With comms shut down by the Fed, there was no way of knowing if the city garrison had received the signal that the Congressional Building’s power had been cut.
“Devana, we need you back up in the communications center,” Sorenna said. “Find out if the garrison has been deployed.”
Standard emergency protocol dictated that they should have been, but nothing was certain under enemy occupation.
Nervously, Devana nodded as Sorenna told a clutch of the security detail gathered in the hall to provide a safe escort.
Devana Trava had gone through her conscription duties like everyone else in the PDR, learned general tactics and strategy, how to fire a beam rifle, treat wounds – but she was not a fighter. She would be safest in the comms center surrounded by better-trained PDR security.
“What about you?” one of the members of security asked while raising a gloved finger to indicate Sorenna’s swollen facial injuries. “We should take you to the hospital.”
“Thank you, comrade, but I am going to the metro station to wait for the garrison’s arrival. Once they arrive, they will proceed to secure the city, and a small detail will stay on the train to escort me on the trip to the cosmodrome.”
Saying the words aloud made her flight seem real, more real than before.
“Comrade Minister…”
Sorenna waited for him to complete his protest, but his reluctance implied that he did not need to. Whether this was from the visual severity of her broken eye socket (which was of no concern to Sorenna) or from the concept of an aging former Minister of Public Relations toting a beam rifle to lead guerilla warfare through metro tunnels, she didn’t bother to guess.
But unlike Devana, Sorenna knew how to fight.
Her mother and uncle, both soldiers, had trained her and her two younger brothers from a young age how to properly handle the weapons they would need to defend themselves from a possible Fed occupation, given the proximity of their homeworld to Federation space.
Even though she had spent countless hours over countless years strategizing how to save her homeworld from that terrible nightmare scenario lingering in her thoughts, she never truly expected those fears to become a reality.
Despite having not touched a beam rifle in more than 20 years, the technology had not changed, and her education had not been forgotten. She knew how to use the weapon, knew how to defend herself and others, and a lifetime of adherence to Lendrov Thought had told her when the contradictions were ripe enough to do so.
With the Federation on the defensive, the Thalassarian security detail having intimate knowledge of the city, and reinforcements on the way both on the ground and through subspace, now was that time.
“The CMC will have deployed a counterstrike fleet by now,” Sorenna said to all her comrades in the room. “Priority one is getting comms back up so the garrison knows to advance and the incoming rescue fleets know what we’re doing down here. Priority two is driving the occupation off our world. Take any and all prisoners you can, and kill all immediate threats.”
Sorenna paused to put her next statement together with the right words and the right delivery – an old habit from her PR days – as visions of her mother and uncle’s training flashed through her memories.
They must have both been younger than she was at that moment. They lived and died on Thalassar.
And both of her brothers, off fighting the war somewhere in the Boreal Corridor last she’d heard – both left home and neither had yet found an opportunity to return.
Once Sorenna left the cosmodrome, the Tal family’s role in Thalassar’s history would likely conclude.
“Comrades,” she said, pressing down a swell of emotion – another trait cultivated from a lifetime in public speaking. “Thalassar is our home.”
That was the best she could do without convincing herself to stay.
Sorenna then pulled six members of the building’s security aside to be her escort to the station – one of whom being the guard who insisted she stay.
Quietly, he told her, “Comrade Tal, I must insist – with comrade Lendrov gone…we can’t afford to lose his successor.”
“Tell me your name,” she said with the same warmth of her speeches despite blood staining her grey dress.
“Cavan Tsiba.”
Sorenna held her good eye on him as she said, “Cavan, it is my responsibility as a member of the Politburo to serve the people who elected me to that position, as yours is to serve the people of Thalassar by keeping them safe. Your concern is admirable and deeply appreciated, and I understand you are insisting only from a sense of duty. But I assure you, I can see well enough to aim, and my injuries will be treated once I am on a Starlancer on my way to Kaal. They have excellent medical facilities on board. There is no reason to worry.”
Cavan could not help but sigh even as he nodded in agreement.
Sorenna had not noticed how cool the Assembly Hall had become until she saw the white cloud of his breath.
Placing a soft hand on his shoulder, she said, “We should get ready to move.”
Cavan nodded again and rallied the 5 other guards to check their weapons for charge and gather new energy cartridges.
Gazing across the hall, Sorenna suppressed a shiver. The adrenaline of the shootout had faded and the cold was accentuating the throbbing of her face.
Pushing the uncomfortable dwelling aside, she ran quick math in her head – the garrison had been twenty minutes out when they were initially halted. Devana could get back into the comms center within ten minutes. She was looking at half an hour at best before she would be within the warmth of the train.
“Bolan,” she said. “Do what you can to get power restored.”
“Will do, comrade.”
Sorenna shared a look with the crew that was to be her escort to the metro station beneath the Congressional Building. With weapons fully charged, they turned for the door that would take them underground.
A pained grunt echoed behind them.
Sorenna stopped in her tracks and found the source of the agonized sound came from the first row of seating below the stage.
She gave a hand signal for Cavan and the others to wait, and walked down the steps at the end of the stage to circle around to where the injured party lay.
There, dumped across the seats like discarded trash with a hole burning in his chest, Sorenna gazed down at her torturer, the man called Visser.
Nearly lifeless but conscious, Visser held one hand against the perforation that Sorenna’s beam rifle had punched through his torso, the stench of burned flesh simmering in the cold air.
When his eyes found the Thalassarian looking down upon him with her bloodied face, the corner of his mouth curled up in a twisted deformation that could be mistaken for a smile.
“What are you gonna do now?” He coughed up blood in a violent agony at the end of his question.
At first, Sorenna said nothing. She simply studied the man, his condition, his injuries. A beam rifle shot through his face would end his suffering, and he deserved nothing less.
Then, “Get this man to the hospital.” She did not remove her injured gaze from him while she spoke.
Another wrenching coughing fit assaulted the fallen Fed soldier. When he was able to speak again, he said weakly, “You’re not gonna shoot me?”
To Sorenna, it sounded like what he wanted. An end to his pain, a reprieve from the shame of failure.
