July 10th, 2486 - The Imperial Flagship ‘The Phoenix’ - Personal Quarters of Yared Var Oostabar Gan Kuji

It wasn’t that Olivia couldn’t dress well, it was more a matter of preference. She wasn’t on duty, but she was still an officer of the empire, and she intended to look like one, not to mention that she felt no desire to dress up for Yared. He hadn’t requested that she did, and she intended to exercise that freedom. Even so, Olivia felt more than a little underwhelmed, dressed in her freshly ironed military uniform complete with officer’s cap, when Yared answered the door to his personal quarters in a white t-shirt shirt and a pair of jeans to invite her in.

His personal quarters were, in a word, ‘fancy’; spacious, polished dark oak flooring and white walls, open-plan like an artist’s loft, comfortable sofas to the right, surrounding a 75” holo-tv, spiral-stairs on the left leading up to a second floor where the king-size bed and bathroom where, steps at the end of the ground floor leading up to the kitchen, with its white countertops, and a large, wall-size window through which spiralling galaxies shone and sparkled out in the dark of space.

‘Take a seat’, Yared commanded, in a tone that almost made the order sound like an offer, as he led her up to the kitchen.

‘Do you … cook?’ Olivia asked, taking a seat at the kitchen counter.

Yared laughed, uncorking a bottle of 2472 Goldagar Sauvignon blanc. He began to pour two glasses, and half turned to Olivia.

‘Mr. Choganta tells me that it’s an important skill to have’, he said. ‘I get why you asked though … it’s not a normal skill for a member of the nobility to practice.’

The oven beeped. Yared tapped a button on the oven’s holographic screen, opening the oven door.

‘It’s just kalaghan steak, veg and rice—nothing too exotic, but I hope you like’, Yared said, as he produced a tray from the oven.

‘Kalaghan…’ Olivia mused ‘Native to old Haaloja, right?’

‘That’s right! Seemed fitting, considering where we’re heading…’

‘They had them on Vizran—imported, from old Haaloja, due to the high population of Haalojans on Vizran … cooked poorly, they taste like shit. We Humans steered clear of them.’

‘Well, they do say one man’s trash is another man’s treasure.’

Yared placed two dishes on the counter and took a seat across from Olivia. She stared down at the steaming, excellently cooked and seasoned steak, on a bed of egg-fried rice and stir-fried vegetables.

‘Couldn’t have said it better myself”, she replied, coldly.

March 16th, 2484 - Planet Vizran - Vizran City – Chandago Wet Market

‘We’ve got the all clear’, Commander Barrizan ordered in a harsh whisper.

The soldiers crouched in a circle, hidden in the shadows of the wet market, facing inwards, their rifles trained on the citizens of Vizran City, as they went about their morning shopping. The stench of freshly butchered sea creatures and the powerful odour of the kalaghans filled Olivia’s nose. She watched from her hiding spot behind a wicker basket, as a Haalojan woman with short, dyed white hair and dark green skin, dressed in overalls, led a kalaghan by a rope through the hustle and bustle of the wet-market; the Kalghan was scaly, grey and four-legged with a feathery tail and a long neck, at the end of which was an eyeless head with a tiny mouth. It was an alien world, but she was just a civilian walking to work.

‘He’s in here … Jokbaala’, the commander’s voice came again as a hiss of static in Olivia’s ear. “You see him, or any of his inner circle, you take the shot.’

They sat in silence and waited. When the first shot rang out, for a moment, Olivia could only stare in horror; she watched as the white haired Haalojan girl hit the ground, fat, red globules of blood following in her wake. Chaos descended.

July 10th, 2486 - The Imperial Flagship ‘The Phoenix’ - Personal Quarters of Yared Var Oostabar Gan Kuji

Yared pressed the glass of Sauvignon Blanc to his lips, and drank.

‘The issue’, he began, as he replaced the glass beside his plate. ‘The issue is that no-one in this empire is willing to break a few eggs.’

‘A few eggs, your highness?’ Olivia asked.

‘To make the metaphorical omelette’, he clarified. ‘The Wulver Empire is stagnating, Olivia. People have become complacent. No-one strives for greatness anymore, and it should be clear why that is to anyone paying attention.’

