Rimush had been mentally preparing himself for some sort of punishment, but something more along the lines of a public humiliation, some dressing down, perhaps even a flogging. The implications of the emperor’s proposal started to solidify in Rimush’s head.

  “But father!”

  Dren recomposed himself with all the intimidating imperial weight to which he had become well practiced. He boomed, “Rimush! Mind yourself!”

  Rimush shrank back a bit. “Y-your eminence…surely one of your first litter would be more suitable-”

  “You’re it, Rimush.” Dren cut him off. Remembering the small pup he helped raise, he softened a bit. “You’re the only one with the temperament to live with those knife ears without causing a galactic incident.”

  “Yes, your eminence…” Rimush drooped, defeated.

  “Rimush…my son. You’ve no conquests. You’ve taken no lands or slaves. You’ve managed to leave all the servant girls with their virtue intact…that I know of.” Dren put his hand on Rimush’s shoulder, sounding now like a concerned parent instead of the feared emperor. “People in the court are starting to ask questions…”

  Rimush turned his head, eyes averted in shame. “So I’m being exiled for not being a warrior…”

  Dren turned Rimush by the shoulders to face him, bending down to meet his eye level. “I’m giving you an opportunity to be the ruler you are suited to be!”

  Rimush, regaining some composure, stared down his father accusingly. “So I’m basically an elf in your eyes!?”

  “Stop feeling sorry for yourself and listen, boy!” Dren turned toward the hardwax captain’s chair to sit. “If you wanted to take my place you’d have to kill a score of your brothers. With no conquests on your own, you’d be at the mercy of whatever the court grants you.”

  He brought a claw down on the armrest, leaving a deep scratch on the expensive chair and peeling up a line of delaminated hardwax from the surface. Rimush cringed at the damage to his very expensive chair. “Do you think your older brother, Erra, will be as generous as I when it comes to your stipend?”

  “No, your eminence…”

  “Do you recall the last time I visited you?”

  “Yes, your eminence. Just after the Foundation cruiser incident. Five nanoquads ago.”

  Dren leaned his face into his hand, enjoying the luxurious seat. “Remind me. What ended up happening with that ship.”

  “From what we gathered, both the BTFO, and Visthan interests via the Shadow Bank, were trying to recover a derelict Foundation cruiser near Thrasque. When one of our raiders attacked Thrasque station, the resulting fight left half the station spaced and some uninvolved mercenaries ended up stealing the ship.”

  “A complete smegshow right outside our borders.” Dren recalled, mildly amused. “And that cruiser still had all its Foundation technology and weapons intact.”

  “Yes, your eminence.”

  “And you found them.”

  “They…were damaged from pursuit by the BTFO. They took the Aranzah as coming to their assistance. The BTFO ship retreated after I cleared the cruiser to board.”

  Dren leaned forward, as if excited to hear the end of the story. “And so you have the most advanced weapon system outside of Foundation space in your cargo hold, pointed at all your men, and what do you do?”

  “I…met with the mercenaries.”

  “And?”

  “And instructed them to return the cruiser to Foundation space,” Rimush said, feeling embarrassed at letting such a massive conquest escape him. “Before I or any of the other parties killed them for the ship.”

  Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.

  “It never even occurred to you to simply kill the mercenaries and take the cruiser?”

  Rimush sighed, then regained some more composure. “I judged that any major galactic power taking ownership of the Foundation cruiser would spark an arms race…or a war.”

  “‘Judged.’” Dren stood up. “Do you still stand by that decision?”

  Rimush did not hesitate. “Yes, your eminence.” He explained, determination in his voice. “If our enemies took that ship, every ship short of our dreadnoughts would be vulnerable. If we took it, Vistha would see it as provocation and send their spies to cause as much damage as possible in a preemptive strike. To say nothing of the chances that the Foundation may seek to recover their vessel by force.”

  “And what do you think your brothers would have done in your place?”

  “They’d have taken the cruiser anyway.”

