She added the wooden brain puzzler that her grandmother had carved for her when she was eleven, which had taken her two stellar years to solve. Once she’d solved it, she’d taken it apart and reassembled it so many times that the wood was smooth as silk from constant handling. With a smile, she moved one of the pieces out, ran her thumb over it, and slid it back in.
In the next drawer she pulled out the official notification of her promotion to captain, preserved in a transparency. She could just have this reissued, but it wouldn’t be the one that Admiral Tsao had given her during her promotion ceremony. It went onto the pile, along with her medal case.
She stopped, leaned down, and picked up the medal case again. The hinge creaked as she opened it. She ran her finger over the two gleaming medals, one red and one silver, and remembered Admiral Tsao telling her that she’d have been eligible for a Blue Star if only she hadn’t inconveniently fought her battle on the wrong day.
Just how meaningful were these, then? Did she get them because she’d fought on the right day those two times? Because her actions followed the political wind of the moment? She’d been so proud to be decorated with these, as if they were some sort of sacrament. She’d thought they meant that her courage, her quick thinking, her ability under extreme pressure to remember and act on her training had been recognized and admired by her superiors.
Snapping the case shut, she tossed it back in the drawer.
When she finished with her search, she pulled the bag from her thigh pocket, shook it out, and put the rescued items inside. Then she stripped off the generic uniform Kameha had brought her and changed into the clothing she’d set aside on the bed, sighing with relief when her uniform once more fit the way it was supposed to.
Next was the closet, where she looked over the pantsuits and dresses she’d worn to diplomatic events, conferences, and the occasional date. With a sweep of her arm she shoved them to one side and took her armored jacket off its hanger. After shrugging it on, she went to her bedside table and pulled out her hand phaser and holster, three spare power packs, and a handful of stun beads, all of which went into the designated clips and pouches on her jacket. The holster clipped onto her uniform belt with a satisfying snick, holding the phaser at the small of her back.
Much better. She hadn’t enjoyed the feeling of being the only unarmed one in the room, when Lancer Tal and her Guards carried weapons as if they’d been born holding them. It wasn’t that she expected to need any of this, but she also didn’t expect that the Alseans would appreciate losing the Caphenon. Hopefully, she could delay informing them of that little detail until right before she and her crew left.
She picked up her bag and headed to the living area to get a few things from her desk. As she cleared the doorway, she saw what she’d missed on her way in and stopped in shock, the bag dropping from her nerveless hand.
They’d never told her. Nobody had told her. How had she not known?
She remembered Lhyn’s brilliant grin yesterday morning and her cheerful announcement that her arm was broken in four places. But she hadn’t said it was a compound fracture.
The blood stains turned her light, Fleet-standard carpet a rusty brown, and they were everywhere. It looked…fucking Hades, it looked as if Lhyn had tried to crawl out from under that structural beam and smeared blood all around her body in the process. Ekatya couldn’t even imagine how much pain she must have been in. No wonder she’d passed out.
“Oh, Lhyn,” she whispered, and sank into a crouch as the tears finally came.
When she’d cried herself out, she stood up and went back into the bedroom. Yanking open the third drawer, she pulled out her medal case, detached both medals from their cloth bed, and threw the case on the floor. Back in the living area she knelt and carefully laid one medal on each of the two largest blood stains. When the Caphenon blew, the evidence of Lhyn’s lonely suffering would blow with it. Until then, she’d honor it the only way she could.
It was when she looked up from setting the second medal that she saw the statue from Molocoor. It was lying on the floor, right where Lhyn had said it was. Somehow it had managed to stay intact even with four people stomping around, shoving off that structural beam and stabilizing Lhyn’s injuries before carrying her out. Ekatya’s fingers shook slightly as she reached out and picked it up. She cradled it in her hands and thought that if someone had told her she could bring only one item out, this would be it.
