Sector 6 - Jaril
Maven Ophidian
Maven Ophidian stood on the bridge of the newly renamed Crusader Class Warship Eisle, formerly Evelyn’s Grace. She’d picked the name that morning, hating the name ‘Evelyn.’
She was looking out at the world, Jaril, with mild disdain. It was a beautiful place, she had to admit. Pleasant but backward. It would be a nice acquisition for the Union. When they swore allegiance.
She stood in the center of the Captain’s deck, ignoring the bustling activity around her. The officers gave her a respectful berth, but she knew that was more to do with her reputation than anything else. Many years ago, she learned that her attire put people on edge.
She eschewed the gray uniform Darius suggested she wear. He thought that if she wore the same outfits as the crew they might accept her. She disagreed. Standing out was the best chance she had of being taken seriously. Instead, she wore crimson and black robes to hide the oxygen tank she carried. A tube ran to her oxygen mask, inflating and deflating in a rhythmic fashion.
When she defected from the Ministry with her sister and Darius Gray, she became a General in his new army. She was skilled in using her implant—telekinesis, like her sister, but considerably more powerful—and was not averse to using it as a show of force. If she’d remained with the Ministry, she had no doubt she would have been chosen as a Shield.
Not her sister. Her.
“Sir,” a voice said behind her. She held up a gloved hand, signaling for the messenger to wait and then counted to fifty. She had to be in control of every conversation she entered if she wanted to cull respect.
Finally, she turned to face the man. He stood a full head taller than her, standing at attention and staring at the wall over her shoulder. He was handsome in a pathetic drone sort of way.
“Yes?” she asked, her voice altered by the modulating speaker inside the oxygen mask. The result sounded coarse and deep, nothing like the soft voice she was used to in private.
“You said you wanted us to scan for vessels that aren’t local,” the man said. He was tall with sharp features that never betrayed even the slightest hint of fear. His cologne was overwhelming, and she wondered if he was trying to impress her.
“And…?”
“We found one,” the man said, unflinching.
“Of course, you did,” Maven said, turning back to the view screen and crossing her hands behind her back. There was no hint of surprise in her voice.
She had ordered the scan of every ship entering or leaving the atmosphere. Most shared similar ID tags, but some would have to be off-world traders. Probably from Terminus.
“It landed near the capital, Mys,” the officer said. “Should I send a team down after it?”
“No,” she said. “It is probably just a trade ship. We’re still trying to be civil with the authorities. Keep an eye out for when it tries to leave, then catch it. Dismissed.”
“What if…” the man started, then hesitated when he realized he was talking out of turn.
She turned slowly, hands still behind her back, and stood perfectly still. All the activity on the deck had stopped and all eyes were on her. She waited, making sure she had everyone’s attention, and then brought her gloved right hand from behind her back, holding it in view.
“What if…” she echoed, holding up her hand as if admiring her nails. The man swallowed.
“What if they make their presence known? That would break the treaty we’ve established.” the man said, his voice barely loud enough to be heard.
“I doubt they will. However, your concern is noted. It is a bridge we can’t cross until we reach it,” she said, lowering her hand and letting the budding energy dissipate. Then she added, more forcefully this time, “Dismissed.”
The man saluted and rushed back to his post, shoulders slumping with visible relief to be out of her presence. She unnerved him, just as she unnerved most of the crew.
She had to take things one step at a time. She doubted this treaty would last—it was Darius’s stupid idea, agreeing to keep all outsiders off the planet while negotiating—and even if it did work, it wouldn’t get the results she needed.
She needed to keep her eyes on the bigger picture. The long-term prize. Bombing the planet from orbit—Alyssa’s more stupid idea—would destroy the very resources they were trying to acquire.
