"This is why you can't be too close to Admiral Tang," Yue replied. "She's got too many enemies, and I'm not talking about the Imperials. I’ll explain later.”

Unbeknownst to the two young officers, an old, wrinkly man had listened to this talk.

"Are you married?" the receptionist made small talk while the administrative staff did their work.

"We're just friends," Yue replied bluntly. A few days–or even a few hours ago–the answer would have been "acquaintances", if even that.

“Friends who sleep in the same room?”

“Yes,” Yue said, even if both Abbas and she slightly blushed, just now realizing the implication of two young, unmarried people booking a hotel room together. “I don’t recall probing personal lives as a receptionist’s job. You’d do well as an interrogator.”

After hurried apologies, the receptionist gave them a key. She wasn’t unfamiliar with military officers and their often indiscreet dalliances.

These particular two, however, had no such intentions. They took a short bath in turns and had pudding brought to the room. “So, what did you mean by ‘enemies’?” Abbas asked.

“The Interstellar Patriot Alliance—the IPA; they’re nominally just an extremist terrorist group,” Yue explained. “Well, you realize Admiral Tang has a grudge against some other admirals?”

“The frontier against the coreworlds,” Abbas said.

“Well, I wouldn’t put it that way. Hm, how should I put it,” Yue wondered. She shook her head. “They’re pro-war extremists, you see. Viva democracy and stuff. Admiral Tang has been against the likes of them for some time now. They’re natural enemies.”

“And we’ve been associated with her,” Abbas added.

Those who call for war always hide from the actual war, indeed, he thought.

“Yeah, well, I’m her Chief-of-Staff since I became a Captain.”

Yue yawned. “Come on, I’m tired. Forget about the IPA. Let’s sleep.”

And so sleep took them.

In the morning, they partook in the breakfast buffet in the hotel. That day, however, the breakfast hall was louder than might be expected. The source was a game machine called the Space Battle Simulator.

It was a rather popular game, if the crowd watching were any indicator. It was designed to simulate actual space battles, and was also used to train military officers. “What’s going on?” Abbas asked one of the spectators.

“It’s this guy!” he said, pointing to an old man playing. “He’s been beating everyone! Everyone here has lost their 100 credits!”

The old man came up. “Do you want to play as well?” he asked with surprising vitality. “The bet’s a hundred creds each.”

Abbas stepped forward.

“You want to play?” Yue asked.

“Who’s the two-time champion of Olkutchen’s SBS competition?” Abbas said with a glint of pride in his eyes. “You’re on, Mr—“

The old man exploded in raucous laughter. “You can call me Tom,” he said. He scanned the two newcomers. “Hm. Are you both military officers, by any chance?”

“Ah, yes. I’m Commodore Abbas al-Salem.”

Tom smirked. “The Hero of Alvisa?” he said, provoking whispers from the spectators. “Alright. Let’s play.”

The two sat down opposite each other, separated by a distance of around ten metres. They had a tablet each, and there was a large screen for the spectators. Each commanded a thousand ships, including battleships, carriers, cruisers, and more.

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Abbas followed military protocol. He sent in a hundred ships as vanguard before slowly advancing his entire force.

The old man Tom, grinning, unleashed a storm of ships at his centre, crushing the vanguard. Abbas hastily recalled his ships, forming a standard U formation. Tom’s ships charged straight—to retreat and go left or right would expose them to fire from Abbas’—and it looked like Abbas’ U formation would slaughter the invading ships.

That was when Tom’s ships formed a sphere formation so quickly whilst the remainder of his forces attacked from starboard. Abbas’ formation was shattered, and a few minutes later Tom had won.

A shocked Abbas handed over a hundred credits to his opponent, not able to say much. “Not too bad, Commodore. But you see—always protect the sides of a U formation with reserve ships.” An arrogant grin formed on Tom’s face.

“My turn,” Yue said. “I’m going to get everyone’s money back. Here’s two thousand creds.”

Tom smiled impishly amidst cheers from the crowds. Yue took her seat with Abbas next to her. “Arrogant prick,” Yue muttered.

“He’s ... really good,” Abbas warned.

“Don’t worry, I’ve eight years of experience on you.”

