“Do they have University in the Empire, Arnarxx?” the Thief-Taker General asked as he stood from his desk. He slid his cellular sheet into a folder and stepped toward the seemingly empty wall behind it.

“I believe that in the core worlds they do, sir,” Arnarxx said, hesitating as they tried to remember the bit of trivia. “Not many such things out here. Folk on stations this young are lucky to have a public school system.”

The Human raised his hands to the faux wood paneling of the wall and gently ran his fingers across the swirling grain. A switch was hidden within the patterns of the wall, undetectable without the incredible sense of touch that a Human boasted. And once the Human pressed the switch, the entire wall revealed itself to be a folding set of doors. On the other side: a collection of shelves, drawers, and safes.

The locks on all the safes and drawers were mechanical, and the Human took long moments to twist in the combination that opened one. He carefully slid his folder beside an impressive collection of similar folders within.

“Would it surprise you to know that Humans have institutions where they educate people in the sciences? Would it surprise you to know that I trained in one?” the Human asked as he carefully resealed the safe.

Arnarxx was momentarily distracted by the strange collection behind the Human. The raw amount of material the Human had somehow gathered was impressive.

“I-It would!” Arnarxx blurted when they realized they’d waited too long to answer the question. “Sir!” they added hastily.

“Don’t worry. I didn’t go to school to learn how to be a crime lord, Arnarxx,” the Human said with a smile. “I went to school to learn Business and Economics,” he said, closing the doors partially so that only one, different safe was fully visible.

The little box on the Human’s desk buzzed: “Secondary targets located, sir,” the tiny speaker on a wire said. “Moving to intercept.”

“However, it wasn’t until my abduction that I realized ... additional applications for my education,” the Human said, making his way to the vapor machine. “I realized, during my stay, that there was a terrible line of reasoning behind everything that was happening.”

He took a long pull from the machine’s mouthpiece, and when he spoke, the vapor billowed around him. “Do you have any idea what all of this,” he gestured with his hand toward the impressive collection, “is for?”

“I suppose it is to build an empire with, sir,” Arnarxx offered. They suspected they were only partially correct, but there was much evidence to support such an assumption. Arnarxx knew quite well how the Human consolidated power, most notably over those who he could not buy.

The Thief-Taker General often didn’t need to use such brutish methods as threats and blackmail. The ordinary citizens of Torus Terminal were often more easily bought with work. Specifically, rewarding and safe work.

Torus Terminal required docks to service Helium trawlers coming in from Momia and Mining ships coming in from her various moons. The helium and metals and ice coming in needed to be processed, which required orbital factories. And then the alloys were fabricated into new station sections as the Terminal finished its last parts of the Torus it took its name from. And all these workers required a broad base of services to be supported and often brought their families who needed yet more secondary services.

Work on the station was universal and often dirty and unsafe. The Thief-Taker General went out of his way to recruit honorable work leaders, and blackmail factory owners into lower profit margins for the sake of their workers. To the working citizens of Torus Terminal, there were few others worthy of following – and plenty of citizens descended from herding species: they did so like to follow.

So the Human had organized a strike, one guaranteed to turn violent. But most importantly, distracting.

The Human laughed.

==\===^^^^===¿@∠@?===^^^^===//==

The Singer moved quickly through the halls of the Block, though to a Ventusi, it was a rather slow trot. Still, no Ventusi in their right mind would be moving toward the sounds of a riot.

“Singer, this is a bad idea!” Old Bess begged as she kept pace with the Human. “What are you even going to do? Somehow stop them from fighting each other?”

“I won’t know until I see it, will I?” the Singer growled. “I just want to know what’s going on.”

“Then I can save you the trip,” Brettn spat. “This Block has the third steel refinery. It’s likely the workers you’re hearing.”

The Singer stopped. “More of the work of this Thief-Taker?” she asked as she whirled on him. “The same one you said took your leg? The one making a profit on the crime and corruption of this goddamn Empire?”

“I don’t know, but I wouldn’t doubt his hand is involved,” Brettn said, barely controlling the urge to flinch away from the Human. It took every ounce of bravery he could muster. “I’m telling you this whole station is too dangerous to stay on. We should hop on the next boat going out before he finds the two of us!”

“He already has found the two of you,” a voice echoed from around the corner. The voice’s owner walked with a strange staccato pace that indicated they walked on more than four legs – but Brettn couldn’t see their legs under the long, concealing cloak they wore.

“The three of them, I think,” another said, stepping around a corner from behind in a similar cloak.

