By Brandon Sanderson
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Dennison bowed his farewell, and the wallscreen winked off. * * * Dennison paused in the doorway, the command bridge extending before him. This would be his first time commanding a real crew since he had begun studying under Kern’s direction. The bridge of the Perpetual was compact, as one would expect from a ship of its class. Kern’s fleet had a dozen such minor command ships which traveled attached to the Stormwind. During a battle they were released and stationed across the battle space, allowing for a division of labor, as well as de-centralizing leadership.
Kern,” he said quietly, drawing the admiral’s attention back from his command. ” Kern asked. “He’s coming for me,” Dennison replied. “He’s defeated every commander he’s ever gone up against—and now he has a chance for what he sees as the ultimate battle. He wants to fight himself. ” “Nonsense,” Kern said. “How would he know where you are? ” “There are other ways to get information,” Dennison said. He stood quietly for a moment. And then he felt a chill. ” the admiral said with frustration. “This whole battle is wrong,” Dennison said.
Varion knew—knew that he was special, somehow. “Dennison,” Kern said. Dennison looked up. Kern sat below, in a chair just before the holo, looking up disapprovingly. He had paused the recording. The point he had inadvertently chosen showed a disturbing image. Varion’s weapon raised, smoking, a corpse falling to the grass below. . “Dennison, I asked you a question,” Kern said. “He’s going to win, Kern,” Dennison said, staring at the holo. “The empire . . ” Kern glanced at the holo, and—realizing where he’d paused it—turned off the image.