Firstborn

weapons drawn, stood in every corner of the room, watching the occupants with suspicion. Nearly everyone—guards and commanders alike—seemed haggard, their faces drawn, their eyes red from stress and fatigue. The room was kept dim to make the glowing icons that represented ships more easily visible.
    The viewscreens depicted ten different battles in ten different systems. Dennison caught a young officer’s arm. “What is going on here?”
    “The Silvermane,” the woman said. “He’s attacking.”
    “Where?”
    “Everywhere!”
    Dennison paused, letting the woman go.
Everywhere?
he thought, stepping forward. He recognized a few of the men giving orders. High Admirals, like his father. Scanning the screens, Dennison was able to piece together their situation. New Seele. Highwall. Tightendow Prime. These were important core worlds, each home to an imperial fleet.
    The emperor had moved his other fleets out to protect his borders. Dennison knew the numbers; he knew how many ships the navy had. If Varion took these worlds, there would be nothing left to resist him. The empire would be his.
    “And he’s fighting them all at once,” Dennison said aloud, looking up at the screens. “He’s controlling all ten battles at the same time.”
    An aging admiral—one Dennison recognized from his Academy days—sat in an exhausted posture in one of the room’s many chairs. “Yes,” the man said. “It’s like we’re a game to him. Defeating us one at a time isn’t enough of a challenge. He planned it like this—he wants to destroy us all at once—to show us just how good he is. By the Seal, we never should have let him leave the Academy. We’ve doomed ourselves.”
    Dennison turned away from the screens. At the center of the room, on a platform elevated a few steps above the floor, the Emperor sat in a large command chair surrounded by ten smaller viewscreens showing the same ten battles. He was obviously making an effort to maintain an erect, confident posture—but somehow that only made him look wearier, like a warrior straining to bear armor that was too heavy for him.
    Dennison stepped up to the chair.
    “Dennison,” the emperor said, looking at him with tired eyes, but smiling slightly. “You arrived just in time to watch your empire fall.”
    “I suppose executing me now would be pointless.”
    “Executing?” the emperor asked, frowning.
    “For invoking Article 117 and losing a flagship.”
    The emperor sat for a moment, blinking. “Dennison, I was actually thinking of giving you a medal.”
    “For what, your majesty? Most flamboyant waste of half of a fleet?”
    “For
saving
half a fleet,” the emperor said. “Lad, you have always been too hard on yourself. Varion was an optimist all through the academy; he believed that he could do anything. Why do you always assume that you are a failure?”
    “I—”
    “Varion struck six separate fleets the same day he attacked Kern’s,” the emperor said. “In each battle, he managed to assassinate the fleet admiral—and in four of the six cases, he killed the next man who took command as well. We still don’t know how he got so many assassins onto our bridges—you can see that we’ve had to take a number of precautions here on the Point.
    “Regardless, of those six fleets, only
yours
escaped. Three of the fleets managed to disengage, but Varion chased them down and destroyed them. If you hadn’t abandoned the flagship as you did, you never would have been fast enough to get away.”
    Dennison paused, then looked down.
    “Even in victory, you doubt yourself,” the emperor said quietly.
    “It’s no victory with Kern dead, your majesty.”
    “Ah,” the emperor said, rubbing his forehead. He looked so exhausted. So worried. “Do you know what happens when a conqueror runs out of people to fight, Dennison?”
    Dennison paused, then shook his head.
    “It’s always the same,” the emperor mused. “Men like Varion cannot be content with peaceful rule. They make brilliant commanders, but terrible kings. His reign will be filled with unrest, rebellion, oppression, and slaughter.”
    “You speak as if his victory were inevitable,” Dennison said.
    “Do you honestly believe otherwise?” the emperor asked.
    Dennison glanced back at the big screens. He could easily see why the emperor had set up this room. The threat from Varion’s assassins had required a single, secure command post—likely with backups, should this one be