immediately alighted onto the eager and familiar faces of the Terran First – or former Terran First, he supposed. Because neither he nor any other Human present were still members of the now storied regiment.

Which had become a not uncommon fate for the survivors of Raknos-Three.

The Terran First still existed in name, of course, but few of the original complement remained. Over the last two months, they’d been reassigned. En masse. Replaced by fresh faced boot Marines straight out of training. Sure, some of the original members were still around, but they were spread throughout the regiment, clearly just there to mentor the newbies and provide a solid core of veterancy.

Truth be told, he hadn’t been all that bothered by that fact. While many Marines had latched onto the sense of belonging that came with being part of a regiment, to him it had just been another posting.

Still, he’d been at least passively curious as to why so many of his former companions were being shipped out to places unknown. It hadn’t been hard to find out the reason by leaning on his reputation as the Hero of Gurathu.

Someone had taken an interest in the events of Raknos-Three.

Which wasn’t too surprising. Lots of people were interested in what had occurred there. Two – nearly three – Imperial regiments nearly wiped out by an Alliance Black Ops operation? While no one quite knew why the coalition of star-nations had done what they’d done, it was still a level of provocation that the Imperials couldn’t ignore - and the Alliance couldn’t deny.

Despite the latter’s best attempts to do so.

But no, the likelihood of a coming war between the Alliance and the Imperium hadn’t been news to him – even if it did sometimes keep him up at night.

No, what had been news to him was that one of the parties interested in the events of Raknos-Three was less concerned with how it had come about, as much as how Human Marines had performed during.

Said party being a part of the Imperial Family.

The Imperial Family. The only one that really mattered.

From what he’d heard, a certain Imperial Princess Kamilesh had become enamoured with tales of Human ingenuity under adversity and started issuing orders as part of her role as head of Imperial Special Operations.

His former comrades weren’t being shuffled into new Shil line regiments. No, they were being shipped off to form the veteran core of a myriad of newly formed ‘Human regiments’. Regiments that would be based around the idea of hard-hitting strike forces that could continue to fight and complete objectives without orbital support – or in spite of it on the enemy’s part.

An idea that, frankly, he wanted no part of.

Unfortunately for him, Kamilesh had enough political 'umph' to get her new project started.

Which was why he was rapidly getting a feeling that this invitation to Blackwell was not the gift it had been pitched to him as. If anything, it was looking more and more like a collar that was just waiting to be wrapped around his neck.

After all, a longer training period meant a longer service period to recoup the state’s investment.

…And with war on the horizon and these new Human shock regiments in the pipeline. Well, he could only hope that a few of his fellow Terran veterans were also smart enough to smell the ash in the wind. Because I’m sure as hell not about to tell them.

He was about to be in enough shit without deliberately tweaking some Imperial Princess’s nose by torpedoing the prospective officer core of her new pet project.

The sound of a small cough off to his side, barely perceptible from anything more than a few feet away, shook him from his thoughts. He resisted the urge to smile self-depreciatingly as the General’s small cue reminded him of the fact that his ‘moment of thought’ would soon turn into an awkwardly long silence.

Fortunately, it hadn’t quite passed that invisible signpost just yet, so he cleared his throat with a silent cough before straightening up.

Pathos, ethos, logos, he reminded himself.

“My fellow Marines,” he began, because ethos was all about reminding those you were speaking to that you were credible and trustworthy. “Sailors. Soldiers. I come before you today to speak on how honored I am to have received an invitation to this hallowed academy.”

He’d say the lies felt like acid on his tongue, but after nearly two years of spewing whatever bullshit he had to in order to get by, his tongue was pretty damn well numb to it by now.

“And know that while I stand alone up here, I would like to think that I am channelling the thoughts and feelings of my fellow Humans down there in the audience with you. Fellow veterans with whom I have fought, bled and triumphed on the field of battle.”

More importantly, I’m reminding all you scrubs that unlike most of you, we actually fought to get where we are today, he thought.

Sure, most of the fighting he’d done was entirely unwilling and born of attempts to avoid it, but it had happened. And that was important, because while blood might have talked while merit walked in the Imperium, one didn’t form an Empire borne on the back of conquest without instilling a healthy respect for your military into the minds of your people.

And being a veteran meant you were afforded a certain level of respect beyond that - regardless of your origins. By contrast, most of the Shil present would have entered the officer track straight out of enlistment rather than coming up through the ranks. A fact that was made immediately obvious even by the most casual of glances in his audience’s direction.

Most of them were young.

…Though it wasn’t like his fellow Humans were any older themselves.

Hell, calling them veterans after a single half baked disaster of a campaign was stretching it a bit too now that he thought about it…

Whatever. He was the veteran here. They were scrubs who should shut up and listen even if he was Human. And male.

That was the gist of ethos, right?

“A triumph that was not easily won,” he continued, moving onto pathos, which was apparently all about riling up emotion. Fortunately, that was fairly easy given recent events. “Not because of the Roach pirates as we had so readily been led to believe. No, it was the unprovoked aggressions of Alliance forces that pushed myself and my brave colleagues to the very brink of destruction!”

He let the roars of agreement from the crowd roll over him. Roars that none of the staff present made any attempt to quiet. Which wasn’t all that surprising. Anti-Alliance sentiment within the Imperium was growing as fast as a messenger ship could travel, with the Imperial propaganda machine blaring out what had occurred on Raknos-Three to all that would listen.

Sure, the Alliance was denying it just as fervently, but no one within the Imperium’s borders was listening to them.

Likely helped by the fact that the Alliance had never been well-loved by the people of the Imperium. Sure, they were held with less contempt than the Consortium, but that wasn’t exactly a high bar to beat. While the people of the Consortium were seen as untrustworthy slavers, those of the Alliance were seen as two-faced bureaucrats - ones with an unearned superiority complex. Pacifists who cried out for peace while arming every thug, pirate or merc in the universe who might have an axe to grind with the Imperium.

Which, given said superpower's usual behaviour, amounted to quite a few axes indeed.

Hence why Jason was entirely certain that he wasn’t mistaken when he detected a certain level of… schadenfreude with them being caught with their hand in the proverbial cookie jar. A cookie jar filled with war crimes.

“Fortunately for us all, it was through grit, daring, and innovation that my peers and I were able to turn the tide. In doing so we turned a cowardly ambush, intended to leave no survivors and our great Imperium blind to the threat of Alliance, into a trap of our own. Even now, those who thought to destroy us lay alone and isolated on the planet with which they thought to make our tomb. As I speak, battalions of the Imperium’s finest descend upon them, bringing forth fire and ruin as they burn the invaders from our lands.” He paused. “Make no mistake. None shall escape. And before the battle is through, all their secrets shall be wrung from their deceitful throats – and we shall have the name of our true enemies.”

