Primary Healing Complex, Maggar, Eriuman Republic.
It took a long time to wake, to find coherency. Even when she recognized softness beneath her and warmth over her, she still struggled to pull together memories that would tell her where she was. Until then, she kept her eyes closed.
It felt as though she had been asleep for a very long time. There were confusing snatches of memory. Voices, the words not clear. Heat from a sun.
She finally admitted she was not going to be able to put it together here and now. She needed further information. She opened her eyes.
A man sat on a stool, next to an open window. Warm air blew through the window. Sunlight, not harsh, lit the man’s face. Dark hair. Thick beard.
She frowned. “Ari…” The name came to her, even though she didn’t know this man. Yet as soon as she spoke the name, she knew it was right.
The man took a deep breath and turned to look at her. Pale eyes. “You knew me as Ari, yes. My name—my real name—is Khalil Ready. Your real name…do you remember that?”
“Xenia,” she said promptly, then frowned. “No…”
He waited.
“There is something, a long way back.” She rolled onto her back and lifted her hand to rub her temple. She paused, her hand in the air. The flesh of her arm was odd. It was perfectly normal skin, yet it didn’t look right.
Her movement brought the rest of the room into view. It was a small chamber, enclosed with old-style walls. Soft carpets with muted colors hung on the walls. A bureau by the wide door with ancient-styled drawers looked appropriate for this room, yet equipment sat on the top—sleek, sophisticated, their functions a mystery to the uninitiated.
The terminal next to the bureau was also modern, though styled to look older. The screen showed a display she recognized. It was an array of vital signs.
She looked at her arm again, putting it together. She was the patient.
“Hello, Bellona.”
She looked up, recognizing the name. The person who had spoken it stood by the head of her bed, unnoticed until now because of their stillness. She frowned, taking in the copper blond hair and the freckled skin. “I know you.”
“We are Sang.”
Sang. Max. Mother.
Father!
Bellona gasped, as her identity dropped into place with the weight of an Eriuman cruiser settling onto a landing pad. It hurt. She scrambled to sit up, looking yet again at her arm, which was far too pale to be hers. Her heart ran sickly, the irregular beat making her chest ache.
The terminal beeped furiously.
Ari—Khalil—got to his feet. “You’re not in danger,” he said quickly.
Sang held out their hand. “We’re taking you home, as soon as you’re ready.”
Panic flared, hot and sour. “No!”
“Your family will be overjoyed to see you,” Sang added.
“I’m not going back there!”
A medical technician hurried into the room. He wore a worried expression.
Sang dropped their hand onto Bellona’s shoulder. “You are Bellona Cardenas. You’re safe. You’re going home.”
Bellona gripped Sang’s wrist. “You’ll have to kill me first.” She wrenched the wrist over and at the same time, slammed her hand against the vulnerable elbow. There was a soggy cracking sound. Sang sank to their knees with a gusty, pain-filled groan.
Bellona dropped their wrist, which slid into Sang’s lap to rest uselessly.
She scrambled backward, to the other edge of the bed. She clutched at her chest as the pain there bloomed, claiming all of her.
Then there was nothing.
* * * * *
A technician pointed Sang toward the courtyard when they asked for Bellona’s location. They hurried out to the stone yard, where dead leaves rustled and the sky was gray overhead. All around the yard were verandahs lined with doors to rooms where the practice of healing took place.
Bellona prowled the courtyard like a caged beast, her energy at odds with the peace of the healing house.
Khalil Ready waited as always, his patience undisturbed by her roaming. He sat on one of two chairs that had been placed there for them, his hands woven together and hanging between his knees.
Sang went to Bellona. “You look much more yourself today.”
She lifted her arm to look at the back of her hand. “Do I?”
Sang took in her deep olive complexion, the blue eyes and the thick black curls that had been the bane of her life for so many years. “Yes, you do.”
Bellona let her hand drop. “I didn’t think that was possible.”
Khalil lifted his head, as if he had been alerted.
