I opened the door, went inside the house and returned with my tablet in tow. The cat-toy pacified Serval Prad didn’t move from her seat.

  “So. How’s the situation on the ground?” I wondered. “Are the other Prads slacking too?”

  “Obviously they fucking are,” the Serval girl huffed, eyes closed. “It’s cat… he he he… catastrophic! The Highborns are up on the ships pretending like this is fine. It is not fine. Shit’s never been this bad.”

  “Why?”

  “Scrutimancy doesn’t work properly on your planet,” she said. “Normally… on a high Aetheric density world, a Scrturttt knows exactly how to find someone or something. They know, sniff out the best path forward to victory. Ten thousand Scruts making landfall would find the Princess in ten minutes on a normal planet! But noooo…”

  She sighed.

  "The gals in London? They've spent day and night searching for Platform 9?. They took apart an entire train station wall looking for a dimensional gate that doesn't exist! Division 226 in Beijing bought a mountain of xianxia novels for gold from a group of humans who practically threw it at them and are now trying to decode the 'secret techniques.' Their Datamancer made a 29-dimensional spreadsheet trying to correlate cultivation realms with power levels that clearly DON'T FUCKING EXIST!”

  “Because of Aetheric density?”

  “Because they don’t want to do real shit. Like I don’t want to do shit. Fuck this shit sideways,” she grumbled.

  I smiled mentally. Malicious compliance at its finest.

  "Most of Division 117 is out hunting for Baba Yaga's chicken-legged house. A CHICKEN HOUSE! They've deployed all of their Corpse Seekers to comb through Siberian forests looking for a fairy tale for children! Meanwhile, Commander Unicia is having her wolves sniff through comic book stores because she's convinced Arachnids-Man is real and hiding somewhere in New York. It’d be funny if it wasn’t so sad.”

  “So they know it's fiction?”

  “Everyone on the ground knows it’s fiction. But there’s a tiny, microscopic chance that it might not be… like the vampires found here, so they’re diligently keeping at it, sending reports up for their superiors and Datamancers to review.”

  I smiled.

  She rolled onto her back. "And don't even get me started on Division 667 at the Vatican. They're trying to steal the Holy Grail. FROM THE VATICAN. Which doesn't have it because IT'S NOT REAL! But no, the Alpha Scrut of 667 is convinced the Pope is hiding it in some secret vault because 'so many humans believe in its power.'"

  "The Frontenachii fleet," she continued, voice dripping with disdain, "the mighty force that's conquered a thousand worlds, is being defeated by… human fiction. We're chasing shadows and stories while the actual humans are..." She paused, squinting at me. "What ARE the humans doing?"

  "Panicking, mostly," I said. "Some looting. Lots of praying."

  "See? Kind of normal conquered species behavior! But are we establishing proper dominion protocols? No! We're looking for… what’s its name… Urrrrmmm… Bogwarts! Division 441 filed a report claiming they found evidence of a 'wizarding school' because they discovered a Garry Cotter theme park or someshit!"

  She sniffed the bag full of catnip toys. "Do you have any idea how embarrassing this is? We're supposed to be professional conquerors! Instead, we're running around like idiots chasing every myth, legend, and pop culture reference on this insane planet!"

  “Tell me more about your Wendigo commanders. Are they stupid? Don’t they understand that it’s fiction?”

  “Ughhh…. Where do I even start with those antlered fucks?" She held up a paw, and then got distracted by wiggling her fingers and giggling to herself. "Some of them... some are definitely complete morons.”

  “Why?”

  “Because they were raised without any outside contact in time-dilation bubbles. BUBBLES! In a confined space of like five rooms separated from the rest of reality. By Prad instructors from the most fucked up worlds imaginable."

  "Time dilation bubbles?" I asked. “Why?”

  "To make them grow up faster. The fleet had to have many Frontenachii commanders. A few weeks pass outside, decades pass inside. But the instructors teaching them?" She laughed bitterly. "Traumatized Prad veterans who've died so many times they barely remember their own names. So you get Wendigo commanders who know seventeen ways to skin a dragon but think chocolate milk comes from brown cows because that's what their brain-dead wolf instructor believed!"

  She fumbled with another catnip toy, tearing it open with her teeth. "Then you've got the old-as-fuck Frontenachii Martiarchs. The ones who've been through the Incarnator too many times. Each resurrection degrades them a little with each death. One of them complained to me that she can't remember her own childhood in Omnithornia anymore. Replaced with tactical optimal invasion data and a vague sense that she should be angry about something but can't recall what!"

  "Sounds pretty bad," I said.

  "That's the Frontenachii way!" Nexxali laughed, high and unhinged. "Keep plowing on and on like a stupid, blind elk! The fleet might look fancy and ancient from afar, but was actually put together on a whack schedule by some enslaved crab-race rapidly using time dilation so that the Omnid homeworld wouldn’t even know shit about it. It’s all a big, terrible secret! Everything up there is held together with hopes and dreams and nano-graphite-tape! Aha ha ha ha! They're trying to conquer as many planets as possible before Omnithornia notices and shames them into slowing it down!”

