skriffs?”
Admiral Hoff Heston folded his hands on the glossy black table of the operations center and met Captain Ocheron’s blazing brown eyes with a calm look. “We’re not going to do anything,” he said.
Ocheron blinked. “We have a Sythian Fleet on our doorstep—Gors eating all of our food—” Ocheron gestured to Tova, who sat at the foot of the table, glaring unblinkingly at Hoff. “—the Hydroponics Guild is raising prices on all shipments from food to caf and salves, and you want us to do nothing ?”
“I have the situation in hand.”
“How exactly do you have it in hand?” Ocheron demanded, his thick black mustache twitching as he loomed across the table. Hoff eyed the man’s shiny bald head, and wondered absently if he might be able to see his own reflection there. Ocheron was a big brute of a man, the former Outlaw Captain of crime lord Alec Brondi’s fleet, now one of Admiral Heston’s own captains in the legitimate Imperial Fleet. Ocheron had been pardoned along with everyone else after Brondi had been defeated, but like virtually all of the outlaws in Dark Space, he wasn’t adapting well to the level of discipline and structure in the Imperial Fleet.
“Unfortunately, that information is classified.”
“Of course it is,” Ocheron said drily. “One question, Admiral, how do you expect us to trust you if you won’t tell us what you’re planning? I think I can speak for the skull faces on that, too—right Tova?” Ocheron turned to the High Praetor of the Gors, and Hoff was relieved to see her finally break her death stare with him. She turned the glowing red optics of her helmet on Ocheron and began warbling at him. A moment later the translation came through Hoff’s ear piece.
“We . . . skull faces , as you call us, are aware of the Admiral’s plan.”
Hoff winced at that revelation. Captain Ocheron hadn’t been present for the initial strategy meeting which had led them to the conclusion that they needed to get reinforcements from Avilon. Few people in Dark Space even knew Avilon existed, and for good reason. If they knew that a lost sector of humanity was out there somewhere, untouched by the war, then there would be more unrest than ever. The people would demand to know where Avilon was, and insist that Hoff take them there.
But it’s not that simple, Hoff thought.Even if the Immortals agreed to take them in as refugees, few would meet up to the Avilonians’ strict standards for humanity, and those who didn’t would be turned away.
Captain Ocheron turned slowly back to Hoff, his pale skin having turned an ugly shade of purple. “The skull face knows and we don’t?” Ocheron jerked a thumb over his shoulder to Tova.
Hoff shrugged. “The Gors were required for my plan to work.”
Ocheron breathed a deep sigh and turned to the man sitting beside him, his XO, Master Commander Leskin. That man had more bright and glowing tattoos than visible skin. He was a quiet man with a frightening appearance, and in Hoff’s experience, it was the quiet ones you had to watch. “I think we’re done here, Commander, don’t you?” Ocheron asked.
Leskin turned to look at Hoff. He wore a pair of glowing blue contacts which contrasted sharply with the pulsing red tattoos that whorled around his eyes. Leskin nodded once and rose to his feet in tandem with his captain, while Ocheron turned back to Hoff with a scowl. “I had thought we’d learned to trust one another, Admiral. Apparently I was wrong.”
“I’m sorry you feel that way, Captain.” Hoff watched Ocheron and Leskin leave the operations center, leaving him alone with his bodyguards and Tova. Turning to the alien, he raised his grizzled eyebrows. “Are you going to storm out of here, too, Tova?”
“Be thankful I am not the one you leave out of your meetings.”
Hoff regarded Tova quietly for a moment. “Is that a threat?”
“No,” she said, rising from the table. “It is wisdom.”
Hoff nodded slowly and
Admiral Hoff Heston folded his hands on the glossy black table of the operations center and met Captain Ocheron’s blazing brown eyes with a calm look. “We’re not going to do anything,” he said.
Ocheron blinked. “We have a Sythian Fleet on our doorstep—Gors eating all of our food—” Ocheron gestured to Tova, who sat at the foot of the table, glaring unblinkingly at Hoff. “—the Hydroponics Guild is raising prices on all shipments from food to caf and salves, and you want us to do nothing ?”
“I have the situation in hand.”
“How exactly do you have it in hand?” Ocheron demanded, his thick black mustache twitching as he loomed across the table. Hoff eyed the man’s shiny bald head, and wondered absently if he might be able to see his own reflection there. Ocheron was a big brute of a man, the former Outlaw Captain of crime lord Alec Brondi’s fleet, now one of Admiral Heston’s own captains in the legitimate Imperial Fleet. Ocheron had been pardoned along with everyone else after Brondi had been defeated, but like virtually all of the outlaws in Dark Space, he wasn’t adapting well to the level of discipline and structure in the Imperial Fleet.
“Unfortunately, that information is classified.”
“Of course it is,” Ocheron said drily. “One question, Admiral, how do you expect us to trust you if you won’t tell us what you’re planning? I think I can speak for the skull faces on that, too—right Tova?” Ocheron turned to the High Praetor of the Gors, and Hoff was relieved to see her finally break her death stare with him. She turned the glowing red optics of her helmet on Ocheron and began warbling at him. A moment later the translation came through Hoff’s ear piece.
“We . . . skull faces , as you call us, are aware of the Admiral’s plan.”
Hoff winced at that revelation. Captain Ocheron hadn’t been present for the initial strategy meeting which had led them to the conclusion that they needed to get reinforcements from Avilon. Few people in Dark Space even knew Avilon existed, and for good reason. If they knew that a lost sector of humanity was out there somewhere, untouched by the war, then there would be more unrest than ever. The people would demand to know where Avilon was, and insist that Hoff take them there.
But it’s not that simple, Hoff thought.Even if the Immortals agreed to take them in as refugees, few would meet up to the Avilonians’ strict standards for humanity, and those who didn’t would be turned away.
Captain Ocheron turned slowly back to Hoff, his pale skin having turned an ugly shade of purple. “The skull face knows and we don’t?” Ocheron jerked a thumb over his shoulder to Tova.
Hoff shrugged. “The Gors were required for my plan to work.”
Ocheron breathed a deep sigh and turned to the man sitting beside him, his XO, Master Commander Leskin. That man had more bright and glowing tattoos than visible skin. He was a quiet man with a frightening appearance, and in Hoff’s experience, it was the quiet ones you had to watch. “I think we’re done here, Commander, don’t you?” Ocheron asked.
Leskin turned to look at Hoff. He wore a pair of glowing blue contacts which contrasted sharply with the pulsing red tattoos that whorled around his eyes. Leskin nodded once and rose to his feet in tandem with his captain, while Ocheron turned back to Hoff with a scowl. “I had thought we’d learned to trust one another, Admiral. Apparently I was wrong.”
“I’m sorry you feel that way, Captain.” Hoff watched Ocheron and Leskin leave the operations center, leaving him alone with his bodyguards and Tova. Turning to the alien, he raised his grizzled eyebrows. “Are you going to storm out of here, too, Tova?”
“Be thankful I am not the one you leave out of your meetings.”
Hoff regarded Tova quietly for a moment. “Is that a threat?”
“No,” she said, rising from the table. “It is wisdom.”
Hoff nodded slowly and
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