Not a soul touched me while I was out. I wake up in the same chair and feel a bit of crust on my face. I wipe it and see blood flakes on my hand and a stain on my chest. Well shit. I should probably be embarrassed that I’m bleeding on the bridge, but I should probably go change before dinner. I check the time and the ship’s schedule and see that I have a few minutes before the second sitting of the officer’s mess starts. Alright then, let’s see if I have an Astorian jumpsuit in my closet.

I take a quick rinse before searching my closet, and lo and behold it is stocked for me. Turns out, I have two jumpsuits in there. A cheeky one with two stars on it, the Navy’s admiralty shipboard uniform—a not-so-subtle hint of my status equivalent—and a much more dark, royal purple from neck to belt and out to shoulders with a strip of purple blue and pink swirl for a side stripe. The pants essentially look like purple chaps with the swirl on the inner legs. All in all, it’s pretty cute, with the flair being a large 5-point star with a galaxy wreath angled around, a capital ‘SM’ in the center of the big star.

I could say thanks, or I could send a pic. I stand in front of a conference screen and take a normal picture, appreciating the uniform, and another where I’m leaning toward the screen with the suit unzipped to my navel. I send them to Penny and make sure I’m looking thirsty in the second one. I put a compression top back on and zip up the jumper before heading to dinner.

“Wait, wait. There’s a freaking Marshal uniform? Since when?” Rob accuses me.

“Since I had to check my staterooms closet because I bled all over the place?” I scoff, “and don’t be jealous Rob, green isn’t the right color for this.” I gesture at my outfit.

“Mik, calm down douche.” Darcy says, patting Rob on the shoulder.

“Fiiiine. In other news, do either of you have a pilot’s license?”

Rob raises a hand and Darcy stares at him. “What? I wanted to be a secure courier for a while. Transportation qualifications only require retesting after physicals report changes in cognitive ability or physical ability.” He turns to me, “Are you buying us a shuttle?” His excitement is palpable.

“I’m toying the idea of getting my old shuttle back for you two, and the next reggo Marshal when the Empress issues me one.”

“You sound like Senior Chief Darnold.” A lieutenant whose last name is too long for me to want to attempt.

“I was a first-class Master at Arms before I picked up this gig.” I thought that was the end of it until the baby decided to continue.

“Don’t they get the cushy base security gigs?” I want to snarl but instead my lips curl into a viscous smile.

“How many military bases were in the Empire thirteen years ago?” I ask.

“A few?”

“Zero, there were none. Most of us were assigned protection gigs, and then served as boarding NCOs during the War.”

He scoffs. At this point I realize that because the uniform doesn’t match his, he thinks it’s a fake. The whole Wardroom is quiet.

“Did you kill any Cats? What was it like?”

I take a deep breath and level a stare at the kid. “Seventeen, the last one with a knife to the throat. I had to saw his head off because even in death his bite was too strong to pull from my shoulder.”

I can see the gears working in his head to imagine the situation, but I am tired of his face. “Before you ask anymore questions, you should leave. Your ration will be available at the kiosk of your choosing.”

He looks around, about to bite back, but the rest of the table stands to let him leave. Save the Captain and I, we sit and enjoy our coffee.

As soon as he leaves, Howard says, “Was that really necessary?”

“Disrespect should be answered, Captain. I’m not sure if that reflects more on the LT or on you, but if you decide you want to be spanked in front of your officers, or your entire crew, I assure you I am up to the task.”

The entire meal proceeded in silence, even the Culinary Specialist read the room and proceeded with as few words as possible. I sigh in resignation that the tentative détente that we were building is now destroyed. He tries, yet again, to slide slights at my presence as he walks toward the door without saying a word. As he puts his hand on the handle, I speak.

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“Captain. There are some matters to discuss tomorrow. Please attend the Flag Mess for breakfast with your XO and Chief of the Boat.” He grimaces and slams the Wardroom door behind him.

For an enemy, I would have enjoyed the petty victory. For someone that is supposed to be an ally that is sending conflicting signals, we need to set this straight. I hope the remaining officers know enough that they should forget this, but with Junior LT numb nuts being as ignorant as he was, I don’t have much hope. I’m not an angel here, I know that, but it’s so hard to sit still for people that think my work amounts to bullshIt jobs and comfy paydays.

Kip’s recent words echo in about my mental blocks about self worth. It’s funny how I can marginalize my own work, but as soon as someone hints that I haven’t done enough work, I’m ready to fight. By kips words, he’d probably suggest I keep fighting. The right battles or some shit.