It was now that they found themselves surrounded that Brettn realized the two new arrivals were quite larger than Ventusi or T’nann, but too stooped over to be a Vyrăis. And they were not Humans either. For some reason, Brettn found that even more frightening.

“The General only wants to speak to the two of them,” the first cloaked figure said.

“We can carry a third,” the second said dismissively.

“Wait, are you talking about me?” Old Bess squeaked, suddenly shaking with fear.

The Human’s head whipped back and forth between the two strangers, and she tensed. But before she could move, the third stranger dropped from a hidden alcove in the ceiling.

Brettn didn’t see much after that. There was a cobalt blue blur. And two clawed hands snatched up the Human’s wrists, and two more tripped Old Bess into a strangling hold. Then the stranger from behind him grabbed both his antlers and wrapped two hands around his throat.

And then Brettn woke up with a black bag over his head. He didn’t remember losing consciousness, which was disturbing. Though he’d never passed out before, so he couldn’t say for sure that wasn’t normal. He tried to get up, but he noticed – along with a terrible soreness in his neck – his missing prosthetic and ropes around the rest of his legs.

“Brettn?” Singer’s voice called out.

“Singer? Where are you?” Brettn asked, struggling to breathe through the black polyester over his head.

“I’m right next to you,” the Singer said.

“Oh, my neck hasn’t hurt this much since that T’nann convinced me to do that thing with my mouth,” Brettn heard Old Bess say from somewhere nearby.

“Well, it’s good to know you’ve been in this sort of situation before, Old Bess,” Brettn said, exasperated.

“Oh, this is nothing,” Old Bess said, an edge of annoyance slipping into her voice. “I should tell Singer about the time you brought-“

“My, my, Brettn,” the Thief-Taker General’s voice cut in, drawing Old Bess to a sharp stop. “You do keep interesting company.” Silence fell once more around them. “First, I’d like to apologize for bringing you in like this.”

The Singer began spitting what Brettn could only guess were epithets toward the Human in their native language. However, the Thief-Taker General responded calmly in a different language, and the Singer scoffed. “Fuck! You!” the Singer said in Imperial Trade-tongue, and Brettn had the impression that she had repeated herself. “Why do they have bags on their heads?”

“Wait, she doesn’t have a bag on her head?” Old Bess asked incredulously. “Well, take this bloody thing off me then!”

“As I was about to explain: my friends have been eager for a chance to contribute, and they may have been overzealous,” the Thief-Taker General said. “There’s no reason for this. Arnarxx, would you please uncover them,” the Thief-Taker grumbled with a sigh.

Soon Brettn felt something on the back of his head, and the strings of the bag untied from around his antlers. In one flourish, the black polyester whipped away from Brettn’s face.

Once more, Brettn found himself unwillingly within the Thief-Taker General’s well-appointed office. Only now, rather than being surrounded by other thieves proving their loyalty, he was surrounded by something more frightening: Three muscular, cobalt-furred creatures.

The Human’s desk was gone, and in its place, the Human sat upon a short stool. Behind them, in a darkened corner, a soft-bodied arachnid sat obediently. To his left and right, the strange aliens that had kidnapped them sat at attention: one to his left and two to his right.

They were huge, their long bodies curled and arched into a poised calm. They rested upon their coiled tails, with their muscular legs folded beneath them. And four muscular arms wove together to rest on their knees. Cobalt blue fur did little to hide their incredibly muscular bodies, though they’d hidden some of their body behind brightly dyed cloth – actual cloth, made from wool. Four intense eyes scanned across Brettn and his fellow from the top of a long, muscular neck. Each of them had a fan of long ears that spread behind their heads, and each ear moved independently of the others.

The Human looked like a child sitting between them.

The Thief-Taker’s eyes were fully open, and the strange way in which the whites of his eyes framed his irises made it clear that the Human was staring directly at Brettn. The Huge aliens kneeling on the floor beside him were also staring at Brettn.

It was no wonder they’d captured the three of them so swiftly; the three aliens looked like they could kill with a look.

“And who are your friends?” the Singer asked with a scowl.

“The Viribus. Fellow enemies of the Empire,” the Thief-Taker General said.

For some reason, this seemed to surprise the Singer. “So, what? You want to be the next Emperor or something? Is the money not enough?” she asked, her anger somewhat dimmed by the furrowing of her brow.

The Thief-Taker General shook his head slowly, his face blank. “It’s not always about the money, Singer.”

“So you fucking took Brettn’s leg for fun then?” she asked.