Carefully she wrapped the statue in her spare uniform jacket, put it in the bag, and then moved to her desk. Her backup pad holding the entirety of her personal and work files, the irreplaceable two-dimensional photo of her grandparents on their wedding day, and a few other precious items found their way into the bag, along with two of the smallest, unbroken pieces from her art collection. When she was done, she hefted the bag in one hand and reflected on the fact that very little really qualified as priceless in her life.
Her eyes went to the bloodstains on the floor.
Very little indeed.
Chapter 36
High Council
Chairs scraped as six of the most powerful political players in Blacksun stood respectfully.
“Well met,” Tal said, setting her reader card at the head of the conference table. Aldirk walked around to his customary seat at the other end.
“Well met,” several voices answered, but every eye was on the empty doorway behind her.
“No, they’re not with me. I gave Captain Serrado a different start time for tonight’s meeting. She and Lhyn Rivers will be brought in one hantick from now.”
“Another postponement, how surprising,” said Prime Warrior Shantu.
“Not a postponement. A short delay. I need to speak to the six of you without them here.” Tal pulled out her chair and sat down, waiting while the others settled in. Aldirk, Fahla bless him, brought her a cup of shannel from the room’s dispenser. She took a sip and closed her eyes, enjoying the warmth.
She’d been in more High Council meetings than she could count, always in this room. It was the most posh conference room in the State House, high up on the fourteenth floor with a spectacular view. Unlike other such rooms, which tended to be larger to accommodate more people, the High Council’s room was intentionally small, reinforcing the elite status of the few people allowed inside. But the ceiling was high and decorated with intricate scrollwork, and the outside wall was entirely glass, lending the room a spacious feel. The walls were hung with ancient tapestries depicting the formation of the unified Alsean government, the table and chairs were five hundred cycles old, and the very air was heavy with history.
“Well, that has my attention,” said Prime Scholar Yaserka from his seat on Tal’s right. His gray hair was longer than Shantu’s, but he lacked the effortless style of the Prime Warrior. Where Shantu’s hair was wavy and fashionably cut, Yaserka’s was in a plain tail and looked as if it hadn’t been cut in several moons. He dressed conservatively and paid little attention to his appearance. In her less charitable moments—usually after a particularly contentious High Council meeting—Tal wondered if his very lack of affectation was an affectation, playing to the stereotype of a scholar so deeply cerebral that he had no time for the unimportant things.
Beside him, Prime Builder Eroles was dazzling by comparison. Like Shantu, she could always be counted on to sport the very latest in fashion, which today included a half-length cape that hung on the wall behind her. A matching cap sat jauntily on her shining black hair, its light blue color reflected in the brilliantly patterned suit that glowed against her dark skin and eyes. If Eroles owned dark clothing, Tal had never seen it. Shantu, on the other hand, never wore anything but. They were friends and always sat next to each other, the light and the dark, and a more unlikely pair Tal could not imagine. But no one made Shantu smile the way Eroles could.
Across from Shantu was Prime Merchant Parser, a short and unattractive man with neither the panache of Shantu and Eroles, nor the easy intellectualism of Yaserka. He s
ported the crooked nose common to merchants of the mountainous Pallean west coast, where fighting was the usual way of settling business disputes. Though any of the merchants could have had their noses set properly, for some odd reason it had become the fashion to let the breaks heal imperfectly. In that region, the more crooked a merchant’s nose, the more respect he or she commanded. But in Blacksun, Parser’s nose stood out like a beacon.
To his right was the willowy Prime Crafter Bylwytin, light of hair and skin, and by far the quietest member of the High Council. Between her and Tal was Prime Producer Arabisar, a lean woman with shannel-colored skin and slightly slanted eyes. She almost always wore her caste’s color somewhere on her person; today it was the green ribbon holding her chronometer to her lapel.
“Lancer Tal,” she said, “I think I speak for all of us when I ask: Why has it taken two full days for you to convene this Council? And from what I understand, you’ve undertaken quite a few unilateral actions in that time; actions in which we’ve had no voice.”
