“I don’t get it; our medical supplies should’ve arrived already.” Dao threw up her hands in exasperation. “I swear on the stars, if I were on fire, the Magistry of Logistics would make me sign a waiver before dousing me.”

“It’s the same for us, I’m afraid. We’ve had to start rationing out sanitary products for the men, and they’re all but rioting because their, erm… literature, was on one of the barges the humans destroyed.” Macuahuitl said, her antennae drooping. For a moment, the projector displaying her image flickered, then righted itself.

“Have your DynaCom contingent set them straight. We won’t be having mutinies over lost pornography.” Dao spat. “Speaking of, such material is not permitted aboard Her Dominance’s spacecraft, especially not within a navy as morally-rigorous as the Squireworlds’. Why is it there?”’

“We’re finding the roots of the tree now,” Macuahuitl tipped her head to the side, “but we believe that someone with connections to the Magistry has been arranging for certain luxuries to be shipped to the fleet in exchange for bribes.”

“Corruption, you mean.”

“Corruption,” Macuahuitl confirmed, “but I assure you, this is an isolated incident, and such devilry shall be punished in the highest manner we can levy. Our perpetrator shall worship at your feet with stingers in his back.”

“Or hers.” Dao corrected her.

Macuahuitl stood a little straighter. “I’m sorry? Ma’am, our matrons are incorruptible; it is our very nature as Squireworlders! Surely, you can’t mean that–”

“Do not, Battlematron,” Dao began, cutting her off, “presume that mere ancestry proves the innocence of your females. If someone has the capacity to bypass the Magistry’s checks, then you must investigate from the top down.”

Taken aback, Macuahuitl’s next words were quick and sharp. “Overbattlematron, I am confident that–”

“Don’t try to assuage me with your confidence!” Dao yelled, startling everyone in the room to silence. “I will accept nothing less than conclusive evidence that confirms that whoever you accuse is, indeed, guilty! I want to see the accused punished, and I want nothing more to happen.”

There was an uncomfortable period of silence while Macuahuitl computed this, her mandibles locked shut and her eyes cast firmly downward. Then, “Yes, ma’am.”

“Good. Now get about it.” Dao waved her hand dismissively. Macuahuitl, saluting, faded from view. However, in the final moments before she was gone entirely, Dao saw her drop her hand, in clear violation of saluting protocol and, considering how rigid the Squireworlds were, a quite deliberate act in all probability.

“Did she just–?” Dao thought aloud.

“Yes, ma’am; I saw it too.” one of her aides said, his antennae almost straight with surprise.

Dao put her head in her hand. “It’s an insult to my authority, no doubt. Send a shuttle to her flagship with one of my representatives to censure her. Preferably loudly. And in the presence of as many of her subordinates as possible.”

The aide bowed his head. “Your wish is my command, ma’am.”

Dao slumped back in her seat as he made his way out, exhausted. First ghost-ships, and now this. What was the human phrase for it?

There’s no rest for the wicked?

—

At this time of night, the greatest city of Pollanide shone like a star.

Obrilaka, the Irrilings called it before they were subsumed. The capital of one of their greatest polities, it had been the centerpiece of the world government the Combine had helped them establish, and then the site of a Judge’s palace when it had been deemed necessary for their direct inclusion into the empire. Of course, when the uncanny, devious shapeshifters had rebelled, Khopesh had deemed them beyond saving and ordered their wholesale extermination. Nowadays, the city was called Palace-of-Khopesh, and it was only called Palace-of-Khopesh; the old name was forbidden under pain of sting. Officially, the city, and the world, had always been Poslushi.

The opulent halls of the central palace were decorated with shining white marble, the walls inlaid with gold and jewels (it was spoken, in hushed tones, that much of this bounty was gained from the looting of the bodies of Irriling bourgeoisie). Directly underneath those halls were the tall, buttressed, almost Gothic spaces of the Tribunal Chambers, for which the entire aboveground complex was but a place for greeting diplomats and the representatives of other realms of the Combine. This was where the Judge sat as the news came to her.

“She wants what?” Khopesh asked, the anger evident in her voice. The room reeked of shock.

“Not quite yet, ma’am,” the representative said on one knee, “but it is said that yes, she’ll be raising the entire levy soon and directing it to the front. All men, munitions, and craft at your disposal will be placed under the command of Overbattlematron Dao.”

If you come across this story on Amazon, it's taken without permission from the author. Report it.

“This is preposterous!” the Judge roared, so loud that the rep unconsciously moved back a centimeter or two. “Pollanide is on the front, and she wants me to give up my command to one of a brood of nepotists?!”

“Ma’am, it is unwise to disregard the orders of Her Dominance so blatantly.” the rep cautioned, his voice shaky. “The Dynastic Commissariat is always watching.”

“Let DynaCom burn for all I care! What Her Dominance is commanding is insane! It’s grounds for…”

Suddenly, Khopesh stopped dead, realizing something. If all her men were off fighting, then who would be at home, watching the palace? Who would be out watching the skies for infiltrators sent, undoubtedly, by some lesser Judge with far less savory tastes than Khopesh? Who could defend her, and the government she stood for?

This had to be a trick. This had to be the Idrisat Brood’s doing. They had been on her tail ever since she gave their poster boy what he deserved, and now that he had gone and got himself killed, they would doubtlessly be after her blood. Their influence within Her Dominance’s government must have been far more than Khopesh thought, rivaling, if not exceeding, the Oxilini or the Elnadar or the Asterai. A conspiracy, perhaps? Khopesh would need to look into it.

