Sexy Space Babes: Chapter Eighty One (Patreon)

As an expansionist Empire, it really didn’t surprise Jason that the most prestigious Imperial Officer Training Academy on Shil had not one, but multiple auditoriums across its campus.

Or that it had campuses. Plural.

Because of course the premiere training facility of a galactic superpower has more in common with a small city than anything else, he thought as he stood impatiently backstage.

It had certainly made for a hell of a sight on the shuttle ride over. The ‘Blackstone’ was a sprawling military complex that housed tens of thousands of instructors, officer trainees, guards and support staff. And unlike most other Marine focused complexes he’d come across that were more utilitarian in nature, the Blackstone had more in common with the Aviary. Which was to say it was lavish.

He couldn’t even begin to imagine how much a place like this cost to run.

Yet it was clear the Imperial government was all too happy to foot the bill, since the Blackstone had existed since the days of the first unification war – and had only grown in the intervening centuries, until it had reached the gargantuan size it was today. All in service to churning out more and more young officers to meet the ever-growing needs of the Imperium and her armies.

Certainly, it wasn’t the only institution within the Imperium built to meet those needs, but it was certainly the largest.

And the most prestigious, he thought as he glanced out from behind the backstage curtains to the massive audience of Humans, Shil and other assorted races that lay beyond.

“You ok, Jason?” Nora asked, standing behind him in her dress-bronze.

He just nodded, mentally keeping track of the droning voice of the General on-stage as he waited for his cue to walk out. As he did, his eyes continued to roam over the Humans who sat in pride of place amongst the frontmost rows.

Nearly a hundred members of the Terran First were present as future students of the academy. An insane number given that the regiment itself only had four thousand members to begin with. Four thousand green members at that – because he knew for a fact that none of the ex-tankers were present.

What had become of them, he had no idea. Apparently during the fighting, they’d just vanished – sans tanks. Nearly two months after his flight from the planet and that mystery seemed no closer to being solved. Some had suggested they’d fled during the fighting, while others proposed that the Alliance had brought to bear some kind of brand new weapon system that erased fabric and flesh.

Jason didn’t know.  He just hoped that wherever they were they were ok.

Dear god, he thought, do I actually… care about those assholes?

Huh, he supposed he did.

Whatever, they’d find out what happened to them eventually. The Imperium had the planet on lockdown, so the Alliance troops that remained were going nowhere. Which meant the military had all the time in the world to call in a few battalions of Deathshead Commandos to root them out.

A few members of which he’d had the privilege of meeting before the Terran First had been flown out – and he did not envy those shark girls one bit. In contrast to just about every other Shil’vati he’d met, the Commando Captain he’d spoken to had seemed positively giddy at the prospect of hunting her professional equivalents through a planet-sized cave complex filled with equally deadly fauna. He resisted the urge to shudder as he remembered the grin that had stolen over the woman’s face when he’d mentioned that the group that ambushed him had been sporting active camouflage and how they’d managed to escape by turning the gator-sharks on them.

He momentarily wondered if Freyxh would be amongst their number? The surly recruit would have had ample time to complete her vocational training in the time since he’d last seen her.

She’d be even more of a badass by now.

He couldn’t deny that the thought made him a little bitter. Not that Freyxh would be a badass – he’d stridently deny it if anyone asked if he had a “bad girl” fetish – but that she’d be fully trained while he was still… Well, he didn’t know what he was. And neither did the clerical officer who’d looked over his file.

Though it did make him feel a little better that she’d seemed as disgusted as he was at the situation he was in. Not just because it was unfair to him, but because it was dangerous to just about anyone who might serve ‘under’ him. He didn’t know whether it was the note she’d put in his file – in bright red ink – that had landed him here, but he was thankful for it.

It had certainly helped that she’d been muttering rather unkind things about ‘nobles and their games’ as she’d done it.

Of course, none of that professionalism had been on display when his new standing orders had finally filtered down. No, he’d gotten the feeling that from the perspective of the Shil’vati Captain that had shown up at his apartment, he was just supposed to be happy that the ‘oversight’ was finally being corrected.

Admittedly, from her perspective, it was being corrected in a big way. An invitation to Blackstone was not a small thing. Big as the place was, prospective officers were sent here from all across the Imperium, and competition for a spot was tough.

Which was why he couldn’t see the presence of so many faces from the Terran First without some suspicion.

Him? Sure. He was self aware enough that he was kind of a big deal in certain circles. As the ‘Hero of Gurathu,’ he’d been a recruiting officer’s wet dream. Human. Male. Reasonably attractive. The military had chosen to capitalize on his story because of what he was as much as for what he’d done.

So yeah, he was a known quantity. Having him attend Blackstone as a ‘reward’ for his most recent ‘heroics’ made sense.

