by Dark Knight
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When the troop transport landed inside the 'Empress Throne' starboard hangar bay, Omasa was already there. He stood tall and stern as his cape fluttered around him, mag boots locked firm onto the floor – an image of true authority, one full ready to bite Nedal's head off. He raised an eyebrow after inspecting the ravaged hull of Nedal’s troop transport; the vessel had suffered extensive damage, including the loss of two of its main engines. Of course, the Lord Captain also noticed the ship's crew had conducted field repairs and integrated a salvaged shuttle drive into the main engine assembly. He also instantly recognized it as his commando team’s shuttle engine, since it still had a piece of the composite armor on its nozzle. The ship's cargo doors opened and Nedal disembarked first. His PA limped behind on auto-pilot, followed by his soldiers, but no vehicles emerged and Nedal's command squad was nowhere to be seen. After the remainder of his soldiers disembarked Omasa decided to not immediately punish Nedal; one look from the troopers' eyes as they all saluted meant more that a hundred words – he’d won his hate back.
“Lord captain, I bring you the Terran reactor assembly as ordered!” Nedal slightly shuddered while inspecting the landing deck. A large part of it was covered with a long line of grizzly looking brown body bags. They were full of crewmen who burned away because of radiation exposure or froze to death after the power on their decks ran dry and then the life support was turned off.
“It seems to me that you've suffered massive casualties, Nedal,” Omasa said. “Care to explain how it is that you lost all of your PA’s and mechanized units?”
“It was mainly the Terrans fault, my Lord. Few as they were, the blighters' were fighting on their turf and even had a morale officer with them.”
“One single morale officer and a couple of Terrans,” Omasa paused, his gaze boring into Nedal. “And this was enough to nearly annihilate the fully equipped mobile company under your command!?”
“My Lord, that morale officer was a Kil'ra warrior!” Nedal made a short, dramatic pause and motioned at his troops. “The Terrans even had an Asgardian marksman among them! It was he who took down my PA’s, Excellency. Not only that, but we were assaulted en-masse by large, moving Carrolan trees, Lord.”
Omasa could see the steely eyed gazes his troopers threw around the deck. Nedal wasn't lying. He wasn’t even stretching the truth this time around. Omasa could see it in how the posture of the troopers changed and the way they held their weapons. They weren’t simple rookies anymore, but hardened veterans. So Nedal was useful after all. Perhaps he was better suited to be a ground commander rather than a bridge officer? That decision could wait. For now, Omasa had to address the troops.
The Lord Captain further straightened his posture, then turned his attention to the troopers. “Excellent work, my brave, loyal soldiers!” he said. “We are extremely grateful for your most meaningful sacrifice. Not only saved your own lives, but the lives of everyone on this vessel. The Taz'aran Empire recognizes this and will reward your contribution in this victory over and beyond what you could imagine in your wildest dreams!” The troopers murmured in confusion at the odd declaration, but Omasa raised a hand to quiet them. “As for your comrades who fell on that accursed planet, rest assured that their families will receive their last pay as compensation. Let it also be known that this practice shall henceforth be made standard, from this day onwards and in full decat value for the families of all who suffer death under my command!”
Omasa snapped into a salute to the troops (itself a most heretical gesture), he then beckoned Nedal to follow. Once they were further away from the stunned troopers, all of whom looked at him with awe and disbelief, he leaned slightly toward Nedal. “Anything else you want to share with me? Something, or someone that you met down there?” He paused briefly. Omasa may have done things differently, but he knew the value in letting cowards like Nedal sweat a bit. “It is important that I have all the intelligence you've collected. This way we can better present our case before High Command.” He gave Nedal a sidelong glance, and the cowardly schemer almost appeared to shrink in his presence. “You should realize that even after all the strife we've survived here, they can still sentence us both to death. I don't know about you Nedal, but I have no desire to face the firing squad anytime soon.”