Kneeling before him, now eye to eye, Sorenna said in a soft voice, “No.”
Visser laughed, coughed, and moaned all at the same time. “Why?”
Sorenna placed her blood-stained hand atop his with enough care as not to cause him further pain. “Because I’m not like you.”
She rejoined her comrades on the stage, and left the Assembly Hall for the metro station.
Sorenna’s breath steamed in the subterranean passageways and corridors faintly illuminated exclusively by emergency lighting.
Cavan and his team wore temperature-regulated armored envirosuits – standard issue for a security detail – but Sorenna had only her grey sheath dress stained with her own crystalizing blood, and the will to get offworld.
When they paused to approach intersecting hallways, Sorenna listened first for the sound of Federation soldiers, second for the storm. Going deeper underground, it became harder to hear what was going on above them in the open air of Thalassar. If the snowstorm held up, both she and the Fed would have a harder time withdrawing from the planet.
Blue beams struck the wall beside her, and Sorenna ducked behind the corner. PDR security fired suppressing blasts blindly as they took cover.
The comms of Fed soldiers crackled through their helmets. “Down that hall! They went that way!”
Cavan shuffled up to the corner, drew the pin on a plasma grenade, and rolled it toward the voices.
The clinking of metal against the hard floor lasted only for a second.
A horrible, searing blast filled the area beyond the corner. Fed soldiers dropped, armor clattering against the floor from the dead weight within, beam weapons skidding from the inertia of the blast before sliding to a silent stop.
Cavan motioned to his team. “Let’s go – northwest passage. There will be more of them. Stay frosty.”
Sorenna moved out in tandem with the PDR security force. Suppressed for decades but not forgotten, her training kicked in like a reflex. She wasn’t even shivering.
The crew flattened themselves against the corner leading to another intersection of tall grey angular walls cast in dim overhead light.
No sound from ahead, nor from overhead.
Sorenna silently hoped the storm was lessening, hoped the fleets were on their way, hoped that she might one day see her homeworld again. Wanting to leave as badly as she wanted to stay, she had come to peace with the material reality that this was her path – straight through the Federation.
Thalassar will never be their home.
The group peeled out from behind cover, into the next hallway leading to the stairs that will take them down to the metro station.
Immediately, the Fed struck.
Blue beams shot through one member of PDR security. He collapsed instantly.
Half a dozen Federation soldiers, lying in wait, sprang up to attack.
The corridor blazed in a volley of red and blue beams. Cavan launched another plasma grenade through the frigid air and the Fed soldier scrambled back to cover before any of them were caught in the blast.
Sorenna averted her eyes until the flash diminished, then aimed ahead and blasted the first two Fed soldiers that reappeared.
“Fall back!” one of them shouted.
Cavan and the PDR security force pressed forward, surrounding Sorenna while she reloaded her beam rifle with another charge pack.
“You two, hold here,” Cavan said. “The rest, on me.”
Reloaded, Sorenna nodded, and the crew split – two staying behind to hold off the Federation soldiers, the rest sprinting down the steps and into the metro station.
Now, feeling the blast of winter freeze from the metro, Sorenna shivered.
Federation soldiers laid down heavy suppressing fire as blue beams blasted past Sorenna’s broken face.
Cavan blind-tossed another plasma grenade around the corner at the Fed’s position. The brilliant burst stopped all suppressing fire and silenced all voices.
Sorenna exchanged a look with him as she readied her beam rifle. A quick nod from Cavan and the duo plus their support, down to half a dozen, dashed out toward the rail lines.
PDR red beams perforated the security counter, leaving the surviving Federation soldiers no time to return fire.
Cavan tossed another plasma grenade directly into the security area where the Fed soldiers had taken cover.
“Good throw, “ Sorenna said.
“I hope so,” he said. “That was our last one.”
The PDR security crew checked for Fed survivors but found none.
At last, they were alone.
Sorenna, crouched behind a support pillar within sight of the rail lines, shivering under freezing sweat, reloaded her beam rifle with a fresh cartridge.
“I’m impressed,” Cavan said, crouching beside her. His eyes never left the passageways more Federation soldiers could emerge from.
“So am I,” Sorenna said with a smile. “I never thought I’d have to use one of these.” Quietly, she hoped she never had to again.
She checked the time on the arrivals-departures display, calculated how much time they’d have to wait for the garrison under ideal conditions.
“I can find a parka or blanket if you need, comrade,” Cavan said when he noticed Sorenna’s shivering.
Her fractured gaze fixed on the rail lines, Sorenna said calmly, “No, thank you. I love the cold.”
“You know,” Cavan said in a more conversational way, “My grandmother voted for you.”
Sorenna turned to him with as pleasant an expression as could be found on a bloodstained face. “Did she? That’s very sweet.”
“Yeah, she’s 98 years old. She says she hopes to live long enough to see you become General Secretary.”
Despite the sub-freezing temperatures gusting through the rail tunnels, Sorenna’s heart melted.
She placed a soft, cold hand on his envirosuit and said, “Thank you, Cavan. It’s people like her that make this all worthwhile.”
Cavan looked at her, and she could see a gentleness in his eyes even through his helmet visor.
“Don’t worry,” Sorenna said. “I won’t let her down.”
_________________________
A direct hit to the Vindicator’s shields reverberated throughout the Wraith Reiter.
Sayre’s astrogation manual fell from her hands onto the floor, and she braced herself for another hit, but none came.
Sitting on her bed, she brushed her hair away from her eyes with her fingertips and turned to the only window in her bunk. She had not bothered to change back into her uniform, instead remaining in grey sweatpants and a blue t-shirt emblazoned with the Federation’s golden eagle.
From her vantage, she could scarcely see the combat itself, only a fragment of a glimpse of a sliver of a passing PDR battleship – the Starlancer class – speeding around to launch ordinance from just beyond her Wraith Reiter’s range.
Another hit struck the Vindicator. She felt only a subtle shockwave. It must have hit somewhere further down the vessel, or merely grazed the shields.
Sayre had been in combat only twice before, and never while on the bridge. She doubted she ever would be.
