Bal Callat carefully pushed the broom across his restaurant. His brow, already lined with long years, furrowed with concentration.

Ordinarily this would be Mira's job, but she was lying down in the bedroom. She'd been having the spells more often lately, and he tried to help where he could.

He pushed the dust aggressively across the floor. He and Mira had been running their restaurant in Techterra for close to thirty years. When they'd started, the menu had been foods from their home system of Lliri, a Terran colony. They'd quickly expanded. Techterra was a waypoint for all kinds of species, from all kinds of worlds, and Bal was only too happy to serve them all, regardless of who or what they were.

What had begun as a way to make a living had turned into a personal mission for Bal. Seeing his restaurant full of variety, of every kind of person enjoying his food, filled his heart with contentment. And he loved to talk with them all, sharing stories of his home in his broken Standard, listening to their stories in turn. Every traveler had a story, and he was anxious to hear them all. Over the years, he'd made many friends, and was well-liked in the community.

Bal stabbed at a particularly stubborn spot on the floor with his broom.

Complacent. Unthankful. That what he'd become. He'd thought that life would always be that way. That peace, harmony, and kindness were the natural order of things.

But with the latest troubles... Bal sighed. Subject Species would no longer sit next to citizens. They'd choose a table on the other end of the restaurant. The Imperial citizens, likewise, chose tables away from the SSes. His restaurant, like his city, was splitting in two.

Bal loved Techterra. He loved its people-- all of them-- and it hurt his heart to see them dividing.

The news lately was full of violence. Bal's frown deepened. Why couldn't they show good things? The only thing they ever served was fear and anger.

"Eat all poison, and what you expecting?" he muttered to himself. "All society eating poison all the time. Getting sick. Getting sad."

He was nearly done with the sweeping when shadows outside caught his eye. He looked out through the plate glass window in front of his restaurant. Twilight was falling, and the gloom was settling over the street. Bal peered into the uncertain light. He was able to make out three figures in the street.

Saurians. With yellow-and-black armbands. Bal frowned. Saurians were fine, he had no problems with the lizardmen. The armbands were a problem. They were the mark of agitators, violent and unpredictable.

"We closed!" he yelled through the window. "No food now!"

The Saurians grinned in a way Bal very much did not like. Two of them lifted something heavy between them. They swung it back and forth a couple times and heaved it at the window.

It smashed through the plate glass, spraying twinkling shards of crystal across the freshly swept floor.

"Hey!" he shrieked in outrage. "I not part of your politics! You leave my restaurant alone!"

The Saurians fled, chortling.

A flicker drew his eye to the heavy bundle that had violated his restaurant. It was indistinct, but a small readout showed red numbers, ticking downward.

He dropped his broom and bolted for the stairs and his wife.

"Mira!" he screamed.

He was only halfway to the stairs when the bomb went off.

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

Senn chuckled and leaned back in his chair. He tossed his scanner on the table, still dialed in to the Imperial Clarion. Part of a headline was visible:

"Tensions Rise as Beloved Restaurant Owner and Wife Murdered by SS Terr..."

"See?" Senn said. "I promised you success, and here we are."

Idrian, the conspirator from the court, scoffed.

"So one dead fry cook is success?" he sneered.

"I don't see how this improves the bottom line," added Rax, the industrialist. "I mean, rah rah for heightened tension in Techterra, but that's not war. We need war."

"Gentlemen, gentlemen, where's your faith?"

"In a prison cell next to Denth," Idrian muttered.

Senn was feeling so pleased that he didn't even rise to Idrian's bait.

"This is the first step of a larger plan," he said. "What is our biggest problem right now?"

"Admiral Stonefist," Idran and Rax said simultaneously.

"Wrong," Senn said, smiling. "Admiral Stonefist is just a mad dog. Our real problem is the brain behind him, this Assistant of his."

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"What does that matter?" Rax asked. "Admiral Stonefist is a problem either way."

"Right, but if we separate him from his Assistant--"

"We tried that."

Senn shook his head with a smile.

"Denth tried to take them on directly. That's why he's in the hands of the Cryptographers now. But a direct approach won't work against those two."

"So... tearing down Techterra solves the problem?" Idrian asked. His tone mixed airy contempt with snideness in a way that always managed to raise Senn's hackles.

But today was different.

"Think about it. Techterra is the home of Central Command. The fleet is the heart of the Imperial Navy, but Techterra is its brain. If we want to change the course of Naval policy, we do it in Techterra."

"Oh, who cares about Imperial bureaucracy?" barked Rax. "I've got capex pouring into dozens of new weapons factories! The board's set to skin me if I don't have something to show for it soon! And I'm still paying for Oryndrax! And these Saurians aren't cheap either!"

"Stop thinking about money for a second, and think about power," Senn said. "We can't separate Admiral Stonefist and his Assistant. But the Navy can."

Rax raised an eyebrow.

"How do you mean?"

"SSes are violent. They're uncontrollable, barely sentient. Otherwise they'd be full citizens, see?"