…He was also conceited enough to think he might have been smart enough to make it on his own merit.

Near a hundred other Humans, though? One in ten of a given sample of Humans?

Hell, more like one in six given how many people didn’t survive Raknos, he thought.

No, that spoke of politics on a wider scale than just the Imperial brass performing the PR equivalent of kissing babies or handing out participation trophies.

If they were willing to throw Humanity that big a bone – and no doubt piss off a lot of blue-bloods who’d see it as cheapening Blackstone’s reputation – it suggested to him that a lot of people back on Earth might have been unhappy with so many kids coming back home in coffins.

Even if those deaths equated to what? About sixteen, maybe seventeen, days of fighting during the Vietnam war? he thought cynically.

He’d done some research. And while it felt in more than a little poor taste to reduce the lives of the people he’d been fighting with to mere statistics, he  was  the sort to take refuge in math and statistics over emotion.

…To the detriment of a number of his relationships over the years. Both romantic, familial, and platonic.

That was when he heard his cue.

“…against all possible odds, the Hero of Gurathu.”

He stepped out onto the stage as the Marshal looked over at him, the footsteps of his polished boots echoing through the almost entirely silent auditorium. He imagined that in different circumstances there might have been applause to accompany his arrival. This was a military function though, and like most ceremonial events of a military nature, ran much closer to sombre than celebratory. Still, he’d done this rodeo dozens of times before when he’d first been dubbed the Hero of Gurathu. So rather than focus on being blinded by the spotlights overhead, he instead focused on counting his steps as he swiftly – but not too swiftly! – made his way over to the General.

Coming slowly to a stop before her, he saluted, placing his hand over his breast in the Imperial fashion. A salute that was returned by the woman and the officers behind her. A salute that had far too much enthusiasm, given the way he heard the audible thumps of firsts hitting breastplates. Ignorant of his discomfort, the scarred woman grinned widely at him before gesturing to the podium.

Nodding his thanks, he stepped up to the smooth wooden construct, running his hands along the varnished exterior as he clicked on the microphone. He didn’t speak though. He waited. For just a moment. Long enough for his gaze to roam over the crowd in a casual and unhurried manner.

Just like we practiced, he thought as his recent readings on public speaking for dummies came back to him – borne of some perhaps misplaced guilt at his most recent complete failure as the Terran First’s morale officer.

Sure, while he didn’t quite blame himself for the dissolution of the regiment’s discipline on its final day, he wasn’t so callous as to deny that the maintenance of morale had been amongst his primary duties. Duties he’d immediately abandoned in favour of doing what he could actually do, instead of pursuing a line of work for which he was clearly unsuited… but the point remained.

He’d failed.

Because Terran First was definitely a lot more Lord of the Flies than Charge of the Light Brigade towards the end, he thought with a hint of melancholy, before straightening up. Alright, don’t appear unsure, don’t appear unhurried and don’t look like you’re reading from a script.

Which meant he was supposed to take a moment to ‘think’ as he stared out into the crowd.

His eyes immediately alighted onto the eager and familiar faces of the Terran First – or former Terran First, he supposed. Because neither he nor any other Human present were still members of the now storied regiment.

Which had become a not uncommon fate for the survivors of Raknos-Three.

The Terran First still existed in name, of course, but few of the original complement remained. Over the last two months, they’d been reassigned. En masse. Replaced by fresh faced boot Marines straight out of training. Sure, some of the original members were still around, but they were spread  throughout the regiment, clearly just there to mentor the newbies and provide a solid core of veterancy.

Truth be told, he hadn’t been all that bothered by that fact. While many Marines had latched onto the sense of belonging that came with being part of a regiment, to him it had just been another posting.

Still, he’d been at least passively curious as to why so many of his former companions were being shipped out to places unknown. It hadn’t been hard to find out the reason by leaning on his reputation as the Hero of Gurathu.

Someone had taken an interest in the events of Raknos-Three.

Which wasn’t too surprising. Lots of people were interested in what had occurred there. Two – nearly three – Imperial regiments nearly wiped out by an Alliance Black Ops operation? While no one quite knew why the coalition of star-nations had done what they’d done, it was still a level of provocation that the Imperials couldn’t ignore - and the Alliance couldn’t deny.

Despite the latter’s best attempts to do so.

But no, the likelihood of a coming war between the Alliance and the Imperium hadn’t been news to him – even if it did sometimes keep him up at night.

No, what had been news to him was that one of the parties interested in the events of Raknos-Three was less concerned with how it had come about, as much as how Human Marines had performed during.

Said party being a part of the Imperial Family.

The Imperial Family. The only one that really mattered.