He resisted the urge to frown as he reached the end of the paragraph and the crowd started chanting. “Cave Man! Cave Man! Cave Man!”

How he hated the latest nickname he’d been saddled with. He knew the Shil didn’t mean anything by it. To them it was little different from calling someone something like ‘Wonder Woman’ or ‘Bat Man’.

And his fellow Humans in the Terran First found it hilarious. The traitors.

He also hated the way the staff nearest him were giving him acknowledging nods rather than forcing the crowds back into obedient silence.

…Hell, while he was on the subject, he hated the speech he’d just made too. It was all a little too fire and brimstone for his taste. Because, while he’d written the broad strokes, it was the Imperial Propaganda office that had then punched it up.

And they apparently loved the kind of campy, patriotic jingoism that made him want to roll his eyes.

Unfortunately, there was a grand total of nothing he could do about any of it beyond standing in ‘flattered silence and waiting for the chanting to stop'.

Which took a while.

Eventually though, it did end. “Still, for all that the Terran First – and Humanity – proved more than capable of rising to meet our Imperium’s newest challenges, talent without temperance is mere hubris. Brittle. Easily blunted.”

He could think of a few Shil that the last line could apply to – sans the talent – still, happy with the hushed response he was getting, he decided it was time to move on.

Logos, he thought. Making your audience see the logic in what you’re saying.

A curt gesture to the Master Sergeant had her bringing forth a box that was held with far too much reverence for what he knew contained little more than a slip of paper.

“Fortunately for myself and my fellow Marines,” he said as he reached inside to withdraw… a gold embroidered letter from the box rather than the comparatively plain invitation from the Marshal’s office it was supposed to contain.

It actually took him a few moments for his brain to catch up to exactly what he was holding, his rehearsed response totally derailed by the unexpected swap.

He barely registered it as just about every Shil in attendance leapt to their feet to stand at attention – a feat followed barely a second later by the Humans in the crowd. Most of his attention was on the surprisingly subdued purple wax seal stuck to the bottom of the sheet he was holding.

Not that the seal was really needed to see it to know from whom this letter had originated.

Even an outsider like him knew that only one family within the Imperium was allowed to use this particular pattern of gold embroidery in their official correspondences.

The Imperial Family.

The Imperial Family.

Well, shit, someone’s pulled a fast one on me, he thought as he a small bead of sweat formed at the back of his neck as he realized what he was holding

Suddenly the look of subdued awe that Sergeant-At-Arms had been wearing all evening made a lot more sense.

“As part of my role as head of Imperial Special Operations,” he began to read, “it is the decision of Her Majesty Princess Kamilesh, that no less than one hundred women and men from the recently triumphant Terran First Regiment are to be given the opportunity to partake of higher learning at the venerable Blackstone institute. These one hundred officer candidates are to be decided by willingness to partake, aptitude for leadership training, peer review, a panel of officers, and the High Marshal of the Blackstone herself.”

He didn’t miss the way the Humans in the audience seemed to grow in height as he spoke, their Shil’vati peers looking on in envy. Sure, the average Human didn’t venerate the Empress quite like the Shil did, but they weren’t ignorant to how important they were either. As evidenced by the wave of hushed awe that ran through the room as he continued.

“As a Princess, a sailor and a Commander, I have over the course of my life been privileged to witness many examples of heroism in the face of adversity. It was said by Helfess the First, that the Imperium was built upon both the corpses of her patriots and foes. A saying I find no less true today than it was back during the first Unification War.” He paused. “Colonel Cleff embodied those words to her dying breath. Using the time bought for her by the noble sacrifice of her two sister regiments, Colonel Cleff chose not to flee before what no doubt seemed like an impossible battle. Instead, she held true to the Imperial spirit. Defiance in the face of a cold unfeeling universe.”

Jason resisted the urge to roll his eyes as he continued. He respected Cleff. He really did. But he would never agree with her final decision to go down swinging rather than seek out possible alternatives to a frankly hopeless situation.

“Yet it is not the dearly departed Colonel’s valiant adherence to the Imperial spirit that I am here to congratulate today. After all, such an act is only to be expected of an officer of the Imperium. It’s sublime beauty akin to that of a sunset or a rainbow. Deserving of admiration, yet ultimately commonplace. The Imperium is a nation of heroes. Heroes that die every day to maintain her.”

Now he resisted the urge to gnash his teeth at the dismissal of the letter’s tone.

…Even if he agreed with the sentiment being put forth. Cleff’s death was nothing special. Just like so many others that had died on Raknos-Three, she was just another body on the massive pyre that was the Imperium. More fuel for a massive entity that by sheer virtue of its size, was incapable of reciprocating that devotion – if it were so inclined.

“Which is why it was not Colonel Cleff’s first or last actions in the face of disaster that drew my attention to her. No, it was her decisions in between. Decisions made at the behest of a man well known to you all. Jason Linford, the Hero of Gurathu and Champion of the Terran First.”

Jason felt a wave of self-loathing run through him as cheers rang out from the crowd. Originally, he’d wanted his ‘plan’ to message the fleet in orbit to have been entirely Cleff’s idea. Friska had vetoed that out of hand. Too uncharacteristic, she’d stated. Cleff was cunning enough when it came to combat, as evidenced by her underwater assault plan, but anyone who’d ever spent five minutes with her would know she was no diplomat. And his plan to signal the ships in orbit had relied upon Maybel coming forward and informing him of the shuttle’s presence. More to the point, it was well known by the regiment that he’d been the one negotiating with them. So no, he couldn’t heap all of the praise and adoration onto Cleff while he slunk back into the shadows, merely a pawn in his commanding officer’s game.

Instead, he was the grand architect of the hairbrained scheme. Being praised for actions that had been far more a result of enlightened self interest than genuine patriotism or heroic inclinations.

“He was the one who negotiated with the natives of Raknos-Three, winning enough of their trust that they chose to reveal unto him that they had safeguarded an Imperial shuttle from the Roach invaders when the world first fell into their slimy clutches.”

Another lie, one required to make the Ufrians look good and buy Maybel’s cooperation. He didn’t know what exactly they’d be receiving in return for their aid, but according to the few officers he’d spoken to on the matter, it likely wouldn’t be small.

“He was the one who put forth the plan to signal the fleet in orbit using that ship. Both warning the Imperium of the Alliance’s subterfuge and saving his allies on the surface by conveying precise targeting coordinates to the fleet’s guns. All of this completed mere hours after escaping an ambush beneath the planet’s surface, one in which he was wounded gravely.”

He frowned. Wasn’t that a bit of an overstatement? He’d been shot in the arm.

Then again, they were rather large harpoons, he thought.

