[Author’s Note: Pushing this out today, because good news! OHH is going to post the next chapter of Hybrid tomorrow! -DX]

Loona waited patiently for Pane Segdi to finish flipping through the report. The three other members of the cabinet whose portfolios were affected by it had moved through slightly quicker, but then, this was her area of expertise. The technical details had sailed over the heads of most of them. Not her.

“Dear Emperor,” she murmured, as she closed the file. “Sorry,” she added. “It’s just…this is…there is incredible potential here.”

“That’s an understatement, if anything,” Loona said. “This has the potential to dramatically impact the Empire. But there are more than a few things we have to tie up first.”

“The first question I have,” Jonto Cethje said, “is…and I apologize, Minister, but with all due respect…did you know anything about this?”

Ammer shook his head. “Absolutely not. It’s reprehensible,” he added. “This kind of lawlessness…honestly, I’m ashamed of it.”

“Earth had every right to develop it,” Lali Berisen said.

“Earth, absolutely. They’re a sovereign entity. Avalon isn’t. Madam Floor Leader, if you wish to invoke Article XXII, I won’t object.”

“I don’t think we need to go that far,” Jonto said. “But we need to take a stand.”

“Do we?”

Loona looked over at Segdi. “What’s that?”

“We’re in a war,” Pane said. “A war with the Insectoids. Navarchos Bass got lucky, we all know it. And thank the Emperor, but we can’t count on luck in this battle. We don’t know if they have any more superhives in reserve. We don’t know if they took too many losses and will pull back, or if they’re even now preparing to launch the next wave. What we do know is that we barely hung on to Tau Ceti. If Bass  and Freeman don’t blow them out of the sky…they probably take Earth. Azatlia would have been cut off, and they certainly would have taken that next. And the rest of that sector…they could have made it damn near to Avalon. We weren’t ready. We have to get ready. And we need all the help we can get.” Pane looked down at her pad. “This power plant…these fighters…if the humans are willing, we could put a wing on every ship. It would increase our firepower dramatically. It wouldn’t just let us defend. We could attack.”

“So you’re saying we should just ignore this?” Jonto said.

“No,” Pane said. “Not completely. But let’s not lose focus. Avalon went about this the wrong way. Those responsible…well, they have to be accountable. But if they’re willing to share this technology….”

“Earth will have to agree,” Berisen said. “I would suspect they would be interested in sharing the technology it if we were to offer them technical assistance, a formal mutual defense alliance, and perhaps a few systems that we are not developing. There are a number of Super-Mu worlds in their region. Frankly, we are not going to develop those worlds. They may as well. More than that, developing those worlds will help fill the gap between Azatlia and Vorsha.”

“There will be time to discuss that,” Loona said. “But first, I want to know what all of you think we should do here.”

There was silence for a moment, before Segdi said, “Let’s see what they have to say. And what they’re willing to do. See how they approach this. That will give us a good start.”

Loona nodded. “All right. Inna, would you please bring them in?”

Inna nodded, and left the cabinet meeting room; she returned moments later, pushing a small cart. Two humans – one man, one woman – rode on it. They reached the table, and stepped off, each walking quickly to the smaller table that sat upon it.

“President Haerst, Secretary Xanthopolous,” Loona said. “Thank you for joining us.”

“We did not have much choice,” Joca Haerst said. “At least not if Imperator Nix was to be believed.”

“He was,” Ammer said. “Quite frankly, the two of you are very probably guilty of at least petty treason.”

Cethje nodded. “This is true. However, this is not a formal interrogation. Not yet. This is a discussion. We’ll see if an interrogation is warranted.”

“We want to know what you were thinking,” Loona said. Darren could not help but notice that she sounded, not angry or upset, but sad. Disappointed. Hurt.

“And we want to know how many people in the Avalonian government knew,” Ammer added. Now, he sounded rather furious, Darren thought. But then, he had a right to be, didn’t he?

“The last question is the easiest. There were two. Myself and the Secretary of Defense,” Haerst said. “Secretary Xanthopolous was approached with the opportunity to utilize this technology, and Secretary Xanthopolous approached me directly. There are officers in the military who knew parts of it, but none who knew all of it.”

“We structured JAEDI,” Darren said, “so that legally, it was run by Earth. Officially, I was running it in my capacity as a former soldier. We tried to keep the Avalonian government out of it.”

“A nice legal fiction, but irrelevant. Your duties as an official in an Imperial province wouldn’t go away even if this wasn’t operated within Imperial territory. And it was, first on Avalon, then on Tau Ceti,” Cethje said. “Indeed, you violated several Imperial statutes by establishing an undeclared base in Vorshan-Azatlian space. You had no right to do that.”