Tal covered her surprise that it had been Arabisar who’d asked the question. She’d expected it of Yaserka or Parser.
“The constitution transfers extraordinary powers to the Lancer’s seat in cases of global emergency. If this doesn’t constitute a global emergency, I hardly know what would.”
“Extraordinary powers, yes,” Yaserka said. “But not unilateral. And you are still required to report to us within a reasonable amount of time. In my opinion, two days after aliens start wandering around our planet is not a reasonable amount of time.”
“I concur,” said Parser.
Shantu had been nodding his head in agreement, but as soon as Parser spoke he stopped. Tal stifled a smile; Shantu’s unwillingness to visibly agree with Parser on anything had often worked to her advantage.
“First of all, aliens are not wandering around our planet,” she said. “The Gaians have been under guard and observation at all times, and they go nowhere without being shuttled there in my transport and under the watch of my Guards. Second, as you know I had planned this meeting for last night, with the intent of having you hear directly from the Gaian leaders. Unfortunately, we lost our translation capabilities before that, due to a little matter of an alien attack, which Shantu and I spent considerable time beating back with a great deal of warrior help.” She wasn’t above a little warrior pride herself, and if it brought Shantu over on her side, so much the better.
“Yes, yes. That explains yesterday. It doesn’t explain why we are now meeting at the end of a second day.”
Tal stared at Yaserka until he began to look uncomfortable. “When would you have had us meet? The only time I’ve been in my office all day was when I was making condolence calls to sixteen warrior families. Would that have been a more convenient time for you?”
Aldirk cleared his throat. “With respect, Lancer Tal, you were also in your office while you were recording today’s emergency message to the Alsean populace. Perhaps the members of this Council believe their need for personal consultation should have been a higher priority than the comfort of the families of the dead, or the prevention of a planetary panic.”
Yaserka glared at him. “You are twisting my words. I asked only for an explanation of this delay.”
“And you’ve received one,” Tal said. “This is the earliest time we could meet, particularly if you have any desire to speak with Captain Serrado. She’s been working nonstop all day on a report to her government, trying to make certain Alsea is defended by the Protectorate against another Voloth attack.”
“Oh, for the love of Fahla.” Bylwytin spoke for the first time. “Could you all stop snapping at each other long enough to tell us what is actually going on? I’d like to hear more about the aliens and less about the egos in this room. I already know all about those.”
“Yes, I’m sorry I asked.” Arabisar was sending eye daggers at Yaserka, and Tal would have bet her sword he’d put her up to the question.
“Then shall we continue our meeting?” she asked. After a round of nods, however reluctant some of them were, she looked at Bylwytin while addressing the rest. “I know you have many questions, and I promise to answer them as best I can with the limited knowledge I have.” Bylwytin inclined her head, and Tal turned to the others. “But I’m going to ask you to hold those questions to your chests for now. We have much to get through before Captain Serrado arrives. Aldirk, do you have the final count from last night’s battle?”
Aldirk picked up his reader card. “In addition to the ten warrior dead from the battle and the six from earlier that morning, the ground pounder killed two hundred and forty-seven civilians. One hundred and eighty-three of them were from the village of Duin Bridge, which was utterly destroyed. Sixty-four more were killed in their homes along the Roaring River. All of the civilian dead have been identified and most have been released to their kin, but we still have thirty-two bodies that have not been collected due to the inability to contact kin.”
“How is that possible?” Arabisar asked. “That’s a producer village in a region with little outward migration. The local caste house should have personal connections with everyone there.”
Aldirk nodded. “The caste house secretary informed me that the problem is not in knowing whom to contact. The problem is in reaching those individuals. Apparently Lancer Tal’s statement this morning did not allay public fear as well as we’d hoped.”
“They’re afraid to come and collect their own dead?” Shantu said in disbelief. “To the point of avoiding a call from the caste house?”
