2164 AD
૨૧૨૫ MA

Pryvani was rather pleased with herself; even by her own standards, she had managed this about as well as possible.

The committee would be arriving on Avalon in three days, and when they did, they would have the opportunity not just to meet with Avalonians, but Terrans as well. The Alcubierre had entered the Sol Tarsuss system; it was mere hours away. Later today, it would land, and Avalon and Earth would officially celebrate First Contact.

They all acknowledged that it was somewhat silly; the Zeno’s Paradox had been to Titan Station and Earth; several Avalonian officers and crewmates served on Titan Station, and several Terrans were on Avalon. They were far more integrated than Earth and the Empire, for very obvious reasons. There was no logical reason to argue that contact between Earth and Avalon had not occurred at the same time as that between Earth and the Empire.

But humans were a stubborn species, and if they were to be reunited with a people that had been taken from Earth millennia ago, they wanted to do it themselves. They wanted to be able to say that contact did not depend on another species. Officially, this was First Contact between Earth and Avalon; far more important, this was a statement by humanity that they had found a way to unite two worlds on their own.

Speaking of stubborn humans, her favorite of all stubborn humans was currently getting into full dress uniform. Avalonian dress uniforms are somewhat ridiculous, but despite this, he looked as dashing as ever.

She watched as he finished pinning his medals, and go to his valet and grab a black badge…and pause. And sigh.

Given that he was doing this on her desk, she could hardly fail to notice. And she winced, because she knew exactly why he was upset.

“I’m sorry,” she said, quietly.

“No choice,” he said, not looking back. He set the badge down, and fished another black badge out of the top drawer, one that read X IYJOЭ instead of X MAPЭVЭЭ.

“If it was just you and me….”

“I know, I know. We don’t want the kids to have to go through everything Sorcha Freeman’s gone through. We want them grown up before we tell anyone. Ideally, we want the law changed so that there’s no possibility of challenging any of them. It’s all obvious. I get it. I do.”

Pryvani reached out to stroke him, but he shook her finger off with a shrug of his shoulders. Not enough to force her to do a gorram thing, of course – but enough that she pulled her hand back as if she’d been stung by a scilith.

It would have hurt much less.

“I’m sorry,” he said, after a long moment. He didn’t want to look back, because he knew the look that would be on his wife’s face, and knew he would lose his composure if he saw the shock and sorrow etched there. “It’s nobody’s fault. And it’s not like we didn’t go into this with eyes open. You told me…and I agreed. And my head…in my head I know…but Goddess mine, sometimes, it feels….”

“I could not be prouder of you. What you fought through, what you have done…there is no person alive, anywhere in the universe, equal to you. I hate that I can’t introduce you to the Empire. I hate that I can’t tell them to frak themselves if they don’t understand. I hate that I can’t show up at a soiree on Grelau with you as my date – and introduce you as Epistratichos Tarsuss, a hero of the Avalonian Civil War and the Bandit Campaign, who saved his people from an attacker fourteen thousand times his size, who climbed a mountain to meet a Goddess…and was her salvation.”

“They wouldn’t see me as anything. They’d see me as an animal. A curiosity. A pet,” Zhan said. He looked about to say something, but shook his head.

“And you worry that I worry about that? But….” Pryvani stopped, and looked away from him. “No. That’s not what you worry about.”

She blinked back tears. “You worry that at some level…that’s how I see you too.”

“I know you don’t,” Zhan said. “I do. It’s just…it’s foolish, stupid….”

“It’s neither,” Pryvani said. “It’s perfectly understandable. Why do I keep my marriage to you hidden? You and I both know why…but that doesn’t mean that there isn’t a stab in the gut once in a while. Zhan, do you remember when you were commanding the First Cavalry, your aide-de-camp, Doro Rire?”

“Hard to forget Doro. She’s teaching at the academy now, you know. Saw her just last week.”

“Did you,” Pryvani said. “Does she still look the same?”

