Kinnit the Kobold stood tall, a tiny, proud smile pressing itself onto her face in spite of her efforts to suppress it. She was on her way to check in for her new assignment.

The lift she rode glowed with comforting white light, making a soft, pulsing hum as it carried her through the superstructure of the ISS Swordheart, pride of the Imperial Navy.

She shifted from foot to foot in excitement, but forced herself to stop: she was a Naval Assistant, not some fresh-faced goob from the back end of the galaxy. She would be calm, professional, dignified. Not vibrating like an arc over reactor coils.

The journey here had been long: from the muddy plains of her home to the Academy, to the outer reaches of space. She'd been assigned to Captain Hawking, and now after only one short year in service, she was being assigned the the highest post an Assistant could dream of.

The heart of the Ninth Fleet, the sharp spear of the Navy, reporting directly to the office of the great Admiral Grimthorn Stonefist, hero of Arcturus, sword arm of the Emperor.

It was all she could do to keep from hyperventilating.

The lift slowed, and with a gentle "ding" the doors slid open. She stepped out into the steel hallway. Bustling people of every species flowed by, brisk and professional, each one carrying out their own important errand. The hall was broad, clean, and well-lit. The conduits, though still visible, were tidy, well-organized, and tucked up near the ceiling out of the way. The cool, dry air, as it did on all ships, smelled faintly of machine oil.

She strode firmly forward, arms swinging, heart swelling with pride. Though she only came chest-high to most others, she walked with the confidence of a giant Jovian.

This was it. Here, now, she would unlock her people, free them from isolation on their planet. Soon the Kobolds would be free to explore the three galaxies alongside the great species.

She unconsciously fingered the golden collar bound to her throat. As one of the Subject Species of the Imperium, she was required to wear the golden collar fused to her flesh that kept her out of sensitive areas. Every Subject Specie that wanted to explore off of their planet had one. The collars, and the complications of summoning one of those creepy Cryptographers any time access was needed kept the Subject Species off the most interesting ships and planets.

She felt it was her great honor and a mark of pride in her quality work to be so trusted. And if she could prove herself-- prove her species worthy, all her kind could roam the galaxies without collars, Cryptographers or restrictions.

She came to an imposing door and stood before it, the crowd mindlessly parting around her as it swept by. Imposing not because it was ornate or ominous or especially distinct; it looked like every other door in the hallway. But it loomed because of all it represented. Her new life, her people, and her success.

Finally, finally, she would be good enough.

Her heart beat double time, giving lie to her stilled features. A grin forced its way onto her face as pulled out her scanner and held it in front of the door. It bleeped, and displayed a brief message.

Adm. Grimthorn Stonefist, Office

She almost cackled. Such modesty was almost insulting, coming from the greatest military mind to ever grace the three galaxies.

She reached out and touched the panel switch, her stomach flip-flopping as she prepared to meet her great hero.

The door hissed open and she stepped forward, more rigidly than she wanted, but her knees weren't taking orders from her hyperactive brain.

And she entered her future.

The office was spacious. There was a file bank against one wall, and a kitchenette against the other. A small conference table sat to one side, and behind the desk a grand portal showing the stars. Not a real portal, naturally, it would be ridiculously dangerous to punch a hole in the side of a ship just to look through. It was a crystal projector that showed a perfect rendition of what was outside.

The desk itself was wide enough for three people to use. It had the requisite console, and was covered with untidy piles of slips: an old form of data where letters were imprinted directly on thin sheets of plastic.

The admiral himself sat behind his desk. Even through the stars crowding her eyes, the very first impression that she had of him was that he looked so very, very tired, not just sleepy, but crushed in spirit, weary of his very existence.

He also looked older than all the holos she'd ever seen of him. That made sense, most of the promotions used images of him from right after he'd saved Arcturus. He'd have been in his twenties, then. Now he was closer to fifty, and he wore the years heavy.

And yet! Commander of the Ninth Fleet! The brain of the ISS Swordheart!

She snapped a salute so crisp she nearly sprained her wrist and opened her mouth to report for duty.

"Refugee intake is on level four," he said, barely looking up. "Take the lift down the hall, someone there will help you."

She froze with her mouth open. Refugee?! She looked down at her crisp, new, powder-blue uniform with the gold piping. She'd spent three days making sure she was perfectly squared away. She'd even polished her horns! Refugee?!

If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

She re-saluted and tried again.

"N-no, sir, I'm--"

He looked up and his brow creased.

"Wait, you shouldn't be able to get in here," he said. "How did you get in here?"

"Sir, I've been ass--"

"Maybe a defective collar? I'll contact a Cryptographer, get that fixed up."

"SIR, I'M YOUR NEW ASSISTANT!" she screamed. Breathing heavily, she re-saluted shakily. "Kinnit, Naval Assistant, First Class, reporting for duty. Sir."

His brows drew down, and his face hardened.

"Excuse me?"

She tried to stabilize herself, with limited success. Her voice wavered and she was already sweating.

This was not going as she'd hoped.

"I'm Kinnit, sir? I've been assigned to you as your new Assistant, sir?"

He stood slowly, his face set. In spite of his thicker middle and thinner hair, he was still toweringly tall, with broad shoulders and a bearing of supreme confidence. He walked over to her with the confident grace of a lifelong military man.

