Chapter Twenty-seven
A Matter of Kittens

Lieutenant Ian Trainor

It has to be said that there are still days when I wake up and really have to pinch myself to make sure I'm not dreaming.

It felt like the pinnacle of my career to step up to being the personal secretary of the Head of Security on Jupiter Station. Dad was as proud as Punch, and Mom was tickled pink to hear how I was mixing with all these powerful men and women, who really mean something in the Empire. And of course, everyone knew about Jupiter Station, the engineering miracle which keeps our Fleet up and running, and then-Commodore Tucker, the miracle engineer who kept the station running like a perfectly tuned machine.

And though the work load was every bit as heavy as I'd expected it to be, my boss was never unfair. As long as I kept things organized and had everything to hand that he needed for his daily duties, he never criticized the way I got things done and I never felt that there was anything I couldn't talk to him about if I had a problem. And he never forgot 'please' and 'thank you' either, no matter how small the service was that I'd done him. Not once. Which was more than you could say for the commander I served before him, who was frankly a bitch and as soon as I got the chance of leaving, I'd snatched at it with both hands, not even caring that I'd end up spending most of my life on a space station instead of Earth.

I think that politeness was what struck me first, though he had this wonderful English accent, and a low, usually pleasant voice. Not that it couldn't hit like a whip – I witnessed that a few times – but only when it was deserved, and never aimed in my direction. He demanded the best from his staff, and if he didn't get it, you'd better have a damn good reason why not; but in return, he was more than fair, he was kind.

Obviously, I'd have had to be blind not to notice he was good-looking. He has tawny hair and blue-steel eyes –a really striking combination – and when he was a bit younger his face could probably have gotten him a modeling career if he'd cared to use it; he had thick straight brows, a classically chiseled nose and a mouth I found it increasingly difficult not to stare at. In terms of good looks, I was completely outclassed – yeah, I'm a MACO so I keep myself fit, but at 1.75m I'm a lot shorter than he is, and I still have this slightly rounded look to my face that makes me look kind of younger than I am. Also, the ears. Yeah, I'm more aware of those these days than I ever was before, to the point of wondering whether I ought to consult a plastic surgeon about pinning them back. I never really considered it before. Back in school, anybody who just saw me as the chubby kid with big ears only ever picked on me once before I taught them to be more considerate.

I'd quite recently admitted to myself that I was bi, so I was still coming to terms with that when I met the then-Major Burnell. At least I could finally be relaxed about the attraction I felt, though it went without saying there was never going to be anything I could do about it. It was kind of a 'worship from afar' kind of thing, and in the meantime, I tried a bit of experimentation here and there in the real world – which was how I eventually ended up with Zenobia Towneley. Man, she was something else though. I'd never met anyone like her before and don't expect to ever again.

But if being the PA of the Head of Station Security was a job and a half, when he was bumped up to Colonel and the XO for the Head of IMPERIAL Security, well, I thought for sure I'd be left behind when that happened. But I wasn't. I had to take the world's fastest crash course in my new duties and I'll be indebted forever to his case officer Marianne Armitage at IMRO who offered her services if I was struggling. Without her help I wouldn't have gotten through the first day without crashing.

There's a communication directory for fleet and MACO officers and government officials, but they filter through multiple layers of comm officers, assistants, and secretaries. Marianne had direct lines to a lot of the people the Colonel would want to speak with now he'd been promoted. On another front, he had far more people clamouring for his attention now. Marianne helped me determine who deserved a personal audience with the SiC of Imperial Security and those who didn't. Of those who did deserve his personal attention, she could also help me determine which ones he should be seen meeting with and which ones he should meet on the down low. She could also vet various meetings to determine which ones he should attend, and she could help me determine when it would benefit my boss to make a statement on his own behalf (as opposed to speaking on the authority of then-General Reed as SiC of the MACOs). There would also be times when he needed to address something personally and other times when a memo would be sufficient. Ultimately, she was helpful in advising me how to build the new Colonel's portfolio, or in political terms, his platform, of issues, departments and institutions in which he took a special interest so that every time one of his special concerns came up, everyone – from the powers that be to the people at home watching the evening news on their TVs – would know him as the guy who was dealing with that.

And, once again, I struggled. Even with her help, the responsibility was downright terrifying. There were times when I just wanted to run out of the office screaming, but somehow, I managed to claw myself into the role. I'm not saying I never screwed up at all, but I don't think I committed too many cock-ups.

(I'll have to say I'm not sure Mom was so pleased at this point, knowing I was in the proximity of then-General Reed. She always says he stepped off a plane bound straight for hell. But in fairness, though I hardly got to speak to the guy and never on anything of importance, he always seemed kind of small and quiet – not at all like someone you'd expect to sweep into a room trailing sulfur clouds and sporting horns and a tail and cloven hooves.)

And then, just as I was starting to feel like I'd gotten my feet onto the pedals with that job, he amazed everybody – well, me for definite and I think a lot of other people as well – by stepping up to the throne. Which meant, I knew, that I'd be delegated to some other officer or maybe even just have to start looking around for somewhere, because no way would the likes of me be considered for the PA of the Emperor of All the Conquered Worlds.

Or so I thought. Turns out he thought differently, and once again I was thrown in at the deep end. If you were to ask me how the hell I got here, I still couldn't tell you, but here I am, and somehow, I seem to be coping; even if I mostly manage like a guy walking a tightrope over an ice crevasse, when the only way to put one foot in front of another without wobbling is to never, ever look down.

