In the Rouge

2 - Garza

Admiral Emanuel Garza wore a friendly smile as he looked around the table at sixteen of his fellow fleet admirals. “Thank you all for coming. It’s been so long since—”

     “Yes, yes,” interrupted Admiral Viktor Hugo in his high-pitched nasally voice. “We’re all supremely thrilled to be here right now. Just tell us what this is about. Some of us have invasions going on.”

     After five years in deep space, Garza had forgotten how annoying Hugo could be, and it was not only the man’s voice which made Garza want to strangle him. Keeping the smile on his face, Garza said graciously, “Of course. I promise not to keep any of you longer than necessary, but this is a very important matter.” He glanced around the table. Most of the other admirals were giving him looks that seemed to say ‘It had better be’. He took a deep breath and continued, “As you are all very much aware, we have recently had a . . . significant change in management. I refer, of course, to our new emperor.”

     “Yes, yes,” it was Hugo again, sarcasm dripping from his voice. “Some of us do keep up with minor news, like a new emperor. Some of us even manage to breathe on our own. I’m in the middle of staging attacks on three separate systems. Get to the point.”

     Garza’s smile vanished. He glared at Hugo. “To the point then. I propose that we depose this . . . accountant.”

   There were a few choking coughs, and all the admirals excepting Hugo immediately disappeared from the table. Garza watched him. Hugo had aged noticeably since the last time Garza had seen him; his hair, what remained of it, was all gray now, and the lines of his face were much deeper. The man might be obnoxious and impatient, but he was also quite competent; he would never have joined the conference without first checking the security of the communication. He also held much sway with the other admirals, and Garza needed his support.

     “They’ve grown lazy,” said Garza, indicating the vacant seats with a nod.

     “Complacent, maybe,” replied Hugo, waving a hand dismissively. “After all, it’s not often that we get together to discuss treason.”

     “Is it treason?” asked Garza innocently.

     Hugo snorted. “Call it whatever you want, but I guarantee when we’re all publicly executed, the people doing the executing will call it treason.”

     Before Garza could respond, the conference table flickered and one of the other admirals returned, quickly followed by another. The table was once more full within a minute.

     Admiral Theora Haslie arrived last wearing a scowl. She was a diminutive gray-haired woman who looked more like a grandmother than a fleet commander. However, the acid in her voice quickly dispelled any motherly illusions much less grandmotherly. “Did you enjoy your dramatic gesture?” she asked sharply.

     “It wasn’t simply a gesture,” replied Garza. “I’m serious and you know I would never discuss anything so important over an unsecure comm.”

     “Yes, well you’ll forgive us if we check on that when you’re spouting treasonous nonsense,” said Haslie.

     Garza looked around the table. The other admirals were watching the exchange; he had their full attention now. “It is not treason, but patriotism to overthrow an unjust government. We must—”

     “That’s idealistic horse-shit, and you know it,” said Haslie. “You’re talking about a coup.”

     “Idealism has its place, and yes, I am talking about a coup.”