Sang’s wariness slid into place, too. “You have been reviewing the footage…” They looked at Khalil, vexed.
“Better she learn it all now,” Khalil said quietly. “Or would you rather Bellona trip over the truth somewhere in the future and resent you for not telling her?”
“How could she trip over it? Xenia looked so different. She could have stayed ignorant forever.”
Bellona shook her head. “Khalil has been explaining it to me and I have researched for myself. The Karassians use those streams for propaganda. They spread them everywhere, showing the might of the Homogeny to their subjects—the free states, the aligned worlds, anyone they want to intimidate into behaving. Sooner or later, someone will recognize me. There were enough similarities between Xenia and I that speculation would rise, especially now Bellona Cardenas is back from the dead. They will wonder and one day, someone will challenge me on it. It is better I know now and have time to prepare for that. It is better I know what I have done.” She looked down at her hands again. “How is your arm?” she added.
Sang held it up and turned their wrist. “It was a minor hurt, easily tended.”
“Unlike the lives I took,” Bellona muttered.
Sang shifted on their feet. “I have heard from your brother.”
The darkness fled from her face. “Max is coming?”
“He says he will be pleased to take you home.”
“A naval escort,” Khalil said softly. “That’s a homecoming.”
Bellona looked down at her hands again, her pleasure fading. “I must go home, I suppose. I must face them.”
Sang felt a touch of alarm. “You must, yes,” they said.
“Sang won’t rest until they have completed their assignment,” Khalil added.
Sang could feel their cheeks heating. “We think only of your mother and your brother…and your father. They must see you again. They must assure themselves that you live, after all.”
“Because they have spent the last ten years turning the galaxy inside out, looking for me,” Bellona said.
“The war…” Sang said, feeling a rare helplessness.
“There has always been a war,” Bellona said shortly.
“I think,” Khalil said, “you will find more has changed than has remained the same.”
Bellona looked at him, her expression sour. “I have been asleep for ten years. Nothing is the same. Not even me.”
* * * * *
It was difficult to focus upon anything beyond the pain, although when they heard their name being spoken sharply, they roused enough to lift their head.
Khalil Ready was peering at them, a furrow between his brows. This close, Sang could see the brown flecks in his eyes.
“You’re sick?” Ready asked. “Why are you sitting on the floor?”
The conditioning to answer when asked a question was strong. Sang reached for and drew the pail closer to their side, moving carefully so the contents did not slosh. “It is convenient, to sit on the floor.” The bed the technicians had offered them was too hot beneath their bodies. The walls of the quiet room were cool against their back.
They wrapped their arms about their knees once more. In between the flashes of heat, it was very cold. They shivered.
“What is wrong with you?”
“This is…a natural adjustment.”
Ready had been crouching to speak to them. Now he sat and crossed his legs. “You mean, this is what you go through when you drop the gender?”
Sang drew their knees even closer to their chest. The pressure helped. “The technicians assure us this is mild. We were not female long enough to generate organs, which complicates the hormonal rebalance.”
“You had breasts,” Ready pointed out.
“Increased lactation tissue.” Sang paused to ride through another wave of pain. It was a sourceless ache, enveloping their whole body. “Easily reabsorbed.”
Ready tilted his head. “Why not just stay a woman?”
“That is not our choice to make. The family rarely assign gender. It complicates everyday concerns that should be simple and elegant. Those given a gender cannot return if they remain gendered for too long.”
Ready threaded his fingers together. His thumbs touched. “You do not feel embarrassed, telling me these things?”
“It is a fact, that is all.”
“You knew the transition would be like this, then?”
“It is a well understood process.”
“Despite knowing, you willingly chose to become female?”
“We could not remain gender neutral and move freely about the Homogeny. They do not give their androids the freedom the Republic does.”
Ready’s silence was long. “Anything at all, to get Bellona back?”
“That was our assignment.”
“Did Reynard Cardenas know what he was asking of you?”
Sang clutched the pail. “You would be best to leave,” they gasped.
