The sun shone through the ancient glass windows of the office. A man sat in the large chair behind the massive oak desk, hands steepled under chin. His stern face was blank, grey eyes staring ahead. One wall was lined with hundreds upon hundreds of ancient books. Philosophers, Scientists, political activists, even the scarce fictional masterpiece.
The man stood, he walked towards the wall, hoping to find enough time to catch a little reading. There it was. Foundation, Asimov's finest work, he went back to the desk. He always found the Mule to be the most interesting characters, it could be the similarities between the two. The Mule and He were both the leaders of powerful empires.
While the Empire of Foundation had already been gone for centuries by the time the Mule came to power, he had personally cast down the Old Order. The UNSC may have fended off the Covenant, but it later gave to much to them, and so had to be snuffed out. Over a course of fourteen years, he had manipulated, murdered, bought, or paid off untill he had power.
MIN-COM was the front for his schemes. The Mineral Commission had bought out it's competitors, spreading out in to multiple other fields of business, some legal, some not. And for another six years he worked in the background, turning the meager MIN-COM Security Force into the MIN-COM Enforcement Fleets, capable of crushing even the toughest armada.
Earth was once again a battle for the future of Man. And, as it tends to happen, the New Order rose above the Old one. Victory after victory against the various aliens in the Galaxy had guaranteed his new Empire a safe spot in the brave new world of his creation. But, as also tends to happen, age crept up to him. In his final months, he ordered the construction of the Cradle. Effectively making him immortal.
His cheating of the world's greatest equaliser earned him fear, and yet more power. A cult of personality unheard of before formed around him, even greater than the one surrounding the ancient Hitler. They viewed him as the manifestation of Humanity's Destiny. But, he reflected darkly, the cracks had formed, the seeds of rebellion sown in the minds of millions of his citizens.
And now, he again lead Man in the fight against Man. But these rebels were trickier to hunt, dragging the war on and on. Not that it mattered, an Empire of (at his last count) nearly a million worlds could not easily run out of resources and manpower. But it was a thorn in his side.
And now, five hundred years after the fall of the UNSC and forty years into the Rebellion, he sat in a dimly lit office in the most fortified building of Moscow, itself the capital of the most fortified empire in history.
He read for hours, nearly finishing the first book for the hundredth time. A knock came at the door. He closed the book, and set it gently on the desk.
"Come in."
His Fleet Minister entered, without knowing that the moment he had entered the room, four hidden .50 Calibre machine guns tracked him.
"Ah, I do see you are catching up on your reading First Citizen Mirkhov."
"Very astute my friend, I've been infatuated with the works of Asimov since I was very young. You may be seated."
The Fleet Minister sat in one of the chairs in front of the massive oak monolith. Accepting the offered glass of vodka.
Mirkhov spoke again, "To what do I owe the pleasure?"
"I recently received a report from the Sixteenth Fleet, the cruiser Varyag sent the message."
"Good ship, commissioned it's construction 60 years ago. I believe your own grandfather captained it."
The Minister took a draught of vodka, "He did, but that's unimportant as of now. They report having found an old UNSC Research Station."
"Did they find Ultra?"
Another bit of vodka, "It appears they did, seeing as how the schematics for the Iinfinity-II were aboard."
Mirkhov stood, a faint smirk on his face.
"Good man! Give the entire fleet a rest period for this, and I'd say you've earned a day off."
"Thank you sir, but that isn't all that was contained in the message."
The smirk disappeared, and with a definitely irked voice, "What else was in the message Andrews?"
The Fleet Minister took another exceedingly long draught of vodka, his hands shook lightly.
"The message indicated that, and this was simply the Captain's report, that an unknown ship managed to destroy a frigate and two troop transports."
Mirkhov felt his blood pressure rise, substantially. With a voice calmer than a frozen lake, he spoke once more.
"What do you mean 'unknown' ship, Andrews?"
The Minister was shaken by the calm, "I mean, it wasn't in any of our databases. Permission to speak freely?"
"Granted."
"You seem eerily calm, First Citizen."
Mirkhov smiled, his cold eyes becoming slits in the stern face.
"I can assure you my friend, I am anything but fucking CALM!"
The First Citizen hurled his own glass of vodka through the air, it shattered on the wall a few meters away.
"You bring me a status report, and leave out the most important fucking thing on that damned report! I mean, sure it's just damn peachy we found schematics to one of the most advanced ships ever built, but good God man! You could have at least mentioned the damn casualties!"
Andrews remained seated, his muscles resisted his every order to break away and run.
"I'm terribly sorry sir, please don't take it out on my family, please!"
Mirkhov eased back into the chair, his voice again as calm as could be.
"You are young Andrews, you are impatient, I on the other hand, am very old. And therefore somewhat forgiving. I am not an evil man, I will give you a chance to fix this mess. But, don't mess up, for your family's sake. Dismissed."
The Fleet Minister stood and saluted, bustling out of the room quickly, ignoring the shattered glass. Mirkhov was again alone, he reached into his desk drawer, finding both his heart medication. And the remote activator for the rooms' cleaning robot.
Half an hour later, the holographic computer inside the oak desk displayed the one still image of the unknown vessel, before it had retreated from the Sixteenth Fleets' area.
He muttered to himself darkly, "And now, we have a new threat to deal with."
(After the flop that was Butchers Hand, I've written this. Review if you so wish. Da Svidaniya!)