“Yeah,” Darren replied. “That’s true.” He paused, for a second, as if winding up. “Look, you have to understand – until 2127, we were pets. That’s the backdrop of this. We needed to be able to defend ourselves, and….”

“No. No. No! Don’t you dare try that.”

Darren looked over, shocked, at Ammer, who had pounded his fist on the table so hard that it literally lifted him from his seat. “Damn it, Darren, yes, we were all pets at one point. But we aren’t anymore. Avalon is a province of the Empire. Right now, there are officers fighting and dying to secure the Federation, which was also ‘defending itself’ against the Empire. It’s wrong there, and it’s wrong here. You joined the Empire. Once you did that, you joined Avalonian humans in an unbreakable bond with this Empire.”

“Ammer you know….”

“Yes! Of course I do! But I still supported joining the Empire. I still supported becoming a part of this government. If you didn’t trust the Empire, fine! Don’t join! Nobody forced Avalon to. We did it of our own free will. The council voted unanimously to do so. Once we did that, we were no longer an independent state, no longer a world holding out against the Titans who see us as pets. We chose to join with them. We chose to trust them.”

“But we can’t trust them, not fully,” said Haerst. “The way the Zeramblin Act was implemented….”

“Was a disaster for most of the humans in the Empire, but was it on Avalon? I don’t think it was. I think we’re doing just fine, Madam President. And if you disagree, fine! Say so! Petition the Legislature! Threaten to withdraw! You didn’t do that. You chose to build weapons, and hide them from the Empire. But that’s insanity. We are the Empire. If you take up arms against the Empire, you’re not taking up arms against them. You’re taking up arms against us. That’s treason. Full stop. I never thought I’d be embarrassed to represent my home province. I thought you both had more sense than this. Evidently not.”

“It wasn’t just for Avalon. It was for all of humanity….”

Ammer laughed bitterly at that. “Darren, that sounds good. Really. But do you mean it? I don’t think so. You hid this from humanity as much as you hid it from the Empire. You knew you were not doing this for the greater good. And you knew damn well that you should be ashamed of yourselves. And you were right. So my question is simple: do you understand that? And if you do, what are you going to do about it?”

The room was silent for what seemed like forever. Darren had thought that Ammer would be the most understanding of them; instead, he was the one who was most furious. But then….

Ammer had married a Titan. And that took a lot of faith. But he’d done it, for better or for worse. He’d done so knowing it could all go bad, but once he did it…once he did it, it was done. And as long as they were married, they were in it together. Whether they liked it or not.

Yeah, in theory, Inna could squash him with one blow. But Ammer hadn’t rigged explosives around his apartment to prevent it. And if he did…it wouldn’t be right. It would be assuming the worst, not the best. And you can’t be married to someone and not trust them.

Ammer was angry because Avalon had chosen to marry the Empire – and had decided not to trust it.

And that had been Darren’s call.

He didn’t feel bad about it. It wasn’t wrong. Hell, it had saved Tau Ceti. And frankly, he suspected the reason they hadn’t thrown him in jail was that they knew this. They didn’t want to punish him, not like that.

But they also needed to trust that he wouldn’t go back to Avalon and start working on something else in secret. They couldn’t trust the Avalonians if they couldn’t trust their government. They were offering him a get-out-of-jail-free card, but that meant that he had to offer the quid pro quo. He’d been in government long enough, and in the military before that. He knew what his duty – to Earth, to Avalon, and to the Empire – demanded. He didn’t have to agree with it. But a good soldier knows when to shut up and soldier. And Darren was a very good soldier.

“We spent a long time preparing to defend Avalon,” he finally said. “And we had good reason. But,” he said, as he saw Ammer’s blood pressure rising, “I think we got so in the habit of thinking we had to defend ourselves that, well, we didn’t know how to stop once it wasn’t necessary. It was my job to recognize it. I didn’t. Madam President, I’m hereby resigning as Secretary of Defense, effective immediately. And it is my recommendation that the Defense Ministry be reorganized into a Peacekeeping Ministry. We have a SecDef in Minister Segdi.”

Joca was momentarily nonplussed; Darren Xanthopolous had been Secretary of Defense since the dawn of the Avalonian Republic. But looking at him, and back to Ammer, she realized he was right. And that meant she had another duty.

“If it would be acceptable,” President Haerst said, “I would like to serve out my term, in order to put former Secretary Xanthopolous’s proposal into effect. But I will not seek another term as President. The Secretary and Representative Smit are right. This was our failure, mine specifically. I apologize.”

