Cindy watched utter chaos descend on the planet. Part of her chuckled at that. One would think those words would lose their meaning given how often they'd been used, but somehow this battle kept escalating with every new development. The first blow was struck when Genesis landed, against all expectations, blowing past the defences and hitting groundside running. That had thrown the Novicans for a loop. Then the Imperials had begun to launch their subtle attacks, stretching the defenders thin by striking dozens of locations with each passing day, while somehow still keeping themselves shrouded.

One failed ambush later, Genesis had retaliated, marshalling their full force, annihilating everything they touched with overwhelming power. And now they were bunkered down underneath the shields as it rained death from above.

She smiled. And, she thought, the civil war we were fostering is coming along nicely. Reports were flooding the battlenet of officers demanding explanations, of soldiers refusing orders. Here and there mutinies were already happening. She hadn't been surprised when Listranoi retreated. The admiral had gone up against Imperial forces quite often as an ally, during the yearly wargames. He was an excellent strategist, if on the prudent side, but he would not expose his fleet to the threat of destruction. He was a good man, driven, intelligent. Good chess player too, even if his tendency to safeguard his pieces made him easy to predict.

She leaned back against the wall, enjoying the support it offered. She was in significant amounts of pain, but she had ignored the wounded Genesis' reminders to take her prescribed dosage of painkillers. She wanted to remain clear-headed. She had wavered slightly when the broken superhuman had begun glaring at her, but given that the supersoldier couldn't move, it took the sting out of it. She shook her head softly. "Honestly, you should be dead," she mused aloud. He could hear her, she knew. She didn't mind. Perhaps... Perhaps following Verloff's advice wasn't all that bad. Maybe she'd get him to talk a bit. Not that he could do much. Not that she had much else to do, other than watch the show unfold. She preferred to not focus on her own life hanging in the balance of a battle she couldn't partake in. Broken he might be, but Dreamer had given very clear instructions in regards to what she could do with his Muninn. And, more specifically, what she could not do.

"Why do you fight?" she asked. She had talked about this topic with Dreamer before, but she wouldn't turn down the opportunity to expand her knowledge base. Get a second opinion in.

The soldier didn't react at first. She knew better than to repeat the question at this stage. Rather than fruitlessly trying to squeeze an answer out of him, she focused back on the HUD. Things were going well for the Imperials, if you could say that when your allies were pinned down by orbital fire. Civilian unrest wasn't growing, it was exploding outwards. As news of the bombardment spread, the outrage bloomed. City halls were surrounded by throngs of furious and scared people, demanding answers, which those in charge wouldn't be able to provide. Protests were already escalating into riots. Entire factory districts, deprived of their soldiers by the new encirclement tactics, were now suddenly vulnerable to assaults from within as the police couldn't handle the growing unrest. Even the districts were soldiers still were present weren't faring much better. Most soldiers had family on the planet...

She admired the enemy commander. It was a solid strategy. It had disrupted their original plans, and he had taken part of the momentum back. Had they been fighting on equal terms, it would have been a lethal counterstroke. But the Novicans weren't Imperials. They lacked the dedication, the willingness for self-sacrifice. The drive to do what was needed to succeed, and the total obedience to their superiors. Instead he was dealing with non-Imperials.

Speaking of non-Imperials... She glanced over at the silent supersoldier next to her.

Naval Intelligence had trained her, as it did to all its operatives, to understand the distinction between the two halves of humanity. Imperials were not equal to the rest of humanity. The human race was, left to its own devices, its own biggest threat. Greed, lust, laziness, a lack of self control, no self-awareness, stupidity; the list of vices that humans could fall to was damn near endless. The Empire, from the very beginning, had recognised these dangers, and moved to stamp them out. All of them could be called to a halt if discipline, constant oversight and a pure, unwavering devotion to the greater good was applied in generous swathes. You gave your all for the Empire, and in the end you could trust the Empire to give its all for you. Few ever left the beaten path, and those who did were quickly corrected. Ensuring that no rot could ever gnaw on the roots of the Empire, was the most important task of Naval Intelligence.

