Page 41 of Clan and Command

Now they would have to wait for Maf’s acceptance. Like most Nobeks, Kila wasn’t good with sitting around in anticipation of the next course of action. He’d been stuck with a lot of waiting lately.

At least he had the night to look forward to. Oh, how he looked forward to tonight. His good mood returned in a flash as the thought of Piras surrendering to him again made him chuckle.

Chapter 13

When he’d been promoted from destroyer captain to Rear Admiral and then stationed at headquarters, Piras had been somewhat chagrined to discover most of his fellow officers held to an open-door policy. The majority of the higher-ups of the fleet were older men, having given up the rigors of space decades ago. They’d forgotten the cramped quarters of the ships they’d once flown, as well as the splendid freedom of occasional isolation. Moreover, the need to keep many operations and decisions classified turned most into inane chatterers, eager to share the latest gossip with anything that possessed a working ear. A large number in High Command thought nothing of strolling into another man’s office and interrupting whatever he was doing to while away an hour with the latest in rumor and scandal.

Piras had not been planet-side long enough to adjust to the social atmosphere. Having been raised by the constantly worrying Calna, whose eternal monologues proceeded at breakneck speed, he thought perhaps it would never appeal to him. Yet he felt the pressure to keep his office open much of the time in keeping with Fleet Command’s culture. Even so, he was teased about how often his door was kept shut.

This was a major problem at the moment. Piras had discovered breaking into his fellow officers’ files from his home computer had numerous obstacles compared to accessing the information from headquarters. In the wake of Banrid’s arrest, he worried that locking himself in his office for hours might be viewed with not just ridicule, but outright suspicion.

Fortunately, he had already put a solution in place. Piras had an unofficial office elsewhere in headquarters, located in the mostly deserted power section.

It was unofficial, because he hadn’t formally claimed the space. Nearly a year after being assigned to Fleet Command headquarters, Piras had reached his limit of being disturbed by the more gregarious element. In a bid to find a place where he could work without interruption and not seem aloof by closing himself off, Piras had explored all but the most restricted areas of the facility. He’d found a couple of unused offices deep in the bowels of headquarters, allocated to the maintenance and engineering superintendents of the island.

Upon inquiry, Piras had learned that recent upgrades to the power system had reduced the number of superintendents needed. The offices, outfitted with basic desks, chairs, shelves, and computers, sat empty and useless.

Despite the utilitarian surroundings being far less decorative than his official office, Piras had been delighted to find an oasis of quiet. Feeling cheerfully antisocial, he’d upgraded the computer in one abandoned office out of his own funds, tied it into his system in the loftier High Command section, and set up a secondary shop.

Piras was prudent enough to not take too great advantage of his ‘secret’ office. He made sure to spend most hours behind the desk where others expected to find him. However, if a project needed his full attention, Piras escaped to the second space where few knew to find him.

It had never occurred to him it might be the perfect place to commit espionage as well. Yet he couldn’t very well see himself hacking into the other admirals’ systems when any one of them might pop in to share the latest drunken Nobek or religious Earther joke. Having a semi-secret office already set and ready to be worked in was going to be a boon to Piras’s mission for the next few days.

He entered the small, spare room after inputting his access code in the door. Because he’d tied his files and the system into the computer installed there, it had been necessary to protect it as best he could. He’d had to get Fleet Security’s clearance to operate in any capacity from the power area. The officers who’d reviewed the case had looked at him strangely, but they’d signed off on it in the end.

Piras closed and locked the door behind him. He looked over the space, little more than metallic gray walls, ceiling, and floor. Piras had not decorated the room with his models or any mementos. It was simply a place to work hard away from distractions.

He sat in the chair that had come with the office. It wasn’t as comfortable as his high-end hoverchair in the other office, and the scarred armrests and stained cushions told of many years of use. Piras didn’t care. Being off to himself in the busy headquarters was sometimes a relief on its own.

Piras dug into a pouch on his belt and retrieved his sound blocker. He set it up on the desk and turned it on. Despite feeling no one would suspect he was up to anything, that they’d even consider looking for him here for any reason at all, he felt the need to be as secretive as possible. It was funny how easily going into full spy mode had come back to him after such a short stint in that discipline so many years before.

He got to work, clicking the computer on and bringing up the holographic vid monitor. Getting access into other admirals’ files was tricky. Discovering their caches of defensive grid codes upped the risk.

“And replacing the codes on the unmanned stations with my own will be the most dicey of the whole plot,” Piras muttered under his breath. Each step was fraught with danger, begging someone to catch him in the act. If his activities were discovered, he’d be charged with treason. A guilty verdict brought execution unless he was able to cut a deal by offering up other supposed traitors. That would mean potentially exposing Kila and his crew, and then the fleet would lose valuable operatives in their spy network.

Piras knew the stakes for himself and everyone else involved. They were deadly.

As he progressed in his work breaching obstacle after obstacle, however, he began to relax. His codebreaking skills remained sharp. He fancied he was as good as he ever was, almost as good as the man who’d taught him. The hours slipped past, and he made headway.

After finding the second of the six codes he needed to seize control over the unmanned defense stations, Piras grinned. By the time he’d uncovered the third, he was chuckling to himself. He still had it, all right. If the Basma wanted a piece of the Bi’isil border, he couldn’t have asked for a better spy to get it for him.

And all the people he’d capture and sell to Bi’is would be on Piras’s conscience. Not to mention those who would die on Laro Station.

The smile fell off the Dramok’s face. He stopped working for a moment, his heart going cold at the thought of what his success would mean. He had no right to feel pride or glory in his accomplishments, not when it meant the blood of those who remained faithful to the Empire.

Piras allowed the sensation of weakness to own him for a couple of minutes. He couldn’t move at all during that time. No matter how he worked it, he was opening the doors to invite death and misery into the lives of others. For those long minutes he faltered, unable to continue with the project.

Slowly, practicality reasserted itself. If the mission worked, if he could gain Maf’s confidence and lead a campaign of sabotage against the revolt, if he could split the enemy fleet, more lives would be saved than destroyed.

You care for the innocents caught in the middle of the Basma and government’s pissing contest. Yet you’re hard enough that once you’re committed, you’ll see this thing through.

Kila’s words brought Piras’s strength back. Indeed, he could see it through. He was that Dramok who would not waver in the face of the unpleasant.

“For the Empire. For the civilians. For the innocent. For the women and children,” he vowed. With grim purpose uppermost in his mind, Piras got back to work.

It was an hour later than his usual departure from headquarters when Piras left his secret office. He walked slowly, taking his time as he navigated back to his official office where he would pick up a few items before leaving. He went the most roundabout route, hoping to redirect black thoughts from his activities. Though he’d again come to terms with turning on the Empire for the Empire’s sake, it still weighed on him.

As he moved about the well-lit corridors, entering areas more frequented by other members of the staff, he tried to capture a sense of excitement due to his upcoming visit with Kila. He did his best to wonder at what the Nobek might have planned for him that night. Yet he kept thinking about the stolen station codes and his plans to supplant them with his own once the Basma signaled he was ready to act.

---