"I was seven when my mum died."
Valerie's voice was flat and calm, much different from her panicked tone several minutes earlier. She had stopped sobbing, but occasionally she would shiver slightly; her arms were folded close to her chest, a defensive gesture. She hugged herself as she slowly began to explain her position, and Jim listened attentively as he sat a foot away from her on the bed.
"It was… it all happened so fast. She was gone a lot when I was young, being in the Navy and all… she and Father left me with nannies and governesses. One day someone came and told us she wouldn't be coming home. I don't think I got it at first; I kept waiting for her, thinking she was just late. Then Father came for me, and I understood… there wasn't even a proper funeral. There wasn't anything to bury."
Valerie reached up and combed through her curly red-gold hair slowly, absently. "Father explained what happened about a year later. Her ship was attacked by pirates, mercenaries hired by the Procyon Hierarchy to pick off Imperial patrols in contested trade routes. He told me I must never forget what she died for, that I should always hate the sort of people who killed her. It was like he changed into a different person. My life changed from tea parties and music lessons to… fencing, and athletics, and all sorts of things to get me ready for the Academy."
"That's…" Awful, Jim almost said, but held back. "That sounds rough."
"I thought so at first," Valerie admitted. "I decided that I hated the idea of fighting and war. I got it fixed in my mind that if only everybody could just get along, my mum wouldn't have been killed. So I rebelled. I shirked my lessons, flunked my tests… I was determined to never come to this school. Finally I couldn't stand it and I got angry at my father. I shouted at him… I said terrible things. I blamed him for… told him it was his fault she…"
She paused, her voice unsteady. Jim thought she might start crying again, but she swallowed it down and kept going.
"It was like I'd broken his heart into a thousand pieces. He just looked at me, and I realized what I'd done. I begged him to forgive me. But he didn't listen. He grew even more distant, and harsh, and… I was scared. I threw myself into my lessons, tried to be the very best so he would see how I didn't hate him. I convinced myself his way was correct, that I was selfish to disbelieve him. At some point I just… stopped thinking. I did whatever he told me to do. That's what our relationship became, and it was almost back to how it was before. Except he never… he never smiled at me."
Valerie wiped her eyes. Jim genuinely felt badly for her now. The blank space in his own heart, the void that still remained in the wake of his father's departure, ached as he recalled trying so desperately to earn his father's attention and approval as a child.
"You just seemed so sure of yourself," he said quietly. "Like you'd follow him into hell if it came to that."
"Didn't I?" Valerie laughed, a humorless sound. "I guess I was awfully stupid, parading about like he hung the moon. I'm such a liar, I… I believed my own lies. I thought since I'd already been here for two years there was no other path for me. If you can't beat them, join them, right? What a joke."
"So what changed your mind?" Jim asked, as gently as he could.
"The day I didn't report to the Commodore… the day I… well, that morning my father sent for me. I was quicker than usual arriving, since I thought perhaps he'd arranged to get me out of those chores. I chanced on his meeting with somebody I didn't recognize. Somebody very high-ranking. He was talking about a… some kind of plan. I couldn't hear very well because I was trying not to be noticed, I didn't get in close. He was discussing his project, saying there's going to be war very soon. A war! He was excited about it, going on about how he hopes to wipe out the Procyon armada in a single strike. He didn't even sound like himself."
"But we have a treaty with the Hierarchy," Jim said, confused. "A treaty we fought hard to get. Why would he want it broken?"
"He's obsessed with his project. He truly thinks it's the key to establishing Imperial supremacy. And… I think he wants revenge, Jim. He doesn't care who might get killed as long as he gets what he wants. I heard him say any amount of collateral damage would be seen as acceptable once he accomplished his goal." Valerie met Jim's eyes, her own gaze bleak. "Everything I'd fought so hard to push aside and forget, all the things you said, it hit me and I couldn't bear it. I had to do something. Even if it meant breaking the thing he adored the most… I really am a selfish person, you know. I felt jealous. I thought if he loved me half as much as he loved that dratted ship, maybe-"
Valerie choked on a sob. Without thinking, Jim reached out and placed a hand on her shoulder. He half expected her to shrug it off, but she didn't react. She just worked her way through the sudden surge of emotion and cleared her throat to continue.