And as such the appearance of Genesis was concerning. The human psyche was well understood. Through trial and error, observation, experiments both humane and inhumane, the Empire had established massive databases that provided their new recruits with a wealth of knowledge, which was further honed by life experience. Humans were predictable. A known factor. Genesis was, despite outward appearances, not human. And as a result they were distrusted. Just the way aliens were. Unknowns. Potential threats.

Or at least, that had been the original assumption. At this stage Cindy did not doubt their loyalty. Any order they received they followed without question. Verloff had kept her out of the chain of command, demoting her to observer, and as such she could offer no more than suggestions. They still listened, but they were not bound to her.

The question remained to whom their loyalty belonged. Would they serve Eisel above all else, or would they follow the hierarchal line? Imperials went through basic and were moulded to fit the form. The Genesis had been created. Verloff, for all his power, his charisma, reputation and skill, was Imperial. A potential threat, should he go rogue, but he was Imperial and therefore was a known factor. Genesis, by NavInt's standards, was not. Not fully.

"Because it is our purpose." came the sudden response, interrupting her thoughts.

"Elaborate."

The soldier seemed to struggle for a moment. Cindy watched him carefully. It was no play, no ploy to buy time in order to figure out what to say. The Genesis genuinely was befuddled by the question. "It is our purpose," he repeated, his voice sounding hoarse and damaged, more noticeable now. "We exist to protect the Empire."

"Yes, I understand you, but why?" she insisted. "Something must be urging you on. Is it loyalty? Wanting to help your brothers? What pushes you on?"

"It is our purpose," came the answer after another moment of silence. Then, suddenly, "We are Genesis. We exist to protect the Empire."

She suppressed a sigh. This was getting her nowhere. They really were damned sentient weapons. There was very little human emotion in them. "Right then." She decided to change tack. "And how does Genesis protect the Empire? Be specific."

She had expected that to think about that for a while. It was a difficult question, one that her teacher had asked her long ago, along with the rest of her class. It had them stumped for weeks as they tried to find a proper answer.

In no way had she been prepared for the superhuman soldier to begin quoting what sounded like several tactical manuals at her, recalling Verloff's warning a tad too late. Oh well, she had the time. It wasn't as if she could move from here, or do much. And who knows? she thought, settling in as best she could. It might even prove interesting.

"Sir", communications called out. "Comsat just pulsed us with an update. Syncing database and rerouting reports to your station."

"Thank you, Andrei", Listranoi replied. He abandoned the display he had been standing at ever since he gave those fateful orders, his mind still in turmoil over the decision, and walked to his personal station. As he began to scroll through the dozens of reports, he was surprised that there were still updates coming in through the satellite network. Most of the battlegroup admirals had given up sending those out beyond the frontline. Ever since the factions had split between "loyalists" and the actual soldiers, the latter had deemed it no longer necessary to inform High Command about the progress of the war. Then again, he realised, even they still need to resupply. Nagalan was probably the only place left that still received these updates, even if they only arrived sparingly. Nagalan, and…

His eyes went wide in shock and horror. "They destroyed Rivan," he whispered.

"Sir?" came Andrei's voice. When Listranoi turned to face his coms officer the man physically reared back. The Admiral's face was ashen grey.

"They took out Rivan," he repeated, finally grasping the full extent of the Imperial offense. "Lufer," he began, voicing the single word as a condemnation. "Rivan. Nagalan. It all makes sense now. The bloody bastards." He spat out the word, but there was no anger in his voice. He didn't have the energy left for it. At the same time, it wiped out all his earlier concerns of whether or not it was morally right to desert like that. The assault on Lufer had scared the pants off the Parliament. Their HQ being blown to smithereens annihilated their ability to coherently lead their fleets. Grand Admiral Kolpovka dying resulted in their already divided military fragmenting utterly and any hope of a unified front line evaporating into fine mist.

