There was a lot that went into picking your first officers.
There were multiple ranks and positions that needed to be filled,
and Orn spent a significant amount of time trying to figure out the best
choices to make. The Aegean Empire was built on the foundation of war and
conquest—it had hundreds of military schools and recruitment offices scattered
across the galaxy. Each year, graduates from the academies numbered in the
millions, picked up by armies that were either already established or, more
likely, assembled into new forces and sent to other parts of the galaxy to make
war.
As it stood, Orn knew he would not be getting any established
officers. This was going to be the very foundation of whatever force he would
be able to cultivate. But he was an upstart—it didn't matter that his father
was Grand Imperator George Reese. No veteran soldier would want to serve with
Orn when he hadn't proven himself on the field of battle in command of his own
forces.
But regardless, Orn had positions to fill.
First was the Chief Officer—his second in command. Of course, that
seemed to have already been taken care of as part of the deal he'd made with
his father. His concubine would be serving right beside him as his Chief
Officer. That would be a problem, as he absolutely hated her guts. It made
sense to him now why so many within the military wanted nothing to do with
empire politics. They turned everything into a transaction, a bargaining chip,
a piece to be moved on a board.
After that, the positions of Second and Third Officer needed to be
filled.
The Second Officer would be in charge of the soldiers on board—the
ones who would be taking the fight directly to the enemy. The Third Officer
would lead the engineering corps and would be responsible for making sure their
ships and weapons remained in top condition.
Orn already had an individual in mind for Third Officer, but given
the stigma surrounding Grigarians, he knew getting Aegeans to follow his lead
would be a tough sell. But Janus was quite good at showing people just how
capable he was... and how likable too, despite his species' reputation for
being amoral technology obsessives.
So right now, the position he needed to worry about most was
Second Officer—and that decision would have to be made carefully.
He scrolled through the tablet in his hands. There were thousands
of options—men and women who had graduated at the top of their classes with
honors across the empire. But many of them were actually quite unsatisfactory
for Orn's purposes. This was someone who would have the soldiers under their
direct command while he and his concubine maintained total control of the army
itself. This individual had to be stern—but not just stern. They also had to be
able to relate to the soldiers under them, to earn their respect through more
than just rank.
But more than that, Orn was looking for someone who didn't fit the
standard profile of what a perfect officer of the empire looked like. He was
looking for pariahs, the unseen, the diamonds in the rough.
And he found one.
Captain Bjorn Manosi.
Orn read through the file with growing interest. Graduated at the
bottom of his class, even though he'd finished his final exams with scores two
hundred percent higher than what his academy was typically known for producing.
That alone was suspicious—and intriguing.
He'd been a survivor from one of the empire's long wars with the
Free States. Born on a pirating vessel that served as his nomadic tribe's
flagship, the empire had blasted it to pieces and left the debris adrift in
space over a desolate planet. When the trawlers came to harvest viable
materials from the wreckage and haul the rest to a dump somewhere, they'd found
young Bjorn adrift in an oxygen suit, with barely five minutes of air left in
his tank.
From there, he'd been taken to a mining colony and put to
work—essentially enslaved to pay off his "rescue." He'd served three
years before finally earning his freedom, then immediately applied to join the
army.
He was rejected on account of being a former member of the Free
States.
The level of prejudice against perceived enemies of the empire on
that particular planet had been extremely high, and he'd lost many
opportunities because of it. Somehow, he'd impressed a visiting officer and
earned a full scholarship to the academy. So even with such terrible class
rankings—clearly sabotaged by prejudiced instructors—Bjorn Manosi was listed as
a world-class strategist, a certified mecha pilot, and had logged five hundred
sixty hours in active combat missions, piloting drones in reconnaissance and
assault operations.
He was good. Not just good—he was the best candidate Orn had seen.
Orn immediately composed a recruitment letter, outlining benefits,
salary, and the position he wanted Bjorn to fill. He sent it off without
hesitation.
Now that solved the problem of the chain of command. Three roles
filled.
The First Pilot position would be responsible for keeping the ship
operational and on course. They would be supported by the Second Pilot—or
Combat Pilot—who would be in charge of the ship's weapons systems. They usually
also had three or four other pilots working under them, as it wasn't easy
moving ships through space, especially during combat. A lot of variables had to
be considered and monitored. More minds were needed.
Orn found his candidates almost immediately.
Sisters—and half Aegean, half Synalese.
It came as a surprise to him, as Synalese citizens made up the
bulk of the enemies the empire fought against. Unions between the two empires
were rare and often frowned upon. But then again, Orn's mother was—is—Synalese,
which also made him half Aegean. Though no one really wanted to focus on that
uncomfortable fact. He was sure the purists in the empire must be going insane
over his union with the "murderous" Grand Princess.
Nevertheless, both sisters were also Psionics. Of course, it was a
very weak manifestation—they were only able to share senses and thoughts with
each other, a form of limited telepathic link. Orn was sure they would be
receiving plenty of other offers, just on account of being Psionics. But he
doubted any of those offers would give them the positions he was offering.
Their ability would be strategically valuable to him, and with a little
training, it could be improved significantly.
Their names: Scylla and Charybdis.
Monsters from a forgotten civilization's ancient mythology. How
fitting.
With that, he had five of his main officers selected.
What came next was the Chief Navigator.
Most ships had standard government-issued navigation systems. The
charts were heavily curated for both civilian and military use, mainly because
battles could erupt in different areas of space without warning. The navigation
systems were connected to constantly active beacons that would automatically
change trajectory calculations to ensure civilian ships didn't get caught in
crossfire.