From what he’d heard, a certain Imperial Princess Kamilesh had become enamoured with tales of Human ingenuity under adversity and started issuing orders as part of her role as head of Imperial Special Operations.

His former comrades weren’t being shuffled into new Shil line regiments. No, they were being shipped off to form the veteran core of a myriad of newly formed ‘Human regiments’.  Regiments that would be based around the idea of hard-hitting strike forces that could continue to fight and complete objectives without orbital support – or in spite of it on the enemy’s part.

An idea that, frankly, he wanted no part of.

Unfortunately for him, Kamilesh had enough political 'umph' to get her new project started.

Which was why he was rapidly getting a feeling that this invitation to Blackwell was not the gift it had been pitched to him as. If anything, it was looking more and more like a collar that was just waiting to be wrapped around his neck.

After all, a longer training period meant a longer service period to recoup the state’s investment.

…And with war on the horizon and these new Human shock regiments in the pipeline. Well, he could only hope that a few of his fellow Terran veterans were also smart enough to smell the ash in the wind. Because I’m sure as hell not about to tell them.

He was about to be in enough shit without deliberately tweaking some Imperial Princess’s nose by torpedoing the prospective officer core of her new pet project.

The sound of a small cough off to his side, barely perceptible from anything more than a few feet away, shook him from his thoughts. He resisted the urge to smile self-depreciatingly as the General’s small cue reminded him of the fact that his ‘moment of thought’ would soon turn into an awkwardly long silence.

Fortunately, it hadn’t quite passed that invisible signpost just yet, so he cleared his throat with a silent cough before straightening up.

Pathos, ethos, logos, he reminded himself.

“My fellow Marines,” he began, because ethos was all about reminding those you were speaking to that you were credible and trustworthy. “Sailors. Soldiers. I come before you today to speak on how honored I am to have received an invitation to this hallowed academy.”

He’d say the lies felt like acid on his tongue, but after nearly two years of spewing whatever bullshit he had to in order to get by, his tongue was pretty damn well numb to it by now.

“And know that while I stand alone up here, I would like to think that I am channelling the thoughts and feelings of my fellow Humans down there in the audience with you. Fellow veterans with whom I have fought, bled and triumphed on the field of battle.”

More importantly, I’m reminding all you scrubs that unlike most of you, we actually fought to get where we are today, he thought.

Sure, most of the fighting he’d done was entirely unwilling and born of attempts to avoid it, but it had happened. And that was important, because while blood might have talked while merit walked in the Imperium, one didn’t form an Empire borne on the back of conquest without instilling a healthy respect for your military into the minds of your people.

And being a veteran meant you were afforded a certain level of respect beyond that - regardless of your origins. By contrast, most of the Shil present would have entered the officer track straight out of enlistment rather than coming up through the ranks. A fact that was made immediately obvious even by the most casual of glances in his audience’s direction.

Most of them were young.

…Though it wasn’t like his fellow Humans were any older themselves.

Hell, calling them veterans after a single half baked disaster of a campaign was stretching it a bit too now that he thought about it…

Whatever. He was the veteran here. They were scrubs who should shut up and listen even if he was Human. And male.

That was the gist of ethos, right?

“A triumph that was not easily won,” he continued, moving onto pathos, which was apparently all about riling up emotion. Fortunately, that was fairly easy given recent events. “Not because of the Roach pirates as we had so readily been led to believe. No, it was the unprovoked aggressions of Alliance forces that pushed myself and my brave colleagues to the very brink of destruction!”

He let the roars of agreement from the crowd roll over him. Roars that none of the staff present made any attempt to quiet. Which wasn’t all that surprising. Anti-Alliance sentiment within the Imperium was growing as fast as a messenger ship could travel, with the Imperial propaganda machine blaring out what had occurred on Raknos-Three to all that would listen.

Sure, the Alliance was denying it just as fervently, but no one within the Imperium’s borders was listening to them.

Likely helped by the fact that the Alliance had never been well-loved by the people of the Imperium. Sure, they were held with less contempt than the Consortium, but that wasn’t exactly a high bar to beat. While the people of the Consortium were seen as untrustworthy slavers, those of the Alliance were seen as two-faced bureaucrats - ones with an unearned superiority complex. Pacifists who cried out for peace while arming every thug, pirate or merc in the universe who might have an axe to grind with the Imperium.

Which, given said superpower's usual behaviour, amounted to quite a few axes indeed.

Hence why Jason was entirely certain that he wasn’t mistaken when he detected a certain level of… schadenfreude with them being caught with their hand in the proverbial cookie jar. A cookie jar filled with war crimes.