Now, with the destruction of the shipyards at Rivan, the Imperials had denied the Novican fleets the ability to repair and rearm. That wasn't a minor blow, but one that was apocalyptic in nature. They couldn't recover from that loss. Some repairs could be done in the field, or across the few other orbital yards that were scattered around the Confederacy. Those few would do little in the face of the gargantuan needs of the combined battlegroups, however.

"And Nagalan is next," he knew. He had gone up against the Imperials often enough in wargames, was intimately familiar with their fanatical dedication. They weren't monsters, inhuman or any of the sort, no matter the propaganda that the Parliament spat out. To call them evil was to fatally misunderstand them, and if you could not even understand your enemy…

No, it was the right call to pull out. The fleet that had destroyed Rivan be coming. Sooner rather than later. If those Imperials on the planet were still fighting —and if they weren't winning then they certainly weren't losing — then they weren't throw-away assets sent on a suicide mission. Which meant that Nemesis would come back for them. Admiral Verloff had a reputation, and despite their Intelligence's best attempts they had been as successful in suppressing the man's presence as they had been in keeping Kolpovka's death quiet.

And if Nemesis jumped into the system…

Part of him wanted to stay. Lay in wait. Try and ambush them as they came in. Nemesis had fought their way through two battlegroups at Lufer, as well as the orbital defence grid. Then they had torn through Rivan, which was another heavily defended location. Surely they were heavily damaged. Surely he had a chance at taking them out, at earning such glory that it would elevate him to the rank of Grand Admiral.

He laughed. There was no certainty. He and Kolpovka had learned that the hard way when going up against the Empire. Dozens of war games and they had been beaten every single time. The Empire simply didn't play unless they had a winning hand. Nemesis was, damaged or not, a battlegroup, and he only had an oversized task force at his disposal. He simply didn't have the hulls.

And if, if, he should win by some miracle, then he'd be the new Grand Admiral. And the man with the biggest mark on his head this side of the border.

No, best to run. Best to take his entire fleet and get out of the system before more hostiles showed up. Best to flee and live another day, not waste his life on a war they never should have started to begin with.

His eyes moved to the rest of the reports. Rivan had fallen some time ago, it seemed, and the news had reached the front lines far faster than it had Nagalan. As a result, Admirals Rivida, Kargaski, Kjolatai and Riganav had united their battlegroups and launched an all-out offensive on the strategically important world of Margelheim.

Margelheim.

His memory took him back. He and his task force had been hounding that planet for a month, trying to harass Imperial supply convoys jumping in and out of the system while the rest of the Novican forces had been busy squaring off with their Imperial counterparts in the sixty-fourth set of wargames. His mission had not been going well. He hadn't lost any ships, but that was only because he had chosen not to engage anything yet. The Imperials, as far as he had known, never found out he was there. He had jumped in far out, close to a gas giant, and their point of entry would have been impossible to detect. His task force had moved in, running under stealth, and gotten close enough to the planet that their passive sensors got a read on them. As soon as he had received that, he had decided to not engage and to keep running under stealth until their momentum carried them well past the planet again.

Margelheim wasn't a "strategically important target".

It was a damned death trap.

Admiral Dirk grinned darkly as he saw the Novican survivors make a desperate line for safety. They were fleeing in every direction, without any semblance of cohesion. Any ship not still caught in a gravity well was making the jump to hyperspace, damaged engine or not. A number of vessels who weren't clear attempted it as well, his own ships hot on their heels. A handful of them made it. Most did not.

It was immensely satisfying for the Admiral of Battlegroup Icarus to see the might of the Novican navy crushed. These four battlegroups had been the bane of their existence ever since the Novicans had turned traitor, and he had lost millions of men to their actions. Now… Now they were gone. Cosmic dust, molecular vapours and countless tonnes of free-floating wreckage. Margelheim wasn't looking much prettier, half of its massive defence stations were showing major signs of damage, its countless minefields depleted, their networks of kill-sats rendered non-existent and one of the system's two moons had a surface that was nothing but craters. Icarus had jumped into the system late into the battle, having been spread around the sector when word of the assault came in. Even with their delay they had found the system heavily embattled but secure, the Novicans using brute force to try and take the vital lynchpin away from Imperial hands.

Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions.

Just finding the four hostile battlegroups there had been a victory in its own regard. Had they attacked the planet from the onset, they could have crushed the defence grid and taken over the lynchpin. That the assault had only happened now, with but four battlegroups, signified that Operation Angry Comet was proceeding as planned. The entire attack had reeked of desperation.

Even so, the Novicans had come close to breaching Margelheim' defences, swamping the defenders' guns with their sheer number of hulls. Icarus' appearance had drastically shifted the power balance, their counterstrike disrupting enemy formations as the Imperial battlegroup had blown through the Novican lines before regrouping within Margelheim's orbit.

And still the Novicans had kept coming. They had thrown themselves against a solid wall of firepower, refusing to back down even as their cruisers disappeared in clouds of gas as massive missiles launched from the planet's surface slammed into them with apocalyptic power. Even as their battleships were blown asunder from a constant barrage of hundreds of automated satellites that were continuously produced even in the midst of the siege. Even as their dreadnaughts were cored by the gargantuan Domination-class space stations and their two hundred and eighty-eight Nova cannons.

Despite this the Novicans had fought bravely. The kill-sats were shot down by the thousands. Minefields were cleared by fire-ships, clearing up new avenues of attack. The space stations were assaulted by hundreds of ships, destroyers, frigates and cruisers sacrificing themselves as the capital ships with siege-weaponry moved in for the kill. Damage was mounting on both sides, far faster on the Novican side than on theirs, but the numbers advantage wasn't theirs.

And then Perseus had jumped in behind them.

Admiral Nalad hadn't even bothered to send a greeting. Twenty minutes after her arrival, time-lag excluded, she had transmitted her battle plan and her battlegroup had raced forward, sharks smelling blood in the water. The already committed Novican forces had no chance to turn. Their ships were stuck in their offensive, unable to break off their attack runs lest they risk annihilation. To the highly mobile Perseus, they had been sitting ducks as their battlegroup split up in separate task forces, each making a small jump into hyperspace, only to emerge closely behind their chosen targets.

"I think we can call that one a win," Admiral Dirk told his colleagues. His uniform was wrinkled, several scorch marks revealing that his dreadnaught had been in the thick of the fight.

"Provided they do not launch another assault," Sector-Admiral Tamolin replied as he stroked his beard. The elderly Admiral was visibly unhappy that the enemy had hit his sector, and even moreso that he had taken losses, which didn't surprise anyone. The man had been incredibly cooperative with the fleet admirals during the entire battle, and seemed to take any life lost as a personal failing. "It will take significant time to bring my defences back up to full strength. Though I will have the kill-sats back up to their full number within the week." He grunted that last with satisfaction. Tamolin's preference to rely on the unmanned, automated and easily mass-produced kill-sats had earned him the respect of his compatriots, and his skill with them had saved thousands of lives as he pushed them well beyond their boundaries.

"I think we can safely assume that no further assaults will be forthcoming," Vice-Admiral Giliam commented. The officer smoothed his dark uniform, only the blue lines revealing his allegiance to NavInt. His dark eyes glittered with unspoken emotions. His uniform was impeccable, just as the man himself, but every officer in the call knew that the man was likely close to collapsing from exhaustion.

"This was an act of desperation," he confirmed the other Admirals' suspicion. "And it failed. By our calculations there are five more battlegroups in the region, but all of them are heavily dispersed, damaged, and too low on supplies to launch any sort of offence."

"Yeah," Admiral Dalan hissed. She looked angry, furious even, but that had been her de facto look ever since the conflict began. What was new was that she no longer looked weary, but downright excited. "The last few engagements we had on the way here all showed them running away with their tail tucked between their legs. They were barely returning fire. I already have my forward elements out again."

Giliam clicked his tongue disapprovingly. "Don't run your fleet too ragged, Dalan. Perseus' has been fighting constantly, a heroic and commendable effort given the slow stream of reinforcements. Don't break them. Given the timetable of Angry Comet, it is likely the Novicans will begin pulling out rather than continue their fight."