The first time was terrifying, but the shields held and the ship’s heavy armor plating remained unscathed. The second time brought out less anxiety in her. This third engagement with the PDR had her less on edge than ever.
The greater calm permitted more focus, which is exactly what she knew she needed at the console – the ability to be there – not so much for her skills but for her body and mind to acclimate to the pressure.
That greater focus, directed out her viewport, allowed her to see the combat tactics more clearly – at least from her own side. Smaller details that she would not have noticed in a panicked state began materializing into visibility.
Like why there was a Wraith Reiter from the 6th fleet still hanging around and not engaging the enemy.
Whoever was in command on that ship was either an idiot for getting in the way, or a saboteur working for the PDR. Sayre couldn't explain what she was seeing any other way. Didn’t they know Thalassar was on the line? If she could see what was wrong from a viewport in her bunk…
Sayre left the astrogation manual on the floor and repositioned herself crosslegged on the bed to more comfortably study the fleet tactics, find the flaws, ponder the solutions.
She leaned close to the window, many panes of an astrograde polymer thick, struggling to catch a better view as the Vindicator turned and her gaze moved with it.
Another blast impacted.
Sayre was thrown head-first against the viewport, head striking the metal framing hard.
She cried out but just once, hand rubbing the bump on her forehead. Her first combat injury.
“Ow…..fucker.”
Sayre reached back to grab her pillow, fold it in half, and hold it against the top of the window, just in case she was tossed against it a second time.
The 6th fleet Wraith Reiter moved through her vision again, directly impeding the starboard weapons systems of the Vindicator.
“What are they doing…?”
It made no sense to her, an Apprentice, that the command of that vessel could be so maliciously incompetent. It had to be…
Someone who silently defected?
Sayre adjusted her grip on the pillow as her focus lost all interest in the greater battle, her eyes locked in on tracking the mystifying movements of the rogue Wraith Reiter.
A troubling thought set roots down in Sayre’s thoughts – if the Federation was going to lose this war, it was going to be their own fault.
She swapped her grip on the pillow to her other hand and let out a sigh.
“What am I doing?”
_________________________
Rane held onto the central command console of the Dreadnaught as it pitched suddenly at a severe angle.
The pulsar torpedoes from the PDR 17th fleet’s vanguard squadron sizzled past the shields of the Wraith Reiter.
Duncan, uprighting himself back to a seated position in the captain’s chair, saying, “You got a fuckin’ plan, Rane, or is this some kinda a stress test? Because we’ve got full weapons, and the old ball-bag on the Vindicator looks like he can use all the help he can get.”
Watching the haphazard disorganization of the Federation’s 11th fleet, Rane cracked a smile. The Vindicator, with Scothern on board, had to veer hard, away from Thalassar.
Cade stood nearby, bathed in the green glow of hologram schematics as he studied the battlespace layout, one arm across his chest and the other absently stroking his short goatee. He appeared wholly unaffected by the chaos, as if lost in the solving of a private puzzle.
Rane turned a look across the bridge to Duncan. “We’re not here to help.”
“Oh, great,” Duncan said. “For a minute there, I thought we were at war. What do you want to do, give them Thalassar back? Why not just roll out the red carpet through the Austral Corridor, let them have the whole thing.”
“Not quite what I had in mind.”
“Rane, those Starlancers will be knocking on your front door on Erania if we keep giving ground! I don’t know about you, but I don’t feel like finding a new planet to call home. I kinda like the one we have.”
“You won’t have to,” Rane said with a widening smile.
Duncan, exasperated, said, “Well, you better pull a magic trick out of your ass pretty soon, because we’re getting spanked out there.”
Cade remained captivated by the ongoing strategy – or seeming lack thereof. “The 11th is getting pressed in the wrong direction. There’s no way out,” he said out loud but to himself.
“You have this master strategist to thank for that,” Duncan said, unable to hide his displeasure while indicating Rane.
“They’ll have to ride the Verge to Ombra Prime,” Cade continued absently.
“That’s right,” Rane said, and turned his attention to the astrogator. “Prepare a subspace channel, set course for the Ombra star zone.”
Duncan shot up in his seat. “Rane, what the fuck?”
“Rane…” Cade said, only then turning his attention to the Vice Admiral. He looked as if he wanted to make an argument while, at the same time, the pieces started fitting together in his head in such a manner that refuted every word he was about to say.
“It’s the only way out,” Rane said with the surest confidence. “Either we fly straight into the PDR fleet, into Thalassar, or into the Verge – guaranteed defeat in all other directions.”
An expression of admiration grew on Cade’s features.
Duncan jumped out of his chair, and the trio gathered together in the center of the bridge. “I have a better idea – we stop fucking up on purpose and put our weapons to good use. Wait for Hammersley’s backup to get here, then we’ll wipe the stars with these red bastards.”
“Subspace channel ready, sir,” the astrogator said.
“Sending the 11th to Ombra Prime could be seen as a violation of their sovereignty,” Cade added in a tone that neither agreed nor disagreed with the idea – merely a fact that had to be considered.
“Exactly!” Duncan said.
“Not if it’s our only way out.” Rane shifted his eyes between them. “We have every right to retreat to neutral space to stay alive, which Ombra Prime is willing to accept to re-open the trade routes closed when we took Thalassar. The choice is either to remain cut off from trade with the PDR, or to accept our Wraith Reiters in their star zone for a little while.”
Cade slowly shook his head in a mixture of satisfaction and dismay. “Rane, even for you, this is rather…”
“Dumb?” Duncan offered.
“I was thinking adventurous,” Cade said.
During Duncan and Cade’s friendly debate, Rane glanced down to his cell comms as an alert buzzed with a new subspace transmission:
A message from Shay.
“It’s effective, is what it is,” Rane said to wrap up the conversation and address more important concerns. “I don’t know about you guys, but I want this war to end.”
Duncan scoffed. “It’ll end real quick if all we do is run away.”
Rane put his hands on each of his friend’s shoulders, glanced between them, and said, “Do you guys want to fight, or do you want to drink some beers?”
After a long pause, Duncan answered, “Can we do both?”