Of course, the restriction of navigation charts in the empire had
been a cause of dissent for many years. But it was deemed necessary for public
safety—and military security.
However, some ships—especially those belonging to large armies
with significant wealth and power—could afford to own a Nav-AI. The least
capable of these artificial intelligences could calculate thousands of jump
coordinates per second and were the only systems able to handle
faster-than-light travel for entire fleets. They wouldn't just jump one
ship—they could jump a thousand simultaneously, making them invaluable tools
for large-scale military operations.
Even Orn's father wasn't wealthy enough to own one.
Due to that limitation, most ships in the empire were still
entirely reliant on human navigators.
For his Chief Navigator, Orn chose what the file labeled as
"the bastard son of a senator." And it wasn't that Orn personally saw
the man that way, but it was printed in bold red letters across his official
report—a mark of shame, a political liability.
Probably another political problem waiting to happen, but Orn
didn't care about that.
Avarian Benetti had been in and around ships his entire life. He'd
logged a collective eight thousand hours in both simulated navigation and
practical navigation, serving as an assistant for his mother's transport
company. He'd been pushed into officer school by his father—likely an attempt
to legitimize him—and he'd also entered into a political marriage of his own.
Which brought Orn to his wife.
Nisha Benetti, formerly Prakesh, was the eldest daughter of a
deposed senator. Their family had fallen into hard times and had their seat on
the Senate revoked. In fact, it was their family being thrown off the Senate
that had made Orn's father particularly frantic about securing new alliances
and speeding up his own political maneuvering. George Reese wanted that vacant
seat.
As for Nisha Benetti, she'd ranked second-highest in her class as
a navigator, directly behind Avarian himself. They were a matched pair, and
their joint report stated clearly that any army hiring them would have to take
them both.
Orn had no problem with that condition. It settled the roles of
Chief Navigator and Assistant Navigator in one move.
His next concern was the Communications Officer.
However, that section of the form was blank. He raised his head
and handed the tablet back to his father so the general could review his
selections.
"Since I can't pick my own Communications Officer," Orn
said, keeping his gaze focused on the seat in front of him rather than on his
father, "I assume you already have a suitable candidate in mind?"
He heard the man take a deep breath before answering.
"The Grand Princess herself made provisions for a very
capable Communications Officer. So it's entirely out of my hands." There
was a pause. "However, I have to say... your choices are unconventional,
to say the least."
Orn could hear the disapproval in his father's voice.
"I'm sure there are other options that would serve you
better," George continued. "Everyone you've selected is relatively
unknown to the wider empire. Running an army isn't easy, Orn. You need allies
you can call upon, connections you can leverage for resources and
reinforcements when the situation demands it." His voice hardened
slightly. "Your choice of officers is disappointing in the fact that
they're unable to provide any of these political benefits. War is expensive. Or
do you intend to send unarmed men onto the battlefield with nothing but good
intentions?"
Orn shook his head, then turned to look at his father directly.
With the full-face mask on, there was no way George could see his
expression—but Orn knew his tone would convey everything.
"I am the son of the Grand Imperator," Orn said slowly,
deliberately. "And the husband of the Grand Princess. Money is not my
problem. After all..." A pause. "I am tied to very powerful
people."
His father looked like he wanted to say something—his mouth opened
slightly, then closed again. In the end, there really was nothing to be said.
He'd already gotten what he wanted from this arrangement. Perhaps letting Orn
choose the sort of people he wanted around him was a way to help calm the
situation, to give his son some sense of agency.
All of these choices could be replaced in the future anyway.
George had pushed his son too far, too fast. It was important for the young man
to feel that he had at least some modicum of control over his own life—even if
it was an illusion.
Orn faced his father directly now, looking him in the eye for the
first time since they'd boarded the drop-ship.
"What's my first mission from the empire?" he asked.
"Will it affect my... goals?"
The general's gaze hardened. His disapproval of Orn's insistence
on searching for shadows of the past was visible even without words. But he
still answered, his voice measured and professional.
"Your 'ball of dirt and rubble,'" George said, a hint of
disdain coloring his words, "is located in a part of the outer rim called
the Stellaris Cluster. It's an ancient battlefield that borders our empire, the
Theocracy of the Black Sun, and the Free States. There are hidden and
undiscovered planets scattered throughout, along with relics from civilizations
long forgotten."
He leaned back slightly. "It's not the main front of our
wars, but it is where we send our young officers to grow and get them bloodied
in the fires of combat. For some reason, things have escalated recently. The
battles waged between the next generation of warriors from our empire and
theirs have increased in intensity, and more ancient relics and artifacts of
power are being discovered."
George pulled up a star chart on his own tablet, projecting it
holographically between them. "The empire has received word that a new
planet has been discovered in the cluster. It's desolate and dead, but the
ruins of an ancient civilization have been found beneath the planet's surface.
Both sides have already established forward positions. The empire would like
you to claim territory there and secure more relics and treasures than the
opposing forces."
He zoomed in on a particular sector. "To your considerable
luck, there's a functional jump gate just ten minutes away from the planet at
full speed. It leads almost directly to your scrap moon—and to the pirate nest
sponsored by the enemy." A meaningful pause. "You can search for your
mother and sister all you want once you're out there."
His expression hardened, his voice taking on a cold finality.
"But I assure you, Orn...
you won't find anything."