The navy station on Shangri-La, being one of the newest additions to the Frontier, shined in its exemplary brutalist architecture. It was a decent sized compound, stretching several kilometers across with long, flat metal walls that could repel even the hottest blasters or explosives. It housed several buildings within its perimeter, a mess hall, barracks, firing range, and a small dock for landing small aircraft. At the center of it all was a tall spire-like building that resembled a large lighthouse with clear reinforced glass, giving three hundred and sixty degrees of view for the entire base and the surrounding area. Inside that office, were two people in a tense one on one meeting.
Captain Kress drummed his fingers against the standard issue fabricated wood that his desk was made out of, making a hollow sound devoid of the richness that came with real materials. His second in command, Lieutenant Dove, a human on rotation from the Core worlds, stood nervously across from him, struggling to keep her clipboard from shaking.
“Read it again,” Kress asked tensely.
Dove gulped, and read the memo once more. “Captain Kress, you have failed to file your annual self performance evaluation as is a required mandatory duty as an officer of the law. As it is ninety days past the expected submission of your self evaluation, and related failures to report other routine documents as outlined in the captain’s handbook, a peer will be sent to survey your station and determine if you require additional resources.”
“BULLSHIT!” Kress erupted, throwing his mug across the room and shattering it against the glass, only missing his second in command by mere centimeters. “All this over a damn self evaluation? This is sabotage of the highest order!” He hopped down from his chair and began pacing the room angrily while Dove stood locked in place. “Didn’t I tell you to forge my responses this year?”
“S-sir, I placed them in your outbox for a signature but you never signed them.”
“I never saw any such papers!” he replied in total denial. “You must have lost them.”
“Yes sir. Sorry sir.” she dared not raise her head. Kress paced around the office in a fervor, scratching at his little furry head.
“Somebody spare me from this idiotic bureaucracy and its insentient need to make my life a living hell. Who are they sending?”
Lieutenant Dove checked the memo for a name, “Captain Dietrich, sir,” Kress stopped his frantic pacing, his bushy brow furrowing at the name. He searched his mind for a face, a related event, but came up empty.
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“Dietrich?” he asked aloud. “Never heard of him.”
Lieutenant Dove glanced over the paperwork she put together on their incoming guest. “He climbed the ranks fairly quickly, reaching the rank of Captain after ten years of service, serving with great distinction in anti-pirate assignments.. He held a small outpost of his own for two years. He lost control of the station ten years ago and has been doing administrative work ever since, but retained his rank.”
“Ten years ago? What was he reprimanded for?” he asked, deeply intrigued.
“Behavior unfitting of an Armada sailor.”
“That could mean anything,” Kress relaxed slightly. “But if he’s been pushing papers for ten years…he is either incompetent or has a weakness I can exploit. Maybe he’d want to regain some of his former glory,” he resumed pacing, this time circling Lieutenant Dove. “But Command is stubborn, and I have some jerk from Mom’N’Pop blowing up my email over that stunt Lizabeth pulled with the cargo. We need to flush something up before he gets here, a huge win that’ll throw them off our scent, dismiss any question of my loyalty… How long until he arrives?”
“He’ll be arriving on the Interstate, and the memo was sent two days ago. He should be here within the next six days.”
Kress glanced around the office, looking for some inspiration. The shelves were adorned with his medals, a few headline articles of his staged busts that earned him recognition all the way back to the Core Worlds, a few framed photos with him and the higher ups at Command like Fleet Admiral Hooker. All his accomplishments would be erased were Deitrch to expose him and his dealings. Not to mention all the money he was raking in on the side from Lizabeth’s cooperation and some of the other criminals he was working with. He’d need something that could catch headlines…
The secure terminal on his desk beeped, indicating a new high priority communication had just arrived. Kress quickly returned to his desk and entered his code, allowing him access to the message. “NOTICE OF EXECUTIVE DEATH,” it read in urgent, blocky lettering. Kress’s brow furrowed, and clicked deeper into the message. It gave an executive summary of the death of Kirk Whitman, stating no foul play was suspected but the family was refusing Armada access to the crime scene to investigate. Further on in the report it showed the pictures of the rest of the family, noting who died in the fire that had claimed their home, and Kress’s eyes widened with excitement. “You’re kidding…”
“Sir?”
He turned the monitor around and pointed at Howard’s face on the screen. “He’s a nepo!”
“I don’t understand sir.”
“He’s a nepo!” Kress repeated. “This is the guy who wiped out my escort yesterday. He’s not dead, and he’s a nepo!” This changed everything. He turned the monitor around, staring at the family photo, his mind racing. Perhaps there was a way out of this mess after all.