With a little laugh, Rane told the astrogator to open the subspace channel and take them to the Ombra star zone.
Duncan retreated to the captain’s chair as the Dreadnaught as a whole retreated from the conflict at Thalassar.
Cade remained by Rane’s side, saying, “The Security Council is going to be pissed if they don’t get Sorenna Tal.”
“Let them be mad,” Rane said with a shrug. “They’ll get over it when they have Ombra Prime.”
“But more importantly,” Cade said, “You should give your ship’s XO a little more heads-up next time you plan on tanking the stock market.”
Rane angled a half-grin at Cade’s expected retort.
“I need time to get my puts in,” Cade added in a manner that spoke of the obvious. “The vineyard’s not going to buy itself.”
Patting Cade on the shoulder, Rane said, “Whatever it takes to get a free lifetime supply of your finest vintage. Shay prefers red.”
A pleased smile graced Cade’s expression. “She has excellent taste.”
_________________________
“Rendezvous directly with the 17th fleet and surviving 9th fleet at Thalassar without delay.”
Executive Officer Ksenija Levik spoke the order in her typical manner, as straight as a blade’s edge, as she read it from the central command console.
Vae approached with a face writ in confusion, unsure she had heard correctly, and read the order herself. “This can’t be right.”
“Is there a problem?” Andar asked as he joined the two women.
“CMC is sending us to Thalassar,” Ksenija told him.
Vae added, “And yes, that is a problem. How do they expect a tired crew to jump straight back into combat with weapon stores depleted by half? Nvona hasn’t even finished the structural hull analysis of the trans-core effects. Are they out of their minds?”
With a huff of indignation, she glanced at the hologram readout once more to make absolutely sure she wasn’t hallucinating. Under ordinary combat circumstances, joining one battle directly from another would be considered highly irregular.
Nevertheless, that was the order.
“And we would be falling right into their trap,” Andar added.
Ksenija lifted intense eyes to study him. “What trap?”
Vae sighed, feeling as much pressure from her own side as from the Fed. “The Federation doesn’t want Thalassar. It’s a ruse to take Ombra Prime.”
“What?” Ksenija’s single word expressed the insanity of the whole scenario more succinctly than anyone else on the ship could have.
Andar remained his calm, calculated self. “If we attack the Federation at Thalassar, they will pull back toward Ombra Prime, which they have the right to do, as it is designated neutral space. We will be providing the justification they need to surround the neutral world, cut off our trade routes, and, I believe, eventually occupy the planet as a proxy for fighting through the Austral Corridor. If we play into their hands, we give them precisely what they want.”
“But if we don’t, they take Thalassar.”
“I know.” Andar exhaled, troubled but resolute. “I have already sent a report to the CMC informing them of these details. Priority one, and I do not yet know if I disagree, is getting Comrade Sorenna Tal offworld.”
Ksenija cut her gaze to Vae, a hard expression that in no outward way communicated she was asking if the Captain agreed with the Rear Admiral’s hypothesis. But after seven years together, Vae understood the intent of the gesture.
“I trust Andar’s thinking,” Vae said with as much confidence as she could find, even if she held on to her own reservations about the whole mess. It was too large for her to grasp. Even her own side’s orders perplexed her.
“We should discuss this in more detail,” Andar said. “The conference room will be more comfortable. Allow me ten minutes to compile my notes.”
Vae nodded to him, then to Ksenija to give the order to proceed to Thalassar.
As Kennon began the sequence for subspace travel to the Thalassar star zone, Vae studied the expressions of each member of the bridge crew – harrowed and fatigued from Liber, but diligently focused.
Once the ship was in subspace, Vae addressed the group. “Ksenija and I will be with the Rear Admiral. Dex has the bridge, and will call a relief crew up. Even if you don’t need a break, take it. I don’t know when we’ll get another.”
Vae and Ksenija marched through the halls of the Chrysalis, nodding to fellow comrades as they passed without any interruption to the conversation they had undertaken since departing the bridge.
“Once this Thalassar debacle is over, I’m going to request an early leave,” Vae said. “I want to try to make Lendrov’s funeral if possible. We can get a proper inspection done while I’m gone.”
“Understood.”
Vae hesitated, almost not wanting to say the next part out loud and make it real. “I also want to make a stop on Vinsk.”
Ksenija looked to Vae with an expression bordering on disbelief, but she said nothing.
Vae almost never spoke of her homeworld, not even to the ship’s XO. The last time had been when Vae was planning to leave for her mother’s funeral – a request the war had kept from materializing until a month after the ceremony had already concluded.
Vae lifted her gaze, which had fallen to the floor, and met Ksenija’s eyes. She didn’t know how to broach the subject except bluntly. “I want to patch things up with my father.”
Without immediately responding, Ksenija turned her eyes back in the direction they were walking. Quietly, she said, “You should.”
As they walked, Vae draped her arm around Ksenija’s shoulders, gently holding her XO, her rock, in orbit – a planet embracing its moon to keep the tides calm.
Ksenija returned the gesture.
The duo appeared in the doorway of the conference room where Andar was waiting, and without warning, Ksenija stepped in front of Vae, anger shattering her silence.
“What the fuck is she doing here?”
Volcanic rage broiled under her every word. Her fiery eyes did not leave the frail-looking figure of Emry Privett, escaped slave from Liber, sitting at the table with Andar.
Emry met Ksenija’s laser stare but did not react otherwise.
Stepping around the XO to enter the room, Vae was about to question what was going on when she saw the scrawny blonde girl at the table.
Andar was on his feet now, about to provide an answer before Ksenija blurted out, “You brought a fucking Fed spy in here? What are you thinking!”
Gently, Vae placed a hand on Ksenija’s shoulder. “Ksenija–”
But the XO pushed it down immediately. “This little girl didn’t plot her own escape from a fucking prison colony – she was put here to infiltrate the ship!”
Andar raised his hands before him to settle the waters. “Miss Privett has information regarding Thalassar–”
“What the fuck does she know about Thalassar!” Ksenija gesticulated wildly in contrast to the Rear Admiral’s stillness. “She was on Liber with us, how would she know what’s going on with Thalassar!”
