“So, as a hobby then.” Martin prodded.

Benson was laying on his back in the middle of the floor, arms spread and eyes closed. “Something like that. Please be quiet, I’m having trouble pretending you don’t exist.”

“I don’t understand where you could have had time to study military law while learning to fly every space craft in the Cluster.”

“Now I’m having trouble getting past the fact you think that studying two things could be difficult. Jesus, Zig, flying shit is easy.” Benson opened his eyes. “Point ship, push button, zoom. If your crew did the right thing, the ship will obey. I studied law because making people do what you want them to do when they don’t want to,” He paused, frowning at Neerson who was seated, watching them both intently.

“Please.” Neerson said dryly. “I am eager to hear the end of that sentence.”

“And have no obligation to do so,” He held up his index finger to Neerson, as if to ward him. “Is fucking hard, Zig. I was interested.”

“I mean, pain—“

“Within the confines of the law, dipshit.”

“Captain Benson.” Neerson said reproachfully.

“Sorry sir. Commander dipshit. But most of the time you’re not getting the guy who did the bad thing to do anything. Most of the time they don’t do anything at all, they just sit there and let someone else who knows what do do and how to do it… do things.” He caught his breath.

“You good?” Martin asked, holding out a hand.

“Are you fucking kidding me, sir?” Benson allowed himself to be hauled to his feet. “I’ve got blisters on either side of my tongue from biting off the easy game I’ve been getting the last days. Christ, acting respectable is exhausting.”

“Your labors are noted.” Neerson said, looking down at his tablet. “You have my deepest sympathies. Wash yourselves, both of you, and then make ready to disembark. After that, play three hands under standard dual opponent rules.”

“Yes sir.” They said, and did so.

“You ever feel like you’re a little kid around him, and he’s some grouchy dad who constantly has a point to what he’s saying?” Benson asked, without regard if Neerson could hear him, while he stripped cleaned himself in the sink.

“I never had a day.” Martin said. “Raised by my grandad mostly.”

“I got raised by my mom.” Benson said. “Dad died flying supply missions. Engine failure, stranded.”

“You seem remarkably at peace with that.”

“It was a long time ago.” Benson said with a shrug. “I don’t remember anything except for mom and Drennon.”

“Step-dad?”

“Long term partner.” Benson said. “They never tied the knot.”

Martin nodded, and was relieved when Benson didn’t push any questions of his own. They dressed, Benson still in his black flight jumpsuit and Martin in his bridge uniform. It was still taking some getting used to seeing the new rank insignia, and for the first time since the farce of a hearing, some of the anxiety he had felt over his new rank returned.

“Well, one thing can be certain.” Benson said, when Martin brought this up. “Under this boss, it won’t look the same as what you think it might.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Neerson’s voice came from the other room.

Together, their heads whipped around. It wasn’t what Neerson had said, it was how he had said it. The respect and… well, Martin couldn’t think of another way to describe it except submissive respect. He had heard the tone many times before, the compliance, the understanding that the person being spoken to would be obeyed without question.

“And there will be transportation? Understood. Understood. Yes ma’am.”

Benson looked around at Martin, his eyes wide, but Martin shrugged and shook his head. It seemed that there needed to be no verbal communication for them both to come to the understanding that neither of them were stupid enough to make a sound, or be seen around the edge of the latrine’s doorframe. They remained, crowded into the small room as silence remained for a minute longer.

“Thank you ma’am.” Neerson said. “Yes they are. Gentlemen, approach.”

Together they two emerged from the room, mercifully uniformed, and both moving as though they were being called before formation. In the main quarters, quite the unconventional setting for such a scene, Fleet Admiral Neerson stood at complete and rigid attention, his eyes forward. On the table was a tiny holo-projector, and from it shimmered the high backed seat of a naval command chair.

Without directive, Martin and Benson took up their positions to the Admiral’s left and right. Neerson removed his earpiece and placed it on the table. Martin flicked his eyes to the image.

On the command shake there sat a woman. Her features were impossible to make out with any clarity, as it was with any defining features. Her posture in the chair was relaxed, arms crossed over her midriff. An unfamiliar rank was set onto the collar of her uniform.

Her eyes went from Martin, to Benson, and back to Neerson. “These are them?”

“These are the first.” Neerson said.

“What else do you need, Admiral Neerson?” The woman asked.

“Discretion.”

The woman smiled with her lips together. It was not a suffering smile or a smirk. It was understanding. “I’ve sent the orders through.” She said. “Start with them, do what you can at the lowest level. And get me the details of what happened down there when you can. I don’t like it, and Reven won’t either.”

“Yes ma’am.”

She nodded, and the picture winked away. Neerson didn’t breath a heavy sigh or slump his shoulder, but he visibly relaxed as he picked up the holo-projector.

“I wasn’t expecting her to ask to see either of you.” Neerson said quietly. “Much less both.”

Benson glared down at his black jumpsuit. “That was…” He thought for a moment. “Sir, who was that?”

