Weekly Drabble #216: The Chase is the Thing... (Patreon)

This week's prompts are 'it all went sideways' from Framing Device and 'not guidelines, but doctrine' from Pethrai D'arkos. This story went through several revisions, but in the end I'm fairly happy with how it turned out. We're back in the Star-crossed setting, and returning to the headquarters of Black Destiny as the Old Man is about to receive some more bad news...

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The Chase is the Thing...

The Old Man was in a foul mood these days.

No, not just ‘a foul mood’, Allos corrected himself. The Old Man was pissed. He had reason to be, the Akshari staff officer admitted silently. While the war against the Foundationists was going well – there were setbacks but nothing the True Council forces couldn’t handle – the little things were piling up. Little things like the Ixorae-damned humans and their crusade. Not content with just crawling out of their nebula, the Primality had taken hundreds of worlds and dozens of Sectors, creating a firewall around Darksphere and they still continued raiding Consolidation holdings, often not even bothering to conquer the systems in question. They just smashed everything, knowing it would have to either be rebuilt– drawing attention and resources away from the front lines of the civil war – or considered an acceptable loss, which denied that system’s productivity to their faction and further destabilized the region.

When Foundationist and True Council forces alike tried to bring them to battle, as often as not the humans would turn tail and run, leading many to brand them as cowards and bullies, but though the general used that same rhetoric to fire up his troops, he had seen through their strategy. The human fleet, while extremely advanced, numbered less than a percentage point of the forces that either Foundationist or True Council forces had at their disposal. They could not afford a war of attrition, but they would gleefully lure their hunters into traps, or pounce upon systems now left undefended.

Moreover, every day spent fruitlessly hunting them was drain of resources and time. It kept those ships away from other duties,reducing the assets either side of the civil war had available to them. When one faction or the other appeared to be getting the upper hand, the Primality would increase their raids against them. Several times their predations had just been enough to erode one side’s advantage and tip the scales back. The longer the war took, the more losses each side took, the more they suffered, better for the humans. The monkeys thrived amidst chaos and every day the war continued was another day that their greatest foes tore each other apart.

These days though, the Primality seemed to have their sights squarely on Black Destiny. The Old Man had been as happy as Allos had ever seen him on the day he’d received news that one of the strike teams had succeeded in capturing the renegade Akshari princess, but the longer it took for them to make it back to Akshari space, the more the general’s mood had soured.

Who could have predicted that the humans, who hated and despised all ‘xenos’ – almost all, Allos corrected himself again, but the HuDenth were practically beasts themselves, so it was no surprise that one species of savages found commonality with another – would have reacted so fiercely to Black Destiny reclaiming what was theirs? The Butcher of Tapicza seemed to be taking this personally, a concept that baffled the young officer.

The human was determined, Allos would give him that much. His war against Black Destiny was costing the organization resources faster than they could replenish them. Several bases had already been lost, and with the Foundationists funnelling their own intelligence to the humans, the Ixorae-damned savage had only increased the frequency and efficiency of his strikes. Every time Inheritor tried to get out of contested space with their package, the Butcher was there. The last report from Prime Athun indicated that the ship had to barter for fuel from a pirate outpost, just enough to keep their reactors going but not enough to transit to safety.

Worse still, the rest of the Primality seemed to have taken this incident as a final slight and decided to rid themselves of Black Destiny once and for all. They couldn’t hope to do that without toppling the Empire and that would never happen so long as the True Council still survived. The humans could never hope to accomplish that, but it didn’t mean that they couldn’t cost Black Destiny dearly.

Allos would have almost called the idea laughable, except he was the one that brought the reports to the Old  Man. He was in every meeting, every strategic discussion and tactical plan where the Primality came up. He’d seen it all for himself. The wrecked starships. The scorched planets. The broken stations and fortresses. Ranting survivors whose minds had been destroyed by human telepaths as they dug for information. Others, shell-shocked and silent from the cold ruthlessness of the Butcher’s forces. Bodies draped over consoles, parts of men scattered through corridors and chambers. A field of black-clad bodies erected in mocking welcome for a base’s would-be rescuers, each of them with their own service dagger driven through their heart.

That last one had stung. Even worse because it hadn’t been the sadistry it appeared as at first glance; each of those men had either died in the siege, or by their own hands to prevent their capture. Their bodies had just been posed that way to humiliate and demoralize their comrades, and it had worked. Still, the Old Man had found a way to turn it to a positive. Omitting the fact that all those men had already been dead made for excellent motivation. The humans would take prisoners, but the Askahri troops now fought all the harder since they believed otherwise. They showed no mercy, expecting none in return.

Allos didn’t feel any shame about perpetuating a falsehood. This was a war not only for the Consolidation itself, but for the glory and ascendance of the Akshari people. Any method, any tactic, any decision was justified in consideration of that goal. For too long they’d had to stand in the shadows of others, sharing power with the indecisive, the indolent and the unworthy. What was the result of that? Sloth and corruption within the Consolidation. Lesser races being given a voice for their whining melodramas. So-called civilized peoples like the HuDenth being allowed to spread discord and poison. There was no unity and with every passing year, greatness had slipped away from the Consolidation like blood from an open wound.

Something had to be done, and the general had seen that. He’d taken charge of Akshari destiny and brought them from a single voice among many to the leaders of countless thousands of worlds. The small, the weak and the envious always stood in the way of greatness, though. That was why the Consolidation had split and why the human vermin struck at their betters. Once they were quelled, the galaxy could be be made whole again, under the authority of the Akshari, a people chosen by their gods to lead. All that was required was the will to see it through.

