Being the captain can suck sometimes. After a battle that almost cost you your life, your reward is a mountain of paperwork. Normally I’d just forget about it for a day or two. Go party with all the underlings. Not every century you nab a Bathos Mothership afterall. Of course, that was before I was under adult supervision.

  “Captain, the expense report on spent ammunition is completely incorrect”

  Inanna has been forcing me to act all responsible and studious and crap.

  “Each missile type must be counted individually. A Shockwave missile and a Particle Penetrator missile have entirely different manufacturing, storage and firing costs.”

  “Inanna, I don’t know how many of each missile was fired. We don’t have a count for that.”

  “Well get it. What is taking so long?”

  “Everyone is getting drunk. Like we should be.”

  “No. Fairy, bring up the files. We can do it ourselves.”

  “Fairy is getting drunk.”

  “Then Deed. He could sort it out in a few-”

  “Getting drunk.”

  “No he’s not. He can’t.”

  “He’s trying.”

  Undeterred, she goes to my private terminal, brings up the files and sets them to print. According to the machines, there's two hundred and fifty seven pages.

  “Our battle with the Bathos lasted only eight minutes yet we expended over thirty percent of all our physical munitions. Not to mention all the wear and tear on the energy weaponry. The Moby was built for marathons. Not sprints. Keep that in mind.”

  “Then she needs an overhaul. Anything less wouldn't have been enough.”

  “It’s important to factor in our logistical requirements for every battle.”

  “Didn’t see you complaining when we were trying not to die.”

  “As captain, you are the one who needs to be considering these things.”

  “And I considered it. No regrets.”

  “Then get to signing.”

  A huge stack of papers is dropped in front of me. Maybe I have a tiny bit of regret.

  Oh look, a lifeline.

  “Inanna, that message is from the Protectorate High Command. I should probably get that.”

  “Fine. Make it quick.”

  Let’s see what we got here. Hello exit strategy.

  “This is an invitation to a private meeting with Beyond High Council Member Cometfeller. It's thirty minutes from now.”

  “Give me that.” She stares into the tablet, looking for a way to force me to stay. “Fine. This is too important an opportunity for me to stop it. Just be sure to come straight back here when it’s good and done with. Got that?”

  “Sure, sure. Whatever you say.”

  Inanna knows I'm lying. Too bad. It’s just a quick ride on a light courier up to the highest floor of the largest hotel in the whole of the economic center. Air travel is far more heavily regulated and we get a sizable escort from the local law enforcement. You’d have to be beyond suicidal to try and make a move at this time.

  Granted I am starting to suspect these assassins may be just that. More notes have been appearing. Who has been giving them and how, I do not know. After that first one they’ve just started appearing in my room. Even with all the intel we need to perfectly counter each attempt, we’ve failed to catch one. They always go down in blazing glory. Or run away. They never get far when they try that one. Whoever this R person is, I owe them a lot of drinks.

  If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

  The top floor is dedicated to a single guest. A veritable mansion atop a high rise. The landing pad is built for a ship much larger than mine. I’d wax poetic about luxury and how the disposable towels would probably cost me two kidneys and a spleen but I’ve grown numb to it all. At some point expensive starts to become tacky. We are very deep into tacky. When every item was chosen not for its ability to flow and create a cohesive and appealing theme but simply because there was the largest number of zeroes on the price tag. It’s tasteless. Disgusting even. Besides, not like this room is personalized for Cometfeller or anything. He’s just the biggest wig in the building at the moment. He’ll be out of it eventually.

  Speaking of, there is Cometfeller himself. Waiting in the middle of a massive room, lounging on a couch with a roaring fire while wearing a pink silken robe and sipping a dark red wine. Shit, this isn’t some kind of a booty call is it? Is it conceded if my immediate thought is that it would be a booty call? I’m not a prize. Or maybe I am. That bug girl I never got the number for thought so. And I did just help defeat the Bathos fleet. That’s got to get some engines revving.

  I am starting to think I have issues.

  “Please, come in. Make yourself comfortable. What's mine is yours.”

  Conceded or not, this does feel like a porno opening. I’ll take that overly puffy couch that's a good two meters away.

  “I must say, I wasn’t expecting to see such impressive feats. After the last few assembly meetings I was beginning to believe the much touted Expeditionary Captain was little more than a myth. You have shown me otherwise.”

  “Yeah, well, you know. Just trying to do my best. I have a lot to live up to. Lives at stake and all.”

  “Of course, of course. You know, we aren’t so different, you and I. Powerful men with the weight of whole worlds on our fingertips, cradling the very foundations of civilization. It is a hard, lonely plight.”

  “I-I guess. I tend not to think about it that way.”

  I’m getting very unconcomfortable. I almost wish I was back filing paperwork. Maybe I can just have one drink and find my way out and he’s sitting next to me. Great. This is fine.

  “I have heard you have survived a number of assassination attempts. Four, was it?”

  “Six. Counting the one with the mime.”

  “A lot to handle for such a short period. You have adapted well. Even turned a number against them, didn’t you? I suspect you had someone on the, ehem, inside.”

  “I would never send someone to-”

  “I never said such a thing. In the Protectorate, nobody reaches such high status without having a gun pointed at their head at least once. To survive requires cunning, skill, fortitude and a lot of good friends. It is hard to make good friends once you are already so far on the top.”

  This is all just fine.

  “I’m sure it is. But, well, you know how it is. I should really be getting back to my-”

  “Are we friends?”

  THIS IS FINE.

  “We’ve met twice. So, I guess?”

  “Then let's do something only true, good friends do.”

  This is BAD. VERY VERY BAD!

  “Play chess.”

  “... what?”

  Cometfeller hops off and skips away like a giddy school girl, returning with a marble chess board engraved with golden letters in some language I don’t know. A table and two chairs rise from the ground. He sits and beacons me to take the seat across from him. I… am disappointed? Fuck, I really do have issues.

  “It has been a long, long time since I’ve been able to play. My friends are not so skilled and those that are skilled are not my friends. I hope to have a good match.”

  “I will certainly try my best.”

  “If this is anything like your best as a Captain I expect an incredible bout. You always seem to know exactly what you are doing.”

  I have no fucking idea what I’m doing. I hate chess. More a craps kind of guy. No skill, no thought, all luck. I almost always lose, but at least that’s not on me.

  “Now, this is very similar to your Earth Chess so I’m sure I don’t have to explain the basics. One difference is that we each get twenty pieces instead of your sixteen. Also, while we have analogues to your Rook and Bishop, instead of Knights we have-”

  Couldn’t he have just been into me? That would genuinely be better than this.

  “Now that we have all the rules sorted, would you like to make the first move?”

  I missed everything he said. Just wing it. The faster I lose the faster I get to leave. That one, pawn thing on the second row from the right, move two ahead.

  “Interesting opening. Already imaging your next ten moves, if not more. This is sure to be a great game.”

  He contemplates his counter. Mulling it over sips of wines and expensive chocolates. There are assorted snacks and beverages on my side as well. Mostly sweet treats. He knows what he likes. I don’t see what I’m looking for.

  “Say Cometfeller,”

  “Oh please, that is my father’s name. Feel free to call me Mendas.”

  “Sure. Mendas, do you have any cigars?”

  “Oh heavens no. Terrible habit, very bad for my breathing organs. I need those in excellent shape for my job, as I’m sure you are well aware.”

  He finally moves a pawn on the other side of the board. I move a different pawn chosen at random.

  “Oh my. Exquisite movie. I’ll have to rethink my entire strategy.”

  I should have let the Bathos kill me.