“Madam President, the technology behind this…would Earth and Avalon be willing to share it with the Empire?” Pane Segdi asked.

“I can’t speak for Earth,” Haerst said. “But Avalon…well, as Rep. Smit so forcefully stated, we’re a part of the Empire. I suppose it’s our duty. However, the technical design….”

“It was Niall Freeman’s work, I know,” Loona said, fighting the wave of sadness that crept in as she said it. “Knowing him, he wouldn’t have shared more than he had to….”

“Dr. Chandrasekhar is familiar with the basics, I think,” Darren said. “Don’t think Doc told her. She figured it out. You’ll have to talk to Earth about her cooperation. And yeah, you’re right. Doc…he didn’t want the information floating around. He was never totally sure about using it as a weapon. And, you know…you can blame me, and you can blame President Haerst, but I hope you all know that Niall…I hope you don’t….”

“If not for Dr. Freeman’s work, and his personal sacrifice, our Empire would be in a grave position,” Berisen said, gently interrupting. “I’ve already nominated Dr. Freeman as a Martyr to Archavia. I believe every member of this cabinet has done likewise. Dr. Freeman died a hero, and I see no reason for us to do damage to his legacy.”

“I agree, and I believe that this is generally true,” Segdi added. “Secretary Xanthopolous, I would ask that you delay your resignation. Serve until the next government is elected. We will expedite the unification of the Avalonian military with the Imperial military. From what I’ve seen, there are a number of human officers who should be in our fleets, the sooner, the better.”

“I would be happy to. And…well, I hope we can avoid prosecution for those under my command. They were following my orders,” Darren said. “Like I said, If someone has to answer for this, I will.”

“And ultimately, it was my decision,” Haerst said. “If you must prosecute Secretary Xanthopolous…you must prosecute me as well.”

“I don’t see a need for that. I believe,” Jonto Cethje said, “that we can avoid prosecution if you hold to your plan, and if you are willing to recommend to Earth that they work with us. We are all facing the same threat.”

“We did a helluva job fighting together at Tau Ceti,” Darren said, nodding. “A lot of good men and women died defending humans. I don’t know as you’ll need a good word from me, but you’ll damn sure get it.”

“Excellent,” Lali Berisen said. “I have a meeting with the Terran ambassador later today; would you please join me, both of you?”

Joca Haerst exhaled. “We would be honored. And I hope….”

“You have had ample reason to mistrust us,” Berisen said. “Some of my speeches are high on the list of reasons. If you will fall on your spears, or at the very least, discretely leave your government…then I think we should chalk this up to the usual early difficulties in unifying with a new people, like the Ler-Avartle border dispute, and simply agree to put it behind us. What is ahead is enough to worry about.”

There was a good deal more discussion before the meeting broke, but Berisen’s statement had essentially concluded the matter. As the meeting broke up, Darren walked over to Ammer.

“I’m sorry. I put you in a bad spot,” Darren said.

Ammer looked around, and quietly said, “Darren, you did. But you should know…not saying I’m happy, but I’m less upset than I seemed there.”

“Oh?”

Ammer shook his head. “As much as they needed you to admit you were wrong…they needed me to be angry about it. It wasn’t right. But it wasn’t meant as treason. I get that. Not saying I’m thrilled, but….”

Darren chuckled. “Smitty, gorram. I’d hate to see you really mad. All right, well…like I said. I’m sorry.”

“Apology accepted. Oh, and Darren?”

“Yeah?”

“Presidency’s opening up. Have Teddy give me a call.”

“Why’s that?”

“Because if he’s gonna win, he’s going to need a good plan in place. I have a few ideas.”

Darren grinned. “Smitty, I’ll do that. Leavin’ with Minister Berisen, so give my love to Inna.”

“Same to Lysis, and send her my apologies. I don’t know how she’s going to deal with you if you’re retired.”

“True enough,” Darren said. “I may not survive the year.”

* * *

The GLS Magnificence was on final approach to Archavia. LerSrntrs, LurLer of the Ler, stared out the window of her vessel, looking down on the calm blue of the planet below.

It was somber duty that brought her here; so very many memorial services to attend. That they were memorials for people who had fought gloriously and died with honor was no comfort; like all Ler, Srntrs venerated honor and glory. But like all sensible sentient creatures, she lamented any forced to trade their lives for honor. Honor cannot hug one’s offspring, after all. Honor is necessary, and proper, and sacrifice is sometimes the only choice. But that did not mean that the sacrifice was unimportant. It meant it was all the more important.