A softly frayed voice replied, “You’re wrong.”
Ksenija snapped to Emry, teeth clenched, hair streaked wildly across her face. “The fuck did you say? Don’t you fucking talk to me, Fed fucking scum.”
“Comrade Levik, please…” Andar said.
But Vae was in front of Ksenija in an instant, palms pressed against her chest and walking her out of the room. The XO’s reluctant retreat backwards into the hallway came with no further protest.
The doors to the conference room hissed shut behind them, and Vae swore she could feel the heat coming off Ksenija’s face.
Stealing a glance up and down the corridor to make sure they were alone, Vae then turned to the XO, who was pacing back and forth like a predatory animal put into a cage.
“Don’t do this,” Vae said with her own anger restrained. She kept her voice low because she might lose her own cool if she allowed her carefully chosen words to have any more volume.
Ksenija stopped suddenly, leaning closer to Vae. “That girl is a Fed plant–”
“She is not!” Vae said with smoldering finality. “She was ripped limb from limb – do you think she did that to herself? Ksenija…”
Vae paused to permit her heartbeat to slow, and hoped the same would be true for Ksenija, who bit her lip and stared at everything but Vae.
“After Thalassar,” Vae continued between breaths. “We’ll drop her off at Kaal. Then we can forget all about her. But until then…” Vae paused until Ksenija met her look. “Until then, she is our responsibility.”
Ksenija set her jaw, head shaking in quick little jolts. After a snort, she said, “You have no idea what she is.”
Vae held a nonreactive expression on her closest comrade, wishing she knew what to say to calm her down, wondering if the rage she saw in Ksenija’s eyes burned hotter than words alone could soothe.
“And I’ll have no part in collaborating with a Fed spy,” Ksenija added, and then walked away, leaving Vae standing in the corridor by herself.
Vae let out a sharp swear just as a shield tech turned the corner to find her lingering in visible distress.
“Comrade,” he said almost apprehensively, so as not to disturb the delicate nature of the moment he did not fully understand. “Are you alright?”
She found him paused in his approach, and nodded with a huge breath. “Yes,” she lied. “I’m fine. Thank you for asking.”
Collecting herself, Vae once again entered the conference room.
Little was said that had not already been discussed between the trio.
The larger point of the meeting was to catch the XO up on what she had missed in the prior discussion with the escapee from Liber, in preparation for their arrival at Thalassar. Since the key figure of the gathering was absent, both Vae and Andar saw little purpose in continuing for long.
Before departing to finalize preparations for combat at Thalassar, Vae told Andar never to bring a surprise guest into a command meeting. Before he could get a single word in the way of apology or disagreement, or pull rank, or whatever he was going to say in response, she exited the room.
Ksenija was not on the bridge when Vae arrived.
Likely, she would be in the one area of the ship that she retreated to for silence and solitude, so Vae went down to the Strix hangar bays.
Vae’s intuition had proven correct when she found Ksenija supervising the readiness of the Strix.
Quietly, the two women stood side by side without a word spoken, their eyes on the pilots performing checks, refueling, psyching themselves up to go back out into the fray once they hit Thalassar.
“How are you doing?” Vae asked after she had a gauge on how favorably Ksenija might respond.
Only, Ksenija didn’t respond.
Not right away. She held her focus on the Strix for a long time before replying, “Shitty.” She turned then to Vae. “How could he betray us by collaborating with a Fed spy?”
Vae steadied herself with a breath, and then sat on the cargo crate beside her, and looked up to Ksenija. “I don’t believe she is a spy.”
“Why?”
“Because I talked to her,” Vae said. “Like a person. I listened to her story. I heard it in her own words, and I trust her.”
Ksenija’s expression soured into immense displeasure.
Anticipating the reaction, Vae said, “Whether or not you trust her, Ksenija…you’re still the XO of the ship. You still have duties to the crew, and walking away was a dereliction of those duties. That’s not acceptable.”
Vae’s voice was calm throughout, straightforward, nonjudgmental. She was merely reciting facts.
Ksenija stared down at her glossy black boots, trying to hide the expression of disappointment that Vae picked up on nonetheless.
“I compiled a list of notes for you,” Vae said. “To make sure you’re caught up before we get to Thalassar.”
Slowly, quietly, almost with reluctance, Ksenija sat on the crate beside Vae. “Thank you.” Her eyes were still on her boots.
“Don’t worry about it,” Vae said. “Just be there next time. You’re a vital component of this ship. There are five-hundred people on board who are counting on you, so you have to be there. They need you. I need you.”
In acknowledgement, Ksenija looked to Vae sitting beside her, and nodded.
“Now,” Vae said as she shifted her weight to face Ksenija more head-on. “What do you need from me?”
Ksenija flashed a microsecond of a half-smile, whether out of the expectation of Vae just being Vae, or from a sense that she was undeserving of being treated so kindly after her behavior. Perhaps a bit of both.
“Just space,” she said in a dry voice. “And I never want to see that girl again.”
At the request, Vae put her arm around Ksenija’s shoulders – a warm and forgiving gesture. “She’ll be out of here soon. I promise.”
Vae was expecting Ksenija to return the gesture. She was not expecting Ksenija to turn toward her and say, with painful sincerity, “I’m sorry I let you down.”
Every guard Vae had up softened, and she wrapped Ksenija in a hug. “It’s all good,” she said. “It’s all good now.”
Ksenija wasn’t much for hugging, but she held Vae anyway – for her.
_________________________
Since Berna Covral’s death nearly fifteen years ago, Esmeray often walked the concourse that spread labyrinthine around the Kaal Congressional Facility – a complex of more than a dozen buildings which comprised the brain of the PDR government.
The heart was the people, and those people who had drafted the PDR Constitution had included a provision that, in the untimely and unforeseen passing of the General Secretary, a vote for a successor would be taken in the Politburo at the earliest convenience to determine the new party leader.
From there, the candidate would be presented to the Central Committee to be ratified or rejected. In her twenty years as a member of the Politburo, Esmeray had never seen the Central Committee reject a candidate for General Secretary. The people knew what they wanted.
