“Leanderus,” Joseferus ordered over the com-link imbedded in his arm. “Join me in my war room.” He was spitting mad at the junior officer. Leanderus’ tender age wasn’t an excuse for the way he’d treated Shar’ia since yesterday. In Joseferus’ opinion, which was shared by all the supreme commanders of the immense Nebula Class star cruisers they commanded, Leanderus knew better. “Aye, Supreme Commander.” The voice rang in Joseferus’ head. The few cultures the Navorains had stumbled across who weren’t familiar with their technology thought they were something called schizophrenic. It was a ridiculous charge, and once the truth was explained to them, that the technology far outreached most others, the people they met would barter nearly everything they had to own just one of their gizmos. Joseferus, like all Navorains, didn’t have the patience for naive innocence or greedy immature races. They had a mission. Preserve their race or a facsimile of it for posterity.