“Well, she’s older, like all of us, but yeah, for the most part. Why?”

“She’s…rather attractive, you know.”

“I suppose. But…wait.” Zhan finally turned around. “Don’t tell me you were jealous of Doro?”

“You were with her an awful lot, and you had permission, you know, but…well…she was your size, you know. Still is, of course. You were good friends, I know…and while I never feared a fling, I feared…you’d realize how much easier it would be for you. And that you’d want to be with someone who didn’t have to hide you.”

“For Earth’s sake, have you ever seen a painting of yourself? A holovid? One of the many websites devoted to you? Look, we were friends. If we were good friends, I would have brought her around more. But even if we were more than friends at some point…do you honestly think there’s anyone I would ever leave you for? Anyone, anywhere, ever?”

“No,” Pryvani said, with a terse smile. “But what I think, and what my gut occasionally warns me of…whether it’s logical or not, it hurts. And what hurts most of all is that if you ever did get fed up and leave, I know you wouldn’t leave me because you had found someone else. You would leave me because you were tired of me denying you, tired of me pretending to be unmarried, tired of me giving evasive answers about our childrens’ parentage, tired of you not being listed in the official Tarsuss genealogical record…and that if you ever reached that point, I would have nobody to blame but myself. So I want you to know…if you really want to put on the badge that identifies you as Zhan Tarsuss…there is nobody else I would ever give my name to, not Titan or Human or Dunnermac or Ler or Avartle. If you want to wear that badge, I will very proudly identify you as my husband, and we will deal with the fallout that comes.”

“It could hurt the children.”

“What hurts children is their mother being cold and calculating when she should be loving, unreservedly. Our children are strong. And we are stronger, we can protect them.”

Zhan nodded, and reached back to the valet. He grabbed a badge, and put it on.

“Of course we can protect them,” Zhan said, straightening the badge of Zhan Ilios. “And that’s what we’ll do. I’m sorry for worrying.”

“I’m sorry that my people are horrible, and that for far too long, I was horrible, and then merely condescending, and now….”

“…and now wonderful,” Zhan said. “As you always have been. Now, I’m almost dressed, and while I know you don’t have to catch the tram, you still have to get ready, and whatever it is Tapp made you is certain to take you an hour or two to get into.”

“It’s smart fabric – it wraps and fastens itself. Which gives me some time. And you don’t have to catch the tram for at least, what, an hour?”

She leaned close to Zhan, and he laughed. “I just got dressed, you know.”

“I know. And darling, if you wish to remain so, I understand.”

Zhan shook the heavy black cloak from his shoulders. “Goddess mine, I don’t believe I said anything of the sort.”

* * *

The Alcubierre approached Herakleos from above its northern pole; as it approached the system, the two mining ore transports that had been flying with it broke off and wished them luck; Ted returned it with a sigh. He’d gotten used to it these past four months.

Not that it wasn’t nice of them. All of them. Since the incident at Sol Vakor, over six dozen Imperial ships had requested permission to escort the Alcubierre. They had not asked it of their local control or of the Imperial government, but of the Alcubierre itself. At one point as they transited Sol Gate 7, the Alcubierre was leading an armada of seventeen ships, ranging from a couple two-person runabouts to a 31-kilometer-long freighter en route to Homeworld-of-the-People.

The first ships had joined them before they even left the Sol Vakor system, and Ted had initially bristled when they came alongside – he had meant what he’d said to Taron, this had to be something humans managed on their own. But for the most part, the Titan ships (along with a few Dunnermac ships, a couple Ler and Avartle ships, and even one Tusolan ship) had approached them not as protectors, but as equals. More than a few had compared the Alcubierre to the Spirit of Archavia, the legendary ship that had first mapped Sol Grelau. They’d flown with the Alcubierre not to protect it, but for the chance to be a part of history. And okay, some probably were trying to be protective. Ted knew Titans well enough to know that – but they were at least showing them enough respect to do it quietly.