The sun shined high on that warm summer afternoon less than an hour before the deliberation process was scheduled to begin in the Politburo chambers.
Esmeray walked with her arms folded across her body and her eyes cast down, tracing the lines that separated light from shadow, staying within the rays of sun that warmed her bare arms and her cascade of tumbling blonde tresses that fell nearly to the paving stones.
From what she understood, the Politburo favored Sorenna Tal to succeed Lendrov. The Central Committee favored Sorenna Tal. The Party Congress favored Sorenna Tal. From the very foundation of Planetary Councils, the people favored Sorenna Tal.
But Sorenna Tal could not fulfill the role of the party’s General Secretary as a prisoner of war.
This fact, as inconvenient as it was unassailable, tormented Esmeray’s every step. No matter how far she walked, she could not get any further away from the frightening realization that everything she had spent two decades fighting for might be coming to an end.
The people craved stability and security above all else, to live a life free from torment and exploitation – and on that front, Lendrov Thought had delivered. But it had never been tested through the capture of a party leader.
Esmeray, like the people who elected her, wanted Sorenna back. When she asked herself what she was willing to do to ensure the safe return of a crucial member of the party vanguard, Esmeray could not bring herself to dwell on an answer. That was a place inside herself that she had never wanted to explore, but now must mine its depths to ensure some form of stability for the PDR.
Her knees started to hurt, or she had just then realized the pain, so she sat on a bench beside a large fountain. The cool misty spray felt welcomed on her hot flesh. Only after she had been resting for a moment did further awareness of aching joints intrude. Even her fingers ached as she spun the wedding ring on her finger.
Squinting against the bright summer day, she wondered what good a seventy-year-old woman could possibly do for the conflicts bearing down on the PDR. She, like her husband, like Lendrov, like so many before them, would not live to see a solution.
The sun, the giver of life, stared down uncompromisingly at the frail old woman – at a life that had outlived its usefulness.
Something in the heat and the sweat and the cool mist from the fountain and her aching knees, or maybe from her own thoughts – Esmeray didn’t know wherefrom – came the notion that just because she may be living her last days did not necessarily mean that Lendrov Thought would die with her generation.
Regardless of the passing of time, science survived. No grave would be dug for the science of Lendrov Thought.
Carefully, with an effort more strenuous than she would have liked, Esmeray pressed herself up, sore knees creaking, and stood, blonde waves dancing in a gentle breeze.
As much as she wanted to sit in the sun and rest, she still had a duty to fulfill, for the people the sun would shine upon long after her own grave was dug – the duty to keep the Planetary Democratic Republic strong enough so that the young outlived the old, and keep alive the hope that one day, the war might end.
To Esmeray’s surprise, Casimir had begun the proceedings by suggesting the vote be postponed, given the operation to retake Thalassar occurring that very moment.
After much intense debate, it was decided that the vote was to be conducted as planned, as there was no way to ensure that Sorenna Tal was either alive, free from Federation binds, or unharmed in such a manner that made her capable of fulfilling the General Secretary’s duties. Furthermore, also lacking was any guarantee that she would be able to return to Kaal in such time that an Interim General Secretary would not be needed during the interval.
A surprise as pleasant as it was fleeting.
Expectedly, Savek was nominated as a potential candidate by his seemingly ever-growing cohort of supporters.
As Esmeray’s searching eyes gazed the room, studying each member present in body or in hologram form, she found a few holdouts of Lendrov Thought among them:
Casimir Lovren from Tveren was an ally, but too mild a bearer of Lendrov Thought’s torch.
Kyja Zveres of Karidiev could be counted on, perhaps the strongest candidate of the group.
Buran Cantro, homeworld of Volos, was up in the air. She didn’t know where he stood anymore, and, come to think of it, wasn’t sure that she ever did.
Narrowing her scope, she ruled out representatives from Verge worlds, as they enjoyed a relative safety whether the frontline planets were bombarded or not, given their extreme distance and isolation from Federation threats.
Perhaps planet Cavus might be a–
“I propose nominating the esteemed Comrade Esmeray Covral from planet Ostravamara.”
All eyes locked on Esmeray, paused mid-spin of her wedding ring, feeling as though she had collapsed into her seat even though she was already sitting.
A long hesitation passed before she realized the request came from the holographic form of the representative on planet Onstavok – a woman in her 30s with a shock of short, white hair, Cessair Eavondjula.
Esmeray could not piece together the reality of the moment quickly enough. Not once did it enter her mind that she herself could stand in as the Interim General Secretary. More startling still was that Onstavok had previously expressed favor toward Savek. At least, that was Esmeray’s estimation of their standing.
“Comrade Covral,” Cessair said in a voice that had a firmness to its clarity. “Do you accept the nomination?”
Still disbelieving, Esmeray blinked several times. Cessair was not simply a member of the Politburo in good standing, she was also the First Secretary of the Onstavok Party Committee – effectively making her first among equals on the entire world of Onstavok.
Amarovir Vhodhar spoke up, “Let it be known that planet Callistok rejects this nomination.”
“Planet Callistock does not speak for the entirety of the Callistok star zone,” Cessair cut in before the murmuring of debate rose any louder. “Planet Onstavok has a right to nominate whomever the people agree would best fulfill the position until Comrade Tal is returned. Comrade Covral is the people’s nomination.”
“It is rejected all the same!”
The debate continued rising louder, and Esmeray sat quietly in her seat at the long gray marble counter, lost in the grip of dismay.
Planets Callistok and Onstavok may have shared a sun, but evidently not the same ideas on which path the PDR should take.
Again, Esmeray’s eyes found each of her potential nominees. Now, they looked at her as their hope for keeping Lendrov Thought alive:
Buran Cantro, wearing an expression of understated approval.
Kyja Zveres, proving her allyship with a strong nod.
And Casimir Lovren, looking but saying nothing.
On weary legs, Esmeray slowly stood, palms steadying her tired self. And within the tempestuous dispute, her words chimed like bells through clearing fog:
“I accept.”
