“You were given your orders,” an abrasive tone remarked, “but you took it upon yourself to disobey. You were told plainly what not to do, and yet you did it. Quite possibly, you’ve ruined months of work with a rise of your finger…I’m almost impressed, Admiral. I was sent to monitor you, but your audacity surpassed even the threat of penalty. Half of me may even be beginning to regret what must be done…”

“Preposterous!” A second voice broke from its silence. “My actions are fully mandated by Imperial Doctrine. And you, among all others, have no right to convict me!”

A drip of anxiety fell past the Admiral’s brow, landing in a puddle atop his glossed rank cylinder. The immaculate uniform cladding his figure became tight around the limbs and took him into a constricted hold. He cringed when attempting to make his face look stern, but beneath he was terrified. He knew very well that a man brazen enough to question his authority would be squelched by little.

A wolfish grin shaped the first man’s aged wrinkles, transforming his face from a collected landscape into a winding canyon range. He spoke softly as to verify his own composure. “May I remind you, Admiral, that Imperial Doctrine theoretically would permit an ape to command a starfleet in its search of bananas on the far moon of Belkarda? And still without stepping out of authorization, that this same monkey would be capable of rupturing every Imperial blockade in its wake?”

“That’s as farfetched as it is odd,” the Admiral spoke, his eyes growing weary of the sarcasm. “The Regent would never allow-”

“My sentiments precisely!” the other injected as if already having calculated his next step. “The Regent, or any other bureaucrat for that matter, would never allow such absurdities.” A chuckle began to erupt from his depths. “But alas, here in front of me is that ape, and that ape’s ego is the banana world of Belkarda. For, in fact, the Regent doesn’t permit anything of the sort…”

The Admiral tilted his head from side to side, prowling for support in his crewmembers though hoping that his desperation would not shine through. It is over, he repeated to himself. What else could he do? Beg for mercy in the midst of his crew, or keep the rest of his dignity by conceding?

The Inquisition: he despised the sound, let alone its meaning. On his journey to the admiralty, he saw those that he most respected have their reputations slain with false persecution from these “inquisitors.” He wondered if the judicial servants were as spotless as they appeared to be. All of their movements were made in the name of the Empire, yes, but was there room in the Empire for all of the corruption they claimed to eliminate? Could their loyalties be overrated?

“Speechless, Admiral?”

“W-What have I done?” After minutes of holding out, a stutter from tension finally riddled holes into the Admiral’s voice. “A l-logistical error…nothing more.” He felt the hefty load of his stomach beneath him murmur uneasily, forcing small warps to appear across the black of his uniform. His sense of dignity was lost.

“But when you’re the one to make such…logistical errors, an entire legion of the Empire’s army is decimated. Must justice not be served? Has your tyrannous pride not sent thousands of the Empire’s sons to their deaths?” The cloaked man’s focus changed and jumped over the Admiral, stopping at a pair of inquisitors. The two clad men had loyalty bulging at their faces, but also looked enthusiastic from what they anticipated to come.

After a pause, the man holding their concentration gestured with a flick of the hand, signaling for their action. Having nodded to confirm, they began to approach from the Admiral’s rear.

“I have done nothing!” he continued to insist. “My tact was perfectly legi-”

The polished silver of a pistol prodded at his abdomen from one side. Each poke was meant not to force him into a particular position, as the motion normally indicated, but rather to harass him for the utter pleasure. On the opposite side of his head, the scornful beam of a second inquisitor taunted him through the exchange of glances. In unison, each inquisitor then clutched a shoulder and started to pull the victim backwards, similar to beasts retreating into their cave with the day’s prey.

“Grand Praetor! You c-cannot do this,” the exhausted officer retorted. Various other murmurs were then blurted from within his lips as all four extremities struggled to escape the inquisitors’ mighty grip.

“But I am,” the response returned in a string of laughter, “and I have.”

Like a bullet to the back of the head, the ordeal was no more than a waking dream seconds after its end. Convicted and sentenced for an offense thought to be a mistake by most, involuntary manslaughter by others, the Admiral now squirmed to resist an untimely end. Fully having lost the need for poise, beads of sweat weaved in narrow streams down his forehead, his jaw yelping pleads in a forlorn voice.