Nedal, obviously disturbed, blinked a couple of times before pulling one of the two copied data-crystals from his suit's pocket. With a slight bow he offered the crystal to his captain. When he spoke again, his voice was a low whisper, almost like he was conspiring to commit treason with the Lord Commander.
“Lord, this is a copy from their colony's hidden DMS device. It stores their entire database.” He passed the crystal into Omasa’s hands. The Lord Captain regarded it curiously. “It was recovered by a noble officer whom your late father had left in command of his retinue and sent to guard the downed Terran vessel. It seems the man lost his mind and together with it, the lives of those star troopers.
Nedal paused, feigning regret for their loss. “We couldn't find any of them alive, Lord. It was hell down there on Carrola – how those Terrans are able to survive without being bashed to death by the trees is a mystery to me. Even the operators, whom you so graciously sent to help, Lord, were murdered by them. I am sure of it.”
Omasa already started to inspect the files with his PDA, but kept listening carefully to Nedal's version of events. He had to find what parts were fabricated and what weren’t, as was always the case with taz'aran officer and their field reports. The lord captain was sure his commandos couldn't be killed by simple trees, moving or otherwise. Unfortunately, how they died was something he’d have to discover later. For now he skimmed through the files, hoping the data had enough value to save their hides. Nedal probably knew much more than this. Omasa figured the schemer would hoard the information for himself in an event they both faced a Commodore's judgment so he could save his own hide. For now, he could only pray that judgment would not be delivered by some inept, newly appointed commodore, but a full Lord's Council. That eventuality he’d prepared for, to the point he was almost certain of the final outcome.
Satisfied with the scan, Omasa pocketed the data crystal and his PDA. “This should be more than enough for us to parry any possible accusations in incompetence. Follow me Nedal, I have to introduce you to my new adjutant.”
Both men left the hangar behind and their troopers, now shuddering from the freezing cold, quickly raced trying to install the looted Terran reactor. Luckily they didn’t need to drag the parts all over the ship since spare plasma power lines sprawled out everywhere. They could thank the lazy, corrupt Pion engineers for that. Not that they could do so in person, since the aforementioned engineers' charred remains were still orbiting Pion base, caught up in its gravity well. Pulling some panels off the walls, those crewmen who had engineering experience led the rest in forming assembly teams. It took them a day working in tight, continuing shifts to assemble the reactor, using the troop transport's life support and what functional shield emitters it still had to protect the hangar from radiation.
The air was thin and temperatures low. Far from perfect conditions, but the veterans didn't complain. Nor did the crewmen, who survived only because their Lord Captain made every effort to save them, including sending reserve power from his command deck and special medical supplies usually reserved for strict use by officers and nobles only. Indeed, Omasa's heretical actions could end his career if reported to the High Command, not to mention his life. But the crew didn’t need to organize secret meetings so that everyone would keep their gobs tightly shut. Some of the less intelligent had already suffered “accidents”, necessary examples they made sure to arrange with the help of their Aleska friends.
Taz'arans were conniving, backstabbing, greedy pieces of shit. They also could be moderately grateful, especially when the preservation and continuous betterment of their own lives was at stake. No half-intellig
ent taz'aran soldier would willingly shoot their commander in the back, not while his own pockets were being lined with precious decats.
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After 'Empress Throne' slid out of hyperspace and began its slow limp toward Pion base, another Frontier's Navy ship materialized in close orbit. The two and a half kilometer long turtle shaped destroyer was no longer used as a patrol ship since its redesign. Re-purposed half a star year ago, the 'Obliterator' was now a ship of the line, equipped with long range particle-beam cannons, angled heavy armor and multiple shield emitters. A devastating answer to the ever increasing Terran aggression, High Command had promised to transfer it to Fringe borders to deal with the Terran Minarchy since its redesign was announced. Finally the vessel had arrived at its forward base, only to find said base in such a state of disarray that its commander now howled and raged on the bridge of her vessel.
