For the first time in his life Rieven arrived first for a meeting. He looked around the empty council room. It was small for an imperial council room, but like all things for the emperor it was large for a starship. It had wood panelling, stained a dark brown that was almost black. Gold trim surrounded sections of the wall, creating three frames on each of the longer walls, the short walls each had one frame. The gas lamps in the sconces were gold, as were the room’s controls. It was gaudy, thought Rieven; it was overdone, it was imperial. He took the seat at the head of the table, opposite the door he’d just opened. There was plenty of space to walk around the chairs, even if they had been occupied, even if the courtly attendants were present, standing behind their charges.

  He let out a loud sigh as the chair took his weight. It was much more comfortable than the one in the Hall of Judgement. Probably a good thing too, he said in his mind, if it were this comfortable I’d be tempted to execute people daily. One man can only avoid temptation for so long. I’ll be sure to let my officers know to thank the supply office for their work in favouring aesthetics over comfort.

  Rieven pulled out his datapad and started taking down a few notes he had arranged in his mind on the walk over, more of a loose-leaf agenda than anything else. There was truly only one aim for this meeting: Name every major milestone between now and arrival at Homeworld, along with who would own each task. This was going to be a long one. He sent of a request to the galley for refreshments to be delivered hourly, starting in thirty minutes. At least they’d have good food.

  He turned and looked at the black box sitting on the floor out of the way. He didn’t even notice it hovering about any longer, though it still drew confused glances as he made his way around. The sound of the door opening claimed his attention and he looked to see Jeffries sitting down. “Major, thank you for making the time. I know this is not among your usual duties, but your input will be necessary.”

  “Not a problem sir, not a problem. In fact, I have some things I need to speak with you about anyways. This is as good a forum as any to share them with you.”

  Just then Hardy and Jergson entered the room and sat, Jergson looking around the room with an air of confused wonder. “Why in the merciful heavens have they put lamps, wait, is that gas? Those are gas! They put gas lamps aboard a starship? When I find the whoreson who bungled that, I’ll have him eating every meal off the floor of the head at Camp Jesterton. The one located in the training centre off the green.” He looked up, “Ship’s Intelligence!”

  The entry tone sounded, “Yes, major Jergson? What are your requirements?”

  “Do you have copies of the manifest authorising the construction of this room?”

  “Yes, major, I have copies of every document involved in the making of this starship from its conception to present. If you draw your attention to the screen of your datapad you will see the three names you require, highlighted in gold. It would appear that engineer first-class Crandel is responsible for the initial suggestion, with Major Happenstance and Lord Director Hughton serving as authorities overwatch. If you turn to page twenty-three of the document bundle you will see that in every imperial room aboard this starship, and this starship alone, as of our departure from Medusean Gambit, suffers from the burden of gas-powered lamps. They were awaiting our report to finalise their use across the Imperial Navy.”

  The major swore. “What is this? Blue gas? Why would they, they picked blue gas? That’s the most volatile,”

  The SI interrupted him, “If you turn to page eighteen you will see the reasoning highlighted in gold, major.”

  The major immediately began scrolling back to see the reason for himself, which he couldn’t help but read out loud, “..which is known primarily for its volatility, but is secondarily known for its signature pale blue glow, which serves to lend the black of the Imperial Throne a depth the colour normally lacks. It is generally considered to be a failure of the colour that it is nearly impossible to lend a sense of depth to, but blue gas does an admirable job in making the Imperial Black appear less of a void and more of the night sky. Therefore it is the medium recommended herein. As previously stated, any ship deemed worth to bear an imperial room shall rarely see action as it is, and shall be presumed safe at all times, rendering the volatility of the substance moot and void, pardon the pun.”

  His voice trailed off in frustrated wonder. “They used blue gas to make Imperial Black, which is designed to look like the void, designed, they didn’t like that and so changed it?” He sounded incredulous.

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  “I’m still stuck on the part where it says the Hidden Dagger is presumed to always be safe. How are the Void Spectres never being used? We’re the most famous branch of the imperial military.” Hardy said with some frustration of his own. Who’s the crab anus decided that? Did you say engineer first-class Crandel?” He didn’t wait for the SI to reply before he was digging through his own datapad. “Aha! Found the little waste-puck! Apparently he has been aboard the Hidden Dagger, where he was staying to see his suggestions in action. Looks like he’s helping in the engine room at the moment, on the job training. Well, then, that little waste-puck is going to learn just how stupid being stupid feels.”

  He looked up at Rieven and asked, “Sir, I request direct access to this engineer, along with permission to borrow him until we depart the draconic empire.”

  Rieven successfully hid his smile, relying on his emotional-masking to prevent it from breaking through. That was training well served. “Yes, major Hardy, you may.” The major had a look of wild excitement on his face before Rieven tempered his expectations, “Don’t break my engineer, Hardy. I know you and Jergson take this ship personally, and you should, but I may need that engineer if you ever get him to become a man. Please keep that in mind.”

