The four sat around the table. The room was well-lit, but a dark mood loomed over them. They sat silently in shared misery.

"This has got to be the worst conspiracy ever," said one, a thin, effete man in flowing robes.

"Oh, shut up, you court dandy," said another, a round, well-dressed man with a thick beard and a potato nose. His clothing and accessories spoke of deep wealth.

"Not a single plan has worked so far," said the dandy.

"Well, Krivax worked," said a man with an unmistakable military bearing. "For all the good it did. Didn't draw the fleet into the trap."

The fourth man, a dark figure, sat up.

"It did work. Even though Captain Caltrel balked, Admiral Stonefist marched, all bull-headed straight into it. Then through it."

"Yes, what happened with the Captain?" asked the courtly man. "I thought he was one of us?"

"He had a change of heart," reported the dark figure. "I suspect he discovered the nature of the trap, and instead of dying in glory for the cause, he tried to avoid his fate."

"Well I say he ought to be dealt with," said the well-dressed man.

"He will be," said the dark figure ominously.

"You'll want to step it up," said the military man. "I got word they're shipping him to CenCom's Cryptographers."

The dark figure's face pinched.

"That is... unfortunate. But I thank you for the information."

"It's that Admiral Stonefist," said the courtier. "He keeps winning. The Ninth Fleet keeps winning. When we started out, I was told that he wasn't going to be a problem."

"He wasn't," growled the military man. "Something's got his back up. Besides, I was told that he was going to be out of the way soon." He stared pointedly at the dark figure.

"The man fought off a Qhall assassin," the dark figure said, his face drawn down in a tight frown. "Beat him to death with his bare hands. If you know of anything deadlier than that, let me know."

A gloomy silence settled over the quartet.

"We need leverage on him, is what we need," said the wealthy man. "Someone or something he cares about."

"Ah yes, the famously friendly and approachable Admiral Stonefist," snarked the courtier. "Softhearted and friend to all. Let's gather up a list of all his loved ones. You know, I've heard that he strangled his own grandmother for disrespecting the Emperor."

"Don't spread those stupid tales," groused the military man. "He's hard enough to deal with without all those tall tales circling around." He harrumphed. "Ten years ago, we could have leaned on Admiral Balia. Closest thing he had to a father."

"His father was an Imperial warship, is what I heard," muttered the courtier. The military man glared at him but did not dignify the comment with a response.

"But Balia's out," the military man continued. "He's too old, non compos mentis. He doesn't even know where he's at half the time. We can't tie him up in any schemes."

"What about his Assistant?" asked the dark figure.

"He has an Assistant?" asked the military man, surprised. "One that's lasted longer than a day?"

"Apparently so," the dark figure said. "She's been responsible for his more... thoughtful approach lately."

"Now we're getting somewhere," said the wealthy man, rubbing his hands together.

"But she's a Subject Species," finished the dark figure.

Shocked silence ringed the table.

"Hold on," said the military man, "Admiral Stonefist not only has an Assistant, but it's an SS?"

"Apparently she was a transfer and recommendation from Captain Hawkins."

"Ah," The military man sat back. "Aha. That sounds exactly like something he would do."

"Gentlemen, we're getting off track here. Who cares if she's an SS? How can we use her?"

The dark figure steepled his fingers.

"How, indeed."

"You have a mole on the Swordheart, don't you?" the wealthy man asked the dark figure.

"Yes, I have a Hand on board. He has access to nearly everything, except the bridge."

"Well, then. I think the solution is obvious."

"Can we do something a little more subtle than killing someone?" asked the courtier, rolling his eyes. "Even someone as lacking in circumspection as our celebrated Admiral Stonefist is going to figure out that something grander is going on if assassins keep showing up in his office."

Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

"He is undoubtedly already suspicious," said the dark figure. "But I think our first order of business is to get more information about this Assistant. Find out how much he depends on her." His mouth quirked, the closest he'd come to a smile so far in the meeting. "And I think I know just the way."

----------------------------------------

"Finally!" Admiral Stonefist cried. He stood in his office as two cadets struggled to angle a new desk in through the door to his office. "You two be careful! Pretend you're docking a starship!"

The desk clonked heavily into the door frame.

"The Emperor save us from the next generation of docking," muttered Grimthorn.

He took charge, instructing the cadets and guiding the furniture into his office. After some concerned wrangling and a few barked swears by the Admiral, the cadets managed to park the desk in an appropriate spot.

"Do you have her console?" Grimthorn asked as the two cadets sweated, lining the desk up.

"The desk is all we were given, sir," squeaked one of them.

"Figures. All right, well, thank you, now get out."

The cadets scuttled away.

Grimthorn considered the desk. She should have a new chair, too. He hadn't thought of that. And where was her console? Everything had been requisitioned weeks ago, but she was still working off her scanner and his console. This was ridiculous.

He carefully moved her papers and personal effects from the small conference table onto her new desk, then dragged the table back where it belonged. He moved one of the conference chairs behind the desk and looked at the setup.

Good enough.

He sat down and began his work, making a mental note to follow up on the console.

Kinnit walked in thirty minutes later, at her usual time.