Her pad buzzed. “Glorious Excellency! We approach Archavia! We have a communication from you from the Glorious and Magnificent Leader of the Dunnermac!”

“Most satisfactory! Send his call through!”

There was a beep, and then High Councilor Zep Minroa’s face appeared on the viewscreen. Srntrs’ viewscreen overlaid the ultraviolet image of the High Councilor; Minroa was drawn and tired, as Srntrs expected. She felt the same way.

“LerSrntrs, it is an honor to speak with you,” the Dunnermac man said. “I had asked Atrius Control to contact me when the Magnificence reached Archavian orbit.”

“I am always glad to talk to the honorable leader of the Dunnermac! I trust you are calling about the sad duty we must attend to.”

“That is part of it,” Minroa said. “The other part…I am given to understand that the Empire is planning to offer a number of star systems to Earth, to be placed under their control. It is a plan designed to cement our alliance, and secure the technology used in the Battle of Tau Ceti. But mostly, it is seen as a peace offering – a repayment to the humans for the Titans’ mistakes.”

Srntrs nodded. “A fair payment for the dishonorable treatment of the mighty, miniscule humans, I think. If it brings the technology and their alliance, so much the better.” When there was no immediate response, Srntrs cocked her head. “You disagree, Honorable High Councilor?”

“The worlds held by the Empire are held in trust by all of the member species. I question the right of the Titan Floor Leader to give these worlds away. They are not hers to give.”

“She is supported by all of the honorable Ler delegation, and all of the honorable Dunnermac, Avartle, and Human delegations! Of course she is within her right to offer this as leader of the legislature.”

“But these are the mistakes of Titans we pay for, once again. These worlds could hold wealth that could be developed. If the Titans feel guilty, this is only right. But they should compensate the humans themselves, and not make us pay for their errors.”

“You think they are the errors of the Titans, and the Titans only? Honorable High Councilor, that is most disgraceful and dishonorable thinking!”

It was Minroa’s turn to cock his head; Srntrs was blunt, like most Ler, but this was extreme, even for her. “I do not understand,” Minroa finally said.

“Tell me, High Councilor, what preparations have your people made to accommodate the humans living on Great Ocean?”

“We…we have been following Imperial Law. There are not many humans there. Dunnermac never kept them as pets.”

“True! And yet some live there, and perhaps others may want to move there. What buildings have you built? How have you made your world available to them?”

Minroa paused. “We…we have worked with the Ministry of the Interior. Our Home, at least, meets the initial Zeramblin Act standards…..”

“It is not an accusation against you alone! Only Omicron has any place for humans to live, and that is not at the standard we would like! The honorable Avartle also lag behind the Titans in finding ways to help humans adjust!”

“That is fair, I suppose. But we do not have the history of discrimination the Titans do….”

Srntrs howled, and brought her tail vertical in a Lerish laugh. “The Ler do! We kept them as pets! They are adorable and sweet. And if a Dunnermac wanted to own a human, they could, until just after First Contact with Earth!”

“The practice originated with the Titans,” Minroa said. “We did not invent it.”

“We did not stop it, either,” Srntrs growled. “We objected, yes. But today, we go to the funeral of the truly venerable LerYamanu. When he died in glorious sacrifice, he did so after being defended by Titans, who gloriously defended with unyielding peace, the way your Dunnermac warriors honorably fight. Titans and humans took the attack. Where were the Ler? Where were the Dunnermac? Where were the Avartle?”

“The Federation is a Titan province,” Minroa said, but Srntrs bared her teeth.

“The Federation is an IMPERIAL province! That is why we fight their leaving! We see the damage the Titans have done, and it is grave and horrible. But there are Titans fighting against that evil, standing forth to be counted. We supported the humans. But quietly! Silently! With votes and occasional speeches!”

Minroa’s pupils dilated, and his face lit up in bright ultraviolet, a deep, shameful blush. “We were…we were complicit,” he said. “We did not stand up, not enough. For to stand up….”

He looked off into the distance for a moment. “To stand up would have risked our position in the Empire. It would have risked lowering ourselves to the human level…you are right, LerSrntrs. We are as guilty as the Titans.”

“I do not know that to be true, Honorable High Councilor. You are right, they invented this dishonorable practice. But we did not do enough to stop it! Not your people, not mine, not you, not me. This is a dishonor we must overcome.”

Minroa nodded. “I had been planning to request that Minister Tenal ask for a pause to consider the gift of worlds. I will instead request that she indicate the Council’s strong support.”

“It will not be enough,” LerSrntrs said. “LerYamanu died for equality, but you and I know that equality has not yet come to the Empire, not even for our peoples!”