He shook his head. That didn’t matter. None of this did. It was just theatre. Perhaps if he thought any of this praise were genuine, he might have been blushing at it all. As it was though, he felt little more than uncomfortable at the uninhibited gushing he was receiving from the pen of a member of the Imperial family.

“Such tenacity in the face of otherwise impossible odds. Those were my thoughts as I read through the after-action reports. I must admit, my curiosity was piqued. Which in turn, led me to reading through yet another note in the Champion’s file. Of the events of Gurathu and his heroics there. Which read much the same. In a situation where any other Imperial would choose to go down swinging with pride, this Human had sought out an unlikely means to attain victory. And again, as I read deeper, I found that even as a trainee on his final live fire exercise, this Jason Linford had managed to turn what was thought to be an impossible situation around.”

He heard some small muttering in the crowd at that. Hushed whispers that he couldn’t quite make out.

“I had to ask myself: What motivates this Human? To go to such lengths? To see victory in a situation where others see only defeat? Well, after a time searching I found my answer.

From the great Human general, George Patton.

‘The object of war is not to die for your country, but to make the other bastard die for his.’

I must admit I chuckled at those words. While lacking the… eloquence of our own great first Empress, I couldn’t help but find a crude beauty in them. In the purity of purpose.”

This time it really was a fight for him to not roll his eyes at the alien princess’ condescension even as she tried to be complimentary. Which was a perfect encapsulation of Imperial-Earth relations as a whole really.

“A purity of purpose that will be needed in the days to come. I need it. The Imperium needs it. Now more than ever.” He fought a frown. “A storm is coming, ladies and gentlemen. Enemies that have long since lurked in the shadows have finally overplayed their hand - and now a reckoning descends upon them. Not yet. But soon. So take this time. Enjoy your reward and the prestige that accompanies it. You have earned it. But do not dally or rest easy on your laurels. Learn all you can. Sharpen your claws. Hone your wits. They will be needed in the days to come.”

Jason couldn’t help the small shiver that ran up his spine at those words. Where before he’d felt some small vindication in the knowledge that the Alliance would suffer for all those people it had killed, now he could only think of what that would mean.

All-out war between two galactic superpowers, he thought. A war large enough to make any conflict on Earth look like a schoolyard squabble by comparison.

He couldn’t even begin to imagine the scale of death and destruction that was to come. As he glanced- at the crowd before him, he couldn’t help but wonder how many of those youthful faces would live to see the end of it?

Half? None? he wondered. Would a war on this scale even end with this generation?

He didn’t know. What he did know was that he wanted no part of it. Almost without thought, his fingers brushed against the omni-pad at his waist. Comforted by its familiar presence, he turned his gaze back to the sheet before him.

“To that end, I intend to offer the Champion Jason Linford a spot on my general staff. Effective immediately.” His stomach dropped, even as he heard excited whispers break out amongst the crowd.

An opportunity to work with a member of the Imperial family? As part of her entourage? That was not an offer made lightly. And while it came with great expectations, it also carried great rewards and opportunities.

For what else could the chance to have the ear of the woman who might become the next Empress but an opportunity?

A fact that was not lost on anyone present.

With a mouth that suddenly felt incredibly dry, Jason continued speaking. “While it pains me to deprive a promising young man of an opportunity to further his learning amongst the great halls of the Blackstone – of which I have many fond memories – it is a sad reality that his intelligence, drive and unpredictable nature will be of more use elsewhere. Such is the unfortunate fate of all who choose to exceed.”

I didn’t choose dick, he thought cynically. If anything, I chose the opposite and failed miserably at trying to attain it.

“To that end-” He glanced at his watch, heart jumping in his chest as he saw the number.

It was time. Now or never.

He closed his eyes, ignoring the noises of confusion that sounded out around him at his abrupt pause.

His throat felt dryer than the sands of the sahara, his palms were sweating, and blood was rushing in his ears.

“I’d just like to say, fuck that noise.” He opened his eyes, manic grin widening as he gazed out over the shocked faces arrayed before him.

You’ve done it now, he thought. You big moron.

Yet his heart felt lighter than a feather as yet more words spilled forth from his mouth.

“That was me talking, by the way. Be a bit odd if the Princess had put that in her letter.” With deliberate disdain, he slid the golden letter off the podium, revelling in the scandalized gasps as the expensive bit of stationary hit the floor. “Which is why, for the sake of clarity, I’ll repeat myself. Fuck. That. Noise.”

Part of him had been expecting yelling at this point in proceedings, but all he was greeted with was stony silence. Which was a pleasant surprise really. It would have been annoying to have to shout over people.

After all, he had a lot he wanted to say.

"I'm not a rabble rouser. I'm not a political animal,” He started, “I'm not an activist. I was just a guy who was willing to roll with the punches, keep my head down, and get on with the job."

He stared down at them. "But you made that impossible."

“I’ve been badgered, belittled, discriminated against, underestimated, overestimated, assaulted, lied to, cheated and just generally been screwed at every possible opportunity. Sometimes metaphorically. Often literally.”

The crowd was deadly silent.

“But you know what? I could forgive that. Really. All of it. I mean, it’s the military after all. Having the government fuck you is pretty much a universal expectation in any branch of service.”

As he spoke, he carefully pulled off his medals, placing each down upon the podium with an audible clunk.

“No, I could forgive it all if you all weren’t so damn incompetent. Propelled forward through the cosmos through sheer fucking inertia. Because at every possible opportunity, I’ve had the cracks in the ‘vaunted Imperium’ shoved in my face. Do well in a training exercise? Get sent off to a frozen iceball in the ass end of nowhere by a spoiled rich girl. Try and keep a low profile on said frozen iceball? Nearly get kidnapped by another spoiled rich girl who also happens to be a slaver on the side. Somehow manage to survive that? Get sent to another planet with shitty equipment, next to no training, and a rather horrific lack of recon.”

He slumped, finally letting the weight of everything that had happened wash over him.

“So no. I’m done. I’m backing out now, before I get dropped into a newer, bigger, dumpster-fire.”

He looked up, letting his gaze roam over the faces of his fellow humans.

“So, my fellow officer candidates, you want my advice? You want to know how I got all these medals? How I managed to do all the things I did? The answer is simple.” He leaned towards the microphone. “Always assume that the system is out to fuck you in some way. Do that, and you might avoid slipping through the gaping cracks in the vaunted Imperium’s facade of freedom and civility.”

He grinned, leaning back.

“Which is why I’m leaving.” He smiled. “Or if I’m being technical, I’ve already left.”

As he spoke, he brought up his Omni-pad, turning it on and deftly flipping to the data-mail confirmation he knew would be waiting for him. Or at least, he had really hoped was waiting for him, because things were about to get very awkward if it wasn’t.

Fortunately, it was.

