HOW TO TURN A PROFIT OUT OF CRISIS: A SF FRONTIER ADMIRAL QUEST

Afternoon, in the planning room. Holograms of star-maps, some yet uncharted by a starfaring empire millennia old, flickering on the walls. Complex realms of data fed into oracular AI. Simulation upon simulation of possible futures flicker on the screens. Somewhere someone curses at their Excel app.

You are the Margrave-Admiral of the Empire and with all the world shaking decision-making technology at your fingertips you are instead choosing to use plain old bias instead.

"Mengan-mouke… yeah I ain't like 'em. Hit 'em for six," your aide, Suebi vi Markoviz mutters, putting a name tag in an in-box marked INVADE. Gathered around him are other officers from the vassal nations, higher ranking scions of the upper crust, sending their spares off to the great Empire for an education and a trade. "Hm… State of the Serene Lidanshin. Aren't you from there?"

Master Technician, Warrant Officer Dzingseo nods and flips through a brief. "Eh, it's fine. The ENEMY put the Laurel Party in charge. Not a constituent of them, it's fine."

"Schweet." Into the invade box the State of the Serene Lidanshin goes.

"Oh, shit, it's the Republic Solari here. They're pretty tough, aren't they? And looks like the ENEMY went and handed some milware for free."

"We can do it live. No worries."

This process continues for some time. At the end, you've volunteered about two thirds of the prospective states to be invaded. You hand it off to a data-entryist and have a cup of tea. It's your favorite blend, a somewhat salty drink made from the leaves of a saltwater plant that was driven to extinction by resource extraction efforts in their native lagoons that you oversaw. You saved a couple of plants and have them growing in your hydroponics but it's just not the same, really. Your officers are following your example, breaking up into clumps of gossip and malicious oversight of the scribes and analysts that are tasked with plotting out possible invasion routes.

It has been two weeks since the Affair, which has become a notable feature of barracks room gossip. Mostly the common soldiery have stayed the course, and the outer divisions haven't done a going rogue. Ironically, the ENEMY has helped you out here-- a casus belli with a target rich environment of fairly prosperous barbarian statelets. Many of them can fund at least one division, and everyone's pretty pumped at the thought of taking payment in kind. The Empire has pretty stringent looting policies, not because of anything like concern for the civvies, but because it would imply that the generous (ha!) compensation packages are not enough, so it's an insult to the Empire, which is two steps and a hop to slander of the state.

Seubi sidles up to you. "I haven't got any reports from Luca," he says to you in a low tone. "Did you check your inbox?"

You shrug. "No. She probably forgot." Truth to be told, you don't like fucking around with micromanagement. For one it generates useless paperwork that you have to fill out and you like to promote an agile move-fast-break-things methodology and you are terminally lazy. "Why're you worried? She's gens, they can't touch her."

"It's been a while, you know."

"So she's slacking off. I'll give her a speaking to when she's back." You pat Suebi on his shoulder. "Just think of the richest barbarians out there. And if you need to make a gift to any of your relations."

He shakes the shrubbery he calls a head. "I don't even want to think about that. You think there's a space yacht anywhere?"

"The Republic has a shipbuilding industry. That'll do."

"Very true," Suebi concedes. "In any case, what happens when the money's not enough?"

"Then we go out and conquer some more. In the Northern Front there's north of five hundreds petty statelets, and treble that in substate actors." You look around. You're pretty sure everyone else is busy, but you can't be sure, because you're talking in a hushed tone and that makes the subordinate curious. At least most of these people are barbarians-- if a true son/daughter of the Empire got wind of what you were planning they'd object. "That's another source of revenue- the friendly and the neutral states. And when that's done, we start our own business. Shakedowns, taxes. The whole nine miles. We might as well go corporate as well, you know?"

Suebi whistles. "You've thought this out."

"Shit, yeah." You shake your head, taking another sip of your tea. "I thought the Empire would last longer. I thought I'd get a full return on my pension. Now that's no sure thing, is it?" Suebi nods. "You have to think about your future. Have something to drink."

"Oh, I don't eat floral matter."

After that the conversation turns to trivialities. The meeting is adjourned for the stragitcal staff to come up with a plan, which appears in your inbox the next day. Along with another thing from Luca, which you purposefully do not look at until you've checked out the plan and written down some cutting remarks on obvious deficiencies.

THE PLAN
[]- REGIME CHANGE CHANGE: Restore the natural mandate! Find the deposed rightful rulers (aka toadies) and put them back into power! Demand a hefty fine, as well as more privileged special relationships (extortion). In addition, refuse to report this to the Brass, since those gangsters in the C-Suite want their cut as well. Fuck'em. Even though they'll be super mad about it.
[]- UNNING THEIR INDEPENDANCE: Fuck it- direct rule time. Crack open a government-in-a-can, task some division commanders into running a government on some of the more recalcitrant states that you've been meaning to lesson for quite some time. Take control of their incomes and pay your soldiers and hope to god that no one starts talking about 'seperatism.'
[]- SUSTAINABLE TAX FARMING: Lmao why stay? Just smash and grab. Ram fleets into crucial hardpoints, send your troops to seize financial centers, and repossess high value assets you can sell off to interested parties. Let your soldiers run wild. They can be a despoiling barbarian swarm, as a treat. And then do it again at a later date.

You nod with satisfaction. That ought to do it. For the first time in a while you see something good on the horizon, a sun behind the stormcloud. It is a change, it is to your profit, and most importantly, it is a real, concrete plan.

And then you click open Luca's message and it all goes to shite.

THE SHITE
[]- "Port Calaay is under attack by agents of the ENEMY. Holding off but cannot hold for much longer. Send help."
[]- "You have been ordered to Port Calaay to speak to a recently arrived member of Empire Internal Auditing."
[]- "I have been detained for treason under false pretenses by corrupt ministers. Send help."