Chapter 423 - Far Future Ch. 133 – An Offer You Can’t Refuse (1/2)

”Admiral.” She stopped precisely to greet him, offering a perfect salute that should have gone down in textbooks. Her voice sent thrills down his spine, and he swallowed again.

He found himself on his feet, despite having planned to remain seated when she came as a direct snub, and offered her a salute back. ”Captain Rantha.” Only iron control kept a stutter out of his voice. ”What matter has brought you here to my office today?”

”Sir, it considers your appointment to the Vissica system, Admiral,” she replied smoothly. He thought his ensign had an accent and diction to approve of, but this nymphal's voice almost seemed to steal his soul.

And it took a second for the words to register, so awed was he by her voice. ”My... appointment?” he asked faintly.

To the Vissican System? That was the Coreward subsector's Seat! There was constant conflict from Warp vessels coming from the Rift... it was a place where a man could make his name. His seniority and deeds weren't enough to make him System Admiral there, but even a Fleet Admiral posting there was a de facto promotion... and could lead to the very top of the Admiralty!

”I was not aware I was being reassigned, Captain...” he replied numbly.

”Sir, it is contingent upon the report being submitted by the Twilight Dukes.” She opened her binder, taking out three old-style paper files as he watched, and she laid them down before him on the desk... perfectly in line. ”You should read them in order.” Every motion was elegance, efficiency, and bespoke an incredible degree of precise muscle control. Just following her hands was like watching someone dance...

”Please be seated, Captain,” he managed to say, seeing her return to attention, and knowing she would simply stand there while he read. His cyber eye cycled up, and his augmetics whirred as he took up the first file.

It was his personal assessment file. It wasn't the Admiralty's official files, but the lack of insignia assigned to it gave it a dire weight all his own.

His entire career was there, laid out in numbers, assessments, ratings, costs, results, interactions with subordinates, private and personal habits, weaknesses, strengths, personal fortunes and abuse of power, affairs and cover-ups, petty vengeances and back-door deals done quietly...

His blood ran cold seeing it all. He had no idea the Twilight Orders had paid so much attention to what he was doing. It was... they had discovered or known about everything he had done in his career. There was nothing there that would get him shot, and he knew he was far from the only officer using his station to better himself... but he had not thought they had been looking at him.

Now, he knew better. The Umbrans knew. They always knew...

His hand didn't shake as he picked up the second file. This one did have official seals upon it, from both the Orders Twilight.

It was crushing, damning, and he could find no fault with the assessments they had brought up. The analysis of his fleet's fight was scorching, the cost of men and materials when contrasted with other fighting actions was simply too great a disparity. If it had not been his own command, he would have drummed the fleet commander right out from his service. A degree of competency was only displayed by those who broke from his command to follow the Rantha Protocols, and their results immediately improved by a measure that could be neither luck nor accident.

Combined with the horrible personal assessment, he was going to be sitting a cold flag somewhere irrelevant soon enough, a single support fleet for some empty transit system, spending his days waiting for Warp or alien pirates to finally muster enough strength to finally destroy him, chasing after shadows in the dark of the void.

He couldn't hide the dread in his face and eyes as he put down the second file and picked up the third.

It glowed.

There was no mention made of the Rantha Protocols at all. From start to finish, the planning, the thoroughness, and the preparations were laid at his feet. The Mothball Fleet became a surprise for raiders long nurtured in anticipation, showing incredible foresight and patience despite his remote station. His bloody crude slugfest of a fight became a diversion to pin the enemy in place and massively increase their losses while keeping them away from the planet, so the successful Mothball Fleet could come in and sweep them up, a hammer striking the valiant anvil playing the sacrifice in valor and blood, led by him personally.

Even the actions of Threshold Station's preparation for longest-range support were an action in coordination with Umbran stealth ships and careful recommendations from his own office.

He swallowed, looking between the two reports.

One was a death sentence, condemning him to the trashbin of history for his mediocrity, moral weaknesses, and lack of ability.

The other was a rebirth, a tempering in fire that had shown his true genius displayed, and a combination of command and willing self-sacrifice that would light a fire in any person who read it.

Anyone who read that second would be clamoring to have an officer like that beneath them. That officer... who was not him.

The Vissican System...

He sat back in his comfortably padded chair, there in his office on the dreadnought that carried his flag, the heart and soul of his power. He closed his eyes, and for the first in a very long time, his world cracking around him, he thought.

---

Francesca Rantha might not even have been present, she was so quiet. System Admiral Colos said and did nothing for a whole quarter of an hour, and she had to admit it was the longest a man had ever ignored her presence. She found it mildly intriguing, as none of them had expected this small-minded man to do anything other than grab the lifeline thrown to him and remove himself from the system post-haste. What indeed was he thinking about?