"Your recommendation", Dalan replied, her voice turning to ice, "Vice-Admiral, is noted." Without further comment, she exited the meeting, most of Perseus turning around and readying themselves to jump out of the system, leaving only behind their damaged vessels to be repaired at Margelheim's yards.

Giliam let out a sigh between his teeth, the NavInt officer clearly unused to being dismissed so readily.

"You'll forgive her, Giliam," Dirk told him. "She's barely got a quarter of her original battlegroup left." The Admiral shrugged. He had lost dozens of family members at this stage as well, and his own hatred was the only thing that kept him from collapsing on the spot and as such he could understand her desire for vengeance perfectly well.

"I do not hold it against her, Dirk. I merely do not like being called out."

"Fair enough," the Admiral conceded. NavInt were prideful folk, moreso than anyone else, but they were solid and professional, more than any other Imperials. Even when they acted like someone put a beehive in their pants.

"And I know that this assault likely means that Rivan has fallen." Giliam held up a hand to forestall any further commentary. "And yet, I worry about her and her troops. Exhaustion can kill as easily as a gun, and when affecting an Admiral…" He trailed off, allowing silence to speak louder than words.

"She's solid, Giliam. I can vouch for her."

"I know you can. I know she's solid as well."

Dirk leaned onto the display, bringing his face closer to the camera. "Then why point it out to her? You knew it'd get her hackles up."

Giliam smiled. It was a knowing smile, one far too smug for Dirk's liking. "Because she might be pissed off at me, and that might annoy me in turn, but at the end of the day my warning's going to keep ringing in her head. Who knows, she might even decide to get a bit more sleep from now on. Or be a bit less eager to give chase. If only to ensure that I'll not be proven right."

Dirk's face turned dark, his distaste for mind-games visible.

"Oh, don't give me that look," Gilliam grunted. "I'm just doing my job. If all it takes to keep more of us alive is just the rankled pride of a few folks, I'll gladly take it."

Dirk shook his head. He knew NavInt was necessary. That they were on the same side. That where most of the military fought openly, and fought they did, even in peacetime, NavInt watched from the sides, screening not only potential and actual enemies for threats, but also inside their own ranks. It had given them a reputation, one well deserved, for utter ruthlessness. And he knew they employed it with care, no matter what rumourmongers might say. They were Imperials, and embodied the Imperial creed more so than others, paying a tremendous personal price equalled by few outside their select group.

It didn't mean he had to like their manipulations one bit.

He closed his line, terminating communications. It was time for him to do a task he much preferred, even if it meant sending more brave men and women to their deaths.

It was time to hunt down the rest of the Novican infestation crawling around in the Imperial sector. He'd locate them, fleets, task forces, even patrol ships and lone scouts. And after locating them, he'd have them taken out with extreme prejudice.

"This it it then," Listranoi sighed, more to himself than to the rest of the officers on the bridge. His fleet was holding steady at the edge of the gravity well, far out from anything that might hinder their jump out system. He could have jumped earlier. His task force wasn't that large, and accidents were very rare. Rare, but not unheard of. He refused to take any risk at this stage. There'd been enough deaths. There would be more. The Novic Confederacy would fall. That fact was etched clearly on his face. His, and that of every other officer with a modicum of strategic sense. The three lynchpins of the Novican fleet had been destroyed. Factional strife was going to escalate into civil war as soon as news of the failed assault on Margelheim would reach them.

He hoped others would run as well. This entire assault, this entire, thrice damned betrayal, had been nothing short of utter idiocy. They never had a reason to go to war. They never had the fleets or firepower for it either. They didn't have the training, cohesion, expertise, ... The Confederacy fell short on every front. And still the Parliament had ordered the assault to happen. Kolpovka, brave, noble and loyal Kolpovka, had obeyed. Ad hoc assault forces had been readied and launched at the Empire before their network of spies could send warning. It was disaster waiting to happen, but it was the only way. The Grand Admiral had banked on the Kra'lagh preventing the enemy from redeploying. On having the full fleets under his sole command. On being able to hold his ground in retaliatory strikes.