‘I just take my orders and execute them’, Olivia replied, swallowing a mouthful of kalghan meat. ‘Forgive me if I wasn’t paying attention to the every action of the people who give me them.’

‘You should—someday you may be the one giving the orders’, Yared stated, running a hand across his smooth jaw and smirking. ‘It’s the Emperor—my father is an old man. I’ve asked him to abdicate the throne, personally, but at over a hundred years of age he refuses. He’s holding the Empire back. If he doesn’t want to do anything with it, he might as well hand it on to someone who will.’

‘And it’s the eggs that drive this progress, is it?’ Olivia asked, no longer able to hide her sarcasm.

‘You don’t like the metaphor, do you?’ Yared sighed. ‘It’s a bit insensitive.’

‘Let’s just say that I know what it looks like when those egg shells crack’, Olivia replied.

March 16th, 2484 - Planet Vizran - the Ruins of Vizran City

The scream was long, loud and guttural. Bullets and balls of plasma whizzed past Olivia’s head, as she pressed herself into a nook in the wall and clutched her rifle to her chest. On of the balls of plasma had found it’s marked, and the soldier it had hit was dead before he hit the ground. Olivia shuddered and looked away. She popped her head around the corner, and got a good look at the carnage that lay before her. Vizran City lay in ruins; bombs fell from the sky, reducing buildings to rubble, precision laser strikes following close behind, tearing through the black mass of Haalojan and Bungirban rebels crouched in the ruins of a church up ahead, at the end of a square. Only a few minutes earlier Olivia had looked, through the scope of her sniper rifle, into the ruins, and she had seen him; Jokbaala, the rebel leader, unmistakably him. He was far away… probably too far away to hit with her rifle, and yet…

‘Fire! Don’t let up! We have them cornered!’ Commander Barrizan roared through Olivia’s earpiece.

Olivia turned her head. Only a handful of surviving Imperial soldiers crouched in the rubble behind her, and they shivered fearfully. They dared not look behind them, at the dozens of bodies of their fallen comrades that lettered the pavements and street.

‘You said Jokbaala was back in that wet market, Commander!’ Olivia yelled back into her earpiece. ‘You get the intel wrong?! Because I’m pretty sure I saw him the ruins of that church up ahead!’

The canon on a tank fired somewhere nearby, and multiple explosions from an airstrike rocked the ruins.

‘You’ve got a sniper, right Lieutenant?’ the commander asked. ‘Don’t try and take the shot, the Emperor wants Jokbaala alive—get set to hunker down and wait for reinforcements!’

‘How long’ll that take?!’

‘We’re experiencing heavy resistance across the city … I’d say three hours, minimum.’

‘We can’t wait that long! There’s only six of us left—our platoon started out with twenty-five! They’ll retake our position, there’s not enough cover for us to move back—we’ll be dead within the hour!’

‘Hunker down, Lieutenant. Do not take that shot—repeat, hunker down, wait for reinforcements! We want Jokbaala alive!’

Olivia looked into the eyes of her fellow soldiers. They were caked in dirt and blood; some of the blood was their own, but most belonged their allies. They looked at her with eyes full of dread, anxiety and hopelessness. Olivia had had enough. She slipped out of the nook in the wall, and dropped to her stomach, slinging the sniper rifle from her back. Through her scope, she panned around, searching for Jokbaala.

‘What are you doing?’ one of her fellow soldiers asked. He was lying on his back, heavily wounded, another solider keeping pressure on his flank.

‘Ending this war’, Olivia growled.

She pouted, now a well-ingrained force of habit that accompanied her squinting, as she lined up her mark. She found him; Jokbaala looked like any other Haalojan man. As she lined her crosshairs up with his head, she wondered how such a normal looking person could be responsible for so much bloodshed. She pulled the trigger.

July 10th, 2486 - The Imperial Flagship ‘The Phoenix’- Personal Quarters of Yared Var Oostabar Gan Kuji

“Shall I walk you home, Olivia?” Yared asked, and this time, it was a genuine offer.

They stood in the doorway, on the precipice that led only to the days to come.

“I’ll make my own way”, Olivia replied, bluntly. “I … I feel like I should start doing that … more often.”