In the 10th year of the reign of Emperor Ja’affe

[Cmdr JFarrington 0]

Second Officer Imaj of Kirok

ISS Manticore 5108021.1

 

In the 10th year of the reign of Emperor Ja’affe

 

Many changes had befallen the Empire since the ascension of Emperor Ja’affe. Alliances had merged what was left of the Federation with other powers, but only in might and culture, not in species. Each species had its own reasons, chief among them being purity of line – at least in the houses of power. One’s line determined one’s position in the government and, ultimately, one’s survival.

 

Cultures blended more readily, with the more warlike posture slowly gaining dominance. The language, nomenclature, social order, and religious beliefs of other species had also woven a web around Terran culture, at least among those who wished to remain in power when the Federation dissolved.

 

Factions of dissenters had formed. Purists who predicted the downfall of the Empire because of what they called cultural corruption paraded through the streets of San Francisco proclaiming Live By the Sword, Die By the Sword and Live Free or Die; and the Empire was only too willing to accommodate them. During the Great Purge the dissenters who survived fled to outlying colonies to continue living as they felt was their inherent right: in freedom and in peace. Since then certain ships of the Imperial Fleet had been charged with finding and rooting out the remnants of sedition. ISS Manticore, flagship of Psi Division under Admiral Atragon-9 with First Officer Sovak of Vulcan and Second Officer Imaj Kirok was one of those vessels.

 

On the fourth day of the second month when the Empire should have been gloriously celebrating the Lunar New Year the Manticore found itself once again tasked with eradicating a particularly elusive colony, one that had moved from planet to planet, hiding like maggots in a rotting corpse. It had finally been located in the Omega Sector, probably their place of last resort. Anything beyond Omega was uncharted and filled with unspeakable terrors. It was a fitting place, thought Imaj, for them to end their existence, to return from the mire from which they came.

 

They were rebels, and as such should have been easily dispatched, but the colony’s defending ship had fought as though they had something worth defending, something worth dying for.

 

Pathetic fools.

 

And the Empire had dealt the wrong cards when Manticore had asked for replacements. For the most part they were the most incompetent, bungling, inept recruits – the Empire should not have even bothered to send anyone! By the gods, the Emperor would hear of this, if not from Atragon, then surely from First Senator Kirok, Imaj’s father.

 

Factor in a puny, measly storm during the battle and you had their present situation. An ion storm, of all things, nearly cost them the battle and could have destroyed the ship. Shields were down, weapons offline, power at minimum and systems malfunctioning. . . . If engineers were not so difficult to find these days, she might have taken out Chief Garnoopy then and there and put Hilee in his place. Hilee was not only proficient but steadfastly loyal to the Empire. She’d do well to have him head engineering, but it was not her choice to make.

 

And injured! Injured? An engineer whining in the turbolift, a bloody nose on the bridge, bumps, bruises, scrapes – what did they think they signed on for, a holiday? A feast? Did they think they were here to celebrate the Lunar New Year? Dr. Mele had more things to worry about than patching up dismal sniveling decrepit….

 

She slammed her fist on a broken section of railing then kicked it across the deck. “Is this crew so abjectly incompetent that a little storm will destroy order?” Imaj raged at the bridge crew, searching for someone on whom to vent her anger, but the one she would have chosen was already dead, the helmsman’s neck snapped within seconds of his mistake, by Captain Sovak. Science Chief Escher had already been reprimanded by Atragon; Chief Precip was going after the engineer who continued to whine in the turbolift.

 

Precip . . . ah. Even in the midst of chaos Imaj’s mind wandered from the ship to the crew to the Empire and back; it was her way of coping with abject stupidity. The Bolian Chief of Security was surely one to admire – and watch closely. He had a way about him, a quiet calculating style – and he firmly believed in swift punishment, but of the slow, excruciating, agonizing variety. He was much more refined than Captain Sovak. The whining engineer would be punished, and he would never forget the experience, perhaps carry the evidence on his body to the grave – if he survived.

 

Imaj turned back to the task at hand. Focus. Do not allow your passion to overcome reason, your lusts to dull your vigilance. They had a world to conquer, a colony to purge, and purge it they would. But first the ship, without which they could do nothing.