“I’m not sure you’re going to fit through there.” Ekatya eyed the narrow gap.
“Sure I will,” Baldassar said. “It’s just a matter of shrinking the rib cage.” He pressed himself between the bulkhead and the debris, took in several deep breaths, then exhaled and pulled himself into the gap—and promptly got stuck. Ekatya was just thinking she’d have to yank him back when he grunted, jerked his body, and popped out on the other side. Brushing himself off, he gave her a triumphant grin. “Told you.”
“It’s a good thing these uniforms don’t have buttons anymore,” she said, slipping through with far less effort. “You’d have lost every one of them.”
They were the last ones to make the trek to their personal quarters. Ekatya hadn’t had time until now, after spending the day working with Lhyn on their two reports, and Baldassar had refused to go until he’d seen the rest of the crew safely back from what they were calling “retrieval missions.” Ekatya wasn’t sure what was left to retrieve from her quarters, given Lhyn’s description of their condition.
“I could never understand the point of buttons on a duty uniform anyway.” He led the way around a pile of ceiling tiles. “Seems like they’re designed for getting caught on things, or sucked in. Or messing up the magnetic balance of calibrated equipment. The Alseans love them, though. The ones on Lancer Tal’s uniform yesterday nearly blinded me.”
“That was her dress uniform. I gave her a little ribbing for it this morning.”
He glanced over his shoulder. “Are you sure it’s wise to be teasing her?”
“Are you worried?”
“Well…you’ve only known her for two days, and she does have total power over us. I’d hate to see you break some taboo you don’t know about and get us all thrown into the Alsean version of a brig.”
“Dr. Rivers says they don’t have brigs, they have dungeons.”
When he stopped to stare, she couldn’t keep a straight face.
“Kidding, Commander. I think we’re safe. They know our intent, after all. It’s hard to get angry at a tease if you know it’s well-meant.”
“I suppose that’s true.”
He set off again, rounding a corner a few meters later. Ekatya followed him into a length of corridor so clear of damage that she could almost have convinced herself that the last two days were a nightmare, and her ship was intact. Almost, that is, if it weren’t for the tilted floor.
But at least now she and Baldassar could walk side by side, which made the conversation easier.
“It’s rather amazing to imagine a culture without misunderstandings or the ability to obfuscate,” he said. “Doesn’t it make you wonder why they even need a warrior caste? I mean, just think about how many of our past wars happened because one side didn’t believe the other’s intent, or did believe it but was taken advantage of.”
“Don’t forget they can still deceive each other. It just takes a certain level of empathic strength to do it. Besides, many of our wars happened precisely because each side knew what the other intended. Things like territory and resource grabs start wars regardless of any understanding.”
“We do tend to find a lot to fight over.”
“That’s for damned sure. And the warrior caste isn’t limited to soldiers. That just happens to be all we’ve met so far. According to Dr. Rivers, it includes the other protective services as well, like firefighting, rescue work, law enforcement…and a whole category of jobs that are considered physically dangerous. She says one of the most popular broadcasts right now is a fictional story about a warrior who rescues and rehabilitates injured predatory species.”
“Now that is not what I’d have expected. A cuddly warrior.”
She smiled. “Just a suggestion, Commander: I wouldn’t use that particular phrase with any of our new friends.”
“Thanks for the advice.”
They came around a curve and were stopped by a tangle of debris making a maze out of the corridor where their quarters were located. Ekatya shook her head and began weaving through it. “It’s a fascinating culture,” she said. “I wish we had time for more exchange and less panicked report writing.”
“Do you think you can save it? Will the reports be enough?”
Her earlier humor abruptly vanished. “I hope to the skies that we can. The fact that we’re even having to fight for it makes me sick.”
“Me too. But you can’t dismiss those five worlds.”
“We don’t even know what’s on those five worlds. Dr. Rivers says they haven’t been studied. Or at least, she’s completely unaware of them, which is the same thing as saying they haven’t been studied.”
“By us. Apparently the Voloth have studied them.”
“Oh, yes, and the Voloth are so trustworthy. I just finished a crash course in exactly what the Alseans have to offer, and it’s considerable. What if those five civilizations are still using stone tools?”
“They’re still civilizations, though. Does their level of development matter?”
She glanced over in surprise. “What’s the point of the Non-Interference Act if the level of development doesn’t matter?”
He sighed. “I know. I’m just…not comfortable with this. You may not believe in the Seeders, but I do, and everything I was taught says we’re not supposed to play their role. We don’t have their knowledge or their ability to see what will be. These kinds of decisions aren’t ours to make.”
“Unfortunately, they seem to have left it up to us.”
“I can’t believe that’s true.” He shoved a half-attached section of bulkhead to the side, gesturing for her to pass before stepping forward and letting it fall back behind them. “There’s a right choice; we just have to figure out which one it is. The real danger is missing the sign, or misinterpreting it. But it will be there, for those who have the eyes to see.”
“Sometimes, Commander, I really do wish I had your faith.” She pushed her way past a dangling conduit and stopped in front of her quarters. “Well, time to see what’s left of it.”
“Good luck.” He moved down the hall toward his own door.
Ekatya tapped the lock panel and watched her door slide open. “And that’s probably the only thing that isn’t broken,” she muttered to herself. Taking a step inside, she stared in dismay at the disaster that used to be her home. The door slid quietly shut behind her, sealing her in, and she found herself very near tears.
Since the moment she’d known the fate of Lhyn and her crew, her every waking thought had been taken up with the things she needed to do, the things she wished she’d done, replays of the battle, replays and dissections of the conversations she’d had with Lhyn and Lancer Tal, and every other mental demand that cycled endlessly through her brain. But here in her quarters, truly alone for the first time in days, she felt more weary than she could ever remember.
She picked her way over to the sofa, shoved off the largest pieces of debris, sat down and buried her face in her hands. If she was going to cry, best to just get it over with so she could move on to the next item on her list.
But the tears refused to come, hovering maddeningly just out of reach, and she dropped her hands with a huff of frustration. She couldn’t relax enough to cry. There was too much to do and think about. Soon Lancer Tal would be sending someone to collect her and Lhyn for the High Council meeting, and she needed to check in with Kameha, who had taken Torado with him to muscle their way to the shuttle bay and see about launching their remaining shuttle. If all went well, they’d fly it over to Blacksun Base tonight and end their dependence on the Alseans for transportation, not to mention that she really wanted access to the shuttle’s quantum com. Of course, she hadn’t yet asked the Lancer for permission to park an alien shuttle at the base…
She shook her head. If she kept on at this rate, she’d still be sitting here when Baldassar came by on his way back.
Another piece of debris clattered to the floor when she rose, and she kicked it aside on her way to the bedroom. In the doorway, she looked at the unmade bed and remembered Lhyn smiling at her from that very pillow as she’d left her quarters to start what should have been just another duty shift. All she’d been thinking about then was putting in her time and coming straight back here, hopefully to spend another evening with Lhyn. Never in her wildest dreams did she imagine that when she returned, it would be for the last time.
She pushed a hanging cable out of the way and crossed over to the wall drawers, opening them one after another and creating a slowly growing pile of items on the floor. The palm-sized hologram base with all of her family photos. The soft pouch holding her kasmet game pieces, a gift from her grandfather when she turned sixteen. Rather prosaically, four pairs of underwear because she’d be damned if she’d wear this generically-sized Fleet-issued pair one more minute than necessary. Four pairs of her comfortable, soft socks for the same reason. A fifth pair of each went onto the bed, along with one of the uniforms she’d had tailored at Station Erebderis. A second tailored uniform joined the pile.
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.