“Not even for all Titan peoples,” Minroa said. “The Empress has not by her existence ended the attacks on the Jotunn.”

“Exactly! We have forgotten, because we have not had to remember, but your people gained rights for your people, but also for mine and the Avartle. The humans who fought for freedom in the Federation, they will lead to a Federation that accepts our peoples more than it did! We must not forget to fight honorably, together!”

“I agree,” Minroa said. “LerSrntrs, I would like to know more about your plans to integrate humans into Fribbulus Xax, and throughout the Ler Lands. I look forward to seeing you when you land.”

“And I you, Honorable High Councilor! And I apologize,” Srntrs said. “My words were not harsh to a Ler, but they may have seemed angry to your ears. You are honorable, High Councilor.”

Zep Minroa bowed, slightly. “There is no apology necessary, LerSrntrs. I do wish to be honorable. But that requires my honorable friends to correct me when I stray from the honorable path. I thank you for your correction.”

“LerKarrgh once said that the only true dishonor is failing to accept one’s own dishonor. You are as you have been in all the time I have known you – a true and honorable friend, and a glorious leader of the Dunnermac!”

Minroa smiled. “And you, LerSrntrs, remain a true and noble friend, and this Empire is better for your presence. I will see you shortly.”

“And I you! Farewell!”

Srntrs terminated the call. They were cutting through the atmosphere now. There was much failure, so much that it could cause one to despair at the choices not made. But there is no way to rewalk your path. There is only the path ahead. And if all walked it as one, they would wear it into a mighty highway.

* * *

Gae walked through the soft, bucolic meadow, toward a rock by a small stream, or a good-sized river, depending on your point of view.

She was headed for Aisell’s Rock. It was a good rock upon which to brood, and many people in the Maris family, Tribe, and their extended families had spent an hour staring at the stream, watching it flow, steady and placid, on its long journey to the Bozedam Ocean. It had flowed long before the Marises had first tilled this land, long before the Tribe had first settled here. It would flow long after their stories were concluded, and became part of history and legend and lore.

Gae was not going for her own sake, though she certainly could have. She was going because that’s where she would be.

She stood behind the girl for over a minute, not speaking, just waiting. Endlessly, patiently waiting.

“I don’t want to go,” the girl said, not looking back.

“I know, Mal,” Gae said.

“It’s going to be all dignitaries and protocol. Shaking wrists with the Floor Leader. Letting the Minister of State tell us how sorry he is. Pretending half of them cared.”

“Loona cared,” Gae said.

“Not enough,” Malala growled. “Not enough. If she’d cared enough, dad wouldn’t have had to be there. He wouldn’t have had to prove himself. She would have forced Qorni to act, forced her to get the Federation in line. And dad….”

She choked on the words. They were too hard to say. But she forced herself to, anyhow.

“Dad wouldn’t be dead, if they’d acted.”

Gae took a deep breath, and took a step closer. “Is that what you think?”

“Yes!” Malala said, wheeling back on her mother. She tilted her head slightly and furrowed her brow, and Gae knew exactly what she was doing. Her daughter was preparing the argument, preparing her logic, point by point, line by line. She was doing it quickly, unconsciously, or almost unconsciously – but once she began, she would stack premise atop conclusion until she buried her opponents in exquisitely-chosen phrases and artisanal quips.

She had seen it a thousand times. Most of those times, it had been Yamanu tilting his head, and furrowing his brow, and preparing, just like his daughter was doing now.

Gae sighed. “Maybe so,” she conceded. (She’d learned, long ago, that conceding was wisest when her husband or daughter got wound up. It was no sense to charge forth against their arguments; it was best to try to sneak around them.)

“So why should we go and listen to a bunch of folks who…who let him die? The idiots who put a colony out on its own without any defense? The jerks who didn’t stop the Federation early? The fools who couldn’t see that humans were people, when they were? The people who…they let dad die, and we’re supposed to care what they think?”

Gae walked forward, and sat down on the rock, next to her daughter. She looked at the creek, watched it flow for a while, before she started again.

“Malala, you know the story of how I met your father.”

“Yeah, stupid TETH.”

“Yeah. Stupid TETH. And you know that I was part of TETH back then. You know that I was at the protest where he and Aenur and all the others were dumped out, and left to fend for themselves. You know that I didn’t run after them, even though I wanted to…because I was young, and stupid, and afraid. And you know when I came back for him…Aenur was dead, and he had every right to do what every one of the other humans with him did – tell me to go to hell, and stay in the park, and risk it on his own.

