Mpola Vidol was exhausted. Her ankle had been too shattered for a simple bone-knitter to fix it, and it was currently encased in a boot that was providing support for the composite to set; it was filled with lattice gel, which would hopefully do a good enough job at healing the area where the bone had broken through that she wouldn’t require more surgery or skin grafts. It was gonna leave a scar, but it wasn’t the only thing.

She was sitting in guest quarters, wearing a robe, fresh from a shower. She could change after her nap – Lauryna Gwenn had been thoughtful enough to have her crew print out a dress uniform and duty uniform. She said she’d done so for Embassy-Guard and Nasti as well, in hopes they’d be back. Mpola had asked – one doesn’t give an order, not for this – that Embassy-Guard’s body be cleaned and dressed in his dress uniform before it was put in stasis. She wanted his family to receive him in pristine condition. She couldn’t send him home alive, this was the least she could do.

She was bone-weary, but she was still drinking a soda and waiting, because she needed to do something before she slept. She needed to do this, or she would not be able to sleep, not even the brief nap she planned.

“Sebastokrator-Imperator Vidol,” chirped comms, “we have cleared radio silence, and we are connecting your priority one personal call to Tuaut.”

Mpola took a deep breath, and let it out. “Thank you,” she said. “

There was a brief pause, and then the screen lit up with the face of a man. If you didn’t know him the way Mpola did, you might not immediately think much of him. He wasn’t ugly, but neither was he especially handsome; he was a bit stout – portly, even – and his dyed hair and van Dyke beard set off from his dark skin in such a way as to be less distinguished than amusing, even for people who were quite familiar with the Aementi style. He looked at her for several moments, blinking a couple times, as if he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. Finally, he simply half-said, half-whispered, “Mpola.”

“Joseu,” Mpola said. “I’m sorry I haven’t called.”

Joseu smiled, and closed his eyes, and shook his head. “Thank the Emperor. I worried…well, I’m sure you know I worried.”

“I knew you would,” Mpola said. “I missed you so much, I can’t even tell you…and I worried too. I thought you got out, but I wasn’t sure, and….”

“Mpola,” Joseu Kronu said, a bittersweet smile on his face, “you don’t have to pretend anymore if you don’t want to. I’ve been doing a lot of thinking, and….”

“Oh, shut up. It was never an op, Joseu. I love you, desperately and completely. I have spent months hating that I might die, and you’d never know how much I regretted ever saying that – much less having it be our last real conversation before thinks went to shaka.”

Joseu blinked again. “I said foolish, stupid things. I hope you know that. I don’t…I would be lucky as Pryvani Tarsuss if you’d been assigned to seduce me, you’re better than I ever thought I could do.”

“You underestimate yourself, Joseu,” Mpola said, gently. “You always have. And when we were having that fight, and you threw out that maybe I had never loved you, and maybe this whole thing was to have me close to you…I should never have said ‘maybe it is.’ I was trying to hurt you, and I didn’t realize…I didn’t realize you’d think I might be telling the truth. I married you because I loved you, Joseu. If anything, I had to have some conversations with supervisors convincing them I could love you and do my job. They didn’t make me pretend to love you, you made me really love you. And I’m so, so sorry that I ever said anything that would make you doubt that.”

Joseu wiped his eyes, and let out a bitter laugh at his own stupidity. “That was my own weakness, love. And I said things that were meant to hurt, too. And if this time apart has tought me anything…it’s that I never want to hurt you again. Never. I love you more than anything.”

Mpola rubbed tears away from her own eyes, and said, “I love you so much. And the dumbest thing is…at the end of this, I think you’re gonna win the fight, because yeah, I think we should. I didn’t want my child born on Hive Prime. But they won’t be, will they?”

“No,” Joseu said. “They won’t. But if you don’t want to…if we never have kids, and you are all I have, it is enough.”

“It is,” Mpola said. “But you deserve more than just enough.”