Ready got to his feet with a lithe movement. “Is there anything that will help?”
Sang leaned over the pail, the nausea swirling. They did not dare speak. The next few moments were uncomfortable and unpleasant. When they were finally capable of taking notice of their environment, they saw that Khalil Ready had left.
There was a fresh cloth and water on the spot where he had sat.
* * * * *
The therapists announced that Maximilian’s fleet had arrived and were in orbit overhead.
“A whole fleet?” Bellona said.
“Space strategy has changed since you were gone,” Sang told her. “Mostly thanks to your brother.”
“What did Max do?”
“He spent years studying the free ships and their political structures. All their ships are small and vulnerable. Any Eriuman cruiser can destroy an entire ship with one cannon shot, not even a volley, yet the free ships constantly hound and evade the cruisers.”
“The gnat anomaly, yes,” Bellona said impatiently. Then her eyes widened. “Where did I get that from?”
Khalil sat up. “The gnat anomaly is a Karassian expression. They consider freeships to be nothing more than annoying insects, that sometimes sting their military ships. You must have picked it up when you were Xenia.”
Bellona swallowed. “On a mission, you mean?”
“Yes.”
“Those memories were wiped, you said, to eliminate trauma.”
“The active memories, certainly. The base knowledge and expertise they impart cannot be removed without destroying your personality and your ability to function. That is why you were able to bring Sang to their knees, the moment you woke. It is instinctive. Ingrained.” He glanced at Sang apologetically, as if he was apologizing for invoking the memory of what she had done to Sang.
Bellona scowled. “What base knowledge and expertise did you acquire while you were an app?”
“I was made an app because of my expertise.” Khalil sat back. “I did nothing but use that expertise, so no new knowledge was acquired.”
He was lying. Sang considered calling him out, drawing Bellona’s attention to the lie. Only, Khalil had so far worked with good intentions. Sang thought of the cloth and water that had been left for them and said nothing.
Bellona looked at Sang. “My brother studied the freeships…?” she prompted.
Sang nodded. “The freeships were smaller and more maneuverable, their one advantage. Sometimes it is no advantage at all. They sacrifice shielding and null engine size for speed in local space. When they jump, the smaller engine extends the jump double the time a standard Eriuman ship would take, even the heaviest of cruisers. The lighter shielding also makes them vulnerable to holing and radiation excesses.”
“It is a matter of strategic priorities,” Bellona replied. “What would you rather have on a battlefield? The ability to run away fast, or to be faster while you are fighting?”
“Max chose both,” Sang said.
Bellona tilted her head. “To be faster than the freeships and retain the shielding and engine power?” She held up her hand. “Only ships smaller and lighter than the freeships could be faster. The freeships are already operating with minimal shielding and engine size. The only way to be lighter and faster is to drop below minimal safe level.”
Sang nodded. “Fast, light, small ships…tiny ships, can fit inside bigger ships.”
Bellona crossed her arms. “Carriers,” she said flatly. “That was Max’s great innovation? A device that has been used throughout military history?”
Khalil laughed. “Every transport is a carrier of something.”
“Max stripped down ship designs, taking away the null engines, the heavy shielding, everything except firepower and room for a pilot. It is not a new idea, but the idea had fallen out of use. When opposing cruisers are even bigger and heavier and more highly armored than your own cruisers, a gnat is useless. Against small ships with minimal shielding, though…” Sang shrugged. “Max was lauded and promoted for his work.”
Bellona was still frowning. “The Eriuman Navy is fighting free ships? When did the free states get into the war against the Homogeny?”
Khalil looked at Sang and raised a brow.
“The free states are not at war with either the Homogeny or the Republic,” Sang said carefully.
“Eriuman and Karassia have never declared war, either,” Bellona shot back, “yet they’ve been enemies since before I was born. Why is Max shooting at freeships?”
“He isn’t,” Sang said quickly. “At least, not unless they shoot first, or they’re in Eriuman territory without authorization. He patrolled the borders of the Republic for many years, where he developed his theories. Now, he uses the personal fighters to harass the Karassian ships.”
