Primal Pool

Augustgrad, Imperial Palace gates.

Officials from various Imperial departments, dressed in gray flannel uniform suits, filed out of the palace and solemnly boarded their government-issued aircars. Frederick, the Imperial Minister of Justice, looked especially grim. At the imperial audience meeting just now, Emperor Augustus had grabbed him by the tie and berated him for quite a while. The flecks of spit on his face had long since dried.

As he descended the granite steps before the palace gates, Frederick still touched his neck with lingering fear, silently grateful that he had survived.

Emperor Augustus was not the sort of monarch whose face was always shrouded in gloom and rage. Thus, the ministers who knew him understood just how grave matters were when he gnashed his teeth in fury.

If the Emperor were a lion, then he had merely roared before the chicken coop, sending all the chicks scattering in terror—while one Cerebrate watched from behind, grinning.

To the Empire's high-ranking officials, an angry Emperor was even more terrifying than the Zerg. Even outside the palace, the trembling Imperial officials did not dare gather in little groups to talk. To be precise, this had not been a meeting for the Emperor to hear reports and opinions from his ministers at all. It had been a mass dressing-down.

There was no doubt that Emperor Augustus was deeply disappointed in these ministers' ability to get things done. Corrupt elements and anti-Imperial agitators within the government were to be expected, and during wartime, no amount of vigilance could completely prevent rebellions, terrorist attacks, demonstrations, and workers' strikes from occurring again and again.

The Empire had fleets and artillery to deal with any external enemy. What it ought to fear most was decay from within.

What truly enraged Augustus was perhaps that, after too many