Abbas really couldn’t be bothered to pay much attention to the proceeding ceremony. With this ceremony came an implicit peace treaty—well, at least until some stupid issue flamed the war again.

Or perhaps, mysterious hands behind the veil would reignite the machinations of war once more, as have happened many times before.

He had to stand around looking busy as exchanged POWs made their way to transport ships. An unexpected presence incited his interest, though. “Oh, hey, Henry!” he greeted his old friend, who looked like he would suffer a stroke within the next few days.

“Oh, Abbas,” Henry replied with a weak smile, a stack of documents in his hand.

“You look tired,” Abbas mused.

“You’d be tired too if you had to handle all this,” Henry retorted before sighing. “They really should be giving us warning before doing things like this. Well, I guess it’s better than your predicament.”

“My predicament involves standing around, so I don’t think so,” Abbas chuckled.

“That’s not what I mean—oh. Here comes the devil.”

The devil was an overweight, short man in uniform—‘Admiral’ Black, who came from a wealthy line of defence contractors. He commanded Battlefleet Ouroboros, a coreworld fleet. His character was certainly wanting; as Admiral Tang so eloquently put it in one of her insult-filled rants, nuanced in bigotry:

“I have no idea how that imbecile is even allowed to function in society; surely at some point we ought to give mercy and let the idiots rest in mental hospitals. An earthworm has greater intelligence than that pathetic mockery of an admiral. Symptomatic of the general incompetence, inexperience, and stupidity of the coreworld admirals. In fact, so terrible is this piece of garbage, that I now count Battlefleet Ouroboros as an Imperial fleet; for all purposes it is one—a threat to our Armada.” The objectivity of this statement would later be questioned.

Abbas saluted him. “Rear Admiral, pleasant to meet you,” he said. “And for my daughter to serve as your aide again! She has done a good job, last I hear?”

Abbas’ head tilted. “A good—“ Frankly, he was surprised she wasn’t court-martialed after the escape stunt she pulled.

“She did a good job, didn’t she?” Admiral Black’s twisted mouth smiled widely.

Abbas was no dolt. He knew the subtle threat that danced around with that sentence. He gritted his teeth. It looked like he was ready to turn around and explode—

“Oh, dear me, there is nothing wrong here, is there?”

A short man of brown complexions entered the fray with a friendly, peaceful smile on his face. Admiral Anand, commander of Battlefleet Agni, had interfered. Admiral Black took a physical and mental step back.

“Nothing at all, Admiral Anand, I was just complimenting the rear admiral on his recent achievements. Well then, good day.”

As soon as Admiral Black was out of sight, Admiral Anand walked closer. His face grew stiff, his friendly smile replaced by a grim, flat expression. “You’d do well to avoid confrontations with that man, Rear Admiral. His connections in political circles are as deep and thick as the roots of a great tree,” he said.

His expressions relaxed a little. “We need a few more able admirals at the front, to replace those tragically lost at Ventii—but I prefer them to not have a bad temperament.”

“Thanks for the help, Admiral.”

Admiral Anand waved his hand and left—to be replaced by a woman in imperial uniform, immediately causing Abbas to straighten his pose. This woman, in likeness of Imperial Spymaster Klaris, was one of the latter’s many, many ‘doppelgangers’, agents who looked and trained to act like her. Not that Abbas would know any of that—in fact, he didn’t even know who Klaris is. “I believe you are Rear Admiral Abbas al-Salem,” the agent said. “Our Royal Highness Princess Katharin sends you her regards. ‘Until we meet again’.”

The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

The agent disappeared as mysteriously as she came.

Until we meet again ....

Katharin was taking her time to observe the soldiers of the Republic, alongside Marshal Karl von Marbach at her side. “Rear Admiral Abbas al-Salem ... if only he had been an Imperial, I’d like to have him under our command,” Katharin remarked. “It appears they have better officers than ours, in general.”

Katharin’s teeth gritted like that of a predator’s. “We’ve been showing too much favoritism towards the nobleborn. Like parasites they’ve burrowed themselves into our society without merit.”