In big blue letters, alongside a dozen other emails, in fairly innocuous words:

Monetary Discharge Order – Champion Jason Linford – 104/526/327.

Grinning, he flipped it around. “As of three minutes ago, my application for a monetary discharge order was approved. For those unfamiliar with such an order, that means I bought my way out of the military for a small fortune.”

Specifically, most of his savings and the entirety of the profits he’d received for his ‘invention of the mouse’ way back on Gurathu. He was cleaned out. Essentially penniless. And soon to be about as employable as a Roach in the business sector.

And he couldn’t be happier. Even as the ambient noise in the room started to rise as people finally got over their initial shock… and started to transition to outrage.

Which wasn’t too much of a problem for him. He just needed to shout out over them. “For those who are curious, a monetary discharge order can’t be blocked. Requires no approval from anyone beyond the monetary discharge order committee - a committee whose only concern is whether or not an individual has the credits to apply. And is effective immediately upon the appropriate paperwork being filed.”

Which was frankly absurd. He’d actually had to read the fine print on the application twice to be sure that he was reading what he thought he was reading.

It was true though. A monetary discharge order was essentially a ‘get out of jail free card’ for the Imperium’s rich, powerful and spoiled. Sure, it hadn’t started out that way, but that was what a few thousand years of amendments had turned it into.

Originally it had just been meant as a way for landed knights to waive their personal service by paying their liege a sum ample enough to cover the cost of a force of mercenaries to fight in their stead. Over the subsequent millennia though, it had transitioned into a way for nobles to skip out of the military if things were getting a little too difficult for them. The funds involved now simply a means to remunerate the state for the inconvenience, and a way for it to recoup whatever investment had already been made into that particular noble’s training and equipment.

A few times over.

Quick, simple and utterly inaccessible to anyone who wasn’t rich as sin. Because while a monetary discharge was open to everyone, the cost involved was astronomical. To the point where only the wealthy elite might be able to afford it.

Or, a dude who found himself receiving a rather nice windfall from an unexpected patenting of his idea, he thought.

Did he feel dirty for using such a ridiculous law to get out of this?

Not even a little, he thought. Fuck ‘em.

He owed the Imperium nothing. Not his time. Not his life. And certainly not his peace of mind. He’d not lose any sleep over using one of their own loopholes to escape. He’d let others worry about right and wrong.

As always, he’d keep doing whatever he needed to in order to get by.

He might have been tempted to say a few more words, but the noise level in the room had now risen to a point where he doubted he’d have been able to shout over it. People were shouting at him. Shil’vati were arguing with Humans. Humans were arguing with Shil’vati. Shil’vati were arguing with Shil’vati. Humans were arguing with Humans. Staff were arguing with each other.

No, he didn’t think he’d be getting a chance to get anything else to say.

And given that he was now a civilian, he figured the only lawful thing to do would be to vacate the premises. The Blackstone was a military academy after all. And he was a civilian. He had a note to say so and everything.

“Hyuk!” That mantra was still repeating in his head when he got tackled by an MP, barely five feet from the podium.

Things… only got more complicated from there.

----------

He’d been cooling his heels in a security booth for about five minutes when the Marshal from earlier stepped in and dismissed the MP that had been glaring malevolently at him the entire time.

“I see you’ve got my omni-pad,” he noted absently, drumming his heels against the legs of the oversized chair he'd been handcuffed to.

Which was less than ideal, but far from an unexpected outcome of his little tirade.

“You dropped it as you were being escorted off stage,” the imposing woman responded simply, her many medals glinting in the overhead light.

He shrugged. “You mean it flew out of my hands when your oversized gorilla back there tackled me?”

Which hadn’t been fun. Anymore than being frog marched backstage was afterward. His only solace in this situation was that the shouting from the crowd had only gotten louder after he’d been tackled – and that technically the law was on his side here.

He’d checked. Repeatedly.

Unfortunately for him, he was also tempering that knowledge with the knowledge that the law tended to warp around people of privilege and power. He’d like to have said that was a purely Imperial thing, but he had a feeling it had been just as true in the days of old Earth as it was now.

“I have no idea what a gorilla is, but I can assume from your tone that it wasn’t a complimentary comparison,” the woman noted dryly.

“You assumed correctly.”

The woman chuckled a little at that as she eyed him oddly. For his part, he simply stared back.

“You aren’t what I expected,” she said finally.

He shrugged as best he could while handcuffed to his seat. “It’s true, I’m even more devilishly handsome in person.”

It was funny, less than a day ago he’d never have been as flippant as this with even a lieutenant, let alone a Marine Marshal. Yet now that he was no longer a soldier… he felt… free.

Free to be as annoying as possible.

He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t reveling in the sensation. Or that he thought this wasn’t a terrible idea. Or that he would stop because of it.

It was just too damn cathartic!

The woman restrained her action to a small snort. “No, I don’t think that was what I was referring to – even if I don’t disagree. I’m referring to your psychological profile.” She flitted through his omni-pad. “Your previous CO’s all seemed to think of you as a study in contrasts. A man who was happy to knuckle down and work. Outwardly respectful. Understanding of the chain of command. Yet with a propensity for independent action that was… concerning.”

Despite himself, he smiled. “Did Tisi write that last bit. That sounded like Tisi.”

“Captain Tisi,” the woman corrected. “Did indeed write that last part of your profile.”

He quirked an eyebrow. What did Tisi’s former rank matter? Hell, if she was going to mention it then he’d point out that he’d been entirely correct in referring to her as just ‘Tisi’.

Unfortunately, she continued before he could ask.

“I must admit, I was looking forward to having you in my academy. For all that some of my more hidebound colleagues complained of ‘upstarts’ violating the sanctity of her halls, I was ever more of the opinion that Blackstone might benefit from insight into human… eccentricity.”

This time it was his turn to snort. “Is that what they’re calling it now?”

She simply inclined her head. “While your people are new on the scene, you have slowly started to garner a reputation for more than just… licentiousness. As many soldiers back on Earth can attest, you also have a propensity for ‘outside the box’ thinking and spontaneity.”

“Well, I’d like to think I’m nothing if not the prototypical man.”

This time the woman didn’t laugh. She just stared at him. Before reaching forward and undoing his cuffs with a simple swipe of her thumb on the fingerprint scanner.

His eyes widened as the restraints fell away, and almost subconsciously he reached up to massage his wrists. The damn things had been tight. Perhaps his MP ‘escort’ had been less than appreciative of being called a ‘wort riddled buffalo’ immediately after she’d tackled him?

He supposed he’d never know.

“You’re free to go, Jason Linford. All of your documents check out.” The woman handed back his data-pad, and he took it gingerly.

“Huh.” Surprise colored his features. “Part of me thought I’d be here longer.”