The tumult of voices eased into a tense stillness as Esmeray Covral, representative from planet Ostravamara, remained standing on tired feet and repeated her acceptance as a candidate for Interim General Secretary alongside Evzen Savek.
“Well then,” Savek said with an artificial smile, “We can’t have a proper vote without more than one candidate, can we, comrades? If there are no other nominees, then I say we do not delay in sending our preferred choice to the Central Committee for approval.”
The room agreed, and everyone settled into their seats for the vote – only Esmeray and Savek remained standing.
Savek, upright, solid, exuding the confidence of a man who already knew the outcome. Esmeray, leaning heavily on old joints, a monument to the way things used to be, perhaps not the way they were trending.
There were 33 votes to be had – Savek and Esmeray refrained from voting, in accordance with the Constitutional provision; with Sorenna being absent still, no vote would be cast from occupied Thalassar.
With no possibility of a tie, all those in favor of Evzen Savek from planet Skorik raised their hands.
19 hands went up.
Esmeray’s heart sank when she saw that one of those hands belonged to Casimir Lovren from planet Tveren. She didn’t even listen to the count of hands in her favor – just 14.
As Esmeray slowly crumbled into her seat with a lump caught in her throat, Evzen Savek was congratulated by his supporters and detractors alike as the Politburo’s official selection for the Interim General Secretary of the Planetary Democratic Republic.
She couldn’t stay in the room any longer. She had to get up and leave, get out of the sterile air conditioned chambers and breathe the warmth of summer again.
As she lifted herself on weak legs, a friendly hand reached out to help her up, but Esmeray pushed it away the moment she saw it belonged to Casimir.
“Esmeray,” he said just loud enough to be heard through the surrounding conversations. “Listen, I had to–”
“Stop,” she said, making the whole word a punctuation.
“The vote wasn’t close enough to matter,” he went on. “I had to show that I wasn’t a threat. If we want a chance at keeping Lendrov Thought alive, I have to get him to trust me!”
He offered his hand again but she pushed it away and walked out of the chambers without giving him another glance.
By the time Esmeray got halfway across the concourse outside, she felt the true crushing weight of defeat, and retreated to a bench where she sat against a pillar in the sun, holding in every tear because to let them go would be to allow herself to unravel.
Esmeray shut her eyes, feeling little solace in the comfort of an early summer, and desiring nothing more than to fall into her husband’s embrace once again. The day could not come soon enough.
_________________________
Andar stopped in front of the faulty door to the Chrysalis bridge and waited.
The ship would be exiting subspace within minutes. The rest of the 17th fleet, already engaged at Thalassar. If his intuition was correct and Thalassar was a ruse meant to give the Federation justification to repeat to Ombra Prime, his thinking had to be clear.
Clearer than at Liber.
He breathed the cool, recycled air while listening to the hum of the ship. He thought about bringing his hand to press the button to open the door, but hesitated.
Everything had to be accounted for, all possibilities. Voit would do nothing less. He would know what the crew was walking into before he himself walked onto the bridge. If this was the legacy Andar wished to shoulder and carry on, then he must know.
Liber had too many variables they could not have accounted for, but Thalassar was different. This was a PDR world, in PDR space. It was known and all its variables considered. All the Federation could do is launch a greater surprise attack, or flee.
The only variable Andar could not lock down in his strategizing had followed them back from Liber – a cyborgized slave girl.
But it was not Emry who troubled his thoughts, but the XO of the ship, Ksenija Levik.
Emry had been simple enough to figure out – she wanted nothing more than to be far away from Liber and the control of the Federation. Beyond that, she appeared to harbor no greater desires, hopes, or dreams. And the notion floated by Andar’s thoughts that, for someone who had been through what she had, dreaming must not come easily.
Comrade Levik, however, wanted only retribution for her people, and it did not seem to matter the target – if you were from the Federation, you were fair game.
In the right combat scenario, such a desire could be of great value. But given the variable of a Federation stowaway on board, Comrade Levik’s vengeance, although justified, became a tactical liability.
Andar had an inkling of suspicion even before her outburst in the command meeting, but lingering in the corridor just outside the Chrysalis bridge, he had convinced himself of what he had been fearing – that an erratic weapon could do as much harm to its allies as it could to its enemies.
As long as Emry remained on board, Ksenija could not be trusted.
As Andar stared straight ahead, he envisioned himself looking in a mirror and seeing the loving face of his husband looking back, smiling in admiration. But all he saw was his own distorted reflection in the door’s viewing window.
Are these the decisions you had to make, Voit? Or am I doing it all wrong?
He drew a deeper breath and exhaled as if awaiting penance for Liber. He had to atone, and it must be at Thalassar.
Andar told himself that the tight knot in his gut was just the gastrophagy, the after-effects of his most recent injection, and then pressed the door-open button.
His reflection swiped away instantly, replaced with the view of the bridge crew finalizing preparations for another battle.
Huddled around the central command console – Comrades Rova and Levik.
Andar stepped onto the bridge with confidence in his plan, and approached the ship’s two highest ranking officers.
Vae glanced up at his arrival. “Six minutes until we hit Thalassar.”
“Good.” He held his hands together behind his back. “Comrades Vross and Maolian will already be engaged. Our greatest strategic imperative will be to provide crucial support. I do not want to risk the structural integrity of the ship given our trans-core journey.”
“Neither do I.” Vae appeared immensely relieved.
Andar turned to Ksenija. “Comrade Levik, I would like you down with flight command.”
Ksenija lifted only her eyes to the Rear Admiral, the everpresent intensity burning within impossible for her to hide.
That intensity – unpredictable, volatile – could not remain on the bridge during combat.
“I would like the ship to stay far out of range of Federation weapons,” he continued. “We will use our Strix to harass their Wraith Reiters, and shoot down their Archons harassing our Starlancers.”
The two women exchanged a glance but no words.
In response to a question not asked (at least not out loud), Andar said, “The Chrysalis will remain in the rear for support unless absolutely necessary, so flight command will effectively be the control center for our part in the operation.”
Vae gave Ksenija a nod of confirmation, and the XO said, “I’ll be in flight command.”
She departed the bridge without protest.