“Fortunately for us all, it was through grit, daring, and innovation that my peers and I were able to turn the tide. In doing so we turned a cowardly ambush, intended to leave no survivors and our great Imperium blind to the threat of Alliance, into a trap of our own. Even now, those who thought to destroy us lay alone and isolated on the planet with which they thought to make our tomb. As I speak, battalions of the Imperium’s finest descend upon them, bringing forth fire and ruin as they burn the invaders from our lands.” He paused. “Make no mistake. None shall escape. And before the battle is through, all their secrets shall be wrung from their deceitful throats – and we shall have the name of our true enemies.”

He resisted the urge to frown as he reached the end of the paragraph and the crowd started chanting. “Cave Man! Cave Man! Cave Man!”

How he hated the latest nickname he’d been saddled with. He knew the Shil didn’t mean anything by it. To them it was little different from calling someone something like ‘Wonder Woman’ or ‘Bat Man’.

And his fellow Humans in the Terran First found it hilarious. The traitors.

He also hated the way the staff nearest him were giving him acknowledging nods rather than forcing the crowds back into obedient silence.

…Hell, while he was on the subject, he hated the speech he’d just made too. It was all a little too fire and brimstone for his taste. Because, while he’d written the broad strokes, it was the Imperial Propaganda office that had then punched it up.

And they apparently loved the kind of campy, patriotic jingoism that made him want to roll his eyes.

Unfortunately, there was a grand total of nothing he could do about any of it beyond standing in ‘flattered silence and waiting for the chanting to stop'.

Which took a while.

Eventually though, it did end. “Still, for all that the Terran First – and Humanity – proved more than capable of rising to meet our Imperium’s newest challenges, talent without temperance is mere hubris. Brittle. Easily blunted.”

He could think of a few Shil that the last line could apply to – sans the talent – still, happy with the hushed response he was getting, he decided it was time to move on.

Logos, he thought. Making your audience see the logic in what you’re saying.

A curt gesture to the Master Sergeant had her bringing forth a box that was held with far too much reverence for what he knew contained little more than a slip of paper.

“Fortunately for myself and my fellow Marines,” he said as he reached inside to withdraw… a gold embroidered letter from the box rather than the comparatively plain invitation from the Marshal’s office it was supposed to contain.

It actually took him a few moments for his brain to catch up to exactly what he was holding, his rehearsed response totally derailed by the unexpected swap.

He barely registered it as just about every Shil in attendance leapt to their feet to stand at attention – a feat followed barely a second later by the Humans in the crowd. Most of his attention was on the surprisingly subdued purple wax seal stuck to the bottom of the sheet he was holding.

Not that the seal was really needed to see it to know from whom this letter had originated.

Even an outsider like him knew that only one family within the Imperium was allowed to use this particular pattern of gold embroidery in their official correspondences.

The Imperial Family.

The Imperial Family.

Well, shit, someone’s pulled a fast one on me, he thought as he a small bead of sweat formed at the back of his neck as he realized what he was holding

Suddenly the look of subdued awe that Sergeant-At-Arms had been wearing all evening made a lot more sense.

“As part of my role as head of Imperial Special Operations,” he began to read, “it is the decision of Her Majesty Princess Kamilesh, that no less than one hundred women and men from the recently triumphant Terran First Regiment are to be given the opportunity to partake of higher learning at the venerable Blackstone institute. These one hundred officer candidates are to be decided by willingness to partake, aptitude for leadership training, peer review, a panel of officers, and the High Marshal of the Blackstone herself.”

He didn’t miss the way the Humans in the audience seemed to grow in height as he spoke, their Shil’vati peers looking on in envy. Sure, the average Human didn’t venerate the Empress quite like the Shil did, but they weren’t ignorant to how important they were either. As evidenced by the wave of hushed awe that ran through the room as he continued.

“As a Princess, a sailor and a Commander, I have over the course of my life been privileged to witness many examples of heroism in the face of adversity. It was said by Helfess the First, that the Imperium was built upon both the corpses of her patriots and foes. A saying I find no less true today than it was back during the first Unification War.” He paused. “Colonel Cleff embodied those words to her dying breath. Using the time bought for her by the noble sacrifice of her two sister regiments, Colonel Cleff chose not to flee before what no doubt seemed like an impossible battle. Instead, she held true to the Imperial spirit. Defiance in the face of a cold unfeeling universe.”

Jason resisted the urge to roll his eyes as he continued. He respected Cleff. He really did. But he would never agree with her final decision to go down swinging rather than seek out possible alternatives to a frankly hopeless situation.

“Yet it is not the dearly departed Colonel’s valiant adherence to the Imperial spirit that I am here to congratulate today. After all, such an act is only to be expected of an officer of the Imperium. It’s sublime beauty akin to that of a sunset or a rainbow. Deserving of admiration, yet ultimately commonplace. The Imperium is a nation of heroes. Heroes that die every day to maintain her.”

