Decisions

The small boy was running, weaving his way through the crowd to lose the eye of his pursuer, the assistant of an angry shop keep who was now minus one apple. The boy was very hungry, but his feet carried him quickly, knowing that if they did not he would not eat. His parents, freed by the Empress’ emancipation, were currently struggling to find work and food was scarce.

The boy took a look back to check that he was clear, and not seeing the shop assistant chasing behind him, grinned from ear to ear. His inattention to where he was going, however, had him smack against something hard, and he sprawled backwards onto the ground. Looking up he saw a large imposing figure silhouetted against the evening sky. He could see no detail on the man, but the heavens were quickly blotted out as the man leaned over and, grabbing him under his arms, hefted him up to his own eye-level.

“You didn’t steal that, did you, m’boy?” The man asked in a gruff voice, eyeing the apple clutched tightly in the boy’s hand. “Don’t lie to me.”

The boy nodded slowly, not wanting to anger the man who seemed to already know the answer. “I was hungry, sir…” he choked out in a small voice. He tore his eyes away from the man’s intent gaze for only a second to get a quick glance at what he was dealing with. What he saw made him swallow hard. The man was a decorated naval officer.

“Hungry enough to steal, hm?” Raphael asked. He hefted the boy a bit in his hands; the boy was skinny and frail – looking like he could barely hold the apple, let alone anything useful.

The boy cast his eyes down, knowing he had been caught. “Yes sir…” his weak voice uttered.

Raphael frowned, lifting the boy a little as if to try and make eye contact with the boy’s downcast. “You know you’ve done wrong, don’t you?”

The boy did nothing but nod his head meekly.

“Do you know what happens to criminals here in this Empire of ours?”

The boy kept his eyes down, not responding.

Raphael set him back down onto the ground, squatting down to be face-to-face with him as he did so. He reached into his pocket and produced a coin. “Go back and pay the man, kid,” he said, his voice going a bit gentle. “You don’t want to give them an excuse.”

The boy lifted his head up, giving Saint an uncertain look. After a moment, he nodded solemnly and took the coin from him, looking to his side after he did so. Raphael followed his eyes, seeing the shop hand standing a few feet away, watching. The boy looked back to Saint, and Saint nodded at him. Taking the coin, the boy trotted over to the shop hand and gave him the coin before scuttling off again into the crowds. The shop hand looked back to Raphael, Raphael returning the gaze, for a few long moments before he turned and disappeared as well. Raphael gazed after him for a moment longer before continuing on his way.

--

Raphael sighed, leaning back in his chair. On the desk in front of him were a few data slates. He preferred these over the smaller data pad when dealing with larger amounts of information because the screens were bigger, allowing a larger display. Faces looked back up at him from the top corner of each slate, a profile portrait included with each dossier.

He rubbed his face, tired of the work. He wasn’t trained in these kinds of tasks, had no real experience and in all honesty would rather be doing something else. He was tired of playing this role and wanted to get back to playing himself. He had to do this, however. Had to get through this, finish the task, and only then could it be filed away. He idly picked up one of the dossiers.

Esna Pitoojee. Raphael had talked to this man personally, along with supplemental inquiries using naval contacts and personnel under his command. He had found a few things he hadn’t really liked, but the man had been open about his actions, the ones Raphael had known about, at least, and had expressed no interest with breaking imperial law. His actions against other holders were just part of the dance they have been involving themselves in for thousands of years. Let them kill themselves off, he thought, preferring that they got to it sooner rather than later.

Raphael tossed that dossier aside and picked up another. James Silva, a Caldari contractor. He had served with the Knighthood, but that apparently had just been under contract. Raphael had sat down and chatted with this man as well and, curiously, had actually enjoyed himself after he had gotten his business out of the way. The two had talked and drank together, and Raphael saw only another working man like himself. Silva was a mercenary, and thus only a tool. Anything he may have done would not be his, but his employer’s, will. Raphael decided he was clean too, and tossed Silva’s dossier on top of Pitoojee’s.

He went through a few more dossiers, tossing a few aside as soon as he saw the name, knowing there wasn’t anything there. A few he threw aside knowing that any additional problems wouldn’t mean anything on top of the pile the pilot had already accrued. Sophie Starsparrow’s was one such slate. Eran Mintor’s was another. Eran was a twice-proven traitor, and broken shell of a man. He needed to be put down, like a wounded animal, out of polite consideration if nothing else. The man clung to life stubbornly, getting himself cloned every time the escape of death was his, out of a desperate hope that things would get better for him. Raphael could relate, and if his loathing for the man wasn’t so great, he may have been somewhat empathetic.

Eventually he had a pile of slates of those he had left. In top was Shalee Lianne. He had thousands of reasons to break it, to leave her out of this. He had thousands more to make her his first priority, and even a few to attempt to stack the deck against her. Regardless, her moment was approaching. He’d have the information telling him which way or the other, and the choice to follow or not.