“So do you,” Joseu said. “So do you.”

* * *

Glyta had not slept for her planned nine hours; she had barely slept for six. Cortexifan was known to mess with one’s sleep-wake schedule, and maybe it was just that, but she didn’t think so.

She did feel more like a person than she had before her brief nap; she wasn’t totally sure whether that was good or bad but it was something.

“System check, readout on my day,” she muttered, as she slid out of bed.

“Good morning Ms. Idisoko. You are early for revelie, which for you is in three hours, four minutes. You have a debriefing scheduled at 08:00 with Commander Riases in the Bridge Meeting Room. After that you are scheduled to attend a memorial ceremony on the Quarterdeck at 11:00. Following that meeting, you are to rest for the remainder of the day by order of Captain Gwenn. Please note: By order of the captain, the uniform-of-the-day is Dress Uniform. Have a good day, Ms. Idisoko.”

Dress uniform. That was unusual. But it made sense, she supposed. She went to her closet to retrieve hers, leaving the cape that would transform it to Mess Dress hanging there, next to her flight suit; she had decided that she would purchase a new flight suit, rather than cleaning or recycling that one. She didn’t want to wash out Embassy-Guard’s blood, or the dust and muck of Hive Prime. She wanted to keep it with her. She never wanted to forget.

She straightened her rank pin, and checked her lone ribbon – Good Conduct, which was due to be joined by a Meritorious Service pin in another few weeks. She realized that she’d also be adding a Fourth Insectoid War ribbon to it, and probably an Insectoid Border Defense.

She wasn’t sure whether she felt good about that or not.

Glyta sat heavily on her bed, and pulled on her boots; she ran a comb through her blue hair (it was still a bit snaggled, even after a very long shower, but it was presentable enough.) Sighing, she put her pad in her coat pocket, and left her room.

She didn’t know where else to go, so she decided she would head to sick bay, and see how Hercule was doing. Well…she could guess, and it wasn’t good.

She hoped she’d done the right thing. There was a moment, a brief moment, when she’d wondered if it would have been better to put him out of his misery. Maybe it was strength that had pushed her to call for lattice gel.

Maybe it was weakness.

Either way, she wanted to see if he was awake. If he’d communicated. If he was anything like the man who she had talked to en route to the Rusely, the man she’d coordinated comms with before the mission. And if that man could possibly forgive her.

* * *

Ahek wasn’t surprised to see her officers starting to fill up the briefing room half an hour before the briefing was set to begin. She hadn’t slept particularly well, why would they? She was pleased to see that they had all checked uniform-of-the-day, and were in their dress khakis, save the Avalonians, who were in blues and teals.

“Colonel,” Odsetseg said, as she sat down, “any word on Hercule?”

It was the third time she’d gotten this question, and she was glad that she didn’t have to answer it this time.

“He’s alive,” Saga Elsasdottir said. “Barely. But…he’s in very bad shape.”

“He can’t see or hear, lost almost all his skin,” Fredo Sapenti added. “They did at least talk to him using his translator, but, I mean….”

“He’s a fighter,” Aram Akreyi said.

“Nobody’s that much of a fighter,” Odsetseg said. “Is there anything we can do?”

“Pray, if you believe in a God, and hope, if you don’t,” Ahek Uɉa said. “Two officers is two too many. I don’t want to lose any more.”

* * *

Glyta watched him again, as he drifted in the greenish fluid. They had fit some sort of device over the top of his head now; she supposed it must be to monitor consciousness, maybe to help with the translator.

“I don’t like that,” Dr. Kretus said.

“What’s that?” Glyta asked.

“Oh, sorry…wasn’t talking to you. He isn’t deep enough under. He’s got so much adrenaline pumping, and we still aren’t perfect on our dosages….”

As he was saying that, the small figure’s head pulled up, wearily, and turned back and forth, before becoming still, and drooping just a bit. Glyta couldn’t see his expression, but she suspected she knew what had happened. He woke up, and for a moment, he was disoriented. And then he remembered.