  “What about current soldier morale?”

  “Marshals like me are trying to keep up morale,” she scowled. “The only problem is that nothing works right on this dense-Aether shithole of a planet. Charmchain barely functions. I can't even make a human freeze up properly!" She gestured wildly at me. "Look at you! Sitting there all smug and resistant! Didn’t even flinch when I ordered you to stop running!”

  “Oh?”

  "Do you know how pathetic I am?” She clawed at her face. “I'm supposed to be the top Riffmancer in the fleet! My voice made Lords bow, forced generals to surrender armies and nations! Made entire cities kneel! And you?" She poked my side slowly. "You just... ignored it. Like I was asking you nicely instead of commanding your very soul!"

  "Maybe you're just having an off day," I suggested.

  "An off day?" She huffed. "No. My core Skill is so weak here I can barely charm a... a..." She looked at the catnip toy bag. "I can't even think of a good comparison. See? Even my amazing wit is failing! This planet is poison to everything we are!"

  She pressed her paws to her temples. "The fleet Alphas in command know your fiction isn't real. They KNOW. But they have to pretend to search because what else can they do? Admit to the Admiral that this entire invasion is a catastrophic waste of resources? That we can't even properly bind the locals permanently because our Charmchain magic keeps... fizzing out like a wet firecracker only after a few hours or days?"

  "So the invasion is failing?"

  "Oh, we'll still win," Nexxali said miserably. "Eventually. Through sheer numbers and orbital moon-dropping superiority. But it won't be the clean, efficient operation the Admiral promised. It'll be messy and stupid and take forever. And meanwhile, I'm stuck here, ranting all of our secrets like an idiot. Why am I so ranty? Curse you and your delicious bags of tasty grass!”

  Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

  “Are you still gonna murder me?” I wondered.

  “I’ll murder you twice as murdery now!” She promised. “As soon as I can move properly again! I just told you enough shit to have me turned inside out and upside down for a bazillion years.”

  “Riiiiiight.” I held up my tablet, typing a message to Napoleon. "Hey Nexxali, hypothetical question. What happens if locals take a Pradavarian high ranking officer hostage?"

  She snorted through the catnip haze. "Standard Protocol One-Two-Nine. Immediate extraction with a Corpse Seeker or… hostage termination from orbit and extraction of the bracelet. No negotiations."

  “Bracelet?”

  She wiggled a black bracelet on her wrist. “Lazarus bracelet. A city-sized explosion could go off and it wouldn’t even get scratched.”

  "Who makes the call on extraction or hostage termination?"

  "Direct commanding officer. Or in their absence, the ranking fleet officer available." She chewed thoughtfully. "Why?"

  "Just curious about your command structure. So if, say, a low-ranking Scrut gets captured, their Alpha makes the call?"

  "Exactly. Quick and clean. Either extract them alive with maximum violence or..." She made a mushroom-cloud explosion with her fingers. “Explode the locals and extract the bracelet.”

  "What if the hostage has sensitive information? Like, really sensitive. Fleet-compromising sensitive."

  Her ears perked up slightly. "That's... different. Protocol shifts to Sub-Section B: information containment. The highest ranking Intelligence officer takes over and attempts to solve the problem manually… surgically. With negotiations, using Charmchain magic."

  "Intelligence officer like who?"

  "Like me, technically. Marshal Commandants handle information security since we can just order any planetary resistance members to do whatever… Like not to spread the information..." She paused, golden eyes narrowing at me. "Commandants act… when operational security is at risk."

  "So you could make the call about a hostage who has sensitive information?"

  "In theory. But only if—" She stopped again, staring at me. "What are you doing?"

  “Learning,” I said. “How high are you as a Commandant?”

  “Right now?” She chewed on the catnip. “The highest. Since Division 881 was the first to discover an actual vampire nest after everyone kept flapping around like clueless knobs for hours and hours, 881’s rank is number one in terms of Planetary Dominion rating. I’m 881’s top Commandant, which makes me the Commandant in charge of any future problems on this Abyss-damned planet.”

  “Such as information leaks?”

  “Yes.” She stared at me. “What is happening?”

  I turned the tablet screen toward her, showing a paused recording timer at 15:47. "Congratulations. You’re now my hostage."

  "WHAT?!" She sputtered.

  "See, here's what I just learned," I said. "You're the highest ranked Marshal Commandant on Earth. You handle sensitive information cleanup. You just revealed massive operational secrets while high. And according to what you just told me, in situations involving intelligence compromise, YOU would be the officer making decisions about the hostage."

  Her mouth opened and closed soundlessly.

  "Which means," I continued, "you're now both the hostage AND the officer responsible for deciding what to do about said hostage. You can't report this without reporting yourself. You can't call for extraction without admitting you leaked everything to a local. You're trapped by your own protocols and words."

  "That's not... you can't..."

  "I can and I did. This recording?" I waved the tablet. "It's already uploaded to our internet. Propagating across Earth's networks. Thousands of copies by now, thousands more being made by my associates. Your confessions about executing your squad, the Admiral's indiscretions with a local, calling the Frontenachii 'the baddies', your fleet put together with time dilation against the wishes of your homeworld ... it's all documented and...”