Sadly, not all Akshari had the same strength of mind or sense of duty. That appeared to be a failing of the royal bloodline. The king had refused to see reason and his daughter had fled, choosing to spread lies and erode the morale of the Akshari people rather than accept her role. There was a more compliant member of the family currently wearing the crown, but he was no more suited to it than his pompous, useless uncle or slut of a cousin had been. At least the current king knew what was expected of him. But sometimes... sometimes he let the fact that he sat on the throne go to his head, forgetting just who it was who had put him there. Times like today.

Allos entered the general’s private planning chambers to find Black Destiny’s leader in hushed conversation with several adjutants and fellow officers. “Sir,” he announced himself, waiting to be acknowledged.

“It will be tricky,” Almerc – Fleet Prime Almerc, commander of the Akshari Home Fleet – was saying. “I agree it with the plan – I’m not saying I don’t – but I don’t see how we can carry it out. You want this black-bagged. All right. But that means using only our own people, and the simple fact is that the Empire just doesn’t have the ships to spare. Not with the casualty projections for this operation.”

“Home Fleet does,” Aolon, head of Imperial Intelligence pointed out. “Skeleton crews, rig for maximum automation of function. That will keep the losses down.”

“That might work, but I don’t have the authority to deploy Home Fleet beyond Imperial space. That rests with the crown. The king will never agree to weaken Akshar’s lines of defence for this. Especially with public perception the way it is.”

“You’re questioning our people’s loyalty?” That was General Aiwa, leader of the Akshari Home Guard, the army counterpart to Home Fleet. The two services had been rivals for as long as they had existed, and that continued with their leaders. Almerc could say the sky was red and Aiwa would feel obligated to contradict him, or at least quibble over the exact shade of it, and vice versa.

Almerc glared coldly at Aiwa. “Our people have been through a great deal of upheaval in recent years,” he reminded the other man. “From the fracturing of the Consolidation to the outbreak of civil war, the king’s assassination and that business with The Institute. It doesn’t help having an heir to the throne naming us as liars, thieves and traitors, and calling into question our every action in front of the entire galaxy. Whether any of us want to admit it or not, the princess’s words still hold a lot of sway and it’s a lot more than a few rabble-rousers that are listening to her.”

“That situation is being dealt with,” the Old Man told Almerc testily.

“So you say. But Inheritor still hasn’t been able to bring here her. How many bases and ships has Black Destiny lost to the Starkiller now? How many rendezvous has he burnt down and how many times have survivors given you that same message?”

“Not enough to matter, fleet prime.”

“So you say. And yet your men have the Ixorae’s own Hound on their tails. They can’t get out of the region and they’re running out of places to hide. You promised Ysvera would be here and you could make her repent. Instead, we have own our damn people noticing a lack of appearances from her, seeing the Primality’s sudden interest in collecting Askhari skins and wondering if something happened to her and if that ‘something’ was us. What happens when Inheritor doesn’t have anywhere left to run and the Butcher finds them? What happens when Ysvera gets in front of a viewscreen and tells the entire galaxy about her kidnapping, hmm?”

The Old Man’s expression had darkened steadily through Almerc’s speech. The princess was a continued sore spot for him, and the largest reason for his recent foul mood.

Before Black Destiny’s commander could respond to the fleet prime, he noticed Allos. “One moment, fleet prime.” The general didn’t make loyal subordinates wait in petty power plays; he reserved those for the men unworthy of his respect. “Allos. You’re not smiling, so I suppose that means more bad news. What do you have for me now?”

The younger man made an apologetic expression. “We’ve received several messages from the Imperial Palace today,” he began. “We’ve attempted to handle them via the usual route, but they’ve been more insistent than usual. The king requests a meeting with you.”

The Old Man smiled, but the gesture wasn’t reaching his eyes. “Does he, now?”

“He insists on an update on the situation with Princess Ysvera and... demands that he speak with you personally. You are to come to the Palace immediately.” Normally, the king could be placated with minor functionaries and assurances. The general only spoke to the king on his schedule.

“Am I?” the general said. Oddly, this time his amusement seemed genuine, his green eyes glinting. “Well, thank you for relaying the message, Allos. Please inform His Highness that I will be there to speak to him without delay.”

The younger man nodded. “Of course, general. I’ll inform the Palace and have your car brought around to wait for you.” He didn’t understand the Old Man’s change in mood, but he didn’t need to. The leader of Black Destiny hadn’t taken the organization to where it was by being one of the useless, over-medallioned political officers who schemed their way up the ranks. He’d gotten his position by getting just as dirty and bloody as the men under him, and by being clever. By being the perfect Akshari.“Will that be all?”

“For the moment, yes. But I think,” the general wagged his finger. “I think this is something we can use.” He looked over his shoulder at his fellow ranking officers. “If Inheritor can’t get the package to us, then I think we’ll just have to go and get His Majesty’s wayward cousin ourselves. And that is definitely something we can use.” He reached for a cigar and lit it, taking a long inhalation from it. “Almerc, you asked what Black Destiny is doing about the Ysvera situation, and you had issues regarding the deployment of Home Fleet? I think I can answer both of those questions for you. But first, I think I need to stop at the Palace and give the king his orders.”