Or that they’d try and trump up some charges for him. Sure, he hadn’t technically broken any laws, but he’d skirted a few. Public profanity. Incitement to riot. Disturbing the peace. Slander.

The last one wasn’t technically a law, but he had a feeling that if anyone could make it one, it would be a pissed off Imperial princess. And he wasn’t ignorant enough to think that she’d already been informed of his response to her offer. The Imperial Palace was only a few miles away. Hell, if he drove a few minutes down the road, he’d be able to see where the HMS Victory sat on the Imperial Lake.

“I also thought you’d be angrier,” he noted as he stood up.

The Marshal just laughed.

“Do you really, think you’re the only soldier who’s ever thought to tell their superiors to eat their cunt?” Then the mirth on her face and in her voice turned deadly serious. “Of course, the difference is that soldiers don’t indulge that desire. If not out of respect for their superiors, then for the insinuation they represent.” Her eyes narrowed. “An institution you insulted gravely with your actions here tonight.”

Despite his discomfort under her gaze, his eyes didn’t waver from hers. He’d had enough of cowering. Enough to last a lifetime.

“Well that’s the problem.” He shot back. “I don’t respect the institution. I loath it. Because I’m not a soldier. Nor have I ever wanted to be one. Even if I did believe that it was for some nebulous greater good.”

Which he didn’t. Not after all the things he’d seen. While he didn’t think the Imperium was evil, it was far from a force for good.

The democratic governments of old Earth hadn’t been perfect. Far from it. But at least they hadn’t glorified institutions of inequality. Even if it had been rife, there at least been the acknowledgement that it was wrong.

And for once in his life, he was willing to understand those people who wanted to fight for a return to how things were, rather than bow to a system they couldn’t agree with.

He still thought it was a fool’s errand… but he understood.

He was jostled from his thoughts by the woman continuing. “Well, regardless of what you think of me or the Imperium, you’ve saved a lot of lives in your time in uniform. That deserves some respect. Which is why I’m letting you go – against the wishes of a number of my colleagues.” She stood up, very clearly not offering her hand. “I wish you well, Jason Linford, wherever you end up.”

Jason just nodded, before finally stepping past her and towards the outside.

A free man.

----------------------

“You came.”

Yaro stood across from him in her dress uniform. While she’d not received an offer to join the Imperium’s officer core, she’d still been given an invitation to the event as one of the few members of the regiment who was still on-planet.

Though he doubted that would remain the case for long now that he’d effectively torpedoed the Imperium’s plans for him. No, with his resignation from the military, Jason had a feeling Yaro’s time as a bodyguard was at an end. She’d likely be returning to the same role she’d occupied before he’d come into her life. Though he had to wonder if that would mean a return to the dead-end posting that was Gurathu?

Not that the Rakiri’s future career trajectory was his current foremost concern.

“I did,” she allowed. “I even managed to slip out in the confusion you created with your little exit speech.”

Her tone was entirely flat, and he couldn’t help but feel some of his excitement wither at the reminder that he’d just essentially shat all over the Imperial military with his words. An Imperial military that Yaro very much believed in.

As evidenced by her actions the last time they’d met face to face. Given he’d spent the last two months alternately being metaphorically tied to the interrogation chair or attending meetings, he’d not exactly had the opportunity to chat with her.

Not that he hadn’t tried. He certainly had. Unfortunately for him, it seemed Yaro was trying just as hard to avoid him in those few moments he’d had available.

She’d certainly not come back to their shared apartment.

Raisha and Kernathu had told him not to worry. That she’d come around eventually. That she just needed some time alone. Jason… wasn’t so sure. Which was why he couldn’t help but feel, well, a number of conflicting feelings now that she was standing right in front of him.

“Ah,” he said awkwardly, for lack of anything else to say.

“It’s fine.” Yaro surprised him as she shook her head ruefully, ears flicking atop her head. “I knew what you were. Or I should have. I suppose part of me was deceiving myself whenever I thought you might be coming around. You certainly never made your feelings on the military unclear when we were in private.”

Jason nodded absently. He certainly hadn’t, which made things more than a little awkward on a few occasions, given that he lived in a household populated entirely by active service members.

Though not as awkward as it could have been. Raisha was enthused about the military, but that enthusiasm was more related to her position in it and what that position allowed her to do. Essentially, pilot exos and shoot bad guys. Deeper ruminations on who those bad guys were, and the wider ramifications of the Imperium, were not something she often pondered. Which he wouldn’t deny was one of the things he both loved about her and was frustrated by in equal measure.

For Kernathu, her job was exactly that, a job. Little more than a means to acquire a paycheck doing something she was good at – and perhaps cover for her own insecurities about what would have been considered ‘masculinity’ back on Earth.

For Tarcil, the military was an escape from the common expectations of a male around marriageable age. Beyond that, Jason had little idea about what his fellow male’s thoughts on the wider Imperium were. Like so many other things he thought about, the small Shil’vati could be deceptively tight lipped on the issue.

Yaro sighed. “I can’t deny though that some part of me hoped you were merely grousing, like you often do. After all, how could a man who was so critical of the Imperium stomach acting so positively when in public?”

Jason shrugged. He couldn’t exactly blame her for being confused by that. Few people could compartmentalise like he could. Push their real feelings down.

Although apparently even I have limits on that front, he thought, glancing back to the lecture hall. And perhaps I might have been served airing some of those grievances earlier, rather waiting for them to… explode.

Certainly, a few mutinous comments prior to this would have been rather satisfying. And likely a lot less hazardous to life and limb.

Yet he couldn’t quite bring himself to regret his most recent actions. After all, they had been rather satisfying.

Though I wonder if I’ll still be able to say that when the consequences of tonight finally come round to bite me in the ass, he thought, idly glancing in the direction of one of said consequences.

For his part, he’d already forgiven Yaro. Some part of him liked to think that was his more tolerant nature shining through, but a greater part of him had to concede that it was likely more down to him getting his way in that debate, while Yaro had been forced to take a impromptu nap.

“I never wanted to be a Marine.” He said finally. “I was conscripted. Forced to make a choice between military service and prison.”

To his surprise, Yaro wasn’t. “I know. I did a little research on you when we started getting… intimate.” Despite the situation, he couldn’t help but enjoy the way her tail flicked and her ears twitched at the words, an action only another Rakiri – or someone very familiar with one – would be able to interpret as the equivalent of an involuntary blush. “Your fight video is less popular in the wider data-net than it is on Earth, but it’s still not hard to find. And while the propaganda office did a decent job of spinning your motivations for picking that fight, for someone who knows you, well, it’s not hard to guess what series of events occurred.” She smiled at him. “It’s amusing to think that despite all the trouble it’s gotten you into, you still have trouble holding your drink.”

Jason smiled back ruefully. “I’d like to think I’ve gotten better at pacing myself.”