"Did we get the reply from the Deputy Minister for Andorian Affairs?" His voice breaks into my reverie. After a recent cave-in, three thousand topaline miners in one of the largest operations in the Empire have barricaded the mine entrance and refused to work until greater safety measures are put in place.

"Yes, Your Majesty. I've scheduled a meeting tomorrow afternoon for you to discuss our response with the senior representative of the Mining Consortium. I'll have the relevant documents on your desk by two o'clock and circulate copies of the appropriate ones to him as well as to his opposite numbers on Rigel, Berengaria, and Tellar… Er…Do you want me to loop in the Minister of Interplanetary Affairs, too?"

He considers my question briefly. The Ministry of Interplanetary Affairs is the largest of the Imperial Cabinet departments and Minister Horvat is quite probably the most powerful civilian in the Empire and easily the biggest non-military threat to the throne. It doesn't help matters any that the Emperor dislikes him, believes he is corrupt, and has ordered Lieutenant Vaja to initiate a secret investigation into his private affairs. He's already mentioned to me the possibility of eliminating the guy's position and somehow turning it into multiple departments – ministries of developed worlds, colony worlds, wilderness worlds and uninhabitable resources or something of the sort – in order to dilute his power, so I have already started working on files for each of the worlds in the Empire in anticipation of that possibility. Once again, I'm treated to the Emperor's capacity for long-term strategy; at one stroke he would remove a major threat and also create a number of smaller luminaries with the best of reasons to be grateful to him and a far smaller ability to cause trouble if they get any ideas further down the line.

"No, I think Minister Horvat is quite busy enough," he finally decides, his tone as bland as pouring cream. "Besides, I doubt he would support this initiative and I'm sure one of the deputy ministers will relay to him any information he needs to know."

Subtle and clever are the ways of the Emperor! In this manner, he will undermine Minister Horvat, test the loyalties of the deputy ministers in charge of some of the most important conquered worlds, and (if all goes according to plan) settle a major labor dispute with non-lethal means for the first time in decades – which will go a long way toward convincing people that he is a different kind of Emperor who will lead the Empire into a new era of peace and prosperity.

A change from guns to butter, I think, reflecting on the economics course the Emperor has had Amanda and me studying. We had just started a unit on labor laws and unions when this dispute broke out, and the three of us developed this plan together. I probably won't see the end results in my lifetime, but at least we'll have made a start.

"Very good, sir," I reply.

He nods and goes back to reading, ignoring the fact that there's a little fluffy furball under his desk, playing with his shoelaces. He must know Rama is under there and I've been waiting for the order to scoop the kitten up and take him out of the office, but so far it hasn't come. I'm increasingly perplexed as time goes on; he doesn't usually tolerate distractions, and I haven't seen any evidence that he's particularly fond of the animal, though it's undeniably cute. To be honest I'd have had him down as a dog-person rather than a cat-person, but whether or not, he gets on quietly with his work, disregarding the tugging at the shoelaces and the occasional attempts with tiny, scrabbling claws to disembowel the leather.

In between sorting the morning's correspondence, I keep a fascinated eye on the goings-on. Rama continues to wreak mayhem on the shoelaces until he succeeds in pulling one loose, at which point he decides it's a dangerous snake and bolts out from under the desk with all his fur on end.

There's a large ficus plant in a pot in one corner, and a hand-carved teak elephant figurine has somehow found its way onto the floor beside it. The elephant's trunk and tusks offer just enough paw-holds for the kitten to scramble up into the pot, and once there the twisted trunks of the plant itself are an irresistible draw; within seconds the whole thing is shaking violently as Rama starts the ascent. There's no response except a faint sigh from the Emperor, and for a few minutes nothing much happens except a lot more shaking and a few leaves drift to the floor.

Then inevitably, Rama starts squalling when he finds he's climbed too far; the twigs under him are bending dangerously and he needs a rescue. Clearly, noise is a distraction too far. A slight gesture of the Imperial stylus and I'm on it, though I don't get much by way of gratitude unless you count a few scratches as I pull the little claws gently out of the bark.

The kitten in my hand, I hesitate, looking to the Emperor for orders. We really don't have time for me to run around the palace trying to find Her Majesty.

Without lifting his head from the PADD he's perusing, he pushes his chair back slightly from the desk and a movement of his foot propels a soft, padded cat-basket into view. One of the drawers of his desk tidy that I'd imagined contained paperclips or something – even these days we get printed documents every now and then – proves to contain supplies of small items that a toss of the hand throws into the basket.

Managing to keep my jaw from dropping, I put Rama into the basket and the kitten starts tucking into the treats. His impossibly loud purr for such a tiny thing fills the office as I go back to my desk and start work again.

Though it's not my place to comment on the kitten's presence, even when the small sounds of munching end and Rama settles down for a nap, I can't entirely keep my mind off my incredulity at the Emperor's tolerance of him. I can't decide whether he simply puts up with the kitten out of deference to the Empress or he actually enjoys having him around. And I'm ashamed to admit it even to myself, but I can't quite suppress a stab of pathetic jealousy; the only way I get to even share an office with the man I have so many feelings for is to work like a whole hive of bees, but the kitten whose only qualifications are being cute and helpless gets away with hanging all over him.

Yeah. Pathetic. I know.

If reincarnation is a thing, I'm coming back as a kitten next time.

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