“But your father didn’t. He could have, maybe should have held it against me, but he didn’t. He knew I had failed, but he also knew that after I failed, that I was willing to admit it. That I was willing to come back, hat in hand, and say it. That I was willing to work to fix it, as best I could, even if I could never make up for what I’d failed to do.”

“That’s different, mom. You weren’t in charge. You were just holding a sign. Dad said so.”

“You’re right,” Gae said. “I was just holding a sign. I didn’t have to decide whether to send soldiers to another world, to risk their life for others. I didn’t have to decide whether to hold out, and wait for a better deal for humans than the Colony, knowing that holding out could mean the unwinding of the Zeramblin Act before it even started. I didn’t have to watch my friends go off on their own to fight a battle I could not, and know that I could do nothing to protect them…and let them go, because letting them make their own decisions, their own mistakes, was all they’d ever wanted to be able to do.”

“You make it sound like it’s okay that dad died.”

“Oh, Great Spirit, no, Malala. This world is a darker place without him. Every day I wake up, hoping he’ll be poking my cheek like he would when he was in a playful mood, telling me how long I’ve been sleeping, and how lazy all the Titans are. Teasing me that he’d had to use heavy machinery to make you and Martin breakfast. And every day, there’s half a second where I can feel it, Mal, feel him touching me, hear him laughing…and then I wake up, and he’s gone, and it rips my heart open all over again. No, it’s not okay that your dad died. It will never be okay. But it’s not the fault of Loona, or the Emperor, or Pryvani Tarsuss…not even Forna Qorni or Lyroo Prenn, not even Jota Fraking Cesil.”

Gae took a long breath, and said something she’d only started to convince herself of.

“It’s not my fault, either. And more than anything…it isn’t his.”

Malala leaned her head on her mom’s shoulder, and began to sob, at first quietly, then loudly, then wildly and uncontrollably, like a four-year-old child, until she couldn’t cry another tear. When finally she gathered herself, her face shining with water, she stuttered, “W…w….why couldn’t…why couldn’t he be selfish? He could have…he could have lived. I know, Bheloro would have died, but…I mean, she doesn’t even know what she’s doing here! You guys brought her back, and she’s…I mean, she’s nice…and I don’t…but he could have….”

“If you could kill Bheloro, and bring your father back, would you?” Gae asked, holding her daughter tight.

“Maybe. Maybe,” Malala sniffled, before admitting, quietly, “No. Dad…he wouldn’t want me to do that. And I…I couldn’t do that.”

“I know,” Gae said. “And I couldn’t either. Because your father was right. He was more important to you, and to me, and maybe to a lot of people. But that doesn’t make him worth more than any other person. Your father believed that, and lived that…and he died defending that belief. And I hate that he’s gone, Mal, I do, but he had no choice.”

“I know, mom,” Malala said. “I just…dad was better than me. I want him back, and I know, that’s selfish….”

“You think he wasn’t selfish, Malala? You think he didn’t want to come home and stay there? He did. He desperately did,” Gae said, pulling out her pad. “Vanser sent me this. They had downloaded his gool’s data during the autopsy, but they didn’t really know what it was. They ended up sending it to Earth. Just got it an hour or so ago.”

She pressed play, and Malala listened to her father’s voice. He was calming the humans there. She’d known he did that – Thurfrit had said so, but it was jarring to hear him, so calm, so collected. He knew he was going to die – she half-wanted him to scream and shout, swear at the woman who’d condemned him.

The voices calmed, and for a while, there was just breathing, slowing breath by breath, until his voice carried again, raspy, and tired.

“Martin…you are smarter than you know. Like your mom. You…you will find your own fights. I wish I could see you, you’ll…you’ll be amazing. Malala…I’m sorry, baby girl. I’m so sorry,” he said, coughing. “I thought there’d be time, someday. I really did.”

“Gae…Gae, you were…everything to me. You will think you made a mistake, I know. You didn’t. You didn’t. I…I love….”

That was all, save for a few murmurs, before the recording stopped.

They were silent for quite some time, watching the river flow.

“It’s okay, dad,” Malala finally said. “I wish there’d been more time. But it’s not your fault there wasn’t. And I’ll never forget a second,” she sniffed. “Not a second. And when I tell my grandchildren about you, I’ll tell them that they’re descended from the bravest person who ever lived.”

She looked at her mother, and smiled, weakly. “And from a woman who let him be as brave as he had to be to win the fight he won.”

Gae pulled her daughter close. “Your father always said he didn’t care if you were a street sweeper.”

“And then he quoted Dr. King. I know,” Malala said. “But I think dad would like it if I kept fighting, now that he can’t.”