  "Delete it!" She snarled weakly, trying to grab the tablet. I easily pushed her face back and she wrapped her hands around my wrist, trembling and blinking.

  "Too late. It's out there. Even if this tablet and I explode right now, the zipped up file’s already uploaded to my network of friends who will share it with their network of friends. And here's the beautiful part! Your Protocol says 'immediate extraction or termination,' right? But you can't extract yourself without explaining why. And you can't terminate yourself because... well, you're you."

  She stared at me with a wide open mouth. "You used my own words to..."

  "To put you in a tight position, yes. As the ranking Intelligence officer dealing with a hostage situation involving massive information compromise, what's your call, Marshal Commandant? Do you report that Marshal Commandant Nexxali has been compromised and needs extraction? Or do you contain the information leak by... what was it... 'making problems disappear'? Aka lying a lot? Turning Corpse Seekers and guns off?"

  "Information is more valuable than a single officer," she choked. "Operational security takes precedence over individual assets."

  "So by your own protocols, you should keep quiet about this whole thing to prevent this terrible information leak from spreading?"

  Her paws went to her head. "This is crazy! You're using our own regulations against me!"

  "Welcome to Earth, where bureaucracy is a weapon and everything's made up but the points still matter."

  "Points?"

  "Never mind. Earth joke from an improv TV show. The point is, you're now super stuck. You can't report me without destroying yourself. You can't NOT report me without violating protocol. And as the Intelligence officer responsible for this decision, you have to make the call that protects operational security."

  She slumped in the seat. "Which means covering this up."

  "Exactly. Filing false reports. Destroying evidence. Pretending everything's fine while being held hostage by your own leaked intelligence."

  "I should kill you right now," she muttered without conviction.

  "But you won't. Because my death triggers the dead man's switch I've just set up. The recording gets unzipped and explodes across every network if I don't check in every few hours."

  "You're lying."

  "Am I? Want to test it? I'm friends with some verrrry paranoid Eastern European programmers. Setting up automated systems is kind of our thing."

  She fell quiet for several seconds, then laughed bitterly. "You know what the worst part is? By our own protocols, I'm making the right call by covering this up. The information security breach of this magnitude getting out would be catastrophic. Multiple commanders would be implicated. The Admiral herself. The entire command structure would..." She shuddered.

  "So we're partners now? Eh, eh?” I grinned deviously.

  "We're not partners," she spat. "You're a hostage-taker using information warfare, and I'm a compromised asset who has to play along to prevent wide scale operational failure!"

  "Just partnership with extra steps."

  "I hate you. You're a horrible human. So mean! Wait… no… I…” She stared at me, muttering something under her breath.

  "Fair. You'll still help me clean my house and file a nice report to the fleet, yes?"

  She nodded miserably. "I don't have a choice. By my own protocols, containing this data-leak situation takes precedence over... everything else I do."

  "See? You're very good at your job. Even when your job is covering up your own compromise."

  "This planet is hell," she groaned. "A special kind of hell designed specifically to torture Intelligence officers."

  "Oh, it gets better. You'll need to keep me alive and free to prevent that recording from spreading. Which means you're now my protector as well as my prisoner."

  Her eye twitched. "You've thought this through."

  "I'm making it up as I go, honestly. You just keep giving me more ammunition like a good kitty. Gotta follow the rules of the Blood Contract, yes?"

  "Yes. Ughhh… Never should have gotten drunk," she muttered. "Never should have taken this assignment. Shouldn’t have made planetfall with the rest of 881 or gotten excited about extra vampire capture outside of their compound. Should have just stayed on the ship playing cards with the maintenance crew."

  "But then you wouldn't have discovered Earth's greatest weapon… bureaucratic jujitsu! Using the enemy's own weight against them."

  "Stop being pleased with yourself. This is temporary. I'll find a way out and murder you!" The cat girl insisted.

  "Maybe. But until then, we're stuck together. The Intelligence officer hostage and her information bomb! Very poetic." I pointed out.

  “Ah! Ah!!!” She puffed up. “This situation remains in play as long as Division 881 is first in global Dominion rankings! As soon as I stop being top Commandant I have to report that I'm compromised as my own hostage to a superior Commandant!”

  “Then I just have to make sure Division 881 finds more genuine vampire artifacts… while others fail horribly,” I grinned.

  “How the fuck would you do that?” She stared at me.

  “It's a secret,” I whispered with a grin.

  “Wait… what the fuck. Sherlock Holmes. The map with the location close to Cascade. Vampire car parked at your house. You… you gave us the location of that fucking vampire nest?! You…?!” She choked, eyes wide and unfocused.

  “A magician never reveals his cards,” I grinned.

  She pulled out another catnip toy, shoving it in her mouth. "When this is over, however long it takes, I'm going to find a way to make you suffer horribly that's completely within protocols!"

  "Looking forward to my future torture, Commandant.”