There is only so high a man can climb, but Stavros Marquel had decided he had not gone high enough.

Born on Manaras forty-six years ago the eighth son of a carpenter, necessity had driven him into politics. Necessity had turned to ambition, and he slowly rose through the ranks, until he finally joined the High Seat five years prior.

It was a position of prestige and privilege that gave him great power over the affairs of the Imperium.

He now sat with his arms crossed, a frown on his face, defiant and unrepentant, as the questor behind the desk questioned him.

“So you still deny your involvement in this matter, Sir Marquel?”

The accused glowered at the interrogator.

“I have yet to hear a shred of evidence.”

The questor smiled amiably as he made a casual gesture. The air between them shimmered and an image formed. A bed, a nightstand, a chair against the wall...

“Do you recognize this room?”

“No.”

“This is where Avnan was found. Dead.”

“I already told you, I’ve never heard of this Avnash fellow.”

“Avnan.”

“Whatever.”

The questor leaned back in his chair, the smile never leaving his lips.

“Did you know he had a safe? Right there.” He tapped at a spot in the image and it zoomed on a painting hanging on the wall. “So old school it’s ridiculous. Who does that anymore? A safe behind a painting? Though I’ll admit we almost missed it. No one ever thinks of looking there anymore. I hadn’t seen one of those in...” He paused, frowning. “Actually, I never had, come to think of it. Except in holofilms. Really old ones, with that.”

“Do you have a point?”

The man in black grinned. “Yes, yes, of course. Apologies, sir. We found the safe, cracked it open—that took some work, but I will not bore you with the details, as I can see you are in a foul mood. Pity. It’s an interesting story. Still, we cracked it open, and we found a chip inside. That’s it. Just a small, tiny chip. Do you know what was on that chip, Sir Marquel?”

This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

“How the heck would I know?”

“Fair point, sir. Very fair point. Well. Let me show you, then.” The questor waved his hand and the image shifted, now showing a TriVid screen with some text displayed on it. “Can you read that, or should I zoom in?”

Marquel’s face had gone very pale. He shook his head but remained quiet.

“Ah. Splendid! You must have noticed what caught our eye. Your name. Right there. Fascinating business. It seems like our friend Avnan suspected you might want to dispose of him—”

“Why would I ever do something like that? This makes no sense! I’m being set up, that’s what this is!”

“Come now, sir, you know why we went looking for him. What he is accused of.”

Compromising documents had surfaced a few months ago, revealing the visor’s corruption. Except, of course, that they were fake. Not that Olan Rash was not corrupt, but he was not the sort to leave any evidence of his crimes. These were obviously forged, and he set out to dismantle the conspiracy before it could do any real damage. The investigation had led to Avnan, and now Marquel.

Sitting at his desk, Rash was watching the interrogation on his TriVid screen. He was mildly amused by the proceedings.

“I have nothing to do with any of that!” said the minister.

“And yet, Avnan clearly names you as his employer.”

“Like I said, someone is trying to set me up. This proves nothing.”

“So you still deny your involvement?”

“Absolutely!”

The questor nodded. “Very well. You are free to go.”

Marquel blinked. His arms went down as he looked around.

“I am?”

The other man motioned casually toward the door.

Marquel’s expression hardened as he stood.

“This is not over, mark my words! I don’t appreciate being accused of crimes I did not commit. I know your name, Thavor Gumney. Your boss is a friend of mine. He will hear from me very soon. That is a promise.”

Without another word, the man swung and stormed out of the room.

The questor did not seem worried as he turned his smile toward the camera.

Olan Rash chuckled and cut off the feed.

Marquel was right about one thing. This was not over. But it would be soon. The minister would not have time to make his promise true. He would be dead within the hour.

Rash did not mind ambition. He understood all too well this hunger that drove men to attempt the impossible, the forbidden. A visor served as long as the Emperor allowed. Discrediting him could have been his downfall. Marquel was a respected and influential member of the High Seat who would have made a logical replacement. Avnan was the only person who could have identified him. By taking out his agent, the minister thought he had removed all evidence of his involvement. That had been careless of him. Sloppy, even.

Part of him felt sympathy for the man. He’d been in his shoes, after all. Rash, too, had fallen prey to the claws of ambition. The difference was: the visor had succeeded where Marquel had failed.

Ambition he could understand and even respect. Failure, however, was unacceptable.

After sending out new instructions, Rash stood and stretched. It had been a long day, and he was looking forward to a good night’s sleep.

As he stepped toward his door, a buzzer rang.

He paused and looked back.

The red light pulsed, on and off, daunting him.

With a frown, he hurried back to the desk and turned his TriVid screen on. The ring stopped as the worried face of a soldier appeared, floating in the air.

“Sir! It’s the aliens. They’re gone.”

“What do you mean, gone?”

“Disappeared. Vanished. The entire fleet. One minute they were there, the next, gone!”