Sardonically signaling a “goodbye” once the prey succumbed, the Praetor whispered, “Justice is solely in the possession of the Emperor. Oh, and it’s good that finally you’ve accepted the restraint…that will be the least of your worries.”

The closely shaven mugs belonging to dozens of Imperial personnel – “the most disciplined in the galaxy” – were struck with a perverse sort of sneer as they glared up onto the parapet. They felt the indescribable while emotions from every corner of the galaxy were fused into a single gesture. Nevertheless, they quieted and limited themselves to watching in awe.

“Very well,” the figure murmured beneath his breath, the inquisitors having departed into the Behemoth’s depths. A visual scoff rushed from his eyes, pouring onto the onlookers with a swift rotation of the neck. “Return to your stations immediately.”

On their own time, each spectator then took a dry cloth to his forehead and proceeded to return. Some nodded warily to the fiend above before retreating downwards.

No more than a quarter had managed to return when the Grand Praetor – Navis Aetarian, by name – had strode to a jutted platform overlooking the bridge’s lower entirety. A cough next erupted from his lips, a ruse for gathering attention, only for him to find that the bulk already had locked eyes. Panels and monitors from either side of the bridge were left unattended, with the mass huddling of officers to the center.

“Your Admiral,” he bellowed with his hands clasping the forward safety guard, “has been demoted to the level of ashen cinder. Explanations as blatant as this have no need to be repeated, which is why you will be permitted to think of the preceding as you will. However,” his voice grew stern with the white of his knuckles, “if you are confronted by any superior regarding the ordeal, you will respond only with what you saw.”

Content by repeating the standard address, Navis’ grip loosened from the metal harness and his hands withdrew into a cluster of furled robes. Glancing about to ensure the concentration in the assembly, he continued, “This starship, along with its respective divisional fleet, is now under the Imperial Department of Justice and Security’s direct jurisdiction…namely that of me. Taking to mind the former Admiral’s unfortunate crimes, this option is no longer an option, as it is mandatory.”

He began to snigger inside the pits of his mind as the words blasted from his mouth. “How the coincidences match up,” he would have liked to say, but finally decided against for the sake of not pushing his chances.

“At any rate, your cooperation is absolutely crucial, as I hope that things will be running close to normal.” He reminded himself of a last issue before receding back down the parapet, “And Captain. I’ll seek a word with you in the Admiral’s quarters once the planetary scouts check in, if you don’t mind.”



“Certainly not sound to its namesake,” the Captain observed after the chamber’s automated entryway hummed to an opening. His beady brown eyes poked skeptically around the room, not knowing what to expect, but having long identified this “Grand Praetor’s” belligerence - being reason enough to be on edge.

It took only one glance to spot just how mundane the Admiral’s living conditions had been. Constituting the room’s efficient traits was the skeleton of a chair and the oblong resemblance of a desk resting above. Atop the durasteel rested a few stacks of shuffled paper, probably listing trivial statistics, and amid the stacks were the charred remains of Vassa shafts – a stimulant drug.

“Would you have ever thought of your Admiral as depressed drug addict, Captain Tavis?” The Captain’s feet spurted upwards in shock: the coarse voice of Aetarian spoke from behind him. Pushing a palm out in front of him and opening it, he beckoned Tavis to enter farther into the room. “Now there’s no wonder to why casualties have been mounting under his command, is there? And the joy he’s left us with doesn’t end there…”

Tavis began to sense the Praetor’s simple words jostling him deeper into the chamber. As though waves of water assailed his back, he was certain that if he resisted, he would continue to be pushed. The pressure finally was lifted off of his shoulders with the click of the automated door. “W-What is it that you must speak to me about?” His voice swelled to become raspy and hesitant at the sight of Navis’ grinning visage.

“Tell me,” Navis resumed with his eyes falling upon the desk’s papery litter, “have you lately noticed any clues of…espionage in the Admiral’s dealings?”