_________________________
“Security detail to level six, bridge corridor.”
Ksenija’s words echoed in the hall after she departed the bridge. She slipped her comms back onto her belt, stopped at the lift, and waited.
Comrade Koniczek had been Flight Leader ever since Ksenija was promoted to XO. He could get by without her. At least until she dealt with the problem.
Having a Fed spy on the ship during a combat operation could not wait.
A security team of six came up the lift, armed and armored.
“The stowaway,” Ksenija said in a tone colder than Thalassar. “Where is she?”
One of them checked their location tracker. “Mess hall, level three. She has two guards with her at all times.”
“Take her to her quarters, lock her inside, and remain with the guards until either myself or Comrade Rova says otherwise.” Ksenija did not blink once as she spoke the command.
“Yes, comrade.”
“If there is a fire in her bunk, let her burn. If the ship is going down, leave her behind. If the ghost of Valeric Lendrov tells you to open the door, you leave it fucking shut.”
“Absolutely, comrade. You and Comrade Rova alone. No other circumstances.” They knew better than to make Ksenija Levik repeat herself. And Ksenija Levik never repeated herself.
She nodded them away to the task as her heart tightened in her chest. It took every morsel of restraint that she had not to order them to give her back to the Fed by way of the airlock.
She swallowed the bile at the back of her throat and took the lift down to flight command.
Fucking Fed scum.
If only because Vae wanted it, the Fed spy would live another day – but she would live in the strictest captivity until the battle was over. No part of Ksenija could permit her to endanger the lives of Vae and the rest of the Chrysalis crew.
Andar couldn’t see it, and Vae wouldn’t. But Ksenija knew what the fed was capable of. They would mutilate their own, insert them into enemy ranks, and sabotage from within during the heat of combat. They would do that.
If they could launch a genocidal attack on an entire world, massacre most of the people living there, erase entire continents from the map, poison the atmosphere and all those unlucky enough to have survived the initial onslaught, why wouldn’t they?
Riding the lift down to flight command, Ksenija held her fists at her sides, arms shaking beyond the limits of her will, fingers aching and shoulders burning, rage seeping through her iron grip of self-control.
If she thought about Kennisyve any more, she would walk down to the spy’s quarters and strangle her. She would rip the slave’s robotic limbs off and beat her to death with them.
Ksenija lifted her hands overhead and smashed the butt of her fists against the wall, jostling the entire lift with her inside.
The lift settled, and the doors parted.
With heaving breaths and hair tossed askew, Ksenija straightened her uniform jacket, tucked her hair behind her ears, and exited the lift, walking with silent purpose to flight command.
_________________________
“Two minutes until we exit subspace.”
Vae confirmed her acknowledgement of Dex’s address verbally, but her focus remained on the Rear Admiral of the 17th fleet.
She watched Andar studying holographic schematics of the Thalassar star zone near Kennon’s astrogation console, indicating points of interest and noticing areas of concern.
The man’s mind never stopped strategizing. It had no ‘off switch’. It didn’t allow intrusion. It didn’t grant leeway. It didn’t register anything beyond pieces on a game board.
Not even people.
He had sent Kesnija away from the bridge deliberately, but he couldn’t tell Vae that’s what he had done. It was more strategic that way.
Andar approached Vae at the central command console.
Before he could get a word out, Vae said to him, straight-up, “Ksenija could coordinate the Strix from the bridge. She just did it at Liber, and that is the primary reason we are still alive.”
A statement, not a question.
But Vae kept her anger in check, not tingeing her words with antagonism – an aptitude she had cultivated through many tenuous conversations with her father regarding her military career.
Andar stopped close to her, his expression betraying no hint that there was ever a secret behind his decision.
After a wordless moment of stillness, he said, calmly but with conviction, “Vae, we are approaching combat with an entire Federation fleet. There can be no room for variables we cannot predict.”
Vae wiped her sweaty palms surreptitiously against her uniform pants as a heat grew inside her.
“Unpredictability,” he continued, “is the reason people die in war. It is the reason ships are lost, and the reason why fleets are destroyed. Every variable must be accounted for to the best of our ability.”
“Ksenija Levik is not a variable,” Vae said, her aptitude of control tested. “She is a human being. She is a flawed person, yes, but no one on this ship is not.”
Vae held her brown eyes on Andar’s own to drive home the point that he, too, was included in that grouping.
Andar averted his gaze for only a moment. His firm, strategic look returned with the words, “Vae, please listen to me. I do not want this any more than you do. But as the Rear Admiral of the 17th fleet, and the Chrysalis as a flagship, it is my responsibility to ensure the safety of everyone on board – including Ksenija.”
“I understand that,” Vae said. “But –”
“One minute,” Dex said.
Vae acknowledged him again and said to Andar, “I understand Ksenija more than anyone else. I know who she is. I know what she’s been through. I know that making this decision is going to create more unpredictability than if she was here on the bridge where she belongs as XO.”
Andar glanced to Dex, the impending battle weighing heavily in his thoughts – Vae could see it in his eyes, his posture.
Vae’s expression and voice softened. “Please.”
“Thirty seconds,” Dex said.
Andar set a sympathetic but serious look upon Vae. “Recalling her to the bridge now would only generate confusion and mistrust. She was given an order, she must carry it out. I am sorry, Vae, but this is the way it has to be. I empathize with her personal struggles and the situation with her homeworld, but that is not the conflict in front of us. That is her war to fight, and that must not impede on the greater struggle.”
Vae stood motionless on the outside, but with a torment of emotions rampaging inside.
Her war.
The words came from Andar but she heard only her father’s voice.
The heat building inside Vae reached critical mass, and every word that had been circling her thoughts when sitting down to write her first letter to her father – every word she had chosen not to write – ached for release.
“Ten seconds.”
In that moment, Vae craved nothing more than to deploy those words, arguments, insults, all into Andar’s face in defense of her closest friend. Her XO. Her rock.
“Five seconds.”
Vae pulled herself together as best as she could without erupting, walked to the captain’s chair, and sat in muted rage as the Chrysalis exited subspace to join the rear squadron of the 17th fleet at Thalassar.
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