All That Remains: Stealing from Poseidon

[Vansen Tyree]

It was like he'd died and gone to hell.

The worst part was that the Alliance thought this was a promotion. An improvement. Hey there, the Alliance said. You did such a good job at what you were just doing that we decided to give you a promotion so you're doing something else entirely.

A small part of him was honoured, like he should be. Being charged with defending the capital of a galactic superpower was a big deal, and the dozens of sectors under his protection gave him a level of importance beyond even what he could have hoped for in his career with the Republic or the Empire, let alone with the lowly Rebel Alliance.

But then, things had changed a hell of a lot for the Alliance. A few years ago, Bothawui had been the Imperial backwater that Vansen had helped chip off the edge of the Empire. It had become one of a handful of struggling free worlds, it's independence preserved only by the Empire's complete lack of interest in it. But look at it now: a shining beacon of liberty, the seat of an Alliance of Free Planets a hundred sectors strong. When he'd first agreed to join the rebel cause, he would never have believed how far they'd come.

But if this is winning, the Admiral mused with a scowl, Then why do I feel like I've lost?

With a grunt, he jammed a finger into the intercom on his desk, opening the link to the attaché outside his office just in time to hear a snatch of her ongoing conversation. "No, Ambassador," an insistent Bothan voice snarled out, "Admiral Tyree is not climbing a mountain. Why would he climb a mountain?"

Vansen couldn't quite make out the words of the chittering voice with which the attaché was apparently speaking; but he didn't need to. He could tell when a situation was being thoroughly handled, and he was confident that it would never amount to anything that he'd have to concern himself with.

"I don't care how important this tradition is to the Veknoids, Ambassador," the attaché continued. "The Admiral is one of the seven most important people in the Alliance Navy. He's a military strategist responsible for two dozen sectors filled with inhabited worlds that rely on his protection, not some preening politician whose only priority is to appease the locals. He may be stationed here on Moonus Mandel, but I can assure you: his attention firmly belongs elsewhere. He has much more important things to deal with -"

Her voice halted for a split second as she finally noticed the glowing indicator that warned that the intercom was transmitting. "- and in fact," she continued, barely breaking her verbal stride, "He needs my assistance with one of those matters at this very moment. I suggest you contact Senator Oruo'rel's office in future, Ambassador: I'm sure he has plenty of bureaucrats on his staff sitting around with nothing important to do."

There was an audible clunk as a furred paw killed the video call; a slight pause before the attaché spoke again, her voice returning to it's usual more moderated and measured tone. "My apologies, Admiral. How can I help?"

Having been grateful for the distraction, whatever extra buoyancy Vansen's mood had gained disappeared in an instant. His eyes strayed back to the computer terminal that his gaze had been intently avoiding for the last hour. The transmission that was displayed there was one he had been waiting for each day since the Wheel had disbanded and he'd been assigned here to the Fourth Fleet headquarters on Moonus Mandel; and yet despite that waiting, it still felt like the message had come too soon.

His lips tightened into a grim line. "I need you to clear my schedule for this afternoon, Ensign. I'm expecting an important visit from Master Zem Vymes. It is imperative that I be informed as soon as he arrived, and that this meeting is in no way documented. Is that understood?"

The Ensign's tone didn't falter in the slightest. "According to your schedule, sir, your appointments for the day had to be called off because of an emergency hole-conference with the Minister of Commerce, and you're expected to be indisposed all day."

Vansen couldn't help a small hint of a smile. Perhaps there were some advantages to being an Admiral after all. "Carry on then, Ensign," he finished, cutting the intercom, and easing himself back into his desk chair.

Deep contemplation furrowed his brow as Vansen stared off into the middle distance, index fingers steepling and drumming against his chin. So many thoughts swam through his mind, vying for dominance. With each blink he relived their discussions, the plans their cadre of conspirators had made together; he relived the anger, the sadness, and the sting of her betrayal. It should have overwhelmed him, but instead if gave him strength and resolve.

His hand reached for a desk drawer, retrieving the comlink buried innocently beneath an unimportant scattering of documents. His thumb flicked the stud. "ADAR," he spoke, his voice as hushed as situations such as this insisted, "I need you to come to my office. Vymes is on his way."