The story of the Alcubierre getting buzzed had been a minor one on Earth – after all, while drunken idiocy in space was new, drunken idiocy was as old as civilization; nobody had been hurt, and the commentary had mostly focused on the fact that three ships had come to the Alcubierre’s defense. It was a rather bigger story in the Empire, for a variety of reasons – you had the first heir to the primacy of one of the 79 families being a jerk, you had the embarrassment of having someone buzz the flagship of a foreign entity, and you had what was now a popular viral video of the Alcubierre completely outmaneuvering their pursuer despite being at a tremendous speed disadvantage.

It hadn’t been a decisive moment for human equality, but it hadn’t hurt; it had proven that humans were wily enough to take care of themselves, at least long enough for the cavalry to arrive.

“We’re cleared to enter Avalonian airspace, sir,” Lt. Uɉa said. “We’ve been directed to follow a specific flight path.”

“Send it through,” Ted said, looking it over with a smile. Someone down there had a good sense of showmanship, all right. Given who he’d met, probably everyone down there. “All right, Cato, follow it to the letter.”

“Aye, sir,” van der Graaf said, aiming for the South Panavalonian Ocean.

It was a long, lazy loop, one that took them significantly out of their way – but that was fine. They came through the atmosphere, and pointed toward the Gulf of Atlantis, aiming for Wanderer’s Bay. The Alcubierre flew at an even thousand meters, passing west of Napata and Selada, climbing just a bit as they flew a full circuit around the Atlantis city center, where two Atlantaean jets joined them, escorting them onto the final approach to Eudoxia Rabtes Starport.

Soon enough, the Alcubierre was moored, and the crew was led by its captain down the shipway to a small welcoming delegation, who would escort them to the larger welcoming delegation. Ted smiled at the officer who headed it.

“Lokagos Dande-Kramer. That is not a Titan Station patch,” he said, mock-reproachfully.

“Captain Martínez,” Manto replied, saluting, “Welcome to Avalon. And no, it is not, sir; I’ve been assigned to the 3^rd Cavalry, at least for now.”

“Just being selfish, Ms. Dande-Kramer,” Ted said, returning the salute, then extending his hand. “Knew we wouldn’t be able to hang onto you forever. Though Admiral Xú will be disappointed. So, what’s your assignment?”

“Well, for the next sixty days, I’m serving as a liaison for some visiting dignitary,” Manto said with a grin.

“Almost makes up for it. Pretty sure you know everyone – Cato, Thuần, Dr. Njie….”

“Yes, sir, good to see you all,” Manto said, quickly shaking hands with the seven other members of Ted’s crew. “We’ll be taking you into the city by shuttle, and that’s where you’ll meet most everyone important. Archon Triust will be securing the ship; Admiral Chandrasekhar has given him complete instructions.”

“Archon,” Ted said to the slightly older man standing beside Manto. “Be careful, she’s our ride home.”

“Of course, Captain,” Triust said. “And Captain…it’s an honor.”

“The honor’s mine,” Ted said. “Captain Carey speaks highly of you. Says your ground support staff is as good as Titan Station’s.”

“We like to think it’s better, Captain.”

“I like to think you’ll prove that statement, Archon,” Ted said with a grin. “Now,” he said, clapping his hands together, “where to?”

“This way, sir,” Manto said with a polite smile. “Your shuttle is waiting.”

* * *

“You’ve got to admit,” Lennox said, “they’re doing a nice job with the show so far.”

“Not getting taken in, are we?”

Lennox grinned at his fiancée. “No, dear. The show’s the show. We’ve got a good periscope?”

“Yup,” Ronnie Ng said. “Remote camera has a good shot, and it’s using the podium audio.”

“That’s my girl. You want to do the remote?”

“You’re the star,” Ronnie laughed. “We’ll go to you. In three…two….”

