You're not quite sure what Alessandro gens Idrine expected when you had Luca call him up to Meeting Room Eight, but it certainly wasn't you. That's a score over the bugger.
"Marquis Admiral!" he snaps a salute. "You got out of the medicos early, sir?"
"I have indeed. At ease, at ease. Please, take a seat." You gesture at the chair in front of you.
Meeting Room Eight does not have an alphanumeric designation. It has become a place of legend, after the Marquis-Admiral before the Marquis-Admiral before the Marquis-Admiral before you pulled out a gun and executed, on the spot, a bunch of barbarian ambassadors that were giving it lip. On the wall around you are the bullet holes. It got a medal for this unprecedented diplomatic maneuver, and a grinding hellwar that ended in a draw. Go figure.
Alessandro remains silent as you figure out the words you want to say. You go with, "I've heard that I'm to be investigated for corruption." That's the way, you figure. Real casual, real it-is-what-it-is. "As you know, Captain, it has been my life's work securing this front. I have always prided myself on effecting a sturdy defense. I fear for the future."
"You have a capable staff," Alessandro replies, after considering his words. "I have every confidence in Colonel Luca and Commander vi Markoviz."
"They will likely get hit in the backblast. No, sir, I think it's time to introduce some fresh blood." Stars, stone, and fire, this man is eager. Dilated pupils. Elevated heartbeat. "Czhwy, that's the woman," you say after pretending to decide. "No good at politics, I'm afraid, but a more capable battle commander you can't find. Tszin, sure, let's do him." Now he's almost at the edge of his seat, so shameless in his greed. Damn, but you are good. And damn, has the quality of the careerist promotion chaser declined. In your day you would have smelled a trap. "And," you say with finality, "you, sir."
He is a dog that caught the car and now he doesn't know what to do. Come on, you urge him, gimmie something real generic, real boilerplate. "I'm not sure I'm worthy of the honor." And there it is! Self effacating deprecation!
"Of course," you continue, "I would certainly hate to see you fall into the same fate as mine. We cannot let the vipers and backstabbers of home ruin the frontier." You see Alessandro note this potentially treasonous tidbit down. "And you're just the man, Alessandro! After me, I'd like you to be the next Marquis-Admiral. You're already commanding a pretty big area of the front, so your skills aren't wanting."
"You overpraise me."
"So I'd like you to take a bigger role. Move you up a department. You have anyone in mind for your position? Wait, don't tell me now, send me a form." You take a breath. "I'll send you the promotion form in the slip. Welcome the Centre away from Centre, Captain!"
Okay, line up the dots. You're lining me up for corruption charges, you think to him, but I've just promoted you. What am I getting out of this?
Neurons furiously cogitate. Conclusions bubble out of unconscious thought. Logic forms.
And there's that moment of despair you were waiting for. Impotent fury and pure oshit factor rolled into one. "And that's all, sir. As you were." You fiddle around with a tablet, just to look important. "The Inspector General will start your investigation sometime before the end of the month. Poor man, he has to look through my records first, heh."
"Hahaha, sir," Alessandro repeats woodenly.
You smirk at the back of his head as he storms outside stiffly. Shortly you hear a muffled thump and all is right with the world.
Of course, you later think, dragging down Alessandro (and by proxy Chzwy and Lyinsan, but those are easy. Chzwy you can just let the press get word of the PoWs fired into the sun and the latter you can just jail for uh, all the shit the bandit gets up to, so it's not even worth planning for them) doesn't actually help you none. You want to enjoy your pension, your profitable portfolios in United Shipping Co, and just possibly a quiet retirement. None of that can be accomplished inside Club Empire, where all the white collar criminals turn up for a couple of decades.
That is, if your investments will still be secure after all this shit. You wish you had two bodies, one here, one at Centre, just so you can know what's happening there. Total bloody black box, and all the shit you juggle here isn't helping. So you'd like a third one, chilling at some beach. Or well, not for long. Because the other two would gang up on it and give it a beating for being a slacker shite.
Okay, back on track. What are you going to do? Frankly, even aside from your natural graft seeking habits, the whole quasi-legal thing with United, you have made enough funny backroom deals to see you clapped up for a long time. What to do…
WHAT TO DO
[]- ENEMY SABOTAGE: Okay, here's an idea. You have a bunch of cloud servers that contains your financial transactions, legit, unlegit, graft, bribe, payout, and salary. It'd be a shame if they all… blew up, wouldn't it? By the ENEMY, as well. Who has spies in your camp. The semievolved mongrel bastard may consider doing you a solid, for an equal-ish favour down the line. The thing is, it probably won't use it. It'll just dangle it over your head and make catty comments at the next peer to peer meeting.
[]- SHAM TRIAL: Move fast, break things. Including legal procedure. If you keep the trial on you quick and breezy, you're fairly certain that your laundering skills are enough to hide any obvious things. Now, you'll let Ploskiy Tan bring the expert panels, and you'll concede some things. You'll thread the needle just enough to tarnish your name a little bit, so they can go home happy-ish. And then you'll skate free, the other guys get scared, everyone's happy except for Justice.
[]- BLUSTER AND MUSTER: You're fighting a war out here, you howl. Are you traitors, eh? Are you traitors? Spies? Why do you hate the Empire, you subversive agent? And you'll do this again and again, until the examiner gives up. You'll never concede an inch, you'll deny everything and go on the rhetorical offense until they give up and find better things to do. 'Course, you'll rely on your pal to stuff the panels with either flunkies or moto dumbasses, but eh, it is what it is.