Now he resisted the urge to gnash his teeth at the dismissal of the letter’s tone.

…Even if he agreed with the sentiment being put forth. Cleff’s death was nothing special. Just like so many others that had died on Raknos-Three, she was just another body on the massive pyre that was the Imperium. More fuel for a massive entity that by sheer virtue of its size, was incapable of reciprocating that devotion – if it were so inclined.

“Which is why it was not Colonel Cleff’s first or last actions in the face of disaster that drew my attention to her. No, it was her decisions in between. Decisions made at the behest of a man well known to you all. Jason Linford, the Hero of Gurathu and Champion of the Terran First.”

Jason felt a wave of self-loathing run through him as cheers rang out from the crowd. Originally, he’d wanted his ‘plan’ to message the fleet in orbit to have been entirely Cleff’s idea. Friska had vetoed that out of hand. Too uncharacteristic, she’d stated. Cleff was cunning enough when it came to combat, as evidenced by her underwater assault plan, but anyone who’d ever spent five minutes with her would know she was no diplomat. And his plan to signal the ships in orbit had relied upon Maybel coming forward and informing him of the shuttle’s presence. More to the point, it was well known by the regiment that he’d been the one negotiating with them. So no, he couldn’t heap all of the praise and adoration onto Cleff while he slunk back into the shadows, merely a pawn in his commanding officer’s game.

Instead, he was the grand architect of the hairbrained scheme. Being praised for actions that had been far more a result of enlightened self interest than genuine patriotism or heroic inclinations.

“He was the one who negotiated with the natives of Raknos-Three, winning enough of their trust that they chose to reveal unto him that they had safeguarded an Imperial shuttle from the Roach invaders when the world first fell into their slimy clutches.”

Another lie, one required to make the Ufrians look good and buy Maybel’s cooperation. He didn’t know what exactly they’d be receiving in return for their aid, but according to the few officers he’d spoken to on the matter, it likely wouldn’t be small.

“He was the one who put forth the plan to signal the fleet in orbit using that ship. Both warning the Imperium of the Alliance’s subterfuge and saving his allies on the surface by conveying precise targeting coordinates to the fleet’s guns. All of this completed mere hours after escaping an ambush beneath the planet’s surface, one in which he was wounded gravely.”

He frowned. Wasn’t that a bit of an overstatement? He’d been shot in the arm.

Then again, they were rather large harpoons, he thought.

He shook his head. That didn’t matter. None of this did. It was just theatre. Perhaps if he thought any of this praise were genuine, he might have been blushing at it all. As it was though, he felt little more than uncomfortable at the uninhibited gushing he was receiving from the pen of a member of the Imperial family.

“Such tenacity in the face of otherwise impossible odds. Those were my thoughts as I read through the after-action reports. I must admit, my curiosity was piqued. Which in turn, led me to reading through yet another note in the Champion’s file. Of the events of Gurathu and his heroics there. Which read much the same. In a situation where any other Imperial would choose to go down swinging with pride, this Human had sought out an unlikely means to attain victory. And again, as I read deeper, I found that even as a trainee on his final live fire exercise, this Jason Linford had managed to turn what was thought to be an impossible situation around.”

He heard some small muttering in the crowd at that. Hushed whispers that he couldn’t quite make out.

“I had to ask myself: What motivates this Human? To go to such lengths? To see victory in a situation where others see only defeat? Well, after a time searching I found my answer.

From the great Human general, George Patton.

‘The object of war is not to die for your country, but to make the other bastard die for his.’

I must admit I chuckled at those words. While lacking the… eloquence of our own great first Empress, I couldn’t help but find a crude beauty in them. In the purity of purpose.”

This time it really was a fight for him to not roll his eyes at the alien princess’ condescension even as she tried to be complimentary. Which was a perfect encapsulation of Imperial-Earth relations as a whole really.

“A purity of purpose that will be needed in the days to come. I need it. The Imperium needs it. Now more than ever.” He fought a frown. “A storm is coming, ladies and gentlemen. Enemies that have long since lurked in the shadows have finally overplayed their hand - and now a reckoning descends upon them. Not yet. But soon. So take this time. Enjoy your reward and the prestige that accompanies it. You have earned it. But do not dally or rest easy on your laurels. Learn all you can. Sharpen your claws. Hone your wits. They will be needed in the days to come.”

Jason couldn’t help the small shiver that ran up his spine at those words. Where before he’d felt some small vindication in the knowledge that the Alliance would suffer for all those people it had killed, now he could only think of what that would mean.

All-out war between two galactic superpowers, he thought. A war large enough to make any conflict on Earth look like a schoolyard squabble by comparison.

