Norkels.
Giant space-dwelling Psionic parasites. Absolute nightmares to deal with under the best circumstances.
Usually, it didn't take much to drive them off—a bit of concentrated weapons fire, some flashy energy displays to confuse their senses, cause them minor injury, and they'd typically retreat to find easier prey. It was relatively rare for a Norkel to commit fully to an attack and stick around to cause serious problems. Their Psionic abilities also tended to become unstable and unpredictable when they were exposed to the competing Psionic frequencies of other nearby Psionics, which usually made them retreat.
But there were those rare, terrible occasions when they stood their ground and chose to attack with full commitment.
The results were invariably devastating. No one usually knew the full extent of what had happened until it was already over and all that remained was wreckage and corpses.
Their natural Psionic abilities warped space and energy around them in strange ways, rendering them effectively invisible to almost any form of conventional radar or sensor detection capabilities. All that was typically left behind after a Norkel attack were the scattered remnants of whatever destruction they'd wrought.
However, there were specialized hunter fleets that devoted their entire operational existence to tracking, hunting, and harvesting Norkels. According to the Order of the White Ones, Norkels were an incredibly valuable material component in the creation of the Psionic awakening reagents they sold for absolutely obscene fortunes. Not to mention the fact that other parts of a Norkel's body were extremely valuable for various applications—some components were essential in the creation and construction of Psionic-type weaponry and equipment.
So whoever managed to kill one and successfully harvest its body stood to make an absolute fortune.
Orn's eyes gleamed with barely concealed greed behind his mask.
Building a proper fleet would require money—a *lot* of it. But more than just the immediate financial windfall, the glory and reputation that would come from successfully hunting a Norkel… the name it would give him throughout the empire…
This would definitely affect the quality and quantity of recruits he'd be able to attract at the Keres jump point. There was a massive recruitment station there that served as the primary hub where newly graduated soldiers went to be selected by various armies. The more fame and reputation he had, the better recruits he could attract.
Not to mention the proceeds from selling a Norkel corpse—probably to the emperor himself or to some other extraordinarily wealthy senator with the credits to afford it. With that kind of money, he'd be able to acquire a proper warship for himself. Perhaps even a destroyer-class vessel, which would provide space for significantly more soldiers and equipment.
He could show up in the Stellaris Cluster in style.
Plus, the advantage of commanding a larger army would mean he'd be able to more easily slip away to conduct his personal search and investigation for his mother and sister. He needed to play both pirate and soldier in the grand scheme of things he was planning.
"Admiral," the communications officer announced, sounding slightly nervous, "the Grand Imperator is demanding a holo-call. Immediate priority."
Orn nodded. "Put him through."
A live holographic display materialized in front of him, showing his father in surprisingly casual attire. George Reese was not in his formal military uniform—instead, he was dressed in simple grey pants, brown sandals, and a plain white t-shirt. He was clearly at home, and judging by the delighted squeals Orn could hear in the background, his stepsisters were around, probably playing.
"Cornelius," his father said, his tone carrying a mixture of annoyance and curiosity, "you'd better have a damn good reason for calling me so soon after departure. Have you finally decided to give up on your foolish personal goals and do some actual good for your empire and your family?"
Orn rolled his eyes behind his mask. Of course his father would never stop trying to persuade him to abandon his search for his mother and sister.
But they could have that particular argument another day.
Orn quickly and efficiently gave his father a complete rundown of the current situation—the distress signal, the senator, the Psionic assassins, and most importantly, the Norkel.
The very first thing the Grand Imperator said in response was: "Let me switch this to a secure channel."
His image flickered and distorted for a brief moment before stabilizing once more. When the connection re-established, George Reese's entire demeanor had changed. His casual, almost dismissive attitude was gone, replaced by the focused intensity of a career military commander.
He immediately locked eyes with Orn and spoke with absolute certainty.
"I can't reach you in time. You're going to have to make do with the *Honest Star* and whatever crew you currently have with you." His jaw tightened. "This is the Inner Rim—faster-than-light travel is strictly forbidden here to prevent accidents and collisions. It would take me at minimum a full standard day to reach your position using conventional propulsion."