“You mean you’ve had less opportunity to get ‘wasted’?” The Rakiri shook her head with a scoff.

Jason smiled back at her, and just for a moment, he could fool himself into thinking that things were going to be ok.

Of course, it didn’t last. Because for all his other faults, he was a realist.

“I’m not a soldier,” he said finally.

“I know.” Yaro’s smile turned distinctly sad. “A soldier’s all I ever wanted to be. Ever since I knew what one was. A noble knight, journeying the stars as a defender of the peace and the defenceless.”

Jason shook his head, some small irritation flaring in his gut. “The Imperium hardly keeps the peace.”

Yaro cocked her head. “Don’t they? Where the Consortium seeks only profit and the Alliance care nothing for the worlds beyond their borders, the Imperium acts.”

“To expand those borders.”

“Perhaps,” she allowed. “But the end result is the same. I cannot claim the Imperium is perfect, but the average Imperial citizen lives a much better life than most. Call it vanity or pride, but the Imperium cares for the state of its people. None go without education, food, or homes. No threat to them is tolerated.”

“Except perhaps from those within their borders, provided they have the right blood.” He pointed out.

Yaro’s tail swished in a shrug. “As I said, the Imperium is not perfect. Yet that will change with time. With each passing decade, more and more power is allocated to the common woman. More and more of the nobility’s protections get repealed. Can you claim that a thousand years from now, the thousand petty kingdoms beyond the Imperium’s borders won’t still be squabbling over the same old divides? Race? Religion? Tribe?”

Jason couldn’t deny that. On either account. The Periphery was the kind of mess that made the Balkans look positively civilized. And the Imperium was advancing. Imitating the social advances of Humanity. But it was slow. So very slow. The Rakiri had been part of the Imperium for just over two hundred years, and yet were in dozens of ways still second-class citizens according to law.

How long would it take for the Imperium to do away with the ridiculous farce of superiority through blood entirely? Another thousand years? Ten? He couldn’t stomach a lifetime of that. Hell, he hadn’t been able to stomach two years.

So no, while he could understand Yaro’s point of view, he couldn’t bring himself to imitate it. Not least of all because he thought it horribly naïve. After all, who was to say the Imperium wouldn’t backtrack on those social advances? Or simply plateau one day?

He had a feeling she wasn’t here to argue with him about Imperial policy though. It was just the prelude to what they were both avoiding.

Unfortunately for both of them, he’d never been much good at putting things off.

“Are we?” he asked slowly.

Yaro smiled sadly.

“I think we should take a break.” She spoke resolutely, but not unkindly. “If for no other reason than that I think our lives are about to go in rapidly different directions.”

Jason’s heart fell, but he couldn’t find it in himself to argue. He’d long since forgiven Yaro for trying to stop him pulling off his insane plan. Just as it seemed Yaro had forgiven him. Still, there was no denying that a… rift had grown between them. Perhaps it was just the realization that they held radically different beliefs.

It wasn’t something he didn’t think they’d have been able to overcome – if it weren’t for the fact that they’d soon be separated by who knew how many lightyears. Distance was already enough of a strain on a relationship. For one that was already being strained, it might as well be a death knell.

Better to… break things off cleanly now, he thought.

Still, he felt like a coward and a traitor as he smiled sadly back at her. “If you think that’s best.”

It was a strange thing, to hope that he both did and didn’t see disappointment in her posture as she nodded quietly. “I do, I know it’s-”

Her words trailed off as her eyes alighted on something over his shoulder, her somewhat sad expression shifting into a scowl. He was about to turn to see what had distracted her when she continued. “Regardless of everything that’s happened, I hope you do well for yourself Jason. Wherever you end up.”

Then she was gone, hurrying back down the path, an almost unseemly haste in her usually measured gait.

“…Huh, part of me thought she’d stick around for a bit longer. If only to give me a piece of her mind.”

“Nora,” Jason sighed, turning around to find the woman behind him.

He shouldn’t have been surprised to see her. She’d been backstage with him after all, ready to accept her own award for her heroics in the final hours of the battle of Raknos-Three. Something to do with taking out an exo. With a knife.

Something that sounded more and more comical the more he heard it. Unfortunately, to hear Nora tell it, it hadn’t been particularly comical at all. More just desperate.

“I’m surprised you managed to sneak out after the shit show I caused.” He smirked, before turning serious. “How are things back there?”

The woman shrugged, which he knew from experience was damn hard in Imperial dress uniform. “Oh, about what you'd expect. Our fellow Terran First Vets are confused. And angry. At you. Or the Shil. Or you and the Shil. Or at each other for being angry about the wrong one of the first two.” She partedhands. “It all very nearly turned into a riot when you got dragged off stage by that Shil ape. Fortunately, Friska managed to do some quick talking - and mentioned that you weren’t being arrested. Just taken aside for clarification on your… unexpected statements.”

Jason scoffed. “Taken aside? I was tackled and dragged off stage.”

The Norwegian woman just shrugged again.

“Perhaps if someone had thrown that first punch things might have kicked off? It was on a razor blade for a while there. Fortunately no one seemed willing to be the one to get the ball rolling – and likely get their commission revoked.” She eyed him. “Though with what you just said and did, that might still happen for a number of people.”

This time it was his turn to shrug. “I’m not sorry.”

She sighed, looking off to the side. “I didn’t really expect you to be. And if I’m telling the truth… I don’t really want you to be.”

Jason eyed her as she continued. “Look, you may have been a dumbass in how you went about it, but nothing you said was wrong. From what I’ve seen of the Imperial Marines, they’re a total shitshow compared to the Navy, which I can only see as an unfortunate byproduct of the Imperium’s obsession with naval power to the exclusion of all else. By contrast, the Marines have been left to flounder in the wind. The way I see it, so long as the Marines are at least a single step above the goddamn Militia, the brass are content to let them be.”

Jason nodded absently, truth be told, he’d never looked at it that way. Sure, he’d always known that the Marines were considered little more than an afterthought compared to the Navy, but he’d never really thought of them as akin to being a slightly better trained and equipped version of the Imperial Militia. Who were themselves essentially just the private army of whichever noble owned the territory they were based in.

With all the incredibly disparate and eclectic levels of funding and competence that entailed.

“My point is, we’ve got a war coming. And the Imperium needs to start shaping up before a lot more people die for stupid reasons. I’m hoping your little wakeup call today might be the slap in the face the Imperium needs to inject some goddamn professionalism back into its professional military!”

Jason just stared at the woman who had been actively shouting by the end of her rant. Clearly she’d been keeping a lot of that bottled up in surprise. Obviously he wasn’t the only one who’d been surprised by it either, given the way Nora suddenly flushed, glancing around to make sure no one had heard her.