He couldn’t even begin to imagine the scale of death and destruction that was to come. As he glanced- at the crowd before him, he couldn’t help but wonder how many of those youthful faces would live to see the end of it?

Half? None? he wondered. Would a war on this scale even end with this generation?

He didn’t know. What he did know was that he wanted no part of it. Almost without thought, his fingers brushed against the omni-pad at his waist. Comforted by its familiar presence, he turned his gaze back to the sheet before him.

“To that end, I intend to offer the Champion Jason Linford a spot on my general staff. Effective immediately.” His stomach dropped, even as he heard excited whispers break out amongst the crowd.

An opportunity to work with a member of the Imperial family? As part of her entourage? That was not an offer made lightly. And while it came with great expectations, it also carried great rewards and opportunities.

For what else could the chance to have the ear of the woman who might become the next Empress but an opportunity?

A fact that was not lost on anyone present.

With a mouth that suddenly felt incredibly dry, Jason continued speaking. “While it pains me to deprive a promising young man of an opportunity to further his learning amongst the great halls of the Blackstone – of which I have many fond memories – it is a sad reality that his intelligence, drive and unpredictable nature will be of more use elsewhere. Such is the unfortunate fate of all who choose to exceed.”

I didn’t choose dick, he thought cynically. If anything, I chose the opposite and failed miserably at trying to attain it.

“To that end-” He glanced at his watch, heart jumping in his chest as he saw the number.

It was time. Now or never.

He closed his eyes, ignoring the noises of confusion that sounded out around him at his abrupt pause.

His throat felt dryer than the sands of the sahara, his palms were sweating, and blood was rushing in his ears.

“I’d just like to say, fuck that noise.” He opened his eyes, manic grin widening as he gazed out over the shocked faces arrayed before him.

You’ve done it now, he thought. You big moron.

Yet his heart felt lighter than a feather as yet more words spilled forth from his mouth.

“That was me talking, by the way. Be a bit odd if the Princess had put that in her letter.” With deliberate disdain, he slid the golden letter off the podium, revelling in the scandalized gasps as the expensive bit of stationary hit the floor. “Which is why, for the sake of clarity, I’ll repeat myself. Fuck. That. Noise.”

Part of him had been expecting yelling at this point in proceedings, but all he was greeted with was stony silence. Which was a pleasant surprise really. It would have been annoying to have to shout over people.

After all, he had a lot he wanted to say.

"I'm not a rabble rouser. I'm not a political animal,” He started, “I'm not an activist. I was just a guy who was willing to roll with the punches, keep my head down, and get on with the job."

He stared down at them. "But you made that impossible."

“I’ve been badgered, belittled, discriminated against, underestimated, overestimated, assaulted, lied to, cheated and just generally been screwed at every possible opportunity. Sometimes metaphorically. Often literally.”

The crowd was deadly silent.

“But you know what? I could forgive that. Really. All of it. I mean, it’s the military after all. Having the government fuck you is pretty much a universal expectation in any branch of service.”

As he spoke, he carefully pulled off his medals, placing each down upon the podium with an audible clunk.

“No, I could forgive it all if you all weren’t so damn incompetent. Propelled forward through the cosmos through sheer fucking inertia. Because at every possible opportunity, I’ve had the cracks in the ‘vaunted Imperium’ shoved in my face. Do well in a training exercise? Get sent off to a frozen iceball in the ass end of nowhere by a spoiled rich girl. Try and keep a low profile on said frozen iceball? Nearly get kidnapped by another spoiled rich girl who also happens to be a slaver on the side. Somehow manage to survive that? Get sent to another planet with shitty equipment, next to no training, and a rather horrific lack of recon.”

He slumped, finally letting the weight of everything that had happened wash over him.

“So no. I’m done. I’m backing out now, before I get dropped into a newer, bigger, dumpster-fire.”

He looked up, letting his gaze roam over the faces of his fellow humans.

“So, my fellow officer candidates, you want my advice? You want to know how I got all these medals? How I managed to do all the things I did? The answer is simple.” He leaned towards the microphone. “Always assume that the system is out to fuck you in some way. Do that, and you might avoid slipping through the gaping cracks in the vaunted Imperium’s facade of freedom and civility.”

He grinned, leaning back.

“Which is why I’m leaving.” He smiled. “Or if I’m being technical, I’ve already left.”

As he spoke, he brought up his Omni-pad, turning it on and deftly flipping to the data-mail confirmation he knew would be waiting for him. Or at least, he had really hoped was waiting for him, because things were about to get very awkward if it wasn’t.

Fortunately, it was.

In big blue letters, alongside a dozen other emails, in fairly innocuous words:

Monetary Discharge Order – Champion Jason Linford – 104/526/327.