“Okay, we’re going to need to up the dosage of koronatol,” Kretus said.

“Hello?” said a computerized voice.

Glyta looked at Hercule; he appeared to be gazing back at her, though she knew he didn’t see her and couldn’t know he was there.

“Hello, is anyone there? I…woke up. I hope you haven’t turned this off. I hope…you’re still there.”

“How do I answer?” Glyta asked.

“We’re going to put him back out,” Kretus said. “He won’t remember waking up.”

“But he’s awake now,” Glyta said.

Kretus sighed. “Press the red button while you’re talking. Try to stay away from idioms – this works best if you use simple language.”

“Mr. Desrochers,” Glyta said, “we’re here. I’m…this is Glyta Idisoko.”

There was a pause. “Hello, young woman. I’m sorry, if I sound tired, I’m a bit in the polish, I think.”

Glyta was briefly nonplussed, before remembering that nobody would or should advise Hercule not to use idioms.

“You sound fine. Of course, your voice is a computer.”

“Ah,” the computer voice replied. “That makes sense. I’m not talking. I should remember that.”

“How do you feel?” Glyta asked, wincing the moment the words left her mouth.

“Probably how I look,” Hercule replied. “Like a corpse.”

Glyta shook her head. “You look like the man who saved my life,” she said. “And saved all our lives.”

There was a long pause, before Hercule said, “I am glad you are alive, young woman. I am glad of that.” Another long pause, and Hercule continued. “May I tell you something?”

“Of course,” Glyta said.

“It will not make me look heroic,” Hercule’s computer translator said.

“Nothing could make you not look heroic,” Glyta replied.

“I am scared,” Hercule said. “Please, don’t tell anyone, but…they have told me how badly I was hurt, and there are moments when I realize it anew, and I know what I must look like and I know that I must be a monster – a tiny monster to you, but a monster – and I don’t know if I will ever not be a monster. If they replace my eyes, will I want to see myself? I am afraid that I would rather be blind. I am afraid that I will go back to France, and I will stay there alone, for nobody will want to be with a monster. I am afraid of that more than I am afraid of dying.”

“We’re ready to put him back under,” Kretus said.

Jolu Kretus was a doctor, and was and several ranks above Glyta, but seeing her look, he wisely elected to clarify that statement. “Whenever you’re done, I mean.”

“Hercule,” Glyta said, “it is okay to be scared. But do not be scared that you will be a monster. You remember when we talked on Hive Prime, when we talked about French, and about mourning those we lost? You are a good man. And any good person would want to be with you; I promise that.”

Hercule shook his head. “You know,” he said, “I wish I believed that. If you had said that to me two days ago, I would have tried to ask you to dinner, despite our size difference.” The computer didn’t quite translate it, but Glyta felt sure he was still drowsy; the rhythm of the speech had a sleepy, dreamlike quality to it. “I would have been intimidated, but I had too much pride not to make an attempt, but I know well that even if you wanted to have dinner with a human…there are billions who are not broken.”

Glyta blinked. “Yes,” she said.

“’Yes’ what?”

“Yes,” she said, “I’ll go to dinner with you. I want to wait a bit – you’re not going to be able to eat much with all the tubes you have hooked up – but when you’ve had a chance to recover…I would love to eat dinner with you.”

There was a long pause. “You do realize that eating dinner was a euphemism?”

“I’m a linguist,” Glyta said, with a smile. “Of course I did.”

“I don’t want your pity,” Hercule said.

“You’re a hero, Hercule. I don’t pity you. I want you to recover, and then we will have dinner. But you have to recover. I know it will be frightening, but I haven’t met anyone braver than you. So when you are recovered, we will go to dinner. It’s a date. Do we have a deal?”

Hercule was quiet for a long time, before he said, “We have a deal.”