Fortunately, given it was late evening, and most people present were attending the ‘awards ceremony,’ the Blackstone didn’t have much in the way of foot traffic around.

Content that she just hadn’t blown her career up alongside his, Nora looked back to him. “My point is… good luck Jason. And good work. With all of it.”

Jason could scarcely believe his ears as the woman who he’d thought kind of hated his guts, gave him a very much against protocol salute, before marching back the way she came.

It was only after she’d gotten a few meters away that he shook out of his stupor. “I don’t need luck. You’re the one who's still in the military. You’ll need it more than me. I’m a civilian. I’m on Easy Street now!”

“Some part of me doubts that.” She called back without stopping or turning around. “You’re Chad Novacock. Trouble follows you like a bitch in heat.”

“That’s a ridiculous name! It’ll never catch on.” He scoffed. Of all the ridiculous monikers he’d picked up, the one his fellow veterans had coined – even over Caveman – was the most ridiculous.

As he turned to leave, he also scoffed at her parting words. His ex-bodyguard was wrong. He was on easy street now. His life going forward would be a nice malaise of boredom and safety. Sure, he’d probably cop some kind of crap for his earlier words, but that was it.

There was no law against badmouthing the military – if the person doing so was a civilian. Sure, the Imperium didn’t exactly enshrine free speech, but they weren’t too tyrannical about it either. Because while the Imperium had a hard on for censorship, it was of the more subtle variety. They bought out large news companies and rigged search engine algorithms. They didn’t generally bust down doors and drag people out into the night with a black mask over their head.

Predominantly because there had been a time when the Interior had done just that, and no one wanted to return to those days.

Not even the nobility – which said a lot about just how bad it had been.

So no, he was a free man.

And he was going to enjoy every moment of it.

'…Provided I somehow survive explaining all of this to the other members of my… harem,' he thought.

------------

“You’re fine with it!?”

Jason most definitely did not shriek. It was a close run thing though.

“I don’t know what else you want us to say?” Raisha opined from her position on their apartment couch.

Next to her, Kernathu nodded absently. “I don’t get why you’re complaining? Do you want us to be mad?”

Of course I don’t, he thought. Do I?

He shook his head, dismissing the thought. No, he didn’t. He just wanted these damn aliens to finally have a reaction he could anticipate, rather than throw him for a loop every time something like this happened.

“Tarcil, please,” Jason said, turning to the alien male. “Be the voice of reason here.”

In his seat, about as far away from the females in the apartment as possible, the effeminate marine cocked an eyebrow. “So, by saying that, you’re tacitly admitting that your actions were entirely unreasonable."

Jason’s mouth shut with a click, before he muttered, “I didn’t say that.”

Tarcil just exhaled noisily. “I’m with the others. I’m not against what you did.” Jason opened his mouth to speak, before the alien overrode him. “I am however, against how you did it. Insulting an Imperial princess? Most of the alumni of the Blackstone? Deeps, a good chunk of the Imperial military? You’ve painted a big target on your back. And by extension, ours.”

Jason had enough shame to be ashamed as he glanced at the floor, even as Raisha and Kernathu started to argue against Tarcil’s assertions. Personally, he agreed with his fellow male. And while he would have liked to say he hadn’t thought of what his actions would do to the people around him, that would be a lie.

He’d thought about it and decided to do it anyway.

Fortunately for him, Tarcil continued on, taking on a slightly commiserating tone. “Still, the event might prove enough of a black eye for the military that they start looking at how much the nobles in their ranks are getting away with.”

Jason cocked his head.

He supposed that there was certainly some truth to that. A lot of the things that had happened to him happened because of people bending or breaking the rules. Some might have found that notion mollifying. Jason wasn’t one of them, to him it was only further infuriating. Because it implied that the Imperium knew said behaviour was wrong and made no effort to correct it, or was utterly ineffective in doing so.

Neither were palatable.

“Oh, like the Iron Tooth!” Raisha pointed out. “They made a lot of changes after that came out.”

Tarci’s mood, which had bordered on contemplative up until her interruption, turned decidedly grim. “Yes. That would be an excellent example.”

Jason almost winced at the other male’s flat tone. He knew he’d copped a lot of shit during his time in the military. For being Human, male or just… him. Now he had to wonder if the same was true for Tarcil?

In that regard, his lack of irritation at Jason’s airing the military’s dirty laundry made a lot more sense. Well that, and the fact that his only male friend had always had his back.

He shook his head, returning his mind to the topic at hand. “So if I’m reading the room correctly, none of you are about to break up with me to avoid the inevitable fallout that’s going to come with my little truth telling session?”

“No!” The shouts from Raisha and Kernathu were almost simultaneous. To such a degree that both looked a little embarrassed by the outburst.

Raisha glanced at her fellow female, before looking back at him. “Look Jason, I’m already a commoner in the exo pilot thingie. I doubt being in a relationship with you is going to make the bullying any worse.”

Jason cocked his head. Huh, I’ve never really thought about that. That’s two people in my life who are apparently also suffering under the Imperium’s issues…

And they were both Shil.

To Raisha’s right, Kernathu shrugged. “Meh, Raisha cops most of the fire for being a commoner from the other cadets. As an engineer I’m pretty beneath the notice of the noble bloods. I doubt that’ll change.”

Jason nodded slowly, before almost turning to where Yaro usually sat – only to remember that she wasn’t there. Hell, even before their little heart to heart the other night, the Rakiri woman had taken to sleeping elsewhere.

Which was wise, because it had kept her name almost entirely out of the news when the reporters had shown up.

Or are they Paparazzi? he wondered.

To be honest, he wasn’t totally sure of the difference. What he did know was that he had a sizable number of them camped outside his door. They’d shown up a few hours ago and had yet to leave.

It was more than a little unnerving for a man that had been hoping to escape the limelight. Instead, it seemed he’d only made it worse. Because, while his fame hadn’t gained much traction outside of military circles, his quitting of those circles certainly had.

At least on Shil.

Even a casual perusal of the data-net had seen his face pasted across dozens of new channels. Which had been surprising – but not nearly as surprising that some of those channels seemed to be, if not in his favor, at least sympathetic to the issues he’d raised.

Part of him liked to believe that was due to the legitimacy of his complaints, but a darker side of him couldn’t help but wonder if it didn’t have something to do with his gender.

Of course, a ‘few news channels’ weren’t much in the grand scheme of things. Most were lambasting his actions and ‘disrespect’. Still, enough were in his favour that there was an argument rather than universal condemnation. Hell, he’d even seen a few ex-service members echoing his sentiments in interviews – albeit with much more delicate language.

The amount of discussion he’d managed to generate might have been heartening, if it weren’t for the fact that he didn’t want anything to do with any of it.

He was out of the game now. He’d made his stand. He’d saved some lives. He’d given his post-career review; two stars, poon was nice but did not justify the risk to life and limb.

