“I’m not taking the Pacifica,” Luka said, mouth set in a mulish line as he regarded the map of the Human Galactic Empire. It hovered over the table, brilliant in its complexity and color-coordinated to show their forces, and the attacks they were barely holding off. “She’s unwieldy.”

“She’s a Carrier,” Duke-Lord Fal’Hasheen protested with a very superior sort of expression. He was a thin, nervous sort of man, who dressed in the finest he could afford in an effort to impress his betters. “Of course she is unwieldy. Power does not need finesse.”

That was the sort of thinking that got rulers killed. Luke sighed, and didn’t correct him. Duke-Lord Fal’Hasheen had almost no actual influence, and was here because his ability to organize evacuations was, oddly, unparalleled. Also, he was of a low enough House that giving him an important job would keep the more difficult players occupied complaining about him, and hopefully out of real mischief.

The life of a young ruler was complicated. Luka started his reign early, and unexpectedly, and now he had to convince these powerful people that he was capable of taking his father’s place.

The thought of his father burned painfully. Luka tried not to linger on the memories of his father, sitting in the chair he himself now occupied.

“Power requires finesse.” That was Lord Dracula Tepes. Uncle Vlad, to the royal children, for all that they couldn’t call him that in public. Unlike Duke-Lord Fal’Hasheen, Dracula knew the art of ruling well, and had held his power longer than almost anyone could remember. He was, according to legend, the first vampire. “Without finesse, power is easy to abuse. Abuse of power very often leads to dead rulers.”

“The Pacifica is our flagship,” Duke-Lord Holland complained. He was the leader of the Merchant’s Party in the Imperial Parliament and made no secret of his dislike for Luka. He was also old enough to be Luka’s grandfather, and thought that Luka was too young to rule. If he saw weakness, he would take advantage. “It is inappropriate for the Emperor to take another ship, particularly in these trying times.”

His beard was entirely grey, very thick, and looked like nothing so much as a dead old-earth raccoon stuck to his face. Although, Luka supposed, it did serve to hide the red of his nose and cheeks. Duke-Lord Holland was a heavy drinker and liked to pretend he wasn’t.

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“It’s also inappropriate for the Emperor to lead in battle,” Luka replied shortly rather than try and argue him around. He had the authority to overrule Duke-Lord Holland and intended to do so whenever he got the chance. “But I’m doing that as well. In fact, I intend to be the pilot.”

“What?” Holland yelped, almost drowned out by Fal’Hasheen’s yelp of protest. “No. Absolutely not! We have a great many skilled pilots-“

“But none of them were better than Red Baron Roja Cortez, who taught me to fly,” Luke said pointedly, and tugged on the sleeves of his long, red, robes of state. He hated the fashions of court, and meant to change those too, if they survived all this. “With his death, I became the Red Baron and so I remain. Unless someone manages to outfly me before it is time to go, I will pilot this mission.”

“I know how you fly, but much as I hate to say it,” Amir said from across the table. Vree, as always, was at his side, and still looked befuddled at being invited to this meeting. “I actually do agree with Holland. The Pacifica is our heaviest hitter.”

“But she’s slow,” Luka sighed, and called up a map of their forces as they presently sat. The Carriers were spread far and wide, and the destroyers even more-so. “This plan relies on my buying enough time for their entire fleet get there. If we don’t get all of them, this will start all over in a few years.”

“I know you are the only bait that might entice them,” Vree said, tail lashing and ears flat against his head. “But this plan does not seem wise. How will reinforcements know when to come to you? How will they arrive in time?”

“I’ll handle that,” Amir said to his tall alien friend, and met Luka’s eyes with a faint smile of mutual understanding. He was their secret weapon, and Luka had never appreciated his cousin more. Without his help, this whole plan was dead in the water. “I have a trick or two up my sleeve.”

“Are you sure you want to use it for this?” Luka had to ask. It was too important not to, even though Amir had offered in the first place. “There are other ways.”

“But not better ones,” Amir said, and waved him off over the sputtering of Holland and Fal’Hasheen, who were not, and would not be in on the secret until the time came to execute the plan. “But we have to keep you, and me, since I’ll be with you, alive. What ship will you take, if not the Pacifica?”

Luka had an answer ready, firmly decided on his chosen ship.

“I’m taking the China,” he told his counsel of war. “She’s powerful, well-armored, the most advanced of our destroyers, and she’s fast enough for me to actually fly her.”

“But she’s not as heavily-armed as the America.” Duke-Lord LaShan was a tactical genius and one of the best generals to ever serve the imperial family. Luka admired him and was probably more flattered than he should be that the dark-skinned general was taking his plan seriously. “Nor as heavily armored as the Antarctica, nor as fast as the Britain. Why the China?”

“I’m taking the China,” Luka said with a smile that made Lord Tepes chuckle darkly, and his Duke-Lords stare, “Because she’s red.”