"That's ridiculous. What are you talking about?" Idrian sneered.

Senn's temper frayed.

"I'm talking about developing a prevailing narrative!" he snapped, slamming a hand down on the table. "That's the narrative! That SSes can't be trusted! I want the Navy brass thinking 'If we're having trouble controlling them in Techterra, what are they up to in the fleet?' It won't be long before they decide that it's too dangerous to have any of these unstable SSes in any sensitive positions. Don't you see? That gets this Assistant away from Admiral Stonefist!"

"But if it's only in Techterra..."

"That's the beauty of it! It doesn't matter how safe the statistics say SSes are if a restaurant on your street burns down. And if it happens three times in a month, then obviously the statistics are wrong. Techterra is where the leadership is, Techterra is where we'll change their minds!"

Silence filled the room as the other two conspirators thought through things.

"Fair enough," Rax said finally. "But once we separate them, then what?"

"Then on to phase two." Senn chuckled darkly. "I've been missing having a Hand on the ISS Swordheart, but I've picked the next one I want."

The other conspirators leaned forward.

"Admiral Stonefist himself."

Idrian burst into laughter.

"You've taken leave of your senses, man," he scoffed. "You're going to turn Admiral Stonefist? Do you have a magical universe inverter ray hidden away somewhere?"

Senn smiled broadly and began laying out his plan. As he spoke, the other conspirators' expressions slowly changed: from skepticism, to shock, then they shared grins of cruel anticipation.

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

Admiral Grimthorn Stonefist smiled as he sat at his desk, typing away diligently. His typing trailed off as his eyes traveled over to the other desk in his office where Kinnit the Kobold sat.

Her pale red skin glowed under the indirect lighting of the office. She smiled happily as she typed, rocking in her seat and humming, her tail swinging in time to the song she was humming.

His gaze fixed on her for a long moment, drinking in her form. His heart swelled. It almost didn't seem real, that she had opened her heart to him, of all people. Scarred, miserable, and angry as he was, she still was willing to... to have a relationship with him.

A girlfriend. The word still felt strange to him. For as long as he'd carried a torch for her, having actually succeeded was a shock to his system, and he was trying to figure out what it meant to be a boyfriend. He grinned at the thought.

They were still working out the particulars of what all that meant, and how to go about it. His expression turned sour as his gaze settled on the thin band of gold around her neck. It was her collar, her designation as a Subject Species, an SS, and it kept her out of many places in the Imperium.

And it made their relationship very, very illegal.

And he didn't care.

His frown melted as he gazed openly at her. Now that he could.

She glanced over at him. She set her chin on her hand and gave him a sly look, her eyes half-lidded, with a knowing smile.

"Grimthorn? Are you getting distracted from your work?"

"That would be inappropriate," he said gruffly, "and a misuse of Naval time."

She arched an eyebrow at him.

"Yes," he said.

She giggled, and he grinned.

"I'm just setting up some inspection schedules for the fleet," he said. "I've been lax on that for a while. Now that things have calmed down, I need to get us back into fighting shape. What are you working on, Kinnit?"

"The fleet's jump routes for the Oryndrax operation. I'm glad we're finally going to seal them off. I know it's probably not right to say, but I'll be happy if I never see another Oryndrax again." She shuddered. She still screamed herself awake some nights, shaking violently at the memory of the heavy press of cold Insectoid bodies swarming over her with those rough, ticklish feet.

"We should core out their homeworld," Grimthorn said. "It would only be fair after what they did to Krivax." Kinnit frowned disapprovingly at him. "Though I can see how sealing them off is a more humane approach," he added slowly. "And we'll still have a lot of them to deal with. There are a whole lot of bugs still in Vylar fighters somewhere out there. This just keeps the problem from getting worse."

"Do you think they'll put up a fight?"

"I hope so."

Kinnit frowned, but Grimthorn held his ground.

"We'll be collapsing every jumphole within twelve light-years of their system. That will effectively cut them off from the rest of the galaxy until they develop their own jumphole technology, which will happen shortly after never. They're certain to respond militarily." Grimthorn grinned mirthlessly. "Our Ninth Fleet will be there to meet that response."

She sighed.

"It seems a little cruel. The galaxy is so huge and wonderful. It's a shame to seal anybody off from it."

"Oryndrax don't see the galaxy that way," he said shortly. "To a bug, the only thing of interest is what they can eat and where they can-- make more bugs. Besides, there will still be one jumphole left. With a really big cannon pointed at the exit, in case they get froggy again. But if they ever come around to being friendly with the Imperium, there's a way out for them."

Kinnit nodded.

"That's the most reasonable approach, I guess. Still, it would be so much better if everyone would just understand how wonderful the Imperium is."

Grimthorn smiled indulgently. Kinnit was so devoted to the ideals of the Imperium.

"Labor, Honor, Gloria," he said.

"All hail the Imperium," she responded.

They shared a smile and got back to work.