"Good morning, s--" she started, with her usual cheery chirp, but she stopped dead when she saw the desk.

"S-sir, is this for me?" she asked, approaching the furniture.

"Yes, Logistics finally got around to getting the thing to us."

She approached the desk reverently and carefully ran her hand along it.

"Sir, it's beautiful... I've never had anything so nice!"

"I just got you the same one I've got," he said uncomfortably.

"It's so glossy," she said, smiling hugely. "I thought it would just be another secretary pool desk. The one I had with Captain Hawkins was uglier than the backside of an Insectoid. To be fair, it probably would have stood up to a torpedo strike.

"Noted. I'll get you an uglier desk next time."

"No, sir!" she said, looking up in shock. "I love it!" Belatedly, she recognized the crinkle of mirth around his eyes. She set her fists on her hips and puffed out her cheeks. He chuckled.

"I'm glad you like it," he said. "Now, for your first task of the day, would you follow up on the requisition for your console? That should have been here weeks ago."

"Yes, sir!" she chirped, seating herself with great satisfaction behind her new desk. She rearranged her desktop and wriggled with delight. A smile, small but genuine, grew on his face as he watched her taking joy in this small thing.

Conspiracy, assassination and intrigue surrounded her, and all it took to make her happy was furniture.

He watched as she settled into her work, swinging her feet and humming to herself.

He'd been doing a little studying up on Kobolds, what little the Imperium knew about them so far. As short as she was, she was tall-ish, for a Kobold, coming in right at five feet tall. That was six inches or so taller than average.

Not that there was anything wrong with being taller than average. At six foot five, he was used to looking down at the tops of everyone's heads. It must have been quite a shift for her, coming from her home planet where she was the tall one, into the Imperium where she was the short one nearly everywhere she went.

As a Kobold, of course, she also had a pair of horns that grew from her scalp, curling back over her head. Even among the multitudinous species of the Imperium, horns were uncommon. She had a stubby snout that sported her huge smile. And her huge, luminous eyes, so expressive as she dashed through her mercurial moods. For now, they were bunched with happiness, though how she found happiness while sorting through requisition forms, he couldn't comprehend.

He zoomed out and took in her figure. She was clearly female, that much was evident even within the stark, straight lines of her uniform. She was lean and muscular, yet with a shapely allure. Kobolds were clearly mammalian, and she was a fine example of it.

A frown crinkled his brow. He realized he'd been staring at her for a few minutes now. He shook his head, a little shocked that he'd lost focus so easily. Perhaps he needed to start getting more sleep.

He turned back to his console.

"Sir?" she broke into his train of thought. "If you don't mind, I'd like to look into the quartermaster's inventory reports."

"I don't mind. Why?"

"The console requisition-- it's showing as having been delivered."

Admiral Stonefist shrugged.

"So go down there and yell at them until they give you one. That's what I'd do."

"Well, sir, the problem is, the form clearly shows that the console has been taken out of inventory, but the console count from the automated warehousing reports don't show any change at all in the last couple months."

"Probably just somebody slacking. But go ahead and chase it down. It's always nice to know exactly who to yell at."

"Yes, sir." She turned back to her work.

He smiled and shook his head. She was so diligent, following up even on a small thing like this. He caught himself gazing at her again as she worked, comparing her against the research he'd been doing on Kobolds. He set his jaw and forced his eyes back onto his console. He definitely needed more sleep and less research.

Clearly.

He managed to find his focus as the rest of the day plodded along. The afternoon crept in, and he subconsciously heard her stacking her slips and wrapping up her day. He prepared just enough mental capacity to wish her a good evening without breaking the flow of his work.

A shock hit him like a thunderbolt as her arms slid around him and she laid her head on his shoulder. Her touch electrified his skin.

"Thank you, sir," she said.

All his carefully organized thoughts fled away. His mind reeled as he took in the sight of her leaned against him, her eyes closed in bliss, her arms holding him. And his base instincts desperately wanted to wrap his arms carefully around her and draw her in. He wanted to feel the weight of her pressed against him, to bring their bodies together, to feel her warmth, to share his presence with her.

He imagined her curled in his lap staring up at him adoringly with her huge, luminous eyes, and snuggling into his chest.

And that thought was wholly inappropriate.

He bolted to his feet.

"I have to go," he said. And he fled his office with all the dignity of a full rout.

----------------------------------------

Kinnit stood alone in Admiral Stonefist's office, crestfallen.

She was so foolish. She'd been so grateful for the desk that she'd thanked him like a Kobold.

She'd forgotten the first and hardest rule for Kobolds to learn: Terrans are allergic to physical contact. Kobolds spent most of their life in direct contact with one another. Indeed, there was an entire language of touch. Kobolds could carry on a whole, if simple, conversation without speaking a single word. It was as natural as breathing.

But Terrans weren't Kobolds. And now she'd upset the Admiral.

She hung her head, despair creeping in. She would apologize tomorrow, and hope he wasn't too offended. And she'd be extra-special careful to keep her distance from him from now on.

If, after all this time, she couldn't learn to fit into Imperial society, what hope did the rest of her people have?