  “Would any of these scenarios even occur to them beforehand?”

  “I…” Rimush was confused, unsure if he was being scolded or praised. “I do not think so. I don’t think they would have hesitated to shoot at a weapons capable ship as soon as they found it on long range scans.”

  “Exactly!” Dren grabbed Rimush by his upper arms. “Rimush, you are the only one I trust to maintain this relationship with Vistha. You can actually see past your snout to the consequences of your actions.”

  Dren released Rimush and walked over to the conn, pressing a few buttons as Rimush stood dumbfounded. A low resolution image of a BTFO freighter popped up on the viewscreen.

  “Watch this freighter.” Dren pressed a few more buttons on the console next to him. Target lock displayed on the viewscreen. The freighter’s engines died down as it listed in interstellar space.

  Dren laughed. “Look at that! We’re not even in weapons range. They’d make it to the next subspace beacon and lose us before we closed even half this distance.” Dren turned back to his son. “I bet if I hailed them, they’d give up half their cargo without a word. Without even firing a shot. How much did you pay for all that furniture?”

  “The final arrangement came out to roughly one hundred fifty thousand credits.” Were Rimush to tell this to anyone else, it’d be a boast for how well he negotiated the sale. Telling this to his father, he still felt only guilt for buying instead of taking.

  “Awfully pricey for a pile of Rachnian vomit.”

  Rimush instinctively started to defend the craftsmanship. “It’s actually a complicated process where they-”

  “Yes yes, they’re very nice chairs. You can hardly smell the bile.” Dren chuckled to himself. “And why not simply take them?”

  Rimush looked off to the side and mumbled, “it’d be bad for business…”

  Dren laughed heartily and started playfully punching Rimush’s sides. “You sound just like one of those Rachnian executives! What, are you growing a lower set of arms down there?” Rimush was not amused. Dren sighed, then turned to continue his pontificating pacing.

  “Once I’m done, the next Raleighan war with Vistha will destroy Raleigh and Vistha, both. Do you understand?”

  “Y-yes?... Your eminence.”

  “Son… I am not ashamed of you. If I were, I would not put you in such a prominent position.” Dren tried to lift the tone of his voice, as if to cheer up an upset child. “This is a happy day! You are to be wed to, as I understand, a considerably attractive woman…by elf standard.”

  “By elf standards…” Rimush repeated, not masking the disappointment in his voice.

  “Standard you will learn to get used to. As king!” Dren gestured at some invisible concept of grandeur by raising his arms. “A king with planets of land. And Servants. And heirs!”

  “Elf heirs…” Rimush said, defeated.

  “Well, that’s for you and Princess Varygoff to work out.”

  “I understand, your eminence.” Rimush’s gaze fell back to the floor.

  “Rimush, come on! Do you really want to spend the rest of your life on a warship you refuse to use? You are thoughtful, and deliberate, with good instincts for politics. Those elves won’t even know how to handle you. Your mothers want to see you thrive. I want to see you thrive.”

  “...When do I leave?”

  “Tomorrow.”

  “Tomorrow!?” Rimush’s self pity was quickly replaced by anxiety.

  “What about the Aranzah?”

  “Do you really think the ship would do any worse under Inar’s leadership?”

  “No, your eminence.”

  “Of course not. I’m sure even Kuwa would do a half decent job.”

  Rimush wasn’t sure if he should take that as an insult or not. Dren continued.

  “The Magi has already informed Inar privately that you won’t be needing a guard or first officer for much longer. You should speak with him before you leave. It may be the last chance you get to have a private conversation with your friend. The next time you’ll be on a Raleighan ship, it will probably require an entire royal entourage.”

  “Yes, your eminence.”

  “Make me proud, your majesty.” Dren chuckled. “And don’t screw this up! Galactic peace is at stake.”

  Dren turned for the lifts and left Rimush by himself. Rimush leaned against his chair, eyes fixated on the scratch, but his thoughts on his future. After a toq, he entered the lift to head to the mess hall.