The King’s Staple

"She's beautiful," he says with obvious admiration.

"Mhmm," I grumble in agreement.

The ship before us is gleaming in endless construction lights, bathing it in cool blues and sharp yellows. Construction bots circle it in sporadic movements, cutting and welding.

"It'll be quite the honor to ride her," he says, I can hear the smile in his voice. The wistfulness.

The ship is the newest addition to The King's personal fleet. It's built with eloquence and drama. Every angle designed to be captured by camera, to get the shimmer just right under any sun. Or, if caught in the depths of cosmos, the lights to emit their own radiance that'll strike pride in any viewers.

"Beautiful and fierce. Dedicated and unflinching. She's perfect in every way," he continues on.

I would sure prefer her guns weren't designed for a dramatic opening, in the case of a surprise attack they would take nearly a minute to bear as opposed to the standard fleets' twenty four seconds. In a surprise attack it'll take ages. And they packed it with so many defenses it's practically a mobile fortress, excellent for self defense and storing troops. In theory, The King could board her as a flag ship without having to do any extensive prep-work associated with the arrival of The King.

There's enough comm equipment onboard it puts carriers to shame, in the case it does become a flagship. It's also a mechanical nightmare, that kind of equipment is always breaking down. The ship was built to do a little bit of everything. More guns than the average Battleship, more shielding than a Destroyer, more comms than a Carrier, more flashy lights and designs than a Cruiser, and more engines than a Corvette. In all? A massive liability in every regard. Being acceptable at everything makes it useless at anything. If the war were to make it back to our solar system then these ships would be the first to go. And The King is making two dozen more, cresting five scores of the beasts. They're pretty though.

"If I got the chance, I'd bang her." This statement draws me out of my thoughts.

"Uh, what?" I look at him. He's astroid-born thin and tall; he's also closely shaven, like everyone else. His eyes are light green with extra wide pupils. His uniform is the standard blue but his insignia hover a fraction of an inch over the fabric from a low-energy projector. The King's personal Fleet personnel are provided only the priciest of uniforms. Though he's ungainly, being astroid-born, he's handsome. All of The King's personal soldiers are handsome.

"Oh don't pretend you wouldn't," he gives me a toothy grin, his eyes alight.

"What're you going to bang her into, the station?" I ask. He'd be dead before he was able to adjust course. Though The King's ships are useless, his space stations are not. They could shoot a nuclear warhead into a pin needle in the dead of space with pinpoint accuracy at thirty thousand miles. They are much less the walking advertisements The King's ships are. However, I suspect he's not been talking about the ship this whole time.

"I'd bang her into the station just fine, then the ship, the bridge, you know, pretty much anywhere would do." I open my mouth then close it. His eyes are searching my face as he realizes I wasn't tracking.

"The Captain," he nods his head down to the catwalk two levels below us. I follow his eyes to the Captain of the ship. "She's The King's Staple," he says in awe. While his statement may not be true, I can agree with his sentiment. She is very beautiful.

"Who did you think I was talking about?" He asks with a laugh, watching the captain.

I turn my eyes back to the ship. To The King's crest they're welding onto the front of it. A golden shield stands at its heart with naked angels holding it up on either side, hawks posed in violent-flight over their heads. At their feet the majestic Coslim is hammered out in gold as the bottom of the crest, carrying the shield and angels. The Coslim's inherent space-faring capabilities are the cause of humanity's reach into the stars. Supposedly, The King is direct lineage of those who first domesticated the Coslim. If such a creature could be claimed as domesticated.

Lieutenant Penrose follows my eyes to the ship.

"He also ramped up our production of Standards. He's gearing for war closer to home," Penrose says with a lowered voice.

"No shot. With fifty of these Kingships he's going to be making a show of deploying us. There's more going on." Penrose frowns and watches the captain some more. His eyes follow her curves as she starts walking.

"There are bigger problems than her," I growl with annoyance.

Watching the ship get built fills me with fear and anticipation. We're getting deployed and I can feel it. The King has never deployed Kingships before but he's never had this many either. With the grandiose of space war means pinpoint offensives and, if you're the defender, hoping you spot their exact location before it's too late. Harder than finding a needle in a million haystacks.

"I dunno," I hear the grin grow in his voice, "She's plenty big. I wouldn't mind her being my prob-" I shoot him a glare and he cuts off but doesn't stop grinning. Annoyance flowers in my chest. I need to be able to focus. Get my head in the game before it starts. The stew of war is about to boil over.

The captain dissappears amidst the flow of construction, ending Penrose's show.

"There's work to be done," I growl, wishing I hadn't stole myself a glance as well.