“Good evening from Avalon. This is Lennox McClure, coming to you live from Atlantis, where we are awaiting the arrival of the crew of the Alcubierre. We showed you the flyover of the ship along with two Avalonian jets, and we expect….”

Lennox noted Ronnie pointing up. “And it looks like they are on their way in. We have a shuttle coming in toward the square, and I’m just going to be quiet, as we get close to a historic meeting between Earth and Avalon.”

Lennox had to admit, it was a rather amazing thing, to be here on Avalon covering this. Ronnie was doing a good job of keeping him grounded…so to speak. Still, it was rather awe-inspiring to track the shuttle turning and flying low, with Herakleos as its backdrop as it slowly descended.

Lennox waited until it was grounded. “And the crew of the Alcubierre is disembarking…there’s Cato van der Graaf, the executive officer, leads the crew out…Breanna McNamara, Yǒng Qiánglíng, and there’s Adama Njie, they’re the science officers on the ship. And Ahek Uɉa, the comms officer, engineers Veronica Garza and Triệu Đức Thuần…and there he is, the captain of the Alcubierre, Ted Martínez, waving to the crowd…and on the way to the stage there’s Admiral Chandrasekhar and the Terran Ambassador, Rosa Naboa, they came ahead on the Zeno’s Paradox. And listen to that crowd!”

It seemed like every Avalonian was crowded into the square at the center of Atlantis; this was not quite true. It was more like one in every four Avalonians. Still, well over a million Avalonians were cheering their hearts out as the crew of the Alcubierre took the stage, shaking hands with the leaders of the Avalonian Republic. It was a sight most of them thought they’d never see, but for a few of them – some on stage, some in the VIP chairs in front of the stage – it meant just a bit more.

Even for those who had been back to Earth, like Alex or Nick or Sophia, it was like a dream. Hell, it was a dream, one all of them had entertained at one point – human astronauts coming to Avalon, offering the chance for them to reconnect with the world they’d been stolen from. That none of them felt the need to head back to Earth anymore…that was beside the point. The point was that they could. They were no longer exiles, no longer dependent on the Titans for their very lives. At the moment that Ted shook the hand of President Haerst, from that moment forward, they were no longer wanderers, separated from home by the vastness of space.

They had been reunited with humanity, in the literal sense – Earth and Avalon were no longer separate. From that moment forward, the invisible thread of the Alcubierre’s journey held them together. And as time went by, more and more ships, Terran-built and Avalonian-built, would bind them ever-closer, until they were one.

“Madam President, Ambassador Naboa, distinguished members of the Avalonian government, and most important, people of Avalon,” Ted said, in fluent, accented Archavian. “It is my honor to be a part of humanity’s reunion.”

* * *

“This is gonna hurt us, and no doubt,” Alvi Sest said, watching the news feed from Avalon.

“We should have demanded that they have a Titan film it,” Qorni groused. “This shot, from among them – it looks like a group of Titans.”

Torak Bakadal remained quiet, jotting notes to himself. The conservatives on the committee had gathered to watch the events on Avalon; it was a bit of reconnaissance before the trip there. Qorni was right – it did look just like a group of Titans. Exactly like one.

He shook his head, just a bit, to clear it. Bakadal was anything but daring; his mother had held his seat for five terms before he took it over three cycles ago, and he was intent on following her lead. Navoseretana and Seretana South was a prosperous, moderate-to-conservative district full of defense contractors and engineering and design firms. All he had to do was keep his head down, shake the right hands, and not do anything rash, and he could hold the seat another twenty years.

So it made no sense to continue to wonder about whether they really were the equal of Titans. He wasn’t here to wonder. He was here to make sure that Blue Star Design’s contract for the Archavia class frigate wasn’t endangered – not because he was getting a kickback from them (he wasn’t – Bakadal was an honest politician), but because they were a major employer in his district and major employers employ voters, and voters like it when their employer gets contracts and hires more of them and pays them more money. They feel good, and they like how things are going, and they vote for their representative again and again.