Fleet Commodore Zarjana was of the highest nobility – a Marquise. By virtue of her late father being one of the Lord Electors, her Ladyship was awarded with high command position and many other privileges. Not that she deserved any of it. She’d done no great deeds, had no leadership qualities. The purple mantle of Commodore was bestowed upon her simply because the Lord High Admirals followed established lines of succession. Today found the Marquise frustrated to no end, and her voice was beginning to lose strength from constantly screaming angry orders. Even with all the great authority she possessed, Zarjana was unable to make things work the way she wanted.
The forward base promised to her was ravaged, most of its key personnel broken or slaughtered, throngs of soul-hacked zombies still roaming its decks. The damage wreaked upon 'Pion base' was all accredited to one small team of insane Terran infiltrators. They boarded it through guile and deception, then overcame all of its defenses. The reports claimed those rabid Terrans stomped around like they owned the place, probably with the intent of freeing the useless slaves who were being sold there.
While her command ship made its way through the massive, still drifting, and burning husks of the ships that were supposed to become part of her squadron, her Excellency shouted, “Everyone on Pion base must be shown that I, Marquise Zarjana am the Ruler of this entire sector. I am their Commodore!”
Waving her small fists in the air, Zarjana completely missed the hateful glowers the bridge officers threw her way.
“Execution squads!” Zarjana belted, “Your mission is to exterminate all of the star trooper commanders, their sergeants – everyone who faced and failed to stop the Terrans!”
“It will be done, Excellency!” Zarjana's star trooper commander saluted and calmly accepted the order. Soon dropships full of red clad executioners left the 'Obliterator' in the dozens. The ultimate price of failure was one's own life and Fleet Command often fielded crack Executioner units specifically trained to eradicate failed commanders together with their staff. Specially conditioned to show no mercy and recruited only from lower noble houses, they were better equipped and predominantly stationed only on Imperial flagships. Even the mere sight of their dropships caused some taz'arans to shit their pants in fear. That or calmly stay put and wait for the Chief Executioner who was in command in hopes they could strike a deal.
Assuming they had decats enough to buy their lives, that was.
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Omasa instantly recognized his new Lord Commodore's vessel and sighed angrily. The idiot moved faster than he’d anticipated, no longer theoretically, but literally in command of both him and the station. Tale swiftly sliced the links between the swarm of dropships and the 'Obliterator', redirecting the information directly to Omasa’s command console. The edges of his mouth twitched as he rewarded another prudent and timely display of her skill with a sneaky smile.
As expected, the ships were all full of executioners with orders to wipe out all who'd failed the Empire in their duty to defend Pion base. Omasa cursed under his breath. Damn it all, he needed those taz'arans alive! He couldn’t well replenish his crew if all the perspective candidates were dead. What’s more, the threat of mass execution would create an air of dread on the station, meaning ALL orders would take even longer to complete since everyone would be scared shitless. And to make matters even worse, those handy Pion base black marketeers were sure to scurry and hide better than a male wozzie during its mating season.
Omasa frowned and squinted as he continued to mull over the ever-growing number of ways his new Commodore's presence would impede his plans. He known that woman was foolish, but this was too much, even for someone as inept as her. There had to be a way to come ahead here. A person prudent and imaginative as him could surely make use even of this sorry state of affairs, yes? Using the coded intercom system to reach everyone on board, Omasa addressed his crew.
“Soldiers, listen well! Be aware, we will dock with Pion Base soon, and I expect we are to face the dreaded executioners when we do. Whatever tactics these agents of High Command aim to use against you remember, I, your Lord Captain, am at your back!”
Nedal gave him an inquisitive look, obviously bemused of the fact that thousands of red clad executioner troopers were about to soon swarm the decks of Pion base. Omasa then addressed him and the other officers.
