General Flahz groomed his luxuriant whiskers thoughtfully. He was proud of their lustrous beauty, but always aware of their silent message.
"J'accuse!" they shouted his shame at never seeing battle. He had never been tested in the blood and mud of a real conflict, not even a schoolyard fight. For any such physical altercation would have surely broken some of those long strands, forever spoiling their shiny perfection.
Not a lahg on the ship, even the young cabin boys, were without a few broken whiskers. Some had none at all; a few displaying gruesome scars - mute testimony to glorious past campaigns. The lahg armies had overrun countless worlds over millennia beyond memory. It was what they did.
Flahz was an exception to every rule he knew. He was bred to lead; trained to conquer; born to be the best and brightest. Yet he felt empty inside. No one had ever asked him if he really wanted to be a General. No one had offered him a choice. Of course, the army was the only option for a lahg. There were no other vocations. Even so, all of the brave soldiers who served under him were volunteers. They followed his orders without question, secure in the conviction that his leadership would bring them to inevitable victory. At times he envied their certainty.
The klaxon interrupted his reverie. "Earth," he smiled, forgetting his momentary doubts. "At last, Earth will soon be a lahg stronghold, and I will lead the ultimate invasion."
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