“You know, the Floor Leader told me he’s neutral on human citizenship,” Qorni said, calmly.

“Come now,” Dicero Falut said. “He can’t have been serious.”

“Deadly serious,” Qorni replied. “Indeed, I suspect that he actually supports it.”

The humans continued to congratulate each other on the vidscreen; for a moment, it was the only sound in the room. The six members of the conservative bloc on the committee were completely silent.

“Well,” Lord Theracy said, with a tight smile. “That’s a kick in the silgas.”

Xeum Agace shook her head. “If that is the case, you may want to reconsider your approach, Forna. If Rodrec Zeramblin wants this to pass, it will pass, you know.”

“Sen. Agace, we still hold the majority. One man….”

The former floor leader laughed out loud; it was one of the perks of being a former floor leader, she could do so. “One man? Forna, I’m still not entirely sure that Zeramblin didn’t back my opponent back in ought-five. He certainly moved swiftly enough once I was out of office – slid right into my desk and set to work. And you know, if I found out tomorrow that he did engineer my defeat…well, I’d have to shake his wrist and ask him how he pulled it off, because if so it was masterful. He’s gorram good at what he does. Better than you are. If Zeramblin wants this to pass, it will pass. Focus on how to deal with that.”

“Do you support it, Madam Floor Leader?” Bakadal asked.

“I do not, Torak, but I am not resolutely against it, not anymore. You must admit, the supporters of human rights have been making a very strong case.”

“You don’t have to face the voters again, Senator. I do,” Qorni said.

“It is rather liberating, I must admit. It’s too bad the Senate doesn’t do much, but it is nice to approach what we do based on what’s good for the Empire, and not just next year’s primary. Of course, the best politicians manage to make those the same things. Anyhow,” Agace said, “I am not going to worry about it. Like you said, I don’t have to.”

“I should think you would care about the future of the conservative caucus,” Qorni sniffed.

“I do, Forna, but I care about the Empire more. I would hope you do, too. And whatever one’s personal feelings, the representatives in this room should probably start considering what will happen if Zeramblin decides to weigh in on the side of emancipation.”

“He won’t get the chance,” Qorni said. “That’s a bright line. If he crosses it…well, someone will have to do something.”

“’Someone.’ Right,” Agace chuckled. “Well, good luck to you, Forna. Thank the Emperor I don’t have to deal with that shaka anymore.”

“You do have to love the holograms,” Theracy said.

“What?” asked the other five people in the room.

“What, you missed that short human there?” he chuckled, pointing in the general direction of a woman with brilliant orange hair, who was now walking to the podium.

“Forna,” Agace said, shaking her head, “good luck. Pryvani Tarsuss at their level, their size – that’s an image that’s gonna stick.”

* * *

Pryvani stepped to the lectern, and briefly consulted her notes.

She hadn’t intended to give a speech. She’d intended to sit quietly in the first row (virtually, that is), and politely applaud. But after requests from President Haerst, Ambassador Naboa, Dia Velos, and her husband, she’d been persuaded. It made some sense; it was her world, after all. Everyone here was a guest. That she would sooner self-immolate than send them away was beside the point.

“Madam President, Ambassador Naboa, Captain Martínez, Epistratichos Velos; citizens of Avalon, citizens of Earth; it is my great honor to be a part of your reunion,” she said, to steady applause.

She looked back at her notes. She’d written two speeches. One was the speech she wanted to give – one that was bracing and clear, that left no doubt of her position on humanity’s worth. It also left little doubt of her mental acuity, of course; it would mean breaking her masquerade, or at the very least, denting it.

The other was short, and sweet, and gave no hint that she was aware that this was anything other than a party at her place.

She paused just a moment, shuffled her notes aside, and looked up.