Preach it Marshal.

I almost snort audibly, but in my mind I am rolling at his inane comment.

“Rob, how’s the staffing going?”

“Work at dinner sir?” he pauses, “ugh, fine, I’m having trouble weeding out the corporate candidates, so maybe one in four is a plant. Extra from Twilight for some reason.”

“I gave Protector Volkov a suggestion against smuggling outside of system space. She took offense. She is also a known Mobster, so take that as you will.”

“Fuck, Mik, we’re not prepared for Mob level attention!” A hint of panic creeps into his voice.

“Rob, buddy. I don’t know if the Consuls or the Empress is doing this grass roots shoveling, but I can tell they are waiting for the reports and the demands to increase personnel or funding to get more folks out here. Give me options to sell, tell me the resources or people you need to combat this and we’ll get the money, the people, or the ordinance to fix it.”

“But, dude, how do we fund this?!”

“I save a quarter of my paycheck to fund emergency medical for my team. I can dip into that for countering the mob no big. I also save a bunch of our operation budget by investing in fuel and shit so we can have the rollover each year.”

Darcy cackles, and they run away with her. “If that’s what you’re doing with the excess instead of giving it back, we must have a few million in the extras budget.”

“Two point three four, to be more precise.” I reply. “Now is the time for new staffing and fixing what’s broken. It’s time to put in requests.”

Rob and Darcy follow me back to my stateroom after the meal finishes.

“Alright, friends, what is it.”

“Are you freaking insane, Mik? He’s in charge of the fleet! You can’t afford to alienate the Captain.”

“Yeah, Darcy” I say before sucking air through my teeth. “I’m actually in charge. Of every Astorian asset in the Coreward Frontier. Kismet is listed as transferred to the Marshal service for a five year deployment. I stick my foot in my mouth a lot, but this is my corvette and Captain Howard and his crew are just living in it.

I watch her shiver, knowing that we’ve circled around each other a few times, but never landed. Hells, I’m attracted to almost every woman with a smidgen of charisma.

“Well I need to get off of your ship if you’re going to behave like that, because . . . no because. You’re a menace and . . . “ I smile at Darcy, and pull her into a hug.

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to intimidate you. I know you’re sensitive to that in many ways, and perhaps hiring a new Marshal will help with that?”

“You’re firing me?!”

“No! no no. Just that if I hire a new Marshal, then you won’t have to deal with my mercurial garbage.” She sighs and breathes heavily for a few moments before nodding in favor of the idea. I look at Rob and he nods as well.

Shit, well I’m losing my best folks to a replacement me, but I have to cater to my people. Especially those that have been here from the start. I wonder if this is more acquiescing to my wishes, or actually wanting to so I put it out there. “I mean, if you want, you both can stay with me, but with Volkov and Captain Howard, having a person as a same-authority intermediary might keep things from blowing up so I’ll be asking for another Marshal anyway.”

Rob looks at Darcy and then back at me. “Do you mind if we mull it over a bit? Our jobs are changing pretty fast and this version of you is a lot different than what we normally see.”

“I understand,” though it feels terrible, “It’ll be three weeks till we get the bases built and what another two to properly configure the gear and furnish it?” Darcy nods. “Alright, I’ll want your answers by then. I’m sorry that the last few weeks have been tough on you.”

They leave with a simple goodnight, leaving me to sit with myself yet again. I send some emails to some of the foremen I keep track of in the Prospects, and draft a welcome aboard message for my future new employees and send it to Rob for edits. I send Darcy my approvals and set up an intermediate account that she can access for the bases and add a little extra for overruns and surprise costs. The last email I have on my list is a report to the First Consul on my projections on the new Protectorates with their respective Protectors with my concerns on Volkov’s ties made plain. I also put in a request for a Marshal to be transferred to my sectors with my old combat shuttle to be transferred with them.

I send a message to Penny’s assistant that I’d like to be put on the Empress’ schedule next month, realizing that Kip was right about the position I’m in, and that Penny would not have made me uniforms if she didn’t think the same thing. With an odd stray thought making an odd kind of sense, I file a memo in to the Forum of Consuls administration office about official uniforms for the Marshal service, including the jumpsuit uniform for Empire space, and a deep purple or dark brown vest or jacket with the wreathed star pin attached. I of course immediately order new vests in deep purple and combat armor in the jumpsuit colors.