Yue advanced her ships in four groups. Tom stayed still. When Yue probed the defences of her opponent, she let out a low gasp. “Something wrong?” Abbas whispered.

Yue shook her head.

She began a concentrated attack on one of the sides. Tom casually moved ships from one side to another to counter her attack. Yue pulled back and thought for a while. Tom looked as relaxed as ever.

She split the forces into four groups, attempting an encirclement. Just as she did that, Tom’s ships charged forth, destroying one of Yue’s squadrons. Yue descended into chaotic tactics, sending frantic attacks left and right, and turning the battlefield into pure chaos. But she was now outnumbered four to three, and half an hour later she lost.

“This man ... you’re not cheating or anything, are you?” Yue asked. Before Abbas, she was the champion of Olkutchen’s SBS competition, and she was a sore loser in this game. “There was a fog of war, how did you know I’ve split my forces?”

“Oh, it was quite obvious. Aside from a defensive formation, your only choice would be to try and encircle my formation. And you don’t seem like a defensive type, that is all.”

Tom took the two thousand credits with a grin. The disappointed crowd dispersed. “You want to know the solution?” he asked as he approached Yue and Abbas. “Use all your force strength to break through one point of my formation before I could shift my reserves to defend that point. It’s a risky move, of course. Ordinary protocols demand you keep a portion of your forces as reserve. But you must know how and when to commit everything.”

“The way you speak, I’d think you were a marshal,” Yue said, admitting the loss. “Thanks for the pointers.”

Tom left, and the two officers returned to the breakfast table.

“... you saw the formation he used?” Yue asked.

“Yeah,” Abbas replied. Yue’s probing had momentarily cleared the fog of war and revealed Tom’s formation: two layers of ships forming a shell and a mobile reserve force in the middle. “What of it?”

“It’s Admiral Tang’s signature ‘Turtle Shell’ formation. It’s like a sphere formation but more flexible and can be used offensively. I don’t know how, but it’s almost an exact replica ....”

“It’s probably a coincidence,” Abbas said, trying to brush things off. Yue nodded, but something in her eyes suggested she wasn’t satisfied with that.

“Where are you going after this?” she asked, finishing off her breakfast of dangerously excessive quantities of waffles and eggs.

“Probably to the hospital. My friend Henry is hospitalized there.”

“Oh, I see. I’m off to visit a few old friends. Want to meet again here?”

“Sure.”

Abbas headed to the hospital in a taxi. Henry was already almost fully healed—except for one thing: his legs were gone. “I’m going to move to Rear Service,” he said, smiling. “Wounded in my first battle—it’s not a good omen.”

Abbas, fully aware of Henry’s penchant for certain concepts such as “omens” and “fates”, only nodded. “I’m sure you’d make a good logistician,” he said. “Maybe as high as Rear Service Chief!”

In the Armada, the highest position is Joint Headquarters Chief, followed by Supreme Commander of the Armada, and then the various chiefs of departments: Rear Service Department, Intelligence Bureau, and so on. Currently the Joint Headquarters Chief was the quiet, unassuming Marshal Gabriel Popov, and the Supreme Commander of the Armada was Admiral Mario Cardona.

“And you’ll be the Supreme Commander of the Fleet, then?”

The two officers laughed pleasantly before a strict nurse kicked Abbas out for being too loud.

“Heh heh. You really should keep quiet,” came the voice of Admiral Falkenhausen, who was on a wheelchair. Abbas saluted.

“You did very well,” Admiral Falkenhausen said. “Good work, Commodore.”

The elderly admiral smiled. “With people like you, I can feel comfortable retiring.”

“Retire, Sir?” Abbas asked, a little surprised.

“Well, in a few months, anyway. These old bones can’t keep up with the times,” he said. “Old folks like me should step aside and make room for the youngins.”

At that time, a young aide came running. She twitched at Abbas’ presence before whispering something to the old admiral. His eyes lighted up.

“Really? Ridiculous ....”

The old admiral’s eyes turned towards Abbas. “Commodore, you’ll accompany me.”

“Where to, Admiral?”

“War council,” he sighed. “They’re planning to invade imperial territory.”