“He would,” Gae said. “And I do. Now, let’s go get ready,” Gae said. “Autoshuttle’s here in an hour, and we have to be presentable.”

“More than presentable,” Malala said, getting up. “Dressed perfectly, hair combed, dresses and shirts pressed and worn neatly. Look more sophisticated than they can ever dream you could. Be better than they ever dream you can be.” Malala smiled. “And Dad was,” she said, offering her mom a hand.

“You’re god-damned right,” Gae said, taking it.

* * *

A few Imperial days later….

Tig paused at the door of her apartment, and straightened her tunic. Self-consciously, she rubbed her artificial left arm; getting it replaced would take two Imperial weeks on Tremarla, and while that wasn’t a long time in the grand scheme of things, it was time she didn’t have right now.

Centurium Starati had been transferred to Vakor, because…well, because Centurium ColVanos was dead, to be blunt. And Tig had been granted a field promotion by the regional Krator for her outstanding service, and placed in command of Titan Station before she had even reached it.

And then, for the last ten Imperial days, she had been running non-stop, as the Empire abruptly reversed course on the drawdown from the station, and then some. Station engineering was busily trying to ramp up new powerstations to support the four ionic canons that were to be constructed around the station, and the number of garrisoned soldiers on the station was double what it had been in anyone’s memory. And that was just the beginning. They’d received word that Beth Fleet had reached Sol Federation; the rebels had essentially fallen apart after the attempted assassination Jota Cesil, but peacekeepers there were still dealing with resistance groups and a low-level insurgency that would take some time to put down completely. But once that was done, they would be more than tripling the number of troops and ships stationed here – and that was just on the Titan side. Earth started bringing more troops in as well, and while they had a smaller footprint, Tig knew better than most how little that meant.

Titan Station was being transformed from a sleepy base on the edge of the Empire to a major forward depot for a long and bitter war. Which, of course, is what it was now. And she was likely to oversee the transition for some time. She’d half-joked that the one star she’d picked up wasn’t going to be enough to command a base of this size for long.

Krator Boleus had simply chuckled, and in her direct Wedney manner, told Tig that when it got so big that a Centurium couldn’t handle it, she’d pick up another star.

She would be proud, but too much of her emotion was still left on the ground of Tau Ceti. She was glad that the sacrifices of the others had bought the freedom of more than 100,000 humans, and she had no problem with the damage that had been inflicted upon herself. But though she had already been told by the post-action counselors that she shouldn’t feel guilty for having survived…she felt guilty for having survived. And the only reason she didn’t feel guiltier was finally, finally on the other side of the door.

Tig keyed in her passcode and put her thumb to the scanner; the door slid open obligingly, and she smiled.

The lights had been dimmed, a bottle of hustain was on the table, as was a smaller table, and a chair, and her husband.

“You borrow a forklift?” Tig asked.

“Nah. Holos that we had installed are still working fine. Don’t worry, I know we’re on power rations, I kept the time to a minimum.”

Tig let the door close behind her, and walked over to her husband. She knelt beside him, and leaned in for a long kiss.

Some wags had suggested that kissing a human must be like kissing someone’s thumb. There’s no kiss back, they complained. Tig begged to differ. A soft kiss from her brought her husband’s whole body to her. In one simple motion, they were connected completely. Kiss just his mouth? Oh, she’d done so in the holosuite, and she enjoyed it very much. But this…this was perfect. Just like her husband. Okay, maybe not perfect…but as close as she could have imagined, right down to the size.

“Welcome home,” she said, when they broke.

“It’s tempting to be gone more often, you know,” Ted grinned.

Tig smirked back at him. “So…new uniform?”

“Garrison Duty Uniform for the Joint Terrestrial Strike Force,” Ted said. “You’re not the only one who’s been promoted.”

“So that’s why they detoured you to New York.”

“Yup,” Ted said. “They’re creating a new division in the JTSA. The Joint Terrestrial Strike Force. It’s akin to the Planetary Defense Corps. And I’ve been promoted to General, and put in charge of it.”

Tig frowned, just a bit. “So you’re going to have to be on Earth.”

“No, no. Happily, they want me right here. The Acolyte program is going to be the biggest push right away, and though it’s early, the plan is to work with the Empire. Earth is, in fact, very ready to work with the Empire, and ready to share what Acolyte technology we have, as well as pilots and crew. From what they’ve said, as long as the Empire’s willing to give up Sol Earth, and maybe help with terraforming Mars or giving us access to a system you’re not interested in…basically, if your leaders treat mine with respect, like equals, mine are willing to be partners.”