“A gnat against a giant? How does that work?” There was no sarcasm in her voice, just strong interest.
“I am sure Max will explain that to you in detail,” Sang assured her.
Bellona rolled her eyes. “You tell me, Sang. Max doesn’t think I’m interested in war.”
“Are you interested?” Sang asked curiously. “Max often told me you did not like to talk about such matters.”
“I am such matters now, aren’t I?”
* * * * *
As was proper, Sang stood at the back of the reception room, while Bellona and the head therapist stood at the front, waiting for Max and his officers to arrive. Bellona wore a borrowed dress that swirled around her ankles. She was bereft of jewelry. Her hair had been piled upon the top of her head but tendrils had escaped. She was a messy echo of many moments Sang could recall from the past. Family dinners, greeting lines, assemblies, parties, seasonal celebrations.
Khalil did not stand at the back with Sang. Neither did he take a place at the front where, as the hero who had rescued the Cardenas family’s long lost daughter, he had a right to stand. He wore black and stood off to one side, the observer’s position.
Most of the healers, therapists, technicians and aides were also waiting in the big stone room to see the son and heir of the Cardenas family and to enjoy this small piece of pageantry. They talked among themselves in quiet tones, until the rap of boots on the verandah outside alerted them.
Bellona kept her gaze on the door. Her chin was up, yet she did not smile.
The first officers through the door were junior grade. The people in the room stepped silently aside, forming a ragged corridor to the top.
Max was next, with a tail of officers and aides behind him. He turned his head as soon as he stepped inside, searching for Bellona. When he saw her, he smiled. It was an easy smile, bereft of any ceremony and full of warmth.
Sang was startled. They had not seen Max in person for many years, only by screens and quick communications when Max needed personal affairs dealt with on Cardenas. He had matured since his last visit home and not just in age. His shoulders had filled out, giving him the family silhouette of tall, broad-shouldered men with square jaws and direct gazes. He had shorn his hair to a neat stubble. Yet the change was not purely physical. He was at ease with himself. Confidence radiated from him. He was comfortable enough in this room of strangers and his fellow, more junior officers, to show his feelings for his sister.
When he reached her, he did not wait for the formal acknowledgements to be completed, either. He pushed past his officer and swept Bellona up in his arms and held her for a long moment, before putting her back on her feet and studying her at arm’s length.
The officers all stood rigidly at attention, waiting for a cue that would tell them how to react and what to do. Max had by-passed what was familiar to them.
“You haven’t changed. Not at all,” Max declared.
“The therapists are very good.”
His smile faded. “At the surface level, I’m sure they are.”
Bellona stepped out of his reach. “We should talk.”
The last of his good humor vanished. Max nodded. “We should.” He looked around, spotted the senior therapist and director of the complex, Riorden, a man with no hair and oddly pale eyes, marking him as a member of one of the minor clans.
“Is there any chance of a meal that isn’t assembled?” Max asked him. “Every meal I’ve had for nearly a year was identical to the last.”
The director murmured to one of his aides, who hurried from the room. Then Riorden bowed and indicated that Max and Bellona should follow him. Sang silently approved of the man’s sensitivity toward rank. Medics were often sticky about such things. Riorden, though, was showing proper deference.
Max spoke to his officers, who stepped back almost in unison.
Max and Bellona followed the director from the room. Sang followed. Max would need them while separated from his officers. Their glance met Khalil’s.
As Bellona’s rescuer, Ready should have a seat at the meal table. Sang beckoned to him.
The director showed them into the common room and over to the top end of the long table the senior therapists used. There was no one else using the room, leaving four other long tables empty and bare.
Three kitchen staff were laying the end of the table, their faces red and their movements hurried. Max nodded at them and took the seat at the end of the table.
The director chose the chair on his right.
Sang waited for Bellona and Khalil to sit before quietly lifting one of the chairs from the middle of the long table, putting it against the wall and lowering themselves onto it. It would keep them close at hand, yet wouldn’t draw attention to themselves as standing might.