“I took his leg as a test,” the Thief-Taker General said with sudden ice in his voice. “He has ambition, but he’s incapable of considering the consequences. If I’d wanted this idiot dead, I would have killed him myself.”

“You heartless-“ the Singer spat.

“And as for you, Singer,” the Thief-Taker barked, silencing her with his unwavering look. “Your arrival has been quite ... upsetting to me.” Brettn realized suddenly that the Thief-Taker’s expression had changed to one he hadn’t seen before: it seemed a strange mixture of genuine concern and terror. “Tell me, Brettn, Old Bess, have either of you wondered why the Singer hadn’t given you a proper name to call her by?”

“You mean ‘Singer’ isn’t her name?” Old Bess asked despondently.

“No, it isn’t,” the Singer admitted reluctantly.

“Don’t worry, Old Bess. It’s not that she doesn’t trust you. She’s lost her name. Just like me,” the Thief-Taker General said with genuine sadness in his voice. “Just like me, she woke up one day. Abducted, and although she knew what her name once was, she couldn’t bear to call herself by it.”

“It felt ... wrong,” the Singer said, the fire gone from her voice.

“Like it didn’t belong to you anymore,” the Thief-Taker said. “Here, I took the name Thief-Taker, but after I woke up, I eventually decided my name would be-“

“The General,” the three cobalt aliens said in unison.

“They asked me where Earth was,” the Singer’s voice shook. “I didn’t know how to answer.”

“Neither did I,” the General said. “Did they beat you?” he asked. The Singer nodded. “Did they make you fight?” he asked, but the Singer looked confused. “No, I suppose my theory that I was a trial run was correct. They must have woken you up because they thought it was going well. Why did they let you go?”

“They didn’t let me go,” the Singer said. “They put me on a spaceship, and I escaped when they tried to move me again. Been hopping ships since, and then I jumped onto that light rider for six months to here.”

“You were probably on there for closer to five years,” Arnarxx offered from his unnoticed corner of the room. “Relativistic Time Dilation,” he said by explanation, though the meaning remained a mystery to Brettn.

“Either way, when the two of us went missing, they probably thought the worst and kept it quiet,” the General said. “Who knows when their agents will realize we’ve ended up here, or when they’ll arrive.”

“What are you doing here?” the Singer asked, hardness returning to her voice. “I ended up here by chance, but you’ve been ... building something here,” she said with a motion of her unbound hands toward the faux wood walls, and the couches pushed up against the walls. “If it’s not for greed, then what?” she asked.

“That will require a slightly longer conversation, Singer,” the General said, steel returning to his voice as well. “Before that, we need to decide what to do with you, Brettn. And Old Bess, since you’ve dragged her into this as well.”

Brettn shook himself from his astonishment at finding himself within the unravellings of a conspiracy and remembered he was in the last place in the galaxy he wanted to be. Would this “General” kill him this time?

“How lucky you are, to have been of use to the General a second time, Brettn,” the giant Viribus to the General’s right said. “This may be your redemption if you choose to take it.”

“You will choose,” the Viribus to his left said. “Leave this station and never return. Or stay, and join in our terrible purpose.”

“Terrible purpose,” the other two echoed, with a strange twisting bow that revealed the soft underside of their long necks.

“Wha- I- I don’t understand,” Brettn stammered. “What ‘terrible purpose’?”

“War,” the General said. The word fell across the room; Brettn could feel it come to rest on his shoulders.

Brettn had heard of war. It seemed there was one every few years, as the Empire pushed its borders farther and farther into the stars. Holdings would rebel and become pacified. Natives would resist and be made peaceful. Brettn had never seen war himself, however, and he hoped to keep it that way.

The General made a slashing motion with his right hand, and the third Viribus stood up to walk on all six limbs. It walked around Old Bess, and with a flash of claws, cut the ropes away from her legs. A moment later and Brettn was free as well.

“It’s been a long day. Sleep on it,” the General said. “This is Turin’eh. He will show you the rooms upstairs.”

The Viribus, Turin’eh, flowed through the room, at one moment beside Brettn, then opening a secret panel at the rear of the room, and then back to Brettn’s side in moments. Three firm hands took hold of his stump and expertly reattached the prosthetic limb. He stood without comment and moved to a door at the side of the hall. With a heavy thud of deadbolts unlatching, Turin’eh opened the door and waited for them to follow.

Brettn and Old Bess stood, but the Singer remained seated for a moment longer.

“One last thing,” she said. “Where are you from?” she asked of the aliens seated beside the General.

The Viribus to the right of the General spoke: “The same place you are from.”