Prologue
A red-giant sun burned in the vast empty blackness of space.
Designated “Tyl” by the astromancers of old, it now served as a
regional capital for one of the best-developed sectors in Kalean
Space. It represented one of the first multi-planetary joint ventures
in colonization, and the uniqueness of the project had lent gravitas
to the expedition. The colonists had worked harder, faster, and more
unified than any others before them, and as a result had set a new
paradigm for future colonial efforts.
It was a rich system, although to someone observing from the outside
it might not look it. The system had only 4 planets, and only one of
them was terrestrial, the rest being gas giants of various
compositions. But the rich gasses accounted for nearly 40% of the
fuel consumed in the sector as a whole, and the export numbers were
so massive as to be nearly unbelievable. Fortunes were made in Tyl.
The terrestrial planet was Volammir, and it was a hive of activity;
home to nearly 40 billion souls, seat of the System and Sector
governments, and the main hub of military activity in the sector.
Above the opalescent greens, blues, and golds of the planet itself
hung Naval Station Kharak. It was a sprawling mass of structures,
housing the Command Hub, the barracks, the Naval Academy, a fleet
hospital, and a massive dockyard. Some traditions died harder than
others, and the entire exterior was a wash of battle-gray paint
picked out with white designations and trim.
Aedra Morian stalked up one of the narrow hallways in the command
wing. Her face was a mask of seething anger, and the handful of aides
and technicians idling about scattered as they saw her approaching.
The command deck was all but deserted this far up, which kept the
scrabbling from being too obvious and obtrusive, but the staccato
'clank-clank-clank' of her boots on the steel gangway was more than
enough to warn of her presence. And a formidable figure she cut,
indeed. Her marine uniform was black as the void, and trimmed in
silver, and marine's were intimidating enough, even without the
silver command pauldron on her shoulder and the fact that she was
head and shoulders taller than everyone she stormed past.
Abruptly, she spun through a heavy bulkhead and into a small
antechamber where a small man sat behind a small desk, typing into a
computer furtively from a stack of papers arranged in front of him.
looking blandly over his glasses, his hands continuing to fly across
the keys like they had minds of their own. “Ma'am,...” was all he
managed before Aedra's piercing tenor voice overwhelmed him.
“I'm here for Admiral Gorsch, and you're going to let me in there,
or you're going to tell me where he is, or so help me, I will take
these files...” and she slammed a stack of files onto the desk with
enough force to reverberate into the floor, “... and shove them so
far up your...”
“Commander Morian! I thought I might be hearing from you today.
Come in please.” The portly yet genteel Admiral Zandar Gorsch stood
in the doorway across from the desk, smiling disarmingly as Aedra
rounded on him and stalked into his office. He grimaced to his
aide-de-camp before gently swinging the bulkhead closed and returning
to his own desk, pointedly ignoring the silently seething giantess of
a marine sulking at attention in the center of the room. He sat in
his chair, leaned back, steepled his fingers on his chest, and
smiled.
“Now, Lance Commander Morian, what seems to be the trouble?”
With a bang, she flung the stack of files down onto his desk and
erupted.
“This is absolutely, unutterably, and fantastically demeaning, sir.
I know I'm universally mocked and ignored by the brass, but I was
told I would have say in my team composition. I know It's not a
popular idea, but as a Lance Commander, that's MY decision to make. I
am the team commander, and if I want a mixed bag, then by the 5 gods
I ought to be able to have one.... sir.”
She straightened up and took a deep breath as the weight of her
situation began to resurface over the bubbling mire of anger. She was
in the Fleet Admiral's office. Yelling at him. Loudly. For his part,
the Admiral weathered the storm well. Only the smallest signs of
exasperation crept into his face, and those quickly slipped back into
his inscrutably polite smile. With a sigh, he leaned forward over the
desk and examined the folders one at a time. He nodded and hummed for
several minutes before sitting back and raising his palms.
“You wanted a mixed bag, and you got one, Lance Commander. I fail
to see the problem.”
Aedra stepped forward and pointed at the offending stack of folders.
“Five humans, dammit! I've got five humans, two elves, two dwarves,
and a single Ork. One! They couldn't even get a little closer to
balance?! All of us Fae together pull even with those humans! It's
ridiculous! It's less diverse than a board of trustees! I thought you
of all people would understand what I'm trying to do!”
Without warning the Admiral stood, smashed his fist into the desk and
bellowed, his voice like a thunderclap.
“By Kaz' beard, Aedra! You're lucky you only have five! I fought
the council for days on this! You have every right to be angry about
this, but don't you DARE put this on me. I've got a whole fleet
waiting for 'the little admiral' to slip up.”
He straightened the items on his desk and composed himself.
“I'm the first Dwarfish admiral in the Navy. You elves have three,
and the Orks will be lucky to get a captaincy in the next hundred
years. The distrust and misgivings of the old ways are as strong as
ever, and we Fae have to work together, not squabble.”
Aedra stared pointedly at the floor.
“Dismissed.”
She spun on her heel and headed for the door.
“Lance Commander...”
She froze halfway through the bulkhead and turned.
“If you want them to reconsider in the future, then you better make
them the best damn marines in the fleet.”
Aedra smiled and saluted. “Aye aye, sir.”
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