He paused, clearly calculating options. "I *could* bypass many of those restrictions if I got the emperor personally involved and secured emergency authorization. But that would mean less reward and recognition for us when this is over—especially for you."
Orn was just about to tell his father exactly where he could shove his political calculations when the holographic image suddenly rippled and distorted.
Someone else was forcibly connecting to their supposedly secure communication channel.
Orn's eyes widened in genuine shock behind his mask as every single person on the bridge—having recognized who had just joined the call—immediately dropped to their knees and bowed their heads low in deference and respect.
Orn, as the commanding officer, was exempt from that particular display. All he had to do was render the standard formal military salute, which he did with practiced precision.
He swallowed hard, his nerves almost betraying him despite his training and experience.
After all, it wasn't every day that your mother-in-law hijacked a secured military communication channel between you and your father.
The Empress Dowager appeared in the hologram, and she looked absolutely regal—almost unreal in her perfection. Her beauty was still celebrated and sung about throughout the empire to this day, and she remained the secret fantasy of countless soldiers across all branches of service.
She observed him with those unsettling eyes, and Orn felt the air around him seem to grow heavier, tighter—as if she were actually physically present on the bridge despite being nothing more than a holographic projection.
Her presence, even filtered through technology, was utterly overwhelming.
There was a reason she was known and feared as the most powerful Psionic in the entire empire. So much so that many whispered she had achieved a state of mental transcendence only ever reached by one other individual in recorded history—the First Emperor Aegean himself.
Godhood.
"Son."
That single word she spoke seemed to send visible reverberations through the air itself, distorting the hologram slightly. It set the tone for the entire interaction. It established exactly how she expected him to address her, and how she would address him in return.
A performance. A play acted out in front of everyone present on the bridge.
And this happening so soon after her daughter had tried to have him murdered.
The sheer audacity of it.
Orn felt a grin stretch across his face behind his mask, his teeth grinding together. His expression was hidden, thankfully, but the fury and dark amusement were both there in equal measure.
He inclined his head to the side in a gesture of respect he didn't truly feel. "You honor me with your presence, Mother. What can I do for you?"
The Empress Dowager smiled—and to everyone else present on the bridge, it almost seemed like a smile of approval, of maternal affection.
Then she spoke, her voice carrying absolute authority.
"I care nothing for the Norkel itself. Only for the senator." She paused deliberately. "He is... an associate of mine, shall we say. One who has recently fallen out of favor with the empire's leadership. The Norkel being brought this far into the Inner Rim was his desperate idea of rebellion—a final act of defiance. He managed to get the creature this deep into imperial space before agents loyal to the throne finally located him and attempted to eliminate him."
Another pause, heavier this time.
"I may or may not have provided those particular assassins with the access codes and security protocols necessary to infiltrate this far into the empire to deal with him." Her smile never wavered. "But I definitely do not want any evidence or witnesses left behind. So make absolutely certain that *none* of them survive. Not the senator. Not his family. Not the assassins."
Her eyes seemed to bore directly into Orn's soul. "You will be compensated for this service far more generously than whatever profit you might make from selling the Norkel's corpse."
She leaned forward slightly, and Orn felt the temperature on the bridge drop perceptibly.
"Also, be aware that only you and your father can hear what I'm saying right now. I'm sure you both understand what that means."
Orn swallowed hard.
They did.
It didn't matter that his father was the Grand Imperator of the entire military forces of the Aegean Empire. Both of them were now privy to the Empress Dowager's covert political machinations—and she was actively using them to carry out her will, to eliminate her enemies while maintaining complete deniability.
George Reese and his son had just been forced to choose a side in the ongoing shadow war between the emperor and the Grand Princess for ultimate control of the throne.
But the problem—the terrifying question that neither of them could answer—was simple:
What side had they actually chosen?
Or had they both just been relegated to nothing more than useful attack dogs for the most powerful and dangerous woman in the known galaxies?