Final Report
© 2023 by Walter Reimer
(Stanislaus Coon courtesy of E.O. Costello. Thanks!)



The roebuck studied his image in the mirror one last time. Not a hair of his fur was out of place, his uniform was scrupulously neat, as per regulations, and the three black stars of his rank gleamed against the gold braid of his shoulder boards.

‘M’ nearly chuckled at that. Vice Admiral; it was a fitting title to have, when one considered the environment he moved in.

Giving one final adjustment to his uniform, the roebuck left his quarters and, with two guards flanking him, headed for his interview with the Admiral-General.

He left his guards at the door to the reception area. There were four more guards inside along with Admiral-General Gromov’s orderly. All five of them were armed, the inner office was armored and both rooms had their own well-concealed weapons systems.

As perfectly safe as one could be, in the heart of the Imperial Complex on Terra.

“Good day, Director,” the tigress at the desk said in a crisp tone. “One moment, please.” Her fingers moved across her desktop, and she looked up. “The Admiral will see you now.”

‘M’ smiled. “Thank you, Lieutenant,” and the roebuck entered the inner office as the door opened for him. The door closed as soon as he stepped fully inside.

The big tiger was behind his desk, as usual. He glanced up and said, “Fair day, ‘M’.’”

“Fair day, Admiral.” Being a flag officer, the roebuck took a seat. “Has anything happened in my absence?”

Gromov chuckled. “You don’t need to ask me that, Director. Something would have to go seriously wrong if anything happened that you didn’t have advanced warning about.” He placed his paws on his desk. “How is His Majesty?”

“Quite well,” the roebuck assured the tiger. “He and the Regent fully support our rebuilding and improvement program. And there is this,” and ‘M’ removed a small datapak from his pocket and placed it on the desk in front of Gromov. He had to stand up to do it, and as he sat back down he said, “For you.”

“Me?” The tiger picked it up and looked across the desk, raising one eyebrow. “What is it?”

“Captain Coon’s report regarding his investigation into your questions about Bustani Moka,” ‘M’ replied.

Gromov’s ears flicked. “Oh, yes, good. So, he finished, did he? How come he’s not here to deliver the report in person?”

The roebuck replied, “Captain Coon was under a great deal of stress, and will be retiring.” The tiger looked at him quizzically. “You may recall elements of his service record. The Captain was undergoing psychotherapy – “

“Yes, I remember now.” Gromov slotted the datapak into the receptacle on the desktop, and read the document that appeared on the desk’s surface. “So he concludes that Bustani’s who he says he is?”

“Yes.”

“There’s something you’re not telling me.”

‘M’ nodded. “Captain Coon offered a theory to account for your . . . misgivings about Bustani.”

The tiger’s eyes flicked back and forth across the document. “He doesn’t have anything in here about that.”

“True. I told him that it was my task to relay his theory and conclusions to you.”

“Well?”

The roebuck sat back slightly and tapped the tips of his paws together. “You were the commander of Task Force Two, which penetrated Kashlanin space, fought, and ran,” he said in a measured voice, watching Gromov carefully as the tiger’s ears went back. “Rather than being properly debriefed and allowed some time to recover, my predecessor had you arrested and placed under confinement.”

“Hm.” The tiger’s gaze shifted slightly downward and to his left.

“It was Captain Coon’s theory that you were suffering from unresolved traumatic stress.” The feline eyes flicked back to the roebuck as he added, “I ordered Coon to share this with me, and no one else. However, he felt that it was unlikely that it was affecting your decision-making capabilities.”

“And your reason for ordering him?”

“It’s not his place to broach the subject to a superior officer.” ‘M’ smiled. “As I told him, that’s my job.”

Gromov thought, his tail idly swishing below the level of the desk, where the roebuck couldn’t see.

The tail stopped moving.

A fleet – a vast fleet of Kashlanin warships, resolving itself into a Kashlanin face whose mouth opened; its maw gaping wide to swallow up everything . . .

The nightmare had awakened him more than once.

Slowly, he took a deep breath and let it out equally slowly. “Perhaps . . . perhaps he and you are correct,” he admitted. “I’ll make an appointment with the Medical Officer.” He withdrew the datapak and the document faded away. “I take it that Coon’s been ‘retired?’”

‘M’ caught the slight emphasis and chuckled. “He’s quite alive, and I’m certain he won’t be saying anything. He was a good police officer before the war, and I dislike wasting good material. As you can see from the report, he knows the value of discretion.”

“And if he’s indiscreet?”

The smile broadened imperceptibly. “He’s being watched, of course.”

“Good.”