But no. This had to go deeper; it was the only way the Pos dynasty itself could be subverted in their goals. They had to have aligning ones. Katana had reprimanded Khopesh for sending Rapier on a killing-mandate after it became clear that humanity was more than a few scattered border worlds, out of paranoia, no doubt. Katana, at the urgings of those Aralu-bedding, feather-wearing bootlickers, could easily be convinced that Khopesh would need to be replaced with someone more pliable and, undoubtedly, of Idrisat blood. It was too obvious to overlook.

“It’s grounds for removing me.” she finished after a long, long pause. Then, she turned her gaze back on the representative, speaking in a flurry of words that he only barely caught. “Contact my magistrates. Have them destroy and rewrite all documentation regarding our levy numbers. Knock a few zeroes off in the process.”

“But, ma’am, this is treason! You can’t–”

“I am the Judge here!” Khopesh cut him off, stunning him into silence. “I shall decide if you should meet the headsman, not the High Judge. Now, obey me.”

The representative bowed his head, his voice meek and quiet. “Your will be done, ma’am.”

Omen, in all probability, would not recover from the damages inflicted upon it by the humans, at least not while its best and brightest were off fighting and dying on the front. Even today, fragmented shipwrecks were plunging from the skies, contaminating the atmosphere with radioactive dust, and it seemed a certainty that fighting would once again scar the world. Without a strong contingent of what little military force remained, it would be all but defenseless.

That’s why, when the new Judge of Omen heard the news of what was to come, she went into panic mode almost immediately. Omen’s young ones, Poslushi, Ovinis, and Aralu alike, had bled and died in the name of Her Dominance; what more could she want? That was when she came to the realization of what had surely happened.

Omen would be recovering for quite some time, and during that time, it would be effectively worthless as the industrial and extraction center it once was. In fact, if the planet were for sale, the costs of renovation would probably be deducted from the normally-exorbitant price of a green world. With a sufficient addition to Her Dominance’s coffers, a Judge of a neighboring system, probably Pollanide, could easily convince the High Judge to officially recognize her claim, then muster forces to oust Omen’s leadership in a coup. Then, they could bring settlers in, rebuild the planet, and become an economic powerhouse dominating the rimward sectors. It was too obvious to overlook.

The Judge had to make a decision, and thus she did. Turning to her aides, she instructed them to report that Omen’s military had been destroyed entirely during the human invasion, and would not be reconstituted for some time. Then, she commanded the one Captain-General who remained to reorganize Omen’s remaining forces into quick reaction units for a potential invasion from the planet’s neighbors. It was treason, she knew, but it was necessary if she were to remain in her position.

Far away, the military governor of Qato and the surrounding territories saw what was to come. Immediately, he knew that it was some trick, it had to be some trick…

—

Judging by how, as the column of tanks approached the landing zone, the spacecraft engineers dropped the visors on their spacesuits and everyone else lunged for gas masks, the smell of death had clung to them. Johann sighed as a sentry, through fits of coughing, waved them through the perimeter checkpoint. “Pull us to a stop once we’re out of the line; I need to report to the Commander.” Johann commanded. Silently, Hersch nodded back.

Dutifully, once the Leopard was through, Hersch wrenched the vehicle to the right, pulling it into a hastily-cleared spot in the grass and bringing it to a halt. “Thanks,” Johann said, popping the hatch open and pulling himself out onto the grounds. Then, he jogged towards where the dropships sat. Engineers and attendants ran to and from various containers and the spacecraft, carrying spare parts, fuel hoses, and all manner of other necessities. In the midst of it all, Commander Weiss stood, in animated conversation on his cellphone.

“If you were down here, you’d agree that they need it.” he put his free hand forward in a gesture of presentation. “If they aren’t clean when they get to quarters, they’ll practically gas the ship. I can’t even begin to describe how bad it smells.”

Johann, approaching him, stood at attention. Weiss noticed him, but put a single finger up, gesturing for him to wait. “They’re getting their showers, dammit, and that’s final.” Weiss finished, putting his phone down, then looked at Johann.

Johann saluted. “Captain Hess, reporting our safe arrival, sir!” he barked.

Weiss looked him up and down. His nose wrinkled. “At ease. I see you’ve gone through it.” he noted.

Johann dropped his hand. “We’re physically fine, sir, but many of our men have been… shaken… by what we saw,” he began, the images flashing through his mind, “there were children in that pile.”

Weiss’ mouth tightened into a grim line. “I see. We haven’t finished counting, but we’re already at eight or nine thousand dead. It’ll make for one hell of a story at the trial.”

“Speaking of, there will be a trial, yes? We’ll get them, right?” Johann asked, shrinking back a little.

“Of course; don’t be silly.” Weiss dismissed him. “It’ll be a hundred times bigger than Nuremberg, but we’ll go through with it anyways. We’ve already got them on the hook for cultural genocide, but now we can nab ‘em for regular genocide too. We’ll expunge their evils, and put something better in their place.”

“I sincerely hope you’re right, Commander.” Johann bowed his head.

“Don’t worry, Captain,” Weiss said, his gaze soft and understanding, “we have things under control. Now, when you get up to the ship, shower and get some rest; you and your men deserve it. Dismissed.”

“Thank you, sir.” Johann spun on his heel, marching back in the direction of the Leopard.

Hopefully Omen would be more hospitable.