Telling a high ranking officer that his kid brother was dead in the middle of a fleet-wide drill was by no means a normal circumstance, and Lt. Commander Lozan Zeskin was an intimidating figure in the best of times. Ensign Welm cursed his luck, and for good measure cursed Lt. Joreg. It was supposed to be Joreg here delivering the news. The weasel had been overjoyed to see an Ensign, and had immediately relieved himself of the loathsome responsibility. Welm found it hard not to think of the old saying about what not to do to messengers, and how all proverbs start somewhere. He didn't really think he'd be shot. It's not like this was the first time Griff Zeskin had gone to extreme measures to make his point clear. When he was twelve, Griffin had caused the evacuation an entire deck of the ship-over a thousand people- by manipulating the sensor relays while locked in his room. Last year, he reprogrammed the maintenance bots in his own image: apathetic in response to commands, fluently profane, and dripping with sarcasm. Irritating as they had been, the ship had never been in finer shape. The boy was having a tough go of it, everyone could see that, but it had never occurred to Welm that the kid was suicidal. Then again, he'd never actually met him, nor had any desire to get near the chaos that seemed to surround the boy. A creature of habit, Welm liked things to be ordered, predictable. Right now, his stomach brimmed with butterflies. If he hadn't been standing around in the officer's mess, he wouldn't have been at the bottom of the hill when the shit started rolling. But he'd just had to have his morning coffee, and now here he was. He squared his back and strode down the long gangway towards the command bridge, preparing himself to deliver the bad news.
Zeskin was hunched over the shoulder of one of his subordinates, and the two men were engaged in rapid discussion about the data on the tactical displays. His long dark hair tied tight except for a rebellious strand that hung free. The blue ceremonial cloth that denoted his rank swung and fluttered at his shoulder with the quick, decisive gestures of his arm. The estranged son of the Overlord looked very much like his father, at least a younger, more robust version of him. The Great Overlord of the Xenith Cluster still made an impressive figure, but his age and the lack of physical demands had begun to show. Lozan was 23 years old, an intelligent and charismatic leader, and freshly arrived in the prime of his life. He was tall and broad-shouldered, and carried himself as though he had been born to lead, which in fact he had. The matter of his potential inheritance was an unsolved mystery. After Lord Zeskin broke contact with his sons and sent them to the First Fleet for training, there were murmurs of doubt as to the integrity of the line of succession. No one knew who would rise to power if the Overlord died, but it was clear that his son was destined for greatness. Their next move decided, the Eldest Son of the House of Zeskin turned sharply, and pierced him with a look that brooked no hesitation.
"Yes, Ensign?"
"There's a problem with your brother, Sir... Griffin."
"I knew which one you meant. What's he done this time?"
"He... He jumped out of a transport shuttle. Sir."
For a moment, it seemed as if Zeskin's face turned to stone. Welm couldn't look away, though he desperately wanted to. It seemed like a day later when Lozan stood up straight, his gaze never leaving the poor ensign. There was a moment in which Welm thought the commander was waiting for him to say something else, but he had no more message to deliver.
"I'm sorry, commander. Is there anything I can do for you?" He winced at his own well-intended words. His parents raised a very polite young man, and he couldn't have been more irked by his manners at the moment. Who was he to offer aid to a prince, let alone a Starship Commander?
Zeskin's face softened, and there was a hint of a smirk behind the commander's grimace as he said, "Oh, my brother's not dead, Ensign. Not until we get a hold of him, he isn't. What's your name?"
This did not bode well for Ensign Jeffers Welm. The butterflies surged.
"Ensign Jeffers Welm, Sir. 3rd Fleet Command, Echo Group."
"Not anymore. You asked if you could help, and I appreciate helpful people. You're going to work for me starting today, and if you do well, there's a promotion in it for you."
"I- Thank you sir. That's a generous offer."
"It's not an offer, Jeffers. And you'll have earned it. Hilde, you have the Conn."
A tall, dark skinned woman stood from one of the stations and was standing next to Zeskin in two smooth strides. She nodded dismissively to the commander, then turned and began issuing orders to the crew. Welm made a personal note not to get in the way of a woman who does anything dismissively to Prince Lozan. He found himself alone a moment later, still staring. He hurried to catch up with the Prince. Commander Zeskin wasn't looking at him when he spoke but the intensity was clear in his voice, and it wasn't hard for Welm to picture those burning cold eyes.
"Ensign Welm, let's start your manhunt."
Zeskin was hunched over the shoulder of one of his subordinates, and the two men were engaged in rapid discussion about the data on the tactical displays. His long dark hair tied tight except for a rebellious strand that hung free. The blue ceremonial cloth that denoted his rank swung and fluttered at his shoulder with the quick, decisive gestures of his arm. The estranged son of the Overlord looked very much like his father, at least a younger, more robust version of him. The Great Overlord of the Xenith Cluster still made an impressive figure, but his age and the lack of physical demands had begun to show. Lozan was 23 years old, an intelligent and charismatic leader, and freshly arrived in the prime of his life. He was tall and broad-shouldered, and carried himself as though he had been born to lead, which in fact he had. The matter of his potential inheritance was an unsolved mystery. After Lord Zeskin broke contact with his sons and sent them to the First Fleet for training, there were murmurs of doubt as to the integrity of the line of succession. No one knew who would rise to power if the Overlord died, but it was clear that his son was destined for greatness. Their next move decided, the Eldest Son of the House of Zeskin turned sharply, and pierced him with a look that brooked no hesitation.
"Yes, Ensign?"
"There's a problem with your brother, Sir... Griffin."
"I knew which one you meant. What's he done this time?"
"He... He jumped out of a transport shuttle. Sir."
For a moment, it seemed as if Zeskin's face turned to stone. Welm couldn't look away, though he desperately wanted to. It seemed like a day later when Lozan stood up straight, his gaze never leaving the poor ensign. There was a moment in which Welm thought the commander was waiting for him to say something else, but he had no more message to deliver.
"I'm sorry, commander. Is there anything I can do for you?" He winced at his own well-intended words. His parents raised a very polite young man, and he couldn't have been more irked by his manners at the moment. Who was he to offer aid to a prince, let alone a Starship Commander?
Zeskin's face softened, and there was a hint of a smirk behind the commander's grimace as he said, "Oh, my brother's not dead, Ensign. Not until we get a hold of him, he isn't. What's your name?"
This did not bode well for Ensign Jeffers Welm. The butterflies surged.
"Ensign Jeffers Welm, Sir. 3rd Fleet Command, Echo Group."
"Not anymore. You asked if you could help, and I appreciate helpful people. You're going to work for me starting today, and if you do well, there's a promotion in it for you."
"I- Thank you sir. That's a generous offer."
"It's not an offer, Jeffers. And you'll have earned it. Hilde, you have the Conn."
A tall, dark skinned woman stood from one of the stations and was standing next to Zeskin in two smooth strides. She nodded dismissively to the commander, then turned and began issuing orders to the crew. Welm made a personal note not to get in the way of a woman who does anything dismissively to Prince Lozan. He found himself alone a moment later, still staring. He hurried to catch up with the Prince. Commander Zeskin wasn't looking at him when he spoke but the intensity was clear in his voice, and it wasn't hard for Welm to picture those burning cold eyes.
"Ensign Welm, let's start your manhunt."
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