“In the early 20^th Century on Earth – or the 2080s, for those of us in the Empire – the Terran scientist Konstantin Tsiolkovsky was considering the future of the human species. This was before humanity had achieved space travel. Indeed, it was at the same time that humans were first developing heavier-than-air flight.

“Almost anyone could have been forgiven if they’d found the idea of air travel impressive. Tsiolkovsky did not. Instead, he designed a liquid-fuel rocket, and calculated the amount of force that it would take to propel that rocket out of the grasp of Earth’s gravity. Though he would not live to see the day that rockets would slip the surly bonds that held them to Earth, his designs would be the inspiration for those who would.

“In 1911, writing to a friend, Tsiolkovsky wrote something remarkably far-sighted. Earth had not yet been to space. What they knew of other worlds and the universe was only that which could be gleaned from ground-based telescopes. And yet Tsiolkovsky, who could not know for sure what lay beyond Earth’s atmosphere, dreamed of a day that humans would travel there, and build colonies there, and build lives there.

“’Earth,’ he wrote, ‘is the cradle of humanity. But one cannot live in the cradle forever.’”

Pryvani looked over the crowd, which hung on her words.

“The cradle of humanity. A beautiful, poetic view of your lovely homeworld. Of course, Tsiolkovsky could not know that there was another cradle for humanity, one that orbited a gas giant in a distant star system. That cradle – this world – had been built by my family, and we treated the humans who lived here the way that the Empire has treated humans since we first met you. We cared for you, yes. We liked you, to be sure. We wanted to protect you. And so we kept you, carefully, safely, within your cradles. Whether the one you were born on, or the one the Tarsusses brought you to, or the thousands upon thousands of individual ones, owned by individual Titans and Dunnermac and Avartle and Ler throughout the Empire, we kept you in the cradle, where you would be safe, and where you would be loved, and where you would never, never have to face any difficult choices or questions. Where you would never have to grow up. Where you could never become our equals.

“But you have refused to remain quietly in your cradles. You have demanded the right to grow up. The right to stand on your own feet, the right to decide your future for yourselves. And while there are many – too many – of us who pine for the days when we Titans could direct your fate, the simple fact is that all intelligent species grow up some day. All of us discover rocketry, and hurl ourselves off our homeworlds; we discover warp travel, and fly off to new stars. We build colonies, we build new homes; we build new societies in places where no society existed.”

Pryvani smiled. “You will not remain in your cradles, nor should you. No intelligent species is meant to remain there forever. And whatever it may mean for our relationship with you, it is our responsibility to help you on your way. Not to keep you safe in your little bubble, but to help you on your journey to adulthood. I have seen what you have managed in such a short time; I have no doubt that you will be splendid friends. And I am so grateful that I have been able to be here, and witness this; and I am so grateful that I will be able to witness the day that the Empire itself recognizes the simple truth: humanity has left its cradle. And it is never – never – never going back. Thank you.”

The applause was loud enough that she felt it; she suspected that even if her normal self was here, rather than her avatar, she would have felt it.

She smiled. Let them wonder if they’d had her wrong all this time. Let them wonder if they’d insulted her by buying into her act. Let them wonder if she just happened to have been given a speech by Loona Armac that she managed to read well.

Let them all wonder if she was intelligent, so long as these people knew the truth.

On Archavia, meanwhile, the six conservative members of the Tarsuss Committee were staring at the viewscreen, silently, until the former Floor Leader chuckled.

“Well, gorram,” Agace said. “Forna, you are well and truly frakked.”

* * *

Several hours later, the crew of the Alcubierre prepared for dinner. For most of their stay, they would be in Atlantis, but on this first night, they had a reception at the Tarsuss compound to attend. It was the most convenient place for the Titans to actually eat with them as themselves. Pryvani had offered to remain in holographic form, but Ted had insisted. The members of his crew were very familiar with Titans, and as far as he was concerned, while the holos were useful now and again, it was best that they understand each other as they truly were. It wasn’t enough that they saw each other as equals when they were given the illusion that their size was the same; they needed to be able to understand that they were always equals, no matter what.

