Rising Star
© 2020 by Walter Reimer


Thumbnail art by  foxenawolf


He expected a number of things when he entered the operations center. Subordinates saluting, quiet conversations, all the courtesy that one would expect from the highest echelon of Terra’s military.

What Admiral-General al-Sakai didn’t expect, however, was applause.

Actual, sincere, heartfelt, applause.

A few of the very junior officers, aides to the admirals and senior captains, actually cheered as the leopard entered the room, leaving his bodyguards at the door to the room burrowed deep into the center peak of the crater Tycho on Selene.

One of the senior admirals stepped up to him and saluted. “Congratulations on your victory, my Lord,” the bear said, and Felix returned the salute before shaking paws with the femme. As soon as their paws separated, the sow turned and waved the others into silence before turning back to look at him.

Felix smiled. “Yes, it was a victory – a victory,” he said. “But,” and he raised a paw, “it won’t be the victory until we whip the Kashlani back across their border and bring our Colonial kin back into the Terran fold.” He smiled again, showing teeth. “Still, it’s a victory, and a promising start to our campaign. To your posts.” The staff returned to what they’d been doing, while Felix and the senior staff headed for one of the conference areas.

As soon as they were all seated comfortably, the bear femme who’d met him at the door gestured at the display hovering over the table. “The salient that we targeted has been withdrawn, and the station that had been the Imperial command and control point has been pulled back to Renewal.” The display altered, showing the advance made by the Confed Fleet after the Imperials had been defeated.

“Losses?” one of the admirals, a portly wolf, asked.

“The Imperial Third Fleet lost nearly two divisions. Our losses were slight,” the bear femme said.

The staff quieted as Felix leaned forward in his chair. “It’s a start. I want our next target to be here,” and his fingers slid across the interface on the table. The display canted and moved until it showed a highlighted area to spinward of the reduced salient. “They’ll be expecting us to continue pressing forward to Renewal, but if we penetrate here deeply enough we can disrupt the flow of materiel to their strong point and force them to either fall back or risk being cut off.”

“Strategic Planning will have an estimate for you in ten hours, my Lord,” an oryx said.

The Admiral-General nodded. “I will be consulting with the Foreign Minister, if this operation succeeds. If we can hit back at them, maybe the Imperials will feel inclined to talk.” He nodded again, once, and sat back. “Dismissed,” and he remained seated as the rest of the staff filed out of the room.

Felix sat gazing up at the display for a moment. “Well?” he asked.

A shadow detached itself from the shadows in the dimly-lit room and an accentless voice said, “The Order continues its support of you, Count of Maratha.”

“For now.”

“There is no stronger leader, my Lord. When the time comes, you can be assured that we will aid you,” and the shadow moved back into the darkness.

The leopard suppressed a soft snort. For all their theatrics, the Order was useful. Just like all the others.

Useful, until they weren’t.

He manipulated the display a bit until it centered on his home planet of Maratha, and his family’s arms appeared beside the block of text. Simple thing, really; a saffron yellow swallowtail pennant.

But if this new operation succeeded, and the Kashlani wished to talk, he could see an Imperial crown on that pennant, and see it waving over every planet throughout Terran space.

All it took was time and careful planning.

Not luck, as some people thought.