Admiral Mahmoud was brought to a small, rather dingy restaurant. His sharp eyes narrowed; a suspicious smell was thick in the air. He had stayed out of factional fighting, but he never liked this Admiral Black.
His suspicions only strengthened further when he saw the sort of men waiting for him in the restaurant. The two notable names were Admiral Frida Agnarsson, commander of the powerful Battlefleet Tempest, and Mr Sawatzki, Minister of Agriculture and a prominent member of the Whitmore Coalition.
The well-dressed waiter served steak. "To what occasion do I owe you this pleasure, Admiral?" Admiral Mahmoud's harsh, grating voice sounded out. His eyes cautiously scanned the other guests.
Admiral Black grinned. But he seemed loathe to get to the point. "Admiral, what do you think of our country?" he asked rather skittishly.
"It's a democratic republic. And I love democracy," Admiral Mahmoud answered robotically. He reached for his laser-pistol concealed in his uniform, and was relieved to know it was there.
"Why so, Admiral?" Admiral Black asked. "What is it about democracy that you love so much?"
"Democracy is the only system that returns sovereignty to the people," Admiral Mahmoud, completely suspicious at this point, replied firmly. "Each move that a democratic government makes reflect the compounded wills of each and every single citizen ... that is why I love democracy."
“Ludicrous,” Minister Sawatzki interfered. “What we have is a mobocracy. There has never been a democratic government in all of human history. A human is a farmer. Foolish, easy to placate. Only concerned about the next meal and the next harvest.”
“Are you insulting your own constituents, Minister Sawatzki?” Admiral Mahmoud probed. “Nothing wrong with farmers; nothing wrong about being concerned about the immediate, rather than distant, future. Besides; say you dislike this ‘mobocracy’, Minister Sawatzki. What alternative do you propose?”
“We must ensure that only the best and the brightest steer the directions of this ship we call the Republic. Let the sheep eat their grass in peace. We the enlightened ones, the shepherds, will provide them with the grass and fence wolves out.”
“... so it’s just a dictatorship then. A monarchy, even. Shepherds on top, and sheep on bottom. Nothing less than a betrayal of the democratic government.”
“No. The sheep can arrange their own small affairs.” Heat was rising in the hearts of both Admiral Mahmoud and Minister Sawatzki.
“I can’t see the difference between your strange system and a despotic governmental system. It sounds like you’re just wishing for power.”
“A shepherd guards the sheep. Some power he has over them; but much responsibility.”
"Enough, Minister. Clearly Admiral Mahmoud is a fervent believer of the current democratic government. In that case. Surely you agree that we have to destroy the despotic Empire," Admiral Black said.
"If the government orders me to fight them, I will."
"And if it does not?"
"Then I won't."
"But you said you love democracy."
"Indeed. Which is why I obey the elected government, and not my own feelings."
This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.
"Even if that government seeks peace with authoritarianism?"
Admiral Mahmoud flinched for a second. "Yes."
"I see."
“I can see what you’re trying to do,” Admiral Mahmoud said, legs crossed. “I’m not sure what ... a rebellion, or a radical constitutional change. But you want to erode the democratic pillars of our country. I will not stand by it. When I leave, I shall muster all I have to protect what you’re trying to overthrow. Now, good day, gentlemen.” Admiral Mahmoud stood up.
A shifty man from the end of the table digs deep inside his pocket. He drew a pistol, firing at the admiral but only grazing his left ear. A split second later, Admiral Mahmoud turned around and drew his own pistol, shooting the assailant.
Six laser shots answered him. The renowned admiral's tough body fell onto the floor, bloody holes carved on his chest. "It is a shame, Admiral Mahmoud," Admiral Black said. "Get a doctor for Mr. Kevler. I’m sure your boss Mr. Kaufmann will hear a lot from us."
The task of an aide in the Armada was multi-pronged. In battle they offered advice to their commanding officer, clarified the situation, and relayed orders. Outside battle they were often compared to civilian secretaries; aiding their commanding officer in paperwork and bureaucratic matters, as well as organizational issues.
Lieutenant Commander Alice Black's reputation, in the eyes of the battle-hardened veterans of Battlefleet Chiyou, was in tatters. Having cowardly fled the heat of battle, she had used the influence of her father to save her own hide.
The one person who viewed her with any modicum of respect was, ironically enough, her commanding officer Rear Admiral Abbas al-Salem. "Let's give her a second chance," he had once said to Yue.
That day Abbas was leading a small division of a thousand ships on a regular patrol. It was a most boring duty; the area he was patrolling was relatively deep in friendly territory.
"Commander, we're detecting a formation of 3000 vessels seven light-seconds away," Black reported to her commander, who was irresponsibly covering his tired eyes with his beret.
"What, it's not imperial ships, right?" Abbas asked, letting out a yawn. He didn't sleep a wink last night when visiting Yue's chambers.
"No ... but isn't it a bit weird? Three thousand ships patrolling near our own?"
"Yeah, fair enough," Abbas replied, using all that his brain could muster. "Go ask them where they're from."
A series of orders went to the communication officers through Black. The ships were closer now. Just six light-seconds. "Unidentified ships, please identify yourself. This is Quetzalcoatl, commanded by Rear Admiral al-Salem, part of Battlefleet Chiyou. Unidentified ships ...."
Even closer now. Five light-seconds. If they were hostiles, now would be time to ready the cannons. "This is Quetzalcoatl ...."
Four light-seconds. "Are their communications screwed?" Abbas wondered aloud. "Or are ours having some–"
"Missiles from 12 o'clock!"
Abbas was jolted into action. "Maneuvers! Loose formation!" he ordered. "All ships, return fire while retreating! Keep trying to communicate with the mysterious fleet!"
"It's ... it's ships from Battlefleet Horus, a coreworld fleet. What is it doing here?" Black said.
As ships of Battlefleet Chiyou retreated, a thousand more hostile ships appeared from behind. "Commander, we should probably retreat to either direction of the Z-plane–"
"No," Abbas said, shaking his head firmly. "All ships, turn about, and carve a path through the enemy fleet behind us."
Her commander was always a bit mad, Black thought. An old fear was gnawing at her. The primal fear of death.
"No. Not again," she thought. "This time I'll stand and fight–just like I should always have!"
Abbas’ fleet turned around, ripping apart the unprepared new fleet behind them. A hole was opened in the middle of the formation. “Get in!” Abbas commanded, and his fleet escaped.
Abbas lost one hundred ships in the ambush. “Damn it!” he cursed. “Lieutenant Commander, send news to Battlefleet Chiyou’s main body!”
“Y-yes!”
When he returned to Florelian Starzone, Abbas, tailed by Black, met with Admiral Tang and Vice Admiral Yue. “Admiral—“
“I got your report,” Admiral Tang, a tense expression plastered over her face, cut off. “And I think I know what exactly happened ....”
Admiral Tang switched on the news. A military officer with a black-and-white armband stood upright.
“Today we announce the dissolution of the bloated, corrupt government, and the rotten Republic of New Stars; and the ascension of the Democratic People’s Republic of Aten.”
Familiar faces of high-ranked government ministers and generals adorned the screen. “It’s a rebellion.” Yue noted, her voice shaking.
Both she and Abbas looked to Admiral Tang. She stood in silence for a solid minute before her eyes blazed with storm. “Muster the fleets,” she said.
“Where are we going?”
“To war. With those we called our brethren half an hour ago.”