Grinning, he flipped it around. “As of three minutes ago, my application for a monetary discharge order was approved. For those unfamiliar with such an order, that means I bought my way out of the military for a small fortune.”

Specifically, most of his savings and the entirety of the profits he’d received for his ‘invention of the mouse’ way back on Gurathu. He was cleaned out. Essentially penniless. And soon to be about as employable as a Roach in the business sector.

And he couldn’t be happier. Even as the ambient noise in the room started to rise as people finally got over their initial shock… and started to transition to outrage.

Which wasn’t too much of a problem for him. He just needed to shout out over them. “For those who are curious, a monetary discharge order can’t be blocked. Requires no approval from anyone beyond the monetary discharge order committee - a committee whose only concern is whether or not an individual has the credits to apply. And is effective immediately upon the appropriate paperwork being filed.”

Which was frankly absurd. He’d actually had to read the fine print on the application twice to be sure that he was reading what he thought he was reading.

It was true though. A monetary discharge order was essentially a ‘get out of jail free card’ for the Imperium’s rich, powerful and spoiled. Sure, it hadn’t started out that way, but that was what a few thousand years of amendments had turned it into.

Originally it had just been meant as a way for landed knights to waive their personal service by paying their liege a sum ample enough to cover the cost of a force of mercenaries to fight in their stead. Over the subsequent millennia though, it had transitioned into a way for nobles to skip out of the military if things were getting a little too difficult for them. The funds involved now simply a means to remunerate the state for the inconvenience, and a way for it to recoup whatever investment had already been made into that particular noble’s training and equipment.

A few times over.

Quick, simple and utterly inaccessible to anyone who wasn’t rich as sin. Because while a monetary discharge was open to everyone, the cost involved was astronomical. To the point where only the wealthy elite might be able to afford it.

Or, a dude who found himself receiving a rather nice windfall from an unexpected patenting of his idea, he thought.

Did he feel dirty for using such a ridiculous law to get out of this?

Not even a little, he thought. Fuck ‘em.

He owed the Imperium nothing. Not his time. Not his life. And certainly not his peace of mind. He’d not lose any sleep over using one of their own loopholes to escape. He’d let others worry about right and wrong.

As always, he’d keep doing whatever he needed to in order to get by.

He might have been tempted to say a few more words, but the noise level in the room had now risen to a point where he doubted he’d have been able to shout over it. People were shouting at him. Shil’vati were arguing with Humans. Humans were arguing with Shil’vati. Shil’vati were arguing with Shil’vati. Humans were arguing with Humans. Staff were arguing with each other.

No, he didn’t think he’d be getting a chance to get anything else to say.

And given that he was now a civilian, he figured the only lawful thing to do would be to vacate the premises. The Blackstone was a military academy after all. And he was a civilian. He had a note to say so and everything.

“Hyuk!” That mantra was still repeating in his head when he got tackled by an MP, barely five feet from the podium.

Things… only got more complicated from there.

—---------

He’d been cooling his heels in a security booth for about five minutes when the Marshal from earlier stepped in and dismissed the MP that had been glaring malevolently at him the entire time.

“I see you’ve got my omni-pad,” he noted absently, drumming his heels against the legs of the oversized chair he was handcuffed to.

Which was less than ideal, but far from an unexpected outcome of his little tirade.

“You dropped it as you were being escorted off stage,” the imposing woman responded simply, her many medals glinting in the overhead light.

He shrugged. “You mean it flew out of my hands when your oversized gorilla back there tackled me?”

Which hadn’t been fun. Anymore than being frog marched backstage was afterward. His only solace in this situation was that the shouting from the crowd had only gotten louder after he’d been tackled – and that technically the law was on his side here.

He’d checked. Repeatedly.

Unfortunately for him, he was also tempering that knowledge with the other knowledge that the law tended to warp around people of privilege and power. He’d like to have said that was a purely Imperial thing, but he had a feeling it had been just as true in the days of old Earth as it was now.

“I have no idea what a gorilla is, but I can assume from your tone that it wasn’t a complimentary comparison,” the woman noted dryly.

“You assumed correctly.”

The woman chuckled a little at that as she eyed him oddly. For his part, he simply stared back.

“You aren’t what I expected,” she said finally.

He shrugged as best he could while handcuffed to his seat. “It’s true, I’m even more devilishly handsome in person.”

It was funny, less than a day ago he’d never have been as flippant as this with even a lieutenant, let alone a Marine Marshal. Yet now that he was no longer a soldier… he felt… free.

Free to be as annoying as possible.

He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t revelling in the sensation. Or that he thought this wasn’t a terrible idea. Or that he would stop because of it.

It was just too damn cathartic!