Tig blinked, and sat down. “Ted…I know, I teased you about not sharing that you were on Tau Ceti…but you know I would have to report that…unless I didn’t actually hear that right. So tell me I didn’t, I will wipe it from memory.”

Ted grinned. “I was ordered to tell you, Tig. Apparently, your new Deputy Floor Leader sent strong signals to Ambassador Martin that the Empire wants to work with Earth, and will compensate us for the Acolyte tech and military assistance. Now, he harrumphed and acted like he was just speaking off the cuff…you can’t say this directly, not before the summit. But New York understood the meaning. They want your leadership to know that we like the sound of this…and we’re not going to take advantage of your generosity.”

“So you want to be allies,” Tig said.

“We do. And if you don’t pass that along next time you talk to Krator Boleus, I’m supposed to try to reach Rixie Carey.”

“Don’t worry. I’ll pass it along,” Tig said. “We’re…Titans and humans. We’re going to finally, really, be allies.”

“Looks like it,” Ted said. “Nothing like everybody almost dying to bring two governments together.”

“Hey, almost dying brought us together,” Tig said, lifting her glass with her right hand.

“We were already together. It just cemented it,” Ted said, raising his, and downing it in one shot.

Tig frowned.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” she said. “It’s…it’s stupid.”

“Now, don’t you go insulting you like that. What is it?”

“You know,” she said, “I caught you with my left hand.”

“You caught me with both hands.”

“Yeah…but you settled into my left palm, before I set you down. I remember how you felt, like a burning coal….”

She trailed off.

“Tig, your left hand performed admirably,” Ted said. “And I miss it. But it didn’t catch me. You did. And you are still here, and thank God. And that’s not your fault, just like it’s not my fault that Acolyte Three went down in the fight, or that Ryan got burned and I didn’t.”

“I know,” she said, quietly. “But…Antero put me out on point. Which should have been the most dangerous spot. And I was happy to take it, because…I mean, I figured we were all dead anyhow, but he was the prince, and maybe he’d make it through, and…and then they ended up with me, and I got almost everyone killed.”

“Uh, no, Tig, not remotely. I’ve seen the after-action report, and I’ve seen your tactical situation. You’re damn right you should have expected everyone to die. You had maybe a ten percent chance of pulling that off. You kept three people alive in your team, and you kept a hundred thousand civilians alive. And that’s why you went in, and why Antero went in – because even with no shot, you had to. Same reason the Acolytes kept fighting when we were facing a sea of fighters. Same reason Navarchos Bass and Niall flew the Gyfjon into the Hive. You didn’t get anyone killed, Tig. You managed by the grace of God or fate or pure dumb luck to survive, and in so doing you saved more people than live in my hometown. But you know this,” he said, quietly. “You know this.”

Tig didn’t realize at first that he’d moved, but she felt the sensation of touch on her left hand. She looked down; Ted was leaning against the rubberized texture of the hand, stroking it gently.

“That feels nice, Ted, but…I mean…it’s an artificial hand.”

Ted smiled. He knew what she meant; the “skin” was utilitarian, slightly rough and cooler to the touch than a hand should be. There was none of the sense of Tig that he usually felt lying against her hand. But he wasn’t doing this for his benefit.

“Tig, my love, what did I say the first day we met? It’s a part of you, and you are perfect.”

She smiled. “Well…don’t get too attached. I am going to get it replaced at some point. When things slow down a bit. Which won’t be soon. We open the station back up to civilian traffic in…well, must be 81 hours at this point.”

“That should be fun,” Ted agreed. “I imagine the backlog is ridiculous.”

“It is. But I’ll admit, I abused my position slightly to get Vorsha-Azatila Seven cleared in the first wave. I figured you’d want to see your son as much as I do.”

“I do,” Ted said. “Video chats with Simene haven’t been remotely the same.”

“Ted…thanks. For everything. I’m not…it’s not like I’ve got a reactive-stress disorder. I’m not still stuck in the battle. But it’s good to remember that there’s a reason I was fighting. Not just for the people we saved, or for Tau Ceti, or the Empire. I was fighting to get home to you.”

“I was too,” Ted said. “We both were, and we always will. So, 81 hours until Caesar César comes home?”

“Yup.”

“Well. That does give us some time to ourselves, you know.”

Tig shifted, and put her left hand flat. Ted pulled himself onto it, and she lifted him up.

“True…and that is quite a nice uniform. You look awfully handsome in it, General MartÍnez.”

“I have to, Centurium Belfsec. You look spectacular all the time, it’s all I can to do to keep up.”

She kissed him lightly. “Well. Shall we then?”

Ted grinned. “Let’s.”