More than that, they needed to be subjugated and cleansed of any and all presence that had once been the enemy’s. Vice Admiral Desaria had vowed to complete his orders to the utmost level of his talent and ability. Little did the Admiral know that his unknown vow had been heard by the Upper Echelons of the most secretive branches of the Imperial Security Forces, who had made their own vow and decision.
In plain Basic: they would make sure of it.
The interest of the Internal Security Bureau and Committee for the Preservation of the New Order, COMPNOR, since merged into departments of the Imperial Security Forces, was clearly emphasized by the arrival of one of their commissioned henchmen onto the flagship of Vice Admiral Desaria. The Admiral was by no means pleased by the respirator bound Captain, and had every intention to display his Imperial-attitude to the brash ISB agent. With a stroke of luck, he would be able to execute him in the field for cowardice or incompetence.
The Captain, having distanced himself from combat and sought only to erode the Admiral’s impeccable standing among his men, had not been obliging.
It was therefore left to the irate Desaria to formulate a plan.
An opportunity presented itself in the form of the typically ominous Imperial Command Communiqué.
Vice Admiral Desaria, Commanding Officer, Brass Protectorate Fleet, Commanding Officer: Operation Vulcan
The schedule set for the completion of Operation Vulcan has been amended. The remaining three systems must be subjugated at the most four days hence. Orders will follow pending the completion thereof.
Signed
Colonel-General Maximillian van der Ruundstadt
Executive Administrative Assistant to the Chief of the Imperial General Staff
At the end of reading the coded holo-missive, an evil grin formed on the boyish face of Admiral Desaria. Evil had finally found an outlet.
* * *
Captain Trachta was most displeased by the appearance of two Fleet troopers inside his quarters as he began his long procedure for the commencement of sleep. Reluctantly, he dressed as the silent, stern faced troopers waited for him. They escorted him to the office level, four levels below the bridge where the Admiral’s primary office was located. The room was an expansive, almost cavernous structure. A foreword facing window sat at the end of the room, with a high-backed, satin cushioned chair behind a wide, stained greel wood desk. The carving was elegant and hand-completed, a rarity in the galaxy in the modern era. The desk alone was worth the annual salary of a Captain, no matter the branch affiliation.
The Captain stepped through, as did the Fleet troopers flanking him. As the blast door whooshed shut behind him, each of the troopers took up a characteristic stance on either side of the archway, their gloved hands crossed across their chests.
The affect the Admiral was trying to create, sitting easily behind his impressive desk, his tunic done up but looking at complete ease, was obvious: he was attempting to assert control.
Captain Trachta would not be intimidated and moved closer than he should have. At that, the Admiral looked up from some flimsiplasts he was studying and motioned to one of two equally lavish chairs on the opposite side of the desk.
Captain Trachta sat and lost none of the arrogant look he had possessed from his entrance into the Admiral’s life. He crossed his legs and did not let his head droop even to look down. He opened his mouth to speak, but the Admiral saw it straightaway. This was his game, and he was determined to play the part of the Admiral years of service in the Fleet had made him.
“ Captain, you have been temporarily reassigned to the Star Destroyer Manticore. The Ageri System shall be taken by Commodore Ackerman and detachment I have assigned him. It registers as having no life or settlements, only one small garrison base and relay outpost. It is to be eliminated. Upon completion of that objective, every square centimeter of the system must be combed for satellites and monitoring stations. I have long suspected captain Yerill of less than distinguished morals, and I have reassigned you to his command to investigate my suspicions. “
“ Admiral, I appreciate your faith in my abilities,” the Captain replied, every word dripping with sarcasm,” but I have been assi-”
Desaria cut him off by slamming a small plast-carver onto the desk with enough force to break the glassed casing on the device. “ captain, I do not give a damn about your orders. These are my orders, and until you have more rank pips than I do, or you receive a dictate from Operations, then you shall do as I command.”
“ Admiral,” The Captain quipped, ready to bite back with his usual ISB wit-less attitude, but again, the target of his arrogance cut back at him.
“ You will do as I have ordered, Captain, or a picturesque view shall be the last image burned into your mind before the coldness of space takes you. You are dismissed, Captain. The Sergeant at Arms will escort you to your shuttle. You are to leave immediately, as our timetable has been pushed up. I have no time for games. Good day, captain.”
Trachta could not even voice a coarse word from his respirator, for a barrel-chested Fleet trooper was at his side, one hand on his personal side arm, the other pointing amiably towards the door. “ If you would, sir.”
It was the ISB agent’s turn to icily gaze at Desaria, who did not notice. The Vice Admiral had returned to his paperwork.
When the doors whooshed shut and he was alone, the Admiral took a large bottle of blue brandy from his desk drawer and enjoyed it, all the while exhaling the biggest relief he had ever felt.
[size=1]Requiem en Terra Pax[/size]