Now he just wanted to slink away. Back to the quiet normal life he’d been on-track to enjoy before he’d been dumb enough to punch a marine in the face – and get recorded doing so.

Unfortunately, the universe didn’t seem quite so keen to let go of him.

Here’s hoping Tarcil’s right and this all blows over the moment the next scandal or big story comes along, he thought.

Which hopefully wouldn’t take too long. “Man Insults Princess!” had a nice ring to it, but it had nothing on the possibility of war on the horizon. Already stories were circulating about the Imperium and Alliance moving to a war footing. His little scandal might have momentarily interrupted that story, but soon enough the media would switch back to talking about the coming conflict.

A conflict that was looking to be the biggest in galactic history, with this being the first time two superpowers were going to war.

He had no doubt the Consortium would be looking on gleefully from the sidelines, looking to sell to both sides and pour fuel on the fire wherever they could. They only stood to benefit from their two main rivals weakening each other. Which was what had kept the uneasy peace for so long. The fact that if any two powers started fighting, the third would be able to tip the scale in either direction.

Unfortunately, with the events of Raknos-Three, the Imperium was required to respond. They literally couldn’t choose not to. Not unless the Empress wanted to take a massive hit to her prestige. No, black flag operation or not, the Alliance had committed an act of war and the Empress was obligated to respond.

And they knew for a fact that it was the Alliance now.

According to Friska, one of the prisoners had finally broken. How she’d found out about it he didn’t know, nor did he want to. All that mattered was that they’d found what the Edixi had been doing on Raknos-Three, and how they’d planned to escape with an Imperial fleet in orbit.

Apparently, like they’d suspected, the Roach attack had merely been bait for an Imperial response. Once the Imperial relief force arrived and were sufficiently committed, the Edixi had broken out their new jamming system. One adapted to make use of the unique environment of Raknos to be as effective as possible.

Then they’d set to work.

Testing weapons.

For the inevitable conflict with the Imperium.

Talk about a self-fulfilling prophecy, he thought.

It made him sick. All those people that had died. They’d died as part of a field test. A field test that had now guaranteed that the thing that it was to prepare for was now going to happen.

Much sooner than he imagined anyone in the Alliance – or the Imperium for that matter – would have liked. Imperium was still consolidating its conquests, Earth included, and the Alliance was still standardizing. Though to be fair, that had been the case for the entirety of its existence.

Unlike the Imperium, the Alliance wasn’t a monolith. It contained lots of voices and agendas.

What was that saying? The cow is the racehorse designed by committee? He shook his head.

As for how the Edixi were to escape? That was simple. A few weeks after Jason’s escape, and mere hours after Imperial reinforcements had shown up in-system in force, a Roach pirate fleet had jumped in.

…And promptly jumped out again after seeing the force arrayed against it.

Still, it was clear for all to see that the pirates had been the Edixi’s intended extraction plan.

While it was near impossible to force an engagement in space with an enemy that didn’t want one – they’d just run in the opposite direction – they could have forced the Imperial fleet out of orbit long enough for them to extract their people and the Alliance special forces, before jumping from the system. Leaving the Imperial fleet powerless to stop them, and utterly ignorant of the fact that there’d been Alliance troops on the ground at all.

To Jason’s eyes it was a plan that seemed fraught with risk for gains that could have been imitated – if to a lesser degree – with wargames. The timing of the Roach fleet’s arrival, for example, seemed incredibly late. Late enough that it suggested there’d been some issue there. Which he supposed was only to be expected when you based your super-secret black ops operation around the timeliness and professionalism of pirates and terrorists.

He could only wonder what the heads of the Alliance had been thinking when they’d cooked this plan up? Hell for all he knew, it hadn’t even been the heads of the alliance. Just some black-ops spook that had overreached.

Regardless, war was now inevitable.

He glanced around the table.

And the people with me will be right in the middle of it, he thought.

“So what are you going to do?” Raisha asked suddenly, jolting him from his thoughts. The alien woman had a small smirk on her face as she eyed him. “Settle down and be a house-husband for us?”

Jason just shook his head and laughed, much to her poorly concealed disappointment. “Ha, no. I’d go crazy in a week.”

Though that begged the question, what did he want to do? It was funny, he’d spent what felt like months thinking about nothing more than escaping the military… but now that he was out? He had no idea what he should do.

Go back to Earth? He thought. Not a chance. I’d be killed in a week by some nutjob freedom-fighter after being labeled as a collaborator. Stay in the Imperium? He shook his head. That’s probably not a good idea either. I’ve just pissed off an Imperial princess… Perhaps I could lie low on one of the border worlds?

Gurathu would probably be happy to see him…

“You could try the periphery?”

Every eye in the room locked onto Tarcil at his quiet suggestion.

Naturally, Raisha was the first to speak. “The Periphery!? Are you insane?”

The alien male shot his fellow Shil the stink eye. “I’m not. If you’d let me finish, I’ll explain why.”

As if dismissing her completely, he turned back to Jason. “The Periphery might have a bad reputation – much of it well earned – but I spent the last few months on a posting out there. And it’s not as bad as it sounds. Mostly. While much of it’s a mess, there’s plenty of safe worlds out there that are Imperial aligned.”

Jason resisted the urge to snort. Imperial aligned just meant that while they were still technically sovereign nations, they were in the process of being diplomatically annexed by the Imperium. One military base or ‘trading post’ at a time. In the same fashion as the British Empire did way back in the colonial era.

Still, underhanded or not, the Imperium would take a firm hand to any pirate admiral or warlord who decided to try and take a swipe at a world they had interest in. That was the only reason those otherwise sovereign nations tolerated Imperial troops operating on their worlds.

“Worlds like that, they’re desperate for skilled… anything really.” Tarcil continued. “But they’re especially eager for people familiar with Imperial tech.”

From across the room, Kernathu made a considering noise. “Being on the frontier would keep you safe from the Interior, military and ornery nobles.” She paused, ignoring the betrayed look Raisha was sending her way. “Or at least, safer.”

“Safer?” Jason deadpanned.

The look his fellow engineer sent him was somehow even flatter. “You were the one that insulted an Imperial princess, not me. Safe is relative.”

Well… he couldn’t argue that.

“The Periphery, eh?” he said, ignoring Raisha’s pout.

He couldn’t deny the idea appealed. It was an opportunity to get out from under the Imperium’s thumb. And some part of him was excited to see a world that didn’t belong to the Imperium. There’d be new races. New technology. And an opportunity to see those things in a setting where he wasn’t either shooting at them or being shot at by them.

Most importantly, his skills would finally be useful.

He turned back to eye the rest of the room. “Well, I suppose it’s worth a shot.”

After all, what was the worst that could happen?