Loba Caldin. “So the war is going well now?” Ethan asked absently, his eyes settling on a red-faced Ithicus Adari.
The deck commander turned to watch, too, as the other pilots approached. “Quite well, yes, but you won’t have to trouble yourself with that for some time. Seems like Firestarter is on his way to the frontlines instead of you. Pity though. We could use someone with your instincts out there.” She turned back to him then. “And not in the cockpit of a nova, either. I’m going to recommend you for immediate promotion to a command position.”
Ethan turned to meet her gaze with a frown. “The fleet has open command positions?”
“We’re salvaging more and more ships every day.” She shrugged. “Should my recommendation be accepted, and assuming you pass the tests laid out for you, you’ll be in command of your own cruiser before you can blink.”
Ethan blinked. “Well, I don’t know what to say. . . .”
The others arrived then and began offering Ethan their congratulations, some of them genuine, others envious or suspicious—as though he’d somehow cheated.
“Don’t say anything yet,” Caldin replied, shouting to be heard above the ruckus. “But I’ll be in touch.”
Ethan nodded and turned to Ithicus who had stopped before him with an angry scowl. Ethan’s eyes narrowed, but Ithicus thrust out his hand, and Ethan accepted the handshake warily.
“That was some stunt you pulled, Skidmark. Nice.”
And then Ithicus let go of his hand and walked off. Ethan watched him leave while enduring a steady stream of offers from the other pilots to buy him drinks in exchange for insight into his strategies. Ethan decided to take them up on it, and he followed them back to the bar. He didn’t have anything better to do, and maybe one of them could help him find his quarters later, but as Ethan reached the doors to The Basement, he felt a crushing wave of fatigue come over him. His head began throbbing and he felt another maddening tickle start in the back of his throat. A moment later that tickle sent him into a fit of coughing which had the nearest pilot staring at him curiously.
“You all right, Skidmark?”
Ethan nodded as they walked inside the rec hall. “Yeah, brua. Throat’s just a little dry from screaming orders, that’s all.”
The other pilot grinned. “Well, we’ll fix that! Egrit!”
* * *
Supreme Overlord Altarian Dominic, commander in chief and head of state for the ISS—what was left of it anyway—sat in a vast, luxuriously-appointed room which served as his quarters aboard the Valiant . It was the middle of the night, but he couldn’t sleep. He needed to steal a few hours for himself, even if he had to rob himself of sleep to do so. All day, every day, he was under constant scrutiny, constantly forced to uphold an image of himself that he didn’t feel inside, but here, away from all the prying eyes, all of his pretenses were stripped away and he could finally relax and be himself. No one knew what that stripped-down version of him looked like, but that couldn’t be helped. The overlord had a certain persona to maintain, a certain confidence and optimism to uphold—like he knew exactly what he was doing, and no matter what he would never fail.
Nothing could be further from the truth.
Dominic turned his big black chair toward the room’s broad, floor-to-ceiling viewport, and he looked down upon the ice world of Firea far below. He studied the whorled blue and white patterns of the glaciers on the surface, and they brought to mind images from his youth on Roka IV. He remembered watching as a young child from the balcony of his home as the snow shivered down from the colossal mountains around Roka City—avalanches that were periodically triggered by the miners as they blasted for dymium with detlor charges.
That seemed like a lifetime ago. I am quite old now, after all, he thought with a wry twist of his lips. His hair was white, his features thoroughly
The deck commander turned to watch, too, as the other pilots approached. “Quite well, yes, but you won’t have to trouble yourself with that for some time. Seems like Firestarter is on his way to the frontlines instead of you. Pity though. We could use someone with your instincts out there.” She turned back to him then. “And not in the cockpit of a nova, either. I’m going to recommend you for immediate promotion to a command position.”
Ethan turned to meet her gaze with a frown. “The fleet has open command positions?”
“We’re salvaging more and more ships every day.” She shrugged. “Should my recommendation be accepted, and assuming you pass the tests laid out for you, you’ll be in command of your own cruiser before you can blink.”
Ethan blinked. “Well, I don’t know what to say. . . .”
The others arrived then and began offering Ethan their congratulations, some of them genuine, others envious or suspicious—as though he’d somehow cheated.
“Don’t say anything yet,” Caldin replied, shouting to be heard above the ruckus. “But I’ll be in touch.”
Ethan nodded and turned to Ithicus who had stopped before him with an angry scowl. Ethan’s eyes narrowed, but Ithicus thrust out his hand, and Ethan accepted the handshake warily.
“That was some stunt you pulled, Skidmark. Nice.”
And then Ithicus let go of his hand and walked off. Ethan watched him leave while enduring a steady stream of offers from the other pilots to buy him drinks in exchange for insight into his strategies. Ethan decided to take them up on it, and he followed them back to the bar. He didn’t have anything better to do, and maybe one of them could help him find his quarters later, but as Ethan reached the doors to The Basement, he felt a crushing wave of fatigue come over him. His head began throbbing and he felt another maddening tickle start in the back of his throat. A moment later that tickle sent him into a fit of coughing which had the nearest pilot staring at him curiously.
“You all right, Skidmark?”
Ethan nodded as they walked inside the rec hall. “Yeah, brua. Throat’s just a little dry from screaming orders, that’s all.”
The other pilot grinned. “Well, we’ll fix that! Egrit!”
* * *
Supreme Overlord Altarian Dominic, commander in chief and head of state for the ISS—what was left of it anyway—sat in a vast, luxuriously-appointed room which served as his quarters aboard the Valiant . It was the middle of the night, but he couldn’t sleep. He needed to steal a few hours for himself, even if he had to rob himself of sleep to do so. All day, every day, he was under constant scrutiny, constantly forced to uphold an image of himself that he didn’t feel inside, but here, away from all the prying eyes, all of his pretenses were stripped away and he could finally relax and be himself. No one knew what that stripped-down version of him looked like, but that couldn’t be helped. The overlord had a certain persona to maintain, a certain confidence and optimism to uphold—like he knew exactly what he was doing, and no matter what he would never fail.
Nothing could be further from the truth.
Dominic turned his big black chair toward the room’s broad, floor-to-ceiling viewport, and he looked down upon the ice world of Firea far below. He studied the whorled blue and white patterns of the glaciers on the surface, and they brought to mind images from his youth on Roka IV. He remembered watching as a young child from the balcony of his home as the snow shivered down from the colossal mountains around Roka City—avalanches that were periodically triggered by the miners as they blasted for dymium with detlor charges.
That seemed like a lifetime ago. I am quite old now, after all, he thought with a wry twist of his lips. His hair was white, his features thoroughly
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