“If they do what I assume that they will, we need to make special arrangements of our own,” he said. “Ready your veterans, Nedal. Vala, I shall need all of your warriors to join the star troopers while you, my loyal commander, shall stand beside me with four of your best. Tale, I hope you are as comfortable with your administrative duties as using that sidearm of yours. You all shall witness something I feared nobody would, at least not so soon.”
Tale smiled and patted the grip of her sidearm. “That goes without saying, my Lord! I aim to keep my position as Adjutant for the foreseeable future, as I’m sure the lower-enlisted desire to continue serving under your enlightened command, Lord.”
Omasa couldn't see it but he was absolutely sure that on every deck of his ship, crew and star troopers alike, were plotting. Plotting how to keep him safe, to ensure their Lord Captain remained in command.
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'Empress Throne' finally dragged her ravaged hull near Pion base a half hour later and moored at one of its still working docking arms. As he'd suspected, the lord Captain was greeted on the docking platform by a fully armed executioner platoon, weapons already trained at the airlock. They even deployed a heavy weapons team, just in case the crew decided to resist. A taz'aran noblewoman of poor looks, wearing the intimidating uniform of an executioner squad captain, blocked Omasa's way. Dressed in black and red, her left hand rested on the hilt of an ornate, wide-bladed vibro-sword. She’d already drawn her heavy particle beam pistol with her right. Safety off and finger on the trigger, she held it at the ready. Omasa smirked and canted his head a couple of times, while looking at her with utter contempt. Pathetic trigger discipline, but then again, executioners had no need for trigger safety anyway.
Tale, who’d also drawn her sidearm, pointed it at the floor for now. She also carried a much shorter blade on her hip instead of the usual officer’s sword. The contrast between her stunning looks, confident posture and that sneering executioner captain was all but mind-breaking. Omasa noted how Tale's breathing remained calm, her gaze focused and free hand ready to pull her blade at a moment’s notice. His adjutant definitely looked like she knew what she was doing and even gave her lord captain the impression of high born training. But where had she schooled herself? It definitely wasn't in any of the officer schools Omasa knew of, because she would've stood out like a shaved unibrow. Seeing how she stood, the way she balanced on those beautiful legs, made Omasa want to know even more about her. Had she desired it he could buy her a title from a Lord Elector he was distantly related to and marry her. A contract most lucrative for the both of them, ye
t the Lord Captain still knew so little of her. Such things didn’t mean to him what they did for most taz'aran nobles, though. Omasa recognized potential. Even if the young, beautiful woman had no line to her name he'd still sign the contract.
As a good judge of taz'aran character, Omasa knew she’d be an excellent match for a genius like him, well worth her weight in decats. The value of her beauty alone meant no questions had to be asked about her other... qualities. Adjutants were well aware of their other duties their Lord Captains, as it was considered a time honored tradition in the Navy to advance through the ranks like that. The junior officer always had the privilege to refuse, of course, but that often lead to their immediate and sometimes violent removal from that position. Behind every ambitious taz'aran there stood a dozen others even more unscrupulous than the last. With a dagger, flask of poison, or whatever else they could get their hands on, they’d stoop to any level just to could claw their way up the ranks. So Omasa remained cautious. Something about this perfect beauty possessing such unaccountably great skill bothered him. And Omasa had learned since early childhood to trust those feelings; the deep thoughts and analysis they spurred always saved him before.
Tale, as if wanting to show a desire to prove herself even more skilled and worthy to him, defiantly locked gazes with the ill postured captain, mockingly imitating her stance. She soon won her target's full attention. With but a wave of the executioner officer’s hand, the heavy weapon team shifted their primary target from Omasa to Tale, whose gleeful demeanor didn't change at all. The executioner looked at each of them, face full of baseless certitude, and then spoke with rudely disrespectful, almost obnoxious tone of voice.
“Lord Captain Omasa! My orders are to escort you and your bridge officers before Lady Zarjana. After she passes judgment over you, your starship is to be immediately reassigned under her Ladyship's personal command.”
