“IS COMMANDER REYNARD fairing any better?”

“He’s barely vacated his quarters since he returned from the Sandmen,” JC reports.

“Australia said as much. I thought as a telepath you’d have more insight into his current condition,” Maxtin says.

JC stares into the blackness outside Admiral Maxtin’s office window. No stars exist inside the Riftgate. “Then I doubt I’ve anything further to offer. You know I legally won’t scan him, and since he’s not a UCP citizen or a UCP Academy graduate, you have no jurisdiction to order me to.”

“You’ve spent your career with loose interpretation of Eir Basilica rules and doctrine.”

“Grand rules. Like not telling Amye that her thoughts spill from her mind like a dam in springtime when she drinks. Informing the masses about using mind altering substances around us would destroy our advantage over Normals.”

“The Eir Basilica covering up a great many secrets across the galaxy,” Maxtin says.

“Covering up the slaughter of survivors of the Tibbar invasion. None on the council have to gaze into those blue eyes knowing the truth,” JC says.

“JC, of all the crew of the Silver Dragon, you keep the deepest of secrets.”

“Like our first meeting thirty years ago?” She places a palm on the clear durasteel, expecting cold. “Any larger and the Independence won’t fit through the Riftgate. The lack of stars…disturbing.”

“The extra shielding needed to place a window on this side might have been an indulgence, but the view instills in me the necessity to prevent the galaxy from becoming the same.”

“If you gaze long into an abyss, the abyss will gaze back into you,” JC says.

“One of Reynard’s favorite quotes, but he has yet to take up study of the Osirian philosopher, Nietzsche,” Maxtin says.

“Future-past tense conversations aren’t prudent between us. Hence the dangers of fighting monsters.”

“The Sandmen aren’t the only monsters we must defeat in the darkness.”

“Why am I here, Admiral?” JC demands without shifting her tone.

“Your talents,” he says.

“The UCP employs dozens of telepaths.”

“Who all operate within the limits of the law,” says Maxtin.

“Unlike the rest of us within your employ. Who do you want scanned?” she asks.

“My personal assistant has earned a promotion to captain of the Deliverance. She, like your crew, has access to classified information.”

“I won’t wipe her memory.”

“Nor would I ask. She is a valued ally and the information contained in her I need her to access in order to maintain the UCP’s peaceful status.”

“You already trust her,” JC says.

“With Admiral Kantian being groomed as Admiral Easter’s replacement, many soldiers are swayed by his promise of a swift victory over the Mokarran in a war. We both know war is never swift and victory never decisive. I need to know my next assistant’s loyalties.”

“Rank promotions involve consented scans,” JC says.

“I want you to perform the scan and push beyond the surface. Beyond the sisterhood accepted practice. If it concerns you, she will deal with information involving the lives on the Silver Dragon and my other operatives.”

“What am I scanning for?” JC asks.

“I want my underlings to be free thinkers, but I want them to be my underlings.”

“I’ll scan as deep as possible. Has she been trained to notice?” JC asks.

“As much as I want officers to be. The Academy wishes to remain in good faith with your sisters.”

“Not mine, not since they sold me.” JC keeps to the shadows behind the chair designated for the applicant to sit.

Maxtin presses a button on his desk. The door slides open. “Enter.”

A manicured cadet with her blonde hair in a regulation bun marches to the center of the room, snapping to attention.

“Have a seat, Lt. Commander Kelli Wentworth.”

“Sir, I’m a Junior Grade Lieutenant.” She steps before the chair, waiting for Admiral Maxtin to sit before she does.

“This position would be an unmitigated jump.”

She gives no reaction.

“I am required to inform you I have a licensed telepath monitoring this interview.” Maxtin remains formal.

Wentworth shields a slight tremor.

“If I don’t want to be scanned?”

“I end the interview.” Maxtin ignores her lack of “Sir.”

“May I speak freely, Admiral?”

“This position will afford you every opportunity to express your thoughts. It’s a requirement of the job.”

“I don’t trust telepaths.”

Neither do I, JC thinks.

Maxtin ignores her concern. “What is your position on the Mokarran?”

“Their defeat must be precipitated, but not at the cost of UCP safety.”

JC nods.

“You don’t want war?”

“No one wins in a war, Sir. My brother was part of the insurgency destroyed on Berondos.”

“Interesting.”

“No, Sir, I desire this position to bring about an end to the Mokarran.”

“Blunt. I demand absolute loyalty, and you understand it may take us years to bring down the Mokarran.”

“Admiral Kantian promises months.”

“His assessment is correct. The Mokarran are facing a war on two fronts and won’t defeat the Throgen Empire. But if we drive them to defeat now it will open a vacuum in the Tri-Star Federation, and we’ll be dealing with so many civil wars and power grabs that the Throgen Empire won’t have but a few fires to extinguish in order to conquer us.”

“Is political understanding pertinent to be effective in this position?”

“Much of this job orbits the political realm,” Maxtin says.

The intersystem communication system whistles. Maxtin presses the button. Before he protests the interruption, a voice blares through.

“Admiral, Captain Petra reporting. There’s been a disturbance on Taygete III.”

“What kind of disturbance?”

“A bar brawl involving a Silver Dragon crewmember and reports of a creature with transmogrifying abilities.

“Amye.” JC jumps.

“Notify the Dragon to prepare to launch.” Maxtin rises.

Kelli beats him to her feet to stand at attention.

“Report back to your ship.”

“I wasn’t waiting for your permission, Admiral,” JC says.

At least she used his rank.

Before exiting, JC faces Maxtin. “She shows no signs of deception, Admiral.”