Chapter One Hundred and Sixty-Two

Situation in Flux

Colonel Austin Burnell

Although all my training and experience has taught me to expect the unexpected, nothing could have prepared me for what happened today. It's simply impossible for one to expect the unimaginable.

Cutler's star could not have been more firmly in the ascendant, even apart from her influential position as de facto Head of Nursing for Starfleet and the slowly blossoming friendship Admiral Hernandez seemed to be cultivating with her that was separate and distinct from her association with General Reed. Though not Pack, her position as Alpha Female was to all intents unshakeable. With a wisdom and intelligence I'd never have ascribed to her, she appeared to have absorbed and accepted the realities of life as the Alpha Male's mate. Reed wasn't faithful to her, but he was discreet, and if she knew of his occasional encounters with chosen Pack members it caused no rift between them. Word spread quickly that she was to be respected, and it boded well for the security of the Pack and the Empire that he was not only strong, but content with his not-Pack mate. If anyone wondered (and I'm sure they did) why the grip of absolute terror he'd previously exerted had become one that – though still hard and occasionally brutal – was fair, well they were hardly likely to complain about it.

Naturally, his fast-growing strength and confidence was not such good news for my ambitions, but I'm a realist, and the discoveries I've made about his and Tucker's illicit humanitarian activities mean that when I decide to act, he's finished. True, it will be achieved by Human means rather than Pack, but the end result will be the same. In the meantime, my position as his lieutenant is still extremely strong, and very well-rewarded. If I choose for various reasons to bide my time, it's certainly not 'durance vile'. Even my now somewhat reduced responsibilities stretch me to the limit and I've enjoyed every minute of my day, learning continually how to play the game with ever-increasing skill that will serve me well if ever I do succeed in making that last leap to the top of the Pack.

After those long, agonising months of wondering if Tucker, working almost entirely alone, could somehow manage to build a house of cards strong enough to carry the stability of the Empire, finally it was happening. Reed regained his strength, took control of Fortress and set out to re-establish himself.

I don't know another man in the Empire who could have undergone what he did and dragged himself back up to the height from which he'd fallen. But somehow he did, with the support of Tucker and his staff; recovered from the injuries sustained in the explosion in Sickbay, which I suspect must have been massive, and fought his way back to power. For all that I'm bound by Pack law to take his place if I can, and now I have the weapon I can use to do it, it's hard to overstate the admiration I feel for him.

Or felt for him, rather. Before his wise, talented, respected female plunged a knife into his body. Before I fell into this chair in my office rather than sat in it, and stared at my computer monitor, half afraid to switch it on in case it bears the news that must surely be coming.

Of course this is excellent news for me, or it should be. It means that there'll be no bloody battle to fight, one that I'm very sure would have been hard to win. I may have had to destroy him, but I wouldn't have – I couldn't have – delivered him up to Human justice; I'd have given him the fight to the death that his position deserved. It means I'll step into empty shoes, so I have to be ready to act fast and decisively as soon as his death is confirmed. It looks as though I'll be resorting to my 'Plan B', though for reasons different from the ones that compelled me to formulate it. At least I've had ample time to get all of my pieces in place on the Imperial Galactic Chessboard. My transition from SiC of the MACOs to the most powerful man in the Empire should be a smooth one; if things were different, I'd hope and believe that Tucker would regard me as worthy of his support in Reed's stead – we've worked together well here on Jupiter Station, after all. But despite the benefits to me personally, I'm astonished by the depth of my sorrow at what has happened.

Lieutenant Cutler was hysterical in her cell, so much so that Corporal Woods feared she was likely to self-harm. He contacted me, and I contacted a reliable medical officer. I've already reviewed the footage, and Woods reacted timely. I've assured him that he won't be punished for things escalating more quickly than we could respond to and control altogether. We were sedating her less than four minutes after her first keening sob, and already there were strands of hair she'd ripped from her head and splodges of blood sucked from the wounds on her arms that she'd spat on the floor. At least the concussion she gave herself was a mild one. I'll attach the footage to my report for Commodore Tucker, with a notation that he only need watch it if my report doesn't satisfactorily explain the incident; I've had occasion to notice that the man is a bit squeamish. By the time I arrived, her shrieks were audible even in the corridor outside: 'Erika, you lying, fucking bitch, I hope you fucking burn in hell...' – and that was just the polite part of it.

Her MACO guards were chosen specifically for their discretion; I'm pretty sure they know when to keep their mouths firmly shut. The orderly sedated her and nodded in response to my order to forget anything he had heard, most especially her personal appeal to me as she succumbed to the drugs to, 'Find her, Austin. Please, find her and kill her by inches. Lingchi. Like he did to that traitor Sallis.' It may be necessary to ensure he doesn't live to disobey that order. If my suspicions are correct we are in waters that are suddenly terrifyingly deep and dark, where only this morning they were blue and sunlit.

Commodore Tucker is not receiving calls. At a guess, he's in Sickbay, waiting for the axe to fall. Not only has Reed become his working partner, but despite the excellent job they've done hitherto of concealing the closeness of their friendship, they really have formed a tight bond – as evidenced by the way they spoke in that secretly filmed moment on the way out to their illicit humanitarian operation. Since the ball to celebrate the tenth anniversary of the Empress's Accession, they've even dropped most of the pretence of enmity. The consensus is that this has happened because of the sexual relationship that's rumoured to have started that night, but I know it started long before that. He, too, will grieve, but he won't have the luxury of grieving for long.

'Erika' has finally shown her hand, and the previously stable chess board is suddenly tipping dangerously; I have to wait and watch, ready to make my move in whatever direction opportunity offers. At least she won't be hard to find if, once I've made my move and achieved my ambitions, I decide to grant the Lieutenant's request. Admiral Erika Hernandez doesn't make a habit of keeping a low profile.

I switch the computer on, my hands ridiculously reluctant and unsteady. There are no messages. I want to believe that no news is good news, but it's just as possible that Tucker simply hasn't the heart yet to give out the message that all of his plans have come to nothing.

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