  “Aye sir.” They replied at the same time, which almost made Rieven laugh. To be fair, they were entirely correct, the engineer was an asshat. No two ways about it. Hopefully in a few days he’d be a reformed asshat. Jackson walked in at that moment with Ono, who immediately took a seat nearest the air vent, pulled out a cigar and began trimming it.

  Jackson looked at each of the chairs, looking for one that would fit his bulk. “Never fear,” said commander Gahst, coming through behind him, “the fabricator is working on one right now. They’ll have it brought up in just a few minutes. I told them comfort was of primary concern, so I’m not sure what they’ll bring, Adjunct Jackson, but whatever it is will feel like sitting on a cloud. No one should be made to sit through these meetings in discomfort. Better to simply kill them instead.” As she sat she cracked the knuckles on the fingers on her left hand, accidentally highlighting her last statement beautifully.

  Jackson simply smiled. “I thank you commander Gahst for seeing to my comfort; though I should make mention here that I have grown accustomed to inhospitality and the constant threat of death in the performance of my duties when I served Heat Death Virabdhara. Your empire’s chairs, while close, are still second to that discomfort.”

  She smiled slightly, her version of a laugh, before turning to major Hardy. “What’re you and Jergson plotting over there? You look like school children before they fire spit wads at their instructors.”

  The doors opened and two marines brought in Jackson's chair, which looked like the others, only larger and with a hole for his tail. They quickly sat it down and exited the room. Jackson sat in the seat and wriggled a bit until he was comfortable. He then looked at Hardy.

  “Just planning to teach this fool the value of legitimate thought before putting the most volatile gas in our empire into lighting fixtures,” he replied as he brought up the unfortunate engineer’s profile onto the centre wallscreen behind him, “I just received confirmation from our SI – thank you Ship’s Intelligence, by the way, I appreciate your help – I’ve just received confirmation that this wingnut is the idiot who decided that Imperial Black, legally determined to look like the void, was too harsh and needed depth to look like the night sky. Bah. There’s only so much stupid a man can take from an entitled academic. Wait!” He looked more closely at the profile on the screen, twisting around in his seat and hurting Rieven’s neck in sympathy. “This skin tick belongs to the Branchards, three lines removed from direct generational control. He’s an off-shoot, but a small one. That explains the unfounded pride. What a pillock.”

  That was probably the most Hardy had spoken in one go in his entire life without discussing his work, thought Rieven. “Well,” he said, “setting aside the terrible family this engineer was born to, as well as the fun you intend to have at his expense while teaching him the difference between the ivory towers of noble academia and the dirty truths of the real world everyone else inhabits, I suppose it’s time we get started.”

  Ono coughed and cleared his throat loudly. “Sir, I’d like to begin, if you don’t mind.”

  “Not at all Ono, that’s just fine. Why don’t you start us off? You were present for the event which gave impetus to this meeting.”

  “Aye, sir,” he said as he stood and reached over the table to tap one of the Holocomms that was closest to him. As a still image of Rieven in the Internal Domicile rotated slowly above it in monochrome, Ono spoke, “We determined, the commandant and myself, that there must be one or more conspiracies from both the Operatic Empire and the Empire of the Celestial Skies operating within the Black Drake Navy within the last few days. Too much is happening too quickly for it to be organic. More on that later. This is our fearless leader’s response.”

  Rieven stilled. This wasn’t going to be fun, my recordings always sound strange. I thought he’d just summarise this for them. Then Ono winked at him. That git, he thought. He knows precisely what he’s doing.

  Before he could form any scheme for revenge, the recording began playing. “Very well,” his recorded self said, talking to whomever was causing him problems, “very well you pieces of trash. I have had enough. I have had enough of this! I will burn your world, reave it of every good thing, and leave your corpse-ash flying through the void in a waste puck. You are over. Your schemes are coming to an end. Your possessions are mine. Your chattels, mine. Your power, mine. Your ideas, dross. This I swear by the stars in all their symphonic glory, in the presence of three witnesses of the Operatic Empire.”

  The recording zoomed out just enough to show Ono, Steeltoe, and Grief in the background. The three witnesses had been established. Then it froze, showing all four of them in the Internal Domicile. “That, boys and girls, is what is known as an Imperial Oath. Should commandant Rieven prove successful in eliminating this threat, all possessions, chattels, and power his enemies own become his under Operatic Imperial Law. This is binding, and has been logged in the Ship’s Archive. Should he fail, he will be executed and dishonourably discharged, perhaps in that order, depends how the rat-catcher’s feeling that day.

  “I start us off with that to set the tone. Commandant Rieven has officially staked all that he has and all that he is to the elimination of the threats which stand against him and against the Black Drake Navy.”

  No one spoke. The air in the room was heavy with expectation. Every eye was studying Rieven. He sat unmoving in his seat, returning calm determination. It was true. What was the point of doing this half-assed? Don’t half-ass anything, whole-ass one thing. His one thing was the Void Spectres, which evolved into this navy. He would see them safe to Homeworld. He would.