Chapter Text
There is one qualification for service on the battleship Condescension, and it is catering to the Empress's every whim. You don't ask questions. Not ever.
You don't question her ability to deal with anything the latest primitive planet might throw at her. You don't question her blithely ignoring the locals who want to kill her for no good reason, or the locals who are suspicious of her for probably better reasons, or the warnings of the locals who are sincerely trying to be hospitable. You don't ask her why she wants to eat some particular thing. You don't ask her why she insists on taking some local juveniles for a joyride, or whether she's planning on returning them intact. You don't ask anything.
And when she suddenly seizes and collapses and DOESN'T GET UP AGAIN, your
mind
shuts
down.
It's the drones who take over, who access some never-meant-to-be-used protocol and announce the battleship Condescension will be returning immediately to Alternia to collect the new Empress. You will not be informing the rest of the Fleet until everything is in order.
You don't ask any questions.
(You don't ask any questions, either, but then, you never do.)