Early on Wednesday morning, a team of Imperial Police officers arrived at her cell along with Major Watanabe and a group of five Imperial Marines – they wore the same uniform, she noted, but didn’t have the shoulder braid that Watanabe wore. The officers opened her cell door in VR, then the Marines entered and approached her, pulling wrist and leg cuffs. She tensed, but did nothing; there were too many of them to try to push past and flee, and she didn’t know how to get out of the lockup anyway.
The group led her out of the cell, matching their movement to her restricted steps in the leg irons, and down a corridor to another room. As they entered, the Imperial Police officers remained outside, guarding the door.
This room had a heavy backstop of some sort on the far wall, and it was pockmarked from use. She was led to this wall by Major Watanabe, who then produced a piece of stiff paper from one pocket.
“Carol Urban, you have been convicted of espionage, conspiracy to mass-murder, and conspiracy to murder the Emperor. This,” he waved the paper, “is your death warrant, signed by no less than the Emperor himself. You are about to be executed by firing squad. I will give you the option of a blindfold if you wish.”
Urban’s eyes widened and she paled, then she dropped her gaze to the floor.
“Thank you, Major,” she said in a subdued tone, “but that will not be necessary. I did what I did for love of my nation, and by way of what I saw as retribution for the destruction of its capital, Olympia. You may proceed.”
Watanabe nodded courteously. He turned and walked back to the doorway, where the Marines assigned to the detail had already produced their weaponry and were doing a final checkout. He stepped behind them.
“Are you ready, Ms. Urban?” he asked.
“As ready as I’ll ever be, I suppose,” she responded, focusing on his face.
“Ready,” he ordered. The Marines brought their weapons to ready position.
“Aim,” he said. The Marines brought their weapons to bear on their target. Urban raised her chin slightly, holding her head high. Watanabe noted she was still focused on his face, so he met her gaze, letting his expression soften ever so slightly. Her eyes were hazel with more than a hint of green, he noticed. Pretty… and at the moment, soft.
“Fire,” he commanded, and all five Marines fired once.
Carol Urban dropped to the floor with two bullet holes in her head and three in her chest.
Watanabe sighed.
Around what was left of the Democracy of Planets, other members of the conspiracy to kill Emperor Trajan and destroy Sintar’s seat of power were having Imperial death warrants served against them, as well.
In all, a total of one hundred eleven men and women met their just deaths.
The markets – almost – went wild.
The next day, Ashton got a missive under Imperial header.
Inspector Ashton,
Thank you for your ability to recognize when there is a problem, and thank you for your willingness to take charge when matters are about to go badly wrong. Your actions with respect to the convicted covert operative Carol Urban, while unilateral and without the Throne’s sanction, were well-considered and executed, and likely saved the entire operation from failure. This failure might well have resulted in another attempt at a later date – one which might not have been detected in time to prevent catastrophe. The Throne approves and sanctions your actions in retrospect.
Trajan Imp.
Ashton slumped in his chair in relief.
Loose Ends
The next day, Director Carter called a meeting of the Field Branch.
Plus one. Inspector Callista Ames was there.
Oh shit, Ashton thought, clad in his dress uniform per the message he had gotten from Carter early that morning. What the hell is this all about?
“Dominick Ashton, will you please come forward?” Carter said.
Ashton rose and moved to the front of the meeting room. “Yes, sir,” he said, flipping his fingers past his temple, in the casual salute that had become official for the IPD. “What do you need, sir?”
“It’s what needs to be done for you, Nick,” Carter said with a smile. “You went out on a limb recently, on behalf of the Throne and the people who work for it, and you did so knowing full well that you risked having the very system you served saw that limb out from under you. But it worked, and everyone recognizes it… from the top down. Being as I’m not that familiar with some of the modes of recognition, let’s just say I got a little nudge from the Top – capital T – that indicated this would be an appropriate means of thanking you for that successful operation you coordinated on Carolina last week. Cally – er, excuse me, Inspector Ames?”
A proud Ames stepped forward and pinned a new medal on Ashton’s chest, alongside the other two. This one had a blue and white striped ribbon with several gold threads running parallel to the stripes, and a gold bas relief representation of multiple planets on the medal.
“This,” Carter declared, “is the Director’s Award of Excellence. It has never been given in this new IPD, and was only given twice in the old IPD… and those, more than a century ago. Which is to say, before it became corrupt. The Director’s Award of Excellence is never given except to an officer who consistently gives above and beyond, and who is willing to risk whatever it takes to ensure the safety of those under his care. And, I was told to add, that includes the Throne, and the one who sits on it.”
The room broke
