The light coalesced first. In the center of Admiral Sineus’s private display, a shimmering point of energy expanded into a perfect, three-dimensional image of the Synod of Admirals’ holographic chamber. It was a circle of dark, polished stone, seemingly floating in a void, its surface reflecting the twelve holographic forms that materialized in their designated places. The air in Sineus’s study grew cool, carrying the faint, clean scent of ozone from the powerful comms projector. He stood before it, his posture rigid, his hands clasped behind his back. This was an emergency session. He knew who had called it.
Admiral Valeriy Kurov’s image was the sharpest, his conviction giving his projection a dangerous solidity. He did not wait for pleasantries. His voice cut through the chamber’s low hum, a weaponized instrument of doctrinal purity.
— I have called this session to address a catastrophic failure of command in the Zarya System, — Kurov began. He gestured, and leaked reports bloomed in the air beside him: sensor logs showing the Stoikiy fighting alongside ships of the Brotherhood of the Mountains, an isolationist warrior clan. Another report detailed the moment a civilian archivist had been given tactical command of a Continuum warship.
— Admiral Sineus has abandoned our most sacred protocols. He has allied us with isolationists and ceded command to a civilian. This is not strategy. This is doctrinal heresy.
The accusation hung in the silent chamber. It was a direct assault, aimed at the very foundation of Sineus’s authority. Kurov let the silence build, his gaze sweeping across the other eleven admirals.
— Therefore, I formally call for a vote of no confidence in the command of Admiral Valeriy Sineus. He has proven himself unfit to lead Task Force ‘Peresvet’. He is a danger to the stability of the Continuum.
Before the motion could be seconded, another hologram solidified. It was Boyar-Admiral Ferapont Orlov, his face a testament to a century of service, his presence a heavy anchor of tradition and honor. He was Sineus’s mentor, and his political shield.
— The nature of the enemy has changed, — Orlov’s voice was a deep, resonant counterpoint to Kurov’s sharp accusation. — Must our methods not change with it? Admiral Sineus faces a threat that does not follow our doctrines. He has achieved the first victories against an impossible foe by adapting.
Orlov was spending his reputation, a currency more valuable than any resource, and every admiral in the chamber knew it. He was placing his own immense honor in the balance to protect his protégé.
— I have known Valeriy Sineus for fifty years, — Orlov continued, his voice low and powerful. — I have never known him to fail in his duty. Trust the man, not the rumor.
The debate erupted. The chamber, once a space of perfect order, became a battlefield of words. Admirals loyal to Kurov’s rigid traditionalism spoke of the risks, the violation of sacred military hierarchy. They feared the unknown, the precedent of an archivist commanding a warship. The Gzhel Weave patterns that adorned the holographic walls of the chamber, once a steady, brilliant blue, began to waver. Threads of light flickered and desaturated to a dead, ugly grey, struggling to hold their form against the mnemonic dissonance of the divided council. The very symbol of Continuum unity was fracturing under the strain of their discord.
The system was failing. The old, comfortable lies of doctrinal purity were reasserting themselves against the messy, necessary truth of the war in the Zarya System. This was not a debate; it was a regression. It was a move toward the simple, clean act of forgetting that a new threat required new, and sometimes heretical, thoughts.
— The vote will be cast, — Kurov declared, his voice rising above the others, sensing his advantage. The chamber fell silent.
One by one, a soft chime marked each registered vote. A tally appeared on the central display. The numbers climbed, neck and neck. Four to four. Four to five, in Kurov’s favor. The Gzhel Weave on the walls seemed to dim, the blue light growing pale. Sineus watched from the bridge of the Stoikiy, his face a mask of stone. He had won the battle in the Zarya System, but he was losing the war for political survival here, light-years away.
The final vote chimed. Five to six. The motion failed.
A collective, silent exhalation seemed to pass through the chamber. Ferapont Orlov had held the line, his vote the single bulwark against Kurov’s ambition. The vote of no confidence was defeated, but the cost was immense. The Gzhel Weave on the walls stabilized, but the blue was now a shade duller, the light less certain. A scar had been left on the Synod’s conviction.
On the bridge of the Stoikiy, Sineus watched the holographic chamber dissolve. He had survived. But his authority was in tatters, his political support almost entirely spent. He was an admiral on an island, his command retained by the single, fragile thread of his mentor’s loyalty. He was, for the first time in his long career, truly alone.