Khalil stared at them. He was frowning again.
Sang gave him a reassuring smile and turned their gaze away deliberately. Khalil needed to concentrate on the conversation to come.
Max was looking at Khalil, too. “Given that you sit at my table and next to my sister, I would presume that you are Ready, the man who found her?”
Khalil got to his feet and gave a short nod of his head. It was almost a bow, only not quite. The movement looked unpracticed. “Khalil Ready.”
Max sat back in his chair. The movement looked expansive and open, yet it also cleared his right hip. His hand stayed on the table, the fingers in a relaxed curl. It put his hand within a short drop to his hip. There was no visible weapon there, only Sang was familiar with the discipline and practices of the Navy. There would be a weapon within reach, somewhere on Max’s body. A miniature ghostmaker or perhaps a simple knife—one properly weighted for throwing.
Bellona recognized the deceptive shift of Max’s chair for what it really was, for she put her hand on the table in entreaty. “Max, Khalil saved my life. He sent the message to Father. He is not our enemy.”
Khalil did not move. Perhaps he recognized the unspoken danger.
Riorden, the director, looked from face to face, puzzlement stitched to his own.
“You are not Eriuman,” Max said.
“No.”
“Nor are you Karassian.”
Khalil smiled. “I was born a free-stater. My loyalties have shifted since I emerged from the app program.”
“You fight for Erium now?” Max asked. There was a dangerous silkiness to his voice.
“I am not a fighter,” Khalil said honestly, “and I do not consider Erium to be my enemy.”
“A neuter, then?”
“Max, enough,” Bellona snapped. “I vouch for him. That is all you need to know.”
Max glanced at her, a shadow of surprise passing over his face.
Bellona slapped the table with her hand, lightly. “You should be gracious and thank Khalil for getting me out of that place. No one in the family managed it.”
This time, Max’s astonishment lingered.
Bellona kept her gaze steady and waited.
Max cleared his throat. “Khalil Ready, you have my thanks for returning my sister to Erium.”
Khalil nodded.
“Please, sit.”
Khalil glanced at Bellona. She nodded and he settled back on his chair.
Max watched the interchange, his eyes narrowing.
The kitchen staff reappeared, this time carrying trays with plates and cups. The breakfast Max had precipitously demanded had arrived.
It appeared that Max had not been lying about his need for real food. He tackled his bowl of stranglers and greens as if the meal might be taken from him at any instant. He kept his head down, with no attempt at conversation.
Bellona glanced at Sang. Sang could understand her disorientation. No family meal had ever been so silent.
As the midday meal had been served only a short while ago, everyone but Max picked at their food. Max did not seem to notice the silence. He finished the bowl, pushed it aside and reached for the coffee mug, then sat back again. This time, it was simply a backward thrust of his chair away from the table.
“My thanks,” he told the director. “They say assembled food is no different from dirt-grown, yet after a while I yearn for the flavors of home.”
“Maggar is not Cardenas, but we try,” Riordan said. “I am pleased you find it to your satisfaction.”
Bellona put down her fork. “Tell me how your little fighting ships tackle a Karassian frigate.”
Max almost choked on his coffee. He coughed to clear his throat and put the mug down again. He gave her a small smile. “I hardly think naval strategies and tactics is a suitable subject for the dining table.”
“I have no family news to discuss,” Bellona said. “They say you are a hero, Max. I want to understand why. How are you defeating them?”
Max picked invisible crumbs from his sleeve. “There will be plenty of time to talk about such matters on the return to Cardenas,” he said, “when we’re behind closed doors and secure.” His gaze flickered toward the director.
“I should go…” Riordon got to his feet.
“No, don’t,” Max said curtly. “We were about to speak of arrangement to leave, in which you will be involved.”
Riordan hesitated, then sat back down again.
“Then you really are taking me back to Cardenas?” Bellona asked.
“That is why I and a good part of the fleet are here.”