So for the moment, the crew of the Alcubierre was waiting on a table outside the reception area, all of them wearing mess dress that had been brought for just this occasion. While they all hated mess dress (as all soldiers do), they at least felt better about it given the outfit Manto had to deal with, which made the ridiculous dress uniforms of Avalon look sensible.

“Laugh it up,” Manto said. “This is a traditional Avalonian cekabat.”

“I know,” Ted chuckled. “But you must admit, it kind of makes you look like a pirate.”

“I know people on the council,” Manto sighed. “You know I could have them rescind the Council Medal of Friendship.”

“And on the day we gave you the Gagarin Award? Not very friendly. And you know we’re just mocking you because mess dress is always terrible, no matter what unit you’re in.”

“Very terrible. I feel like a waiter,” Cato van der Graaf said. “Though at least one at a nice restaurant.”

“Speaking of which, shouldn’t we be going in? I don’t want us to be late,” said Ted. “It would be rude.”

“All I know is that Pryvani is working on something special, which could mean anything from getting carry-in from Rixie’s to bringing in half the population of Tuaut.”

“Fair enough.”

Just then, a series of thuds announced the imminent arrival of a Titan; in point of fact, it was a Titan bearing a human. “Good evening, everyone.”

“Evening, Rixie, evening, Alex. I am only significantly disappointed that you didn’t bring your daughter.”

“She doesn’t mesh well with state dinners,” Alex said, as Rixie dropped him on the table. “Khali’s watching her. But you’ll get to meet her, promise.”

“I’d better. Tig has demanded pictures. So are we heading in?”

“We are,” Rixie said. “Pryvani just signaled she’s ready. Steady yourselves, folks.”

Rixie pushed a button on the table, and it responded by floating upward twelve feet; she then carefully and quickly guided it to the doorway, which opened to let them in.

Ted was rather surprised to see that only a few people were in the room – Pryvani, Zhan, and Odin Tarsuss were there, along with Ambassador Naboa and Admiral Chandrasekhar, President Haerst and Secretaries Nonahsdottir and Xanthopolous. A fair percentage of the Archer-Dande-et-aliae family was there, as was Sorcha Freeman, meaning it was not exactly an intimate gathering. Even so, it was not the enormous, formal state dinner Ted had been dreading.

“Hello, everyone,” Pryvani said, smiling. “I wanted to welcome you to my home, and we have a nice dinner planned. But…well, I’m rather proud of this, if I do say so myself. I know you’ve been a long time away from home, and it will be much longer until you get the chance to go back. And so, when the Commander Air Group at Titan Station contacted me a few weeks ago…well, it came together nicely, anyhow. Odin, would you care to do the honors?”

“I would be glad to,” Odin said, rising and walking to the other side of the room. He smiled, and opened the door. Tig walked into the room, and Ted nearly fainted.

He had not been expecting to see his wife again for eight long months. He was generally thrilled when she returned from another room; it took all his willpower not to leap from the table and rush to her side.

He realized soon enough that the other members of his crew were in a similar state, and wrenching his gaze from Tig to the table she pushed, he realized why. Seven humans were on it – the spouses and partners and best friends of his crew, who were waving and cheering.

Tig pushed the tables together, and carefully plucked her husband from the sudden frenzy of hugs and back-slapping and tears below.

“You are,” he said, as he leaned against her, “the most beautiful thing I have ever seen.”

“So you like the surprise?” Tig said with a grin and not a few tears.

“I love it.”

When he’d recovered a bit more, Ted turned to his hostess. “Sen. Tarsuss…I don’t think any of us can express our gratitude enough.”

Pryvani raised a glass. “There have been enough people separated from loved ones over the years. This is the least I can do. And now, if you will join us for dinner…I believe we have much to celebrate.”