"I knew the Commodore had a sword hidden in her cane. I spotted her cleaning it one evening, so I came up with a rash idea. I decided I was going to break the Centurion. He let me see it the day after he arrived, so I knew how to get down there… I pretended to be running an errand for him. I sneaked into the ship and… I cut a cable using the Commodore's sword. But an alarm went off, and there was a massive surge. I had no idea the ship would try to protect itself. I ran off in a panic and I dropped the stupid cane. So there, now you know. That's the whole bloody business."
Jim retracted his hand and looked away from her. His gaze settled on the framed portrait of Valerie and her parents. As much as he wanted to feel angry at her, he couldn't muster the ire.
Now that he really thought about it, her airs of superiority and condescension from days past did seem superficial and forced. It struck him how his own arrogance, his desire to have something to strive against, had blinded him to the fact that Valerie Blake was too smart to be such a pompously loyal snob. Deep down they weren't so different. It didn't justify the fact that she had framed Commodore Phillips for her crime, but it did ease his wrath over the entire issue.
Maybe if I hadn't been so selfish, thinking I deserved to be in the right because of what happened with my dad, I might have picked up on her problem sooner…
"So he's got some kinda crazy plan up his sleeve," Jim mused. "Okay. That's not good. But what are we gonna do about the Commodore? Your dad's branded her a crackpot. Unless somebody does somethin' soon, she's gonna be in deep trouble."
"You think I don't know that?" Valerie snapped. "It's been killing me these past few days. I can't even eat without feeling ill. I suppose that makes me a coward, preferring to play sick and hide in here instead of coming forward. But I'm afraid, Jim! My father is not himself… what will he do to me? Forget the Academy, I'm more concerned about my health!"
"You really think he'd hurt you?" Jim asked.
Valerie hesitated, then let out a sigh. "Yes," she said weakly. "I do. Please don't ask how I know, I just… I know."
"Okay." Jim leaned forward, resting his elbows on his thighs. "So what if you told somebody about this plan of his? I think I know plenty of officers who would be against all-out war with the Hierarchy. I know Admiral Smollett hates Procs, but she's a decent person. She'd never be in favor of starting a war."
"It's not just him," Valerie said fearfully. "It's some kind of plot, I think. He's in league with some very shady people, people with a lot of influence. They might even be connected to the Crown. I don't think even an Admiral could succeed at exposing it. It would just put everyone in more danger…"
You're in too deep, a little voice whispered in the back of Jim's mind. You're just a cadet, a kid playing at being a soldier. You don't stand a chance against a high-level conspiracy, not even with Amelia on your side. What has Valerie ever done for you, anyway? Or Phillips, for that matter? Yeah, you feel sorry for her, but is she worth risking your life…?
Jim suddenly felt very small and insignificant. He wished he had never gotten involved in any of this. He wished he had looked the other way, kept his nose out of everyone's business.
No. I chose this.
"We have to help the Commodore," Jim said stubbornly. "There has to be some way we can convince people she didn't do it without endangering you."
"And what do you suggest? Frame somebody else? I see no good end to any of this," Valerie lamented. "As long as Father's got Centurion, he'll push for war. That's what he wants more than anything. Even if we somehow got the Commodore out of trouble, there's still that plot to consider. I think everything's about to change for the worse and nothing can stop it. There'll be a war, Father will have his chance at killing Procs, people will die…"
"But how does he think he'll get this war, anyway? The Hierarchy keeps retreating back into their borders. It's not like we're facing open aggression. I mean what's he gonna do, attack Procyon ships at random? Anybody could see that's wrong, secret scheme or no."
"Think, Jim." Valerie gave him a critical look. "It's very easy to start a war. All you need is a good enough excuse. And if there's one thing my father is skilled at, it's coming up with good excuses for the actions he takes."
Jim frowned, a counter-argument on the tip of his tongue as his mouth opened. But he didn't get the chance to say anything. The entire room shook, along with the rest of the station. The picture on Valerie's bureau fell over from the impact. The lights flickered, and Jim heard the distant wail of fire alarms.
"What the…" Valerie began, getting to her feet immediately. She sniffled and went to the door, then hesitated. "What was that?"
What had once been a fully functional docking bay now lay in ruins. Smoke billowed from piles of flaming debris that had once been supply crates. The dock workers who had survived the blast fled the scene in terror, not bothering to look back as they ran for their lives. Alarms howled, filling the air with unsettling noise.