Bellona considered him for a moment. “I’m not going back.”
“Of course you are. Where else would you go?”
“Somewhere. I don’t know yet.”
Max studied her. “You’ve tried running before. Look where it got you.”
Bellona glanced at Riordan and Khalil. Then she met Max’s gaze. “It will be different this time.”
“How?” Max demanded. “You’re one of the most notorious people in the galaxy now. You think there isn’t a single soul, free-stater, Karassian or Eriuman, who doesn’t know who Xenia is? The Homogeny saturated the known worlds with Xenia’s triumphs.”
“That wasn’t me.” Bellona’s tone was calm, but her jaw had tightened.
“Explain that to the families of Xenia’s victims.”
Bellona paled. “That is a part of my plan,” she said quietly.
Max made an impatient sound. “What plan? There is nowhere you can go where you will not be recognized and pilloried for the suffering you have caused, except Erium.”
Bellona swallowed. “You say that because you feel guilty.”
Khalil looked at Max sharply, his eyes narrowed.
“I have nothing to feel guilty about,” Max said flatly.
“You helped me leave Cardenas. You found the free ship.”
Max pressed his lips together. Then he squared his shoulders. “I can’t help that a Karassian patrol found the ship. Wang was a superior captain.”
“The Karassians grabbed the ship as soon as it came out of null space,” Bellona replied. “It was almost as if they knew the Hathaway would be there.”
Max grew still. “Are you implying I told the Karassians?”
Bellona considered him for a long moment. “No,” she said at last. “Someone did, though. Someone from inside the family who knew where I was.”
“Why would anyone do that?” Max demanded, his voice low.
Sang leaned forward, their interest sharpening. When Max had been still living on Cardenas, before joining the Navy, he had shared everything with Sang. The frankness had helped Sang be a better assistant. Bellona had disappeared ten years ago, shortly before Max had left. Sang had considered the possibility that the two events were connected but had not pursued the line of enquiry because it concerned Max, who rightfully got to decide what Sang did or did not need to know about his life. This was the first time Sang had caught a glimpse of supporting evidence and along with it, the implication that Max had not told Sang everything he had known about Bellona’s disappearance.
Max had not told anyone. So who had known Bellona had stolen away on a freeship?
Max shrugged. “It could simply have been unfortunate timing. The Hathaway was an old ship, badly masked.”
“An old, clunky freeship is what you used to help your sister?” Khalil asked.
Max looked at him. “I couldn’t put her on an Eriuman cruiser, could I?”
Riordan cleared his throat. “Really, I should be going…” He got to his feet and this time he did not wait for Max to order him to sit down again. He hurried from the room, his relief painting itself on his face.
Bellona glanced at Riordan’s retreating back. She brought her gaze back to Max. “I can head for the free states. I don’t look like Xenia anymore. I can disappear there.”
“You look enough like her that someone will recognize you,” Max assured her.
“Really? Then in all the time the Karassians were plastering Xenia across the galaxy, why did you not see it was me?”
Khalil touched her wrist.
Bellona sat back with a sigh.
“I thought you were dead,” Max said flatly. “Destroyed along with Wang and her people. I saw the wreckage, Bellona. I spent a week pulling frozen bodies out of vacuum and matching them. When I didn’t find you, I presumed I simply hadn’t looked hard enough. The area had already been annexed by the Karassians. I was forced to leave. So no, when I saw Xenia, I never once thought it might be you. It just wasn’t a possibility. Only, now I know what Xenia looks like, I can see her in you.” His jaw flexed. “So will everyone else.” His voice was harsh.
Bellona pressed her lips together. “You’re taking me back to Cardenas no matter what, aren’t you?”
“You’re safer there, dear sister.” Max grimaced. “You are right, I carry guilt for my part in what happened to you. I won’t risk it happening again.”
“I can take care of myself,” Bellona said.
“That’s what you said, ten years ago,” Max said. “I believed you then, which was my mistake.” He got to his feet. “We lift in six hours. Be ready.”