The woman restrained her action to a small snort. “No, I don’t think that was what I was referring to – even if I don’t disagree. I’m referring to your psychological profile.” She flitted through his omni-pad. “Your previous CO’s all seemed to think of you as a study in contrasts. A man who was happy to knuckle down and work. Outwardly respectful. Understanding of the chain of command. Yet with a prospensity for independent action that was… concerning.”

Despite himself, he smiled. “Did Captain Tisi write that last bit. That sounded like Tisi.”

“Captain Tisi,” the woman corrected. “Did indeed write that last part of your profile.”

He quirked an eyebrow. What did Tisi’s former rank matter? Hell, if she was going to mention it then he’d point out that he’d been entirely correct in referring to her as just ‘Tisi’.

Unfortunately, she continued before he could ask.

“I must admit, I was looking forward to having you in my academy. For all that some of my more hidebound colleagues complained of ‘upstarts’ violating the sanctity of her halls, I was ever more of the opinion that Blackstone might benefit from insight into human… eccentricity.”

This time it was his turn to snort. “Is that what they’re calling it now?”

She simply inclined her head. “While your people are new on the scene, you have slowly started to garner a reputation for more than just… lewdness. As many soldiers back on Earth can attest, you also have a prospensity for ‘outside the box’ thinking and spontaneity.”

“Well, I’d like to think I’m nothing if not the prototypical man.”

This time the woman didn’t laugh. She just stared at him. Before reaching forward and undoing his cuffs with a simple swipe of her thumb on the fingerprint scanner.

His eyes widened as the restraints fell away, and almost subconsciously he reached up to massage his wrists. The damn things had been tight.

Perhaps his MP ‘escort’ had been less than appreciative of being called a ‘wort riddled buffalo’ immediately after she’d tackled him.

He supposed he’d never know.

“You’re free to go, Jason Linford. All of your documents check out.” The woman handed back his data-pad, and he took it gingerly.

“Huh.” Surprise colored his features. “Part of me thought I’d be here longer.”

Or that they’d try and trump up some charges for him. Sure, he hadn’t technically broken any laws, but he’d skirted a few. Public profanity. Incitement to riot. Disturbing the peace. Slander.

The last one wasn’t technically a law, but he had a feeling that if anyone could make it one, it would be a pissed off Imperial princess. And he wasn’t ignorant enough to think that she’d already been informed of his response to her offer. The Imperial Palace was only a few miles away. Hell, if he drove a few minutes down the road, he’d be able to see where the HMS Victory sat on the Imperial Lake.

“I also thought you’d be angrier,” he noted as he stood up.

The Marshal just laughed.

“Do you really, think you’re the only soldier who’s ever thought to tell their superiors to eat their cunt?” Then the mirth on her face and in her voice turned deadly serious. “Of course, the difference is that soldiers don’t indulge that desire. If not out of respect for their superiors, then for the insituation they represent.” Her eyes narrowed. “An institution you insulted gravely with your actions here tonight.”

Despite his discomfort under her gaze, his eyes didn’t waver from hers. He’d had enough of cowering. Enough to last a lifetime.

“Well that’s the problem.” He shot back. “I don’t respect the institution. I loath it. Because I’m not a soldier. Not have I ever wanted to be some. To be one of those people willing to sacrifice their life and body on the altar of some unfeeling apparatus of the state. Even if I did believe that it was for some nebulous greater good.”

Which he didn’t. Not after all the things he’d seen. While he didn’t think the Imperium was evil, it was far from a force for good.

The democratic governments of old Earth hadn’t been perfect. Far from it. But at least they hadn’t glorified institutions of inequality. Even if it had been rife, there at least been the acknowledgement that it was wrong.

And for once in his life, he was willing to understand those people who wanted to fight for a return to how things were, rather than bow to a system they couldn’t agree with.

He still thought it was a fool’s errand… but he understood.

He was jostled from his thoughts by the woman continiuing. “Well, regardless of what you think of me or the Imperium, you’ve saved a lot of lives in your time in uniform. That deserves some respect. Which is why I’m letting you go – against the wishes of a number of my colleagues.” She stood up, very clearly not offering her hand. “I wish you well, Jason Linford, wherever you end up.”

Jason just nodded, before finally stepping past her and towards the outside.

A free man.

AN: It ain't over yet! As has become a running theme with this book, I want to write more than originally planned. Still, I figure I've delayed posting long enough, so here's the first part of the epilogue.

Eight thousand words. The longest chapter to date. Blood, sweat and tears (Speech writing is hard! As is wrapping up the first trilogy arc.)

One day I hope to be able to match Snekguy's output :P

One day...

Still, I've got a section involving Jason's harem yet to go. This won't be another three weeker. Given I originally wanted it to be in this post, I'm hoping to have it done within a day... or three.

Either way, I hope this can sate you all :D