“It’s not unexpected,” Yaserka said. “There’s no precedent for this in all of Alsean history. Not to mention the fact that the warriors didn’t locate the ground pounder until it had already destroyed Duin Bridge. How are the people supposed to believe that they’re safe when you couldn’t guarantee it yesterday?”
Shantu’s eyes narrowed and Tal held up a hand. “Yaserka, you’ve been throwing darts since before this meeting even opened. Stop it, now. I had little patience left after my day and you’ve already used it up. If I don’t see perfect courtesy among all of you, I will not hesitate to throw the culprits out before Captain Serrado arrives. So if you want to meet her and ask your questions, act like the adults you’re supposed to be. Clear?”
All of them looked startled, but Bylwytin’s surprise melted into an approving smile. “I have no issue with that.”
“That’s because you’re always an adult.” Arabisar nodded at Tal. “I agree, Lancer Tal. Today is not a day for us to be divided.”
Tal waited while the others eventually agreed. “Good. Then what are our numbers for tomorrow, Aldirk?”
“Seven of the dead were retired warriors; their kin have requested that they be included in the state funeral. All of the others said they prefer a local ceremony at the caste house. I’m working on transportation for the retired warriors now.”
“I will handle that,” Shantu said.
“Thank you.” Aldirk made a note on his card. “In all, we’ll be burning twenty-three bodies tomorrow. I have—”
“Twenty-three?” Parser interrupted. “What about the three aliens?”
“The captain wishes to return their bodies to their homes,” said Tal. “They’ll be included in the memorial ceremony, but not the funeral.”
“They’re going to hold their dead until then?” He looked ill. “I heard that it would be half a moon before they plan to leave.”
“I don’t know where you heard that, considering that not even Captain Serrado knows when she’s leaving. But you’re correct in that they will be holding their dead for longer than we would.”
In truth, Tal had been startled by the captain’s refusal of her offer for a funeral, but with all that had happened since then, she hadn’t given it any more thought. Now she sympathized with Parser’s unease.
“They must have different funeral practices,” Yaserka said reasonably. “I look forward to learning more about them.”
 
; So did Tal, now that she was thinking about it. “Regardless, we’re burning twenty-three bodies. Bylwytin, will you tell us what you’ve been able to put together?”
“With pleasure. Of course the Blacksun Symphony will be performing; that’s a given. The Voices of the Deep were very anxious to be included as well, and Lead Templar Satran will do the reading. I have one surprise for you: Kyrie Razinfin is flying in from Redmoon tonight and will solo during the Flight of the Return.”
Murmurs of approval went around the table, and Tal smiled at the Prime Crafter. “A coup indeed. Well done.”
Bylwytin returned the smile with a touch of pride. “I must confess that despite the appalling reasons for it, I’m looking forward to that part of the ceremony. It will be one for the ages.”
“I wonder what the aliens will think of the Flight,” Arabisar mused.
“If they’ve any sense, they’ll realize how fortunate they are to witness it,” Shantu said.
“Are the warriors ready?” Tal asked him.
“They are—and most anxious to honor their fallen. Colonel Debrett has asked to say a few words.”
“Of course. And Captain Serrado will be speaking on behalf of her fallen.”
That perked everyone’s ears, but since Tal was unable to tell them what the captain planned to say, Aldirk wrapped up his presentation and the meeting moved on.
“Eroles, will you bring us up to date on the window repairs?”
“Yes, it’s quite astonishing. My people tell me that the matter printer on that ship is nothing short of miraculous. They—”
“Your people are on the ship?” Yaserka cut in. “When I can’t even get my calls returned?”
“My people are doing their jobs, thank you. Would you like your office repaired or not?”
“Lancer Tal—”
“No one else is boarding the Caphenon right now,” Tal said. “I specifically approved the six builders Eroles recommended, and the cargo pilots can’t actually be said to be boarding. We’ll discuss this in a few ticks. Please continue, Prime Builder.”