Or had he?

No, he wouldn't paint over Kolpovka's legacy. The man would have had plans. He always did. His oldest friend had been too smart to be caught so easily. He'd have used his numbers advantage well. If only he had gotten it. But Parliament, more scared of their most loyal officer, a man who served from the heart, than of a foe who'd retaliate with genocidal fury, had rescinded his access after the first desertions happened. Three Admirals had jumped ship, their fleets following. Not mere task forces. Entire fleets. Two of them were run down before making it out. Officers had been executed, some of them tossed out of the airlock in faulty EVA suits, while the rest of the fleets were forced in line. Rumours of decimation had gone around, but nobody had ever confirmed those.

Admiral Estala, however, had disappeared, along with a number of her pursuers. High Command had officially labelled her as missing in action. Her, and nearly four and a half thousand ships beside. He didn't buy that. He didn't know her well, but she had a reputation. Caring to the point that her command referred to her as Mother rather than ma'am, and averse to war to the point of pacifism. She had earned her fame by getting a gang of bloodthirsty pirates to stand down and peacefully surrender their captives rather than go up against her fleet. She had been incredibly vocal against the war. Missing in action, my foot, he thought.

"Sir," Andrei interrupted, the man's normally calm face showing a hint of emotion, signalling deep turmoil within. "Is it possible to set up a rendezvous point in the Nivas cluster? It's neutral ground, but there's a large mining consortium there. We could refuel there, repair, spread our remaining armaments across the fleet." His eyes met his superior's directly. "And with your permission, I'd like to give my family a chance to run.

Listranoi nodded. "Do it. Spread word to the rest of the fleet as well. We'll take anyone who wants to escape with us."

"Yes sir." Andrei snapped off a salute before leaning in close to him. "Sir, if I could have a word with you in private?"

The Admiral eyed his officer suspiciously, but motioned him to follow. The walk through the ship was a quiet one. Soldiers and crew didn't salute their Admiral. He had forbidden them. Most of them had their hands full and he knew he had their respect, even if he didn't held their love the way real leaders did. The polite nods were sufficient. The badly hidden relief on their face, knowing they were leaving the conflict, acted like a balm on his bleeding soul.

It didn't take long for them to reach his cabin. Andrei waited until the door was closed, standing at attention, most unusual. "At ease, Andrei," Listranoi said as he sat himself down on his bed. He motioned for the man to take the one chair. There weren't any other options to sit. Some Admirals had luxurious cabins, going as far to install a full bathroom rather than a simple shower. He had never agreed with that line of thought. He was the Wolf, always on the hunt with his pack, behind enemy lines and seeking prey. That meant running dark, which meant generating as little heat as possible. His cabin was in line with that philosophy. Small, spartan, containing no more than a bed and a desk, the terminal built into the wall. It wasn't barren, though, a large picture of his parents framing the opposite wall. A reminder of whom he really fought for. Even if they had passed on years ago.

"Sir," Andrei began, refusing the chair. The man's eyes were looking everywhere, except in his direction. "My half-sister sent me a message before she disappeared. She's asked me that should you ever decide to leave the Confederacy, if it were possible to link up with her at the Nivas cluster."

Listranoi blinked. "Your half-sister," he repeated, "wants to us to link up with her?" That was a most unusual choice of words. It implied things. Things he wasn't sure he should be happy, or vastly concerned about. "Who is your half sister, Andrei?" He was not surprised the man had never mentioned even having a half-sister before. It was scandalous by the Confederacy's standards, and would have been devastating for his career.

"Sir," Andrei started, before fumbling. "She's... It's not what you think, sir. I'm the one borne out of wedlock. My father cheated on my sister's mother. I wrote my father down as dead when I enlisted, and... Sir, I..." the man stumbled, before his eyes finally met his. "Sir, my half-sister is Admiral Estala."