“That,” Neerson said, seating himself. “Was Grand Admiral Naomi Rookwood.”

Benson nodded. “I see. May I sit down as well?”

“By all means.” Neerson gestured to one of the chairs. “You as well, Commander. You still have your hands to play through before we disembark the station.”

Martin sat and drew the cards, beginning to shuffle them. “When will we head back to the Ascendancy?”

“Deal me in.” Neerson said. “We are not returning to the Tenth Fleet.”

Martin’s fingers slipped, sending a few cards spilling across the table. Benson collected them and returned them to the deck.

“Is this a repercussion of the hearing, sir?” Martin asked when he had composed himself.”

“No, though that is how it is being framed. Greer, and a number of the other Generals, think that I am reckless with information and dangerous when in command of a fleet.” He drummed his fingers on the table.

“What’s their grounds for that, sir?” Benson asked.

“Woeful disinformation and wild underestimation.” He said matter of factly. “It is difficult, however, to remove a Fleet Admiral from a fleet command. Only two two acts can do it, neither of which have any chance of happening in the current climate of things. So my command has been transferred, and my preferred personnel list approved.” Neerson looked between the two men. “Neither of you will be returning to your previous assignments.”

The words were common enough for Martin, naval officers were moved about like pawns on a chessboard. Benson, however, stiffened. “Sir?”

“I’ve spoken with your command.” Neerson said. “And I have assured them that my request is subject to their denial, and yours. Given that you are a member of the ground forces, not the navy, I consider myself fortunate that Grand Admiral Rookwood was able to cut through the red tape. It was a favor she did not owe me.”

“I can just… choose not to go with you?”

Sighing, Neerson examined his cards. “Captain, I understand what drives a uniformed individual into Task Force Berghest, and I know the rigorous training pipeline one must take to achieve a place in their ranks. If you desire to return there, I will make it happen. Today, if you would like. I would only ask you to bear two things in mind.” He placed his shows, and supplied a three. “The first is that I would ask you to accompany me to my new assignment. I would ask that you remain there for a month before you make your decision. And when you make that decision, I would ask you to bear in mind that I very seriously doubt your days of serving with Task Force Berghest are behind you, regardless of if you choose to return to them at this time, or not. It is your play, Captain.”

Benson made his play and nodded. “That puts my mind at some ease, sir. But what use would you have for an army pilot in a naval setting.”

“Oh,” Neerson said with a small smile. “I believe I’ll find a use for you, Captain.”

“If they’re not taking your fleet command, where are you— we, being assigned to next.”

Neerson looked at the mounting stack of cards, all aces and sevens. “The Ninth Fleet. More commonly known now,” He played a ten. “As Detachment Cerberus.”

—

Matt walked into his office and breathed easy. It was as he had left it, pristine and void of clutter and other bobbles that usually adorned his peer’s working spaces. Seating himself behind the desk, he looked at the messages left for him. There were less than he had expected, but it was a small mercy he was thankful for. Most were things to be delegated, but there were a few that required his direct attention. There was one that required immediate action.

Clicking the file, he scanned over it.

There are two interested in our friend’s task. Please respond promptly when you have returned.

Rezkin.

Matt sent his reply and tried to busy himself with the other matters. There was a meeting with a Senator from the Rust Rings, and another from the representatives of the Outside Citadel. That would be an easy one to resolve, no matter the subjects, he was sure.

An alert pinged, and Matt opened it.

I can be there within the hour with the first.

Matt let his head fall back. Was it too much to ask for a day? Just a day to get caught up on the menial, boring things like making sure that there were no revolts happening on his station? A meeting with the Governor, if she would suffer his presence? At least the evening to discuss civilization threatening forces looming would have been appreciated… but, he sent the reply, scheduled his meetings for the next day first thing, and waited.

Some thirty minutes later, the door slid open. There had been no notification from his aid, so he turned to face Senator Rezkin with some form of mock indignant outrage—

And leapt to his feet, his heart not so much racing as it was sprinting trying to get away as fast as it could. Senator Rezkin sat in her wheelchair there with a smile on her face, and beside her with a warm smile of her own revealed as she drew back a deep but tasteful hood from her face, was Lauren Patricia.

“Your excellency.” Matt stammered. “I— forgive me, I would have more of a welcome if I had known—“

“If he had known it was you and not this dusty old batt accompanied by another tie-wearing bureaucrat.” Rezkin jibed, gesturing to the single chair in front of Matt’s desk.

Patricia took in the office. “It’s quite neat in here, Senator. I approve.”

“Thank you, your excellency.”

“And we have not met, I don’t think.” She extended her hand. “Lauren Patricia.”

Matt shook her hands with both of his. “Matthias Ziggenbor.”

“I would have known that from the handshake.” Patricia said as she seated herself. “I had the pleasure of making your younger brother’s acquaintance some days ago.”

“I hope he made a better impression than I have, your excellency.”

“He was a military man in a military setting, there wasn’t much of an impression to be made.” Patricia said in a somewhat dismissive tone. “But the old tiger likes him, and that’s enough for me.”