The Lucky Lady was a modest-looking freighter, a high-tonnage delivery boat designed to carry an immense load of cargo. Except what emerged from the stacks and stacks of crates and barrels on her uppermost deck, and the decks below, was not cargo at all. Rogue spacers, armed with a mixture of improvised weapons and assorted guns and swords, crept out of hiding and quickly disembarked. The thick hull of the freighter had protected them from the explosion, and now they began to invade the Academy without delay. After being pent up in containers and biding their time, they eagerly charged toward the promise of mischief and mayhem.
A tall, vast figure stood at the prow of the Lucky Lady and observed his handiwork. What was left of the dock was littered with bodies, some uniformed and some not. One of them, a Benbonian Marine, stirred and groaned.
The figure tilted his head, his countenance hidden by a large hat and a scarf masking his face. His entire body was covered by layers of clothing, not an inch of flesh exposed. His eyes glowed from underneath his hat, twin blue lights that shone with a malicious gleam. In a single leap he descended from the prow to the dock below, landing upright with a thud. The action seemed effortless and he casually strode over to the survivor, looming and getting the Benbonian's attention.
"Such arrogance," the figure mused, his voice distorted and flanged with a metallic growl. "You people actually think you're safe here, protected by your precious Imperial sovereignty. You didn't even bother checking the cargo for stowaways, or bombs…" He tsked, leaning down to get on the Benbonian's level. "This is easier than I expected, I'll be quite honest with you. What's your name, spacer?"
"Ha… Hal," the Benbonian managed, gasping in pain.
"Dear friend Hal," the pirate said, his tone mockingly affable. "I thank you, and all of your pathetically inept comrades, for giving this venture of mine such an efficient beginning. At first I felt mildly disappointed, but then I decided I would be polite and enjoy the hospitality. It's important to be polite, you know. If you aren't civil enough to accept an opportunity when it's given, you run the risk of offending people."
The Benbonian just stared blankly, dazed and weak from his injuries. "I… what…?"
"I'm a pirate, Hal. I like gold. Because I like gold, I'm very fond of the golden rule. Do unto others, and all that. Since you and yours were kind enough to extend courtesy to my men, I'll extend a courtesy to you. Consider it proof of our friendship." The cloaked figure hauled Hal up roughly with one hand, eliciting a cry of pain from the Benbonian. "I'm going to let you walk away, Hal. You're a free man. Run away and hide in whatever hole suits you best, while you still can. You've got a family, right? Do you want to see them again?"
Hal nodded desperately.
"Then I suggest you get moving," the pirate said coolly, setting the Benbonian down on his feet.
Hal swayed slightly, hampered by his injuries, but he mustered enough bravery to take the pain and start hobbling toward the blasted-open door which led to the inner halls of the Academy. He was so relieved that he didn't check to see what the pirate was doing after he turned his back.
The cloaked figure simply watched as Hal staggered away, then pulled a pistol from his belt. Waited another few seconds, then lined up a shot.
"A pleasure doing business with you," he sneered - and fired.
"Move in and take 'em down!" he then bellowed, stepping over Hal's body as he strode into the Academy. Flashing emergency lights bathed him in a hellish glow as he went. He was a giant among his crewmen, a towering shadow that moved with grace and purpose. He unsheathed his massive cutlass and waved it high, pointing his men forward. "There's a prize to be had in this Academy, mark my words - a prize that'll change our fortunes forever! Cut down anyone who stands in your way! Let this day be known as the day that Ironbeard forged his legend and wrote his name in blood across the stars!"
His men cheered and charged in a frenzy of greed and malice, a living tide of debauchery that flooded into the Academy with reckless abandon. Ironbeard paused long enough to get a good look at his surroundings, at the paintings that hung on the walls and the elegant architecture of the space station's interior. He emitted a pleased hiss as he strolled along, casually carving a jagged line into the wallpaper with the tip of his sword. "At last," he said to himself gleefully. He then whirled and smashed a marble bust atop a pedestal, his blade shattering the statue into fragments from the blow. "At long last."
Shocked cadets and staff fled from the onslaught, spreading the word as they forced themselves to acknowledge the unthinkable: Ironbeard, the most dangerous pirate since Captain Nathaniel Flint, was attacking the Academy.