“Be as that may, they still possess great resources. For a monarchy our central authority is quite lacking,” Karl commented.

“There’ll be a war soon, Karl,” Katharin said, her mouth forming a sharp smile. “I’m afraid my father is dying. The nobles won’t accept me as their Empress.”

“Certainly, young empresses on the throne is considered a softer target for rebellion,” Karl said nonchalantly. “That said, I don’t believe there is anyone worth their salt as a military commander in their ranks.”

The two of them continued walking in silence after that. A few days later, everyone returned home—and war resumed.

Katharin and Karl rapidly established a new admiralty, ostensibly for modernization purposes. The Numbered Fleets were reorganized, forming twenty large fleets of roughly 30,000 ships each. The Royal Fleet was restrengthened, numbering 60,000 ships. In total the Empire could muster 660,000 warships.

Of notice were Katharin’s newly picked commanders: Admiral Valentina, commanding the First Fleet; Vice Admiral Radbruch, commanding the Second Fleet; Vice Admiral Thompson, commanding the Fifth Fleet.

“Not enough,” was Katharin’s response to the assembled admirals. “We need more talent.”

Katharin’s desire to surround herself with competence, rather than yes-men, would shape the way her figure was assessed by future historians. And so would her fighting spirit.

In a fortnight, she would get her wish. A crisis had broken out in one of the Empire’s frontier starzones. It first started as a dispute over ore mining rights of some newly discovered ore veins in a number of planets between Marquis von Knittlingen and a reasonably wealthy commoner.

According to legal experts, the ore veins, located under the commoner’s property, were completely under the Marquis’ ownership. Imperial Spymaster Klaris’ investigation revealed that the experts’ family had fallen under threat by the Marquis.

There was another issue at play. The Marquis is technically part of the royal family, even if his royal blood is thin. The commoner, a disabled, retired commodore by the name of August Vokel, had launched a complaint. The only reason the complaint even came to Katharin’s desk at all was that August Vokel was a passing acquaintance with Marshal Karl.

“Marquis von Knittlingen is a highly respected noble in court,” Klaris commented. “If we’re to side with this man August Vokel, we’ll be alienating him.” Klaris’ eyes sharpened, and the blades were aimed at Karl.

“Commodore August Vokel is a very popular man in the lower rungs of the military, an idol of sorts,” Karl stated stiffly.

“He has no noble pedigree, and yet managed to rise to the rank of commodore. He must be quite good,” Katharin noted. “And besides, in this case Marquis von Knittlingen really is on the wrong side. Klaris, summon August Vokel for me.”

“Yes, Princess.”

Katharin left the room. Karl and Klaris immediately turned on one another. “If you think the only thing governing requires are big ships and big guns and strong admirals, think again,” Klaris hissed.

“What use is statecraft if it harms the people?” Karl shot back.

“I’m making a small sacrifice for a better future. We’ll have to rid Knittlingen one day, but not now. We can’t alienate him and his supporters for the sake of one person and a bunch of commoners. The maths don’t add up. If you want to help that Vokel so much, I can pilfer some funds from the Imperial Household Treasury to compensate him.”

“And just who are you to make that sort of decision? Are you God? You calculate left and right, but this is an empire, not a computer.”

The voices of these two were perfectly calm and stable even as they conjure verbal storms at one another, like tall and proud lighthouses in heavy rain.

“I don’t care about your opinions,” Klaris said finally. “But you can’t keep steering Princess Katharin towards your fleets.”

“The princess is perfectly capable of forming her own opinions. She’s not a child.”

“For all intents and purposes she still is.”

“For all your intents and purposes, mayhaps.”

The two loyal servants of the Empire left the room, their differences unsettled. In any case, a favorable result was bestowed towards Vokel, who rejoined the military. It was a decision that flamed the wrath of Marquis von Knittlingen and his associates in court, but cheered the hearts of many commoners in the military.

The date was 18 June 2602. The news that shook the entire galaxy was brought.

Emperor Fredrick had passed away.