Rezkin sniffed. “Poor boy.”

“Oh don’t start, Heather, please.” Sighed Patricia. “Your mock distain for the man is well known, and long since seen through.” She turned to Matt then. “I am told you have some information about the happenings out beyond the Martian fielding.”

Matt flicked his eyes to Rezkin. “She’s well informed, Senator.”

“If I might ask, your excellency, how well informed are you?”

“I know that there are reasons that the commands pulled back from beyond the Martian system.” Patricia said, her eyes glittering. “And I know that certain infernal acts of political nonsense allow those same commands to keep whatever information they deem proper to themselves, unless it poses a threat to our Cluster.”

“Forgive me, but not a threat.” Matt said. “The term is an archaic one, but any threat that poses a clear and present danger to the sustainability of our way of life, and the efforts we here make to expand so as to improve the same. And the act you are referring to is—“

“The Relevant Information Verification and Entitlement Act, drafted some sixty years ago at this point.” Patricia cut him off without rancor. “It’s purpose to keep the residents of the cluster from panicking if there ever was a threat that could be dealt with quietly by military leadership.”

“Yes, your excellency.” Matt tapped on a screen. “How much do you know about the Suspected Terrorist and Enemy Group Engagement Legion?”

“St Angel?” Patricia said. “Mostly everything that was declassified before the CCC, but I know that it’s a topic that is squirrelly at best with the military. Are they active again?”

“That’s what the suspicion is.”

“Whose suspicion?”

Again, Matt looked to Rezkin, who again nodded. “Fleet Admiral Neerson.”

“I should have known.” Patricia said, her face changing to one of worry. “His suspicions are usually worth listening to. Do you know if there’s a connection to Operation Red Savior?”

Matt mulled that one over for a moment. “I wasn’t privy to the data to come out of the operation, but if I was going to try and put the pieces together, I would bet on it.”

Folding her hands, Patricia give Matt a very pointed look. “I have the feeling,” She said. “That there’s a good bit more to this that you’re not saying.”

“Yes, your excellency.”

“How long have you known Neerson?”

The question was not one that he had expected. “I’ve known him very briefly. Though I met him twice, a long time ago. Once at RAPIDS and once…” Winced at the memory. “The second time was an unpleasant one for all involved, but an impactful one on me. After that we corresponded sporadically.”

“I see. No doubt he wanted inside knowledge of the Senate?”

“He’s an admiral, your excellency, he doesn’t need me for that. Usually he would just ask for my opinions on various disjointed bits of intelligence, most of it post CCC in origin, and most of it seemingly random.”

“It wasn’t.”

“Never is with Admiral Neerson.” Matt said. “I put the pieces together and didn’t hear from him for almost a year and a half. He didn’t confirm anything, he didn’t even acknowledge that he had received what I sent him. Until recently.” Matt twirled a pen on his desk and slapped a hand down on it.

“You’re an open book, Senator Ziggenbor.” Patricia said with a smile.

“I’m not.” Matt said. “But you know what you came here for, and there’s no point in keeping it from you.”

“I feel that there’s still more you’re not telling me.”

“Correct, you’re excellency.” Matt shrugged. “But it’s going to have to be that way with some of this. I don’t want to tell you something wrong. I don’t want to send a bunch of good people, including yourself, into a panic. That’s the whole point of the RIVE Act. If there’s one thing I learned through all of this, it’s got its purpose.”

“It’s purpose is to keep people from getting frightened.”

“I know.” Matt smiled. “And I’m fucking terrified, your excellency.”

Patricia pressed her lips together at that, and for almost an entire minute, no one said anything. Matt knew better than to be the one to break the silence, but he didn’t know how much more he should tell her. If she wanted to get technical with him, Neerson was a military commander and held no power over the senators. But she did.

But she knew Matt knew that.

“I’m a sitting member of the Triumvirate.” Patricia said, tapping a finger on the arm of her chair. “And I didn’t get there by being easily frightened over far away threats.”

“I understand.” Matt said. “If you want to know, I’ll tell you. I would prefer it to not be here, and I would prefer to wait until Senator Rezkin’s other interested party is able to be clued in. Most of this stuff I don’t like thinking about, and talking about it twice would be unpleasant.”

“I’ll allow that.” Patricia said, turning to Heather. “Who is the other interested party?”

“Representative Fletching.” She said. “A young up and comer, but genuinely interested and in a position where she has the ear of some influential individuals.”

“A rep?” Matt pursed his lips.

“My recommendation is not enough?”

Matt shrugged. “Best way to keep a secret is to tell no one. Worst way is to tell someone excitable. Reps don’t usually keep their mouths shut.”

“This one will.” Rezkin said dryly.

“Then you’ll set it up?” Patricia asked, standing.

“Of course.” Rezkin smiled, and together the two women left the room. Only then did Matt let out a long breath, shaking his head as he did. Keying on his screen, he typed out a message to Neerson.

Patricia knows. Who is safe to tell?