The command deck of the newly christened ’Stormbreaker’ was crisp and pristine and uncomfortable. Much like the uniform that the protocols of her newly granted rank compelled her to wear. Gone were the days of borrowed armor plating and ill-fitted jumpsuits.
Maven supposed a small amount of gratitude was in order that she had not been forced to wear the same dull olive hue that a number of the Imperial High Command strutted about in. She had been allowed to keep the black at her insistence, though she had noted the barely veiled disapproval of it radiating out from the very same commanders who had plotted to recommend her this position.
A command over a star ship had been the very last thing she had wanted, but Imperial High Command had not approved of the circumstances of her initial recruitment into the ranks or the privileges she’d been afforded. Stepping outside of established protocol to instate a stray half-feral wastrel into the ranks had rustled far too many feathers. That she had progressed instead of failed was nothing short of an insult.
This was their revenge, their way of being rid of her without giving voice to their displeasure. Grant her a minor but significant command - one her current service record definitely justified - and then post her to the fringes of the Empire. Maven was acutely aware that these actions were meant to thwart the one who had recruited her in the first place. Assigning her to the very sector she had been found in was perhaps an even more deliberate message of their disapproval.
Send her back - words they would never actually dare say aloud.
The sound of footsteps approaching down the corridor behind her drew Maven from her thoughts. She set her shoulders back, standing straighter. It was a mimicry of the more dignified postures members of the Imperial High Command took in their pontificating.
She was good at that - mimicry.