She stiffened, rigidly holding her salute as he slowly circled her once, staring down at her with a piercing gaze that was far from friendly. He stopped in front of her.

"What are you?"

"S-sir?"

"Species. What species are you? Some kind of lizardman or goblin or something?"

She bristled.

"K-Kobold, sir! Subject Species A4N2, designated mustela sapiens."

He straightened.

"And you've been... cleared for this duty?"

It wasn't quite as insulting as being called a refugee or a lizardman, but it was close. Her face stilled as she answered.

"I have graduated Naval Academy with full honors and passed a full mental and psychological, and social evaluation. Additionally, I've undergone a full Level 7 security review, and I'm authorized to access classified information through Diamond classification. If you review my files, I'm sure you will find all the relevant details. Sir."

"Hm. And your Naval Academy application--"

"Was accepted on merit, sir, without consideration of my species."

He raised an eyebrow.

"You're running close to insubordination already. Where are your orders?"

She fished her scanner out of her pocket, blipped up her orders and held them out to him, still holding her salute. He took her scanner and looked through the documentation.

"At ease," he said as he read. She dropped the salute and clasped her hands behind her, but did not relax a single micron. He wandered back to his desk, his eyes riveted to the scanner.

At long last, unable to find a flaw in the orders, he sank into his chair. The weight of his weariness pressed him down until he looked like he was eighty years old. He slammed a fist onto his desk.

"Typical CenCom fubar," he muttered. "I asked for an Assistant, not some Subject Species pity-hire. I need help, not another project."

Kinnit stared studiously into the distance.

"Very well. You're an Assistant, right? Can you take dictation? You know how to read and write?"

"Yes, sir, I'm quite capable of taking dictation," she said stiffly.

"Take a message for Commander Odren at Central Command."

Kinnit glanced around. The only console was on Admiral Grimthorn's desk, and he still had her scanner. She stepped around his desk and pulled up a new message, addressed it appropriately.

"Ready, sir."

He faced the portal and stared into the depths of the stars as he spoke.

"Subject: Assistant. Commander, with all due respect, whiskey tango foxtrot? What is this garbage CenCom saddled me with? Please perform a rectal craniectomy posthaste and send me a qualified Assistant. Stop with the stupid games. Kindest regards, take a walk naked out an airlock, etc."

Kinnit's eyes filled with tears as her spirit was crushed. Her fingers flew across the keypad in time with his speaking. She kept her face firm and refused to let any tears fall.

"Did you get all that?"

"Yes, sir."

"Read it back."

"Dear Commander Odren," she read stiffly, "I hope this correspondence finds you well. I would like to raise a concern about the recent Assistant assignment. I feel that Central Command's selection was not fully considered. I would like to request a review of your selection with an eye toward replacement. Kindest regards, Grimthorn Stonefist, Admiral, Ninth Fleet."

Admiral Grimthorn stared down at her. She stared levelly back at him.

"I took the liberty of adjusting the tone of the correspondence," she said.

Admiral Grimthorn held her gaze for a long moment, then unexpectedly burst into laughter.

"If I sent that, I'd catch a psychiatric discharge," he said, wiping tears from his eyes. "If anybody even believed I wrote it." He sat back in his chair.

She didn't respond, only stood stiffly.

"But that shows good instincts. Protecting your officer from himself."

He looked at her.

"Delete that message."

"Yes, sir."

She swiped the message away and stepped back from the console.

Admiral Grimthorn picked her scanner and started going through her files. His eyebrows rose.

"You served under Captain Hawking?" he asked.

"Yes sir. He recommended me for this commission."

Admiral Grimthorn stared at her for a long minute, his expression unreadable.

"Did he, now?"

"Yes, sir."

"Well, isn't that just like him?"

He stared at her.

"Why are you here?"

"Sir, I was assigned to your office by Central Comm--"

"No, no, I mean why are you doing this? Why join the Navy? Why even leave your planet? Why not just stay home and enjoy life? Skip all this bureaucratic nonsense?"

"Respectfully, sir, I don't think you'd understand."

"Try me."

She paused, debating. But even if she was woefully unqualified, even if she was going to get thrown out of the Navy by her own hero, she at least had to be honest.

"Before Imperial contact, when I was growing up," she started slowly, "I used to stare at the stars. I could name every constellation, every planet and named star. I loved the thought of traveling among them. I loved stories of hopping the stars."

She took a deep breath.

"But it was all fantasy. We could barely even get to our own moon, much less to the stars. And when my father died, we started to starve. I was the youngest, and I was the only one still alive when the Imperium came."

She closed her eyes against the tears.

"It was magical. All I had ever dreamed of, all I'd ever imagined beyond hope walked out to us under a diplomatic banner. And it has been everything I have ever wanted. Every minute. Even this one."

She opened her eyes and looked at him.

"All I want-- all I have in life is the Imperium. Labor, Corvus, Gloria. Work, Honor, and Glory."

She saluted fiercely.

"All hail the Imperium," she said.

He looked at her with that black-hole-heavy weariness of spirit. He waved a half-hearted salute back at her.

"All hail," he said.

He sighed heavily.

"You remind of someone who was also once young, idealistic and zealous. And an idiot."

He stood and gave her a full and careful salute.

"Welcome to my office, Assistant Kinnit."