“Good,” Glyta said. “Now, Dr. Kretus will be putting you back to sleep for a bit. I can’t promise I’ll be here every time you wake up, but I’ll stop back before you leave.”

“Very well. Good voyage, Glyta,” the computer voice said, and at that point, Kretus pushed a button, sending another batch of sedatives into him.

“That was very kind of you,” Kretus said. “And you don’t have to worry; he won’t remember the conversation. Most of this will be a blur.”

“It’s fine,” Glyta said, standing up. “He doesn’t have to. I will, and that’s what matters.”

Kretus raised an eyebrow. “You don’t have to date him, just because he saved your life.”

“No,” Glyta said, “I don’t. I’ll date him because he’s brave enough fix a ship knowing his reward will be the heat of a star. A man that brave is a man that I should want to date, isn’t he?”

Kretus smiled. “I suppose he is, Ms. Idisoko. I suppose he is.”

* * *

It had been a wonderful hour for Ssrassuna. After talking with the Embassy on Tuaut, he had been connected first to Tolusa Trasakasassa, and then to his wife, Sluurleassrs, and his three children. He had known he missed them, but he had not realized how much until he had seen them on the screen. Fate was bringing him home. He was so very grateful.

Now, he was speaking to the Stotolsa Herself. (For those of you not familiar with the Sodality, the Stotolsa is rather like the Pope, if the Pope was the head of all religions and also your Queen. And literally nobody disagreed with the Pope-Queen on anything, even when they did, because they all trusted she was basically right about everything. And you may think that to be odd, but then, you aren’t a Tusola, are you?)

“Many times, Ambassador, we considered declaring you lost. And yet, each time, the stars told us to wait. I now understand why they did,” the Stotolsa said.

“I am grateful for your patience, Seer of the Invisble. And grateful for the stars’ patience as well.”

“It was kind of the Imperials to keep you safe.”

“Indeed, and kind of both they and the humans to rescue me. Though they did not know I was there, when they discovered it, there was never any question that I would not be rescued if possible; in all matters, they treated me as they treated their non-military people. They did not share all with me, but I should not expect them to; it was clear, though, that they meant to rescue everyone they could, and that they viewed my rescue to be just as important as that of their comrades.”

“You said that the humans were piloting ships, but you have been referring to them separately from the Imperials. Are these ships of Earth?” The Stotolsa leaned a bit forward as she asked this question.

“They are ships of the humans, developed by those on Earth and those on their planet Avalon. They were designed without the help of the Imperials, though some humans who are now Imperial citizens assisted, and some now pilot them. It is my understanding that they are working closely with the Imperials though; the danger of the Insect-people requires it, of course.”

“Of course,” the Stotolsa said. “We have provided aid to the human colony that the Insect-people attacked; it is my understanding that the Insect-people would have eaten many of them, and slaughtered the rest. It is horrifying, and yet it is the way of them, is it not?”

“It is, Seer of the Invisible. It is.”

“This alliance, between Earth and the Imperials, it has been coming for some time. We knew it was coming even before we knew what it was, a great event that would lead new peoples to join together. We see now that it was humans, working with the Imperials. But we also see that we, too, shall join them, and sooner than we expected. The stars say it will be during this war; my stomach tells me the same.”

“And mine,” the Ambassador said. “Sebastokrator-Imperator Vidol did not speak for her government, but she acknowledged to me that the Imperials would see us as allies, if we were to join with them.”

“We have known for many generations that our future lay with the Imperials and two others. We suspected one might be the Drazari, though we are still not certain.”

“Waiting is, Seer.”

“Indeed,” the Stotolsa said, with a flick of her tongue, that the Ambassador knew represented approval.

“We have not, thus far, sent diplomatic representatives to Earth. But you, Ambassador, have studied these humans. Do you believe we should?”

“Seer of the Invisible, I believe that the humans will be of great importance to our entire region of the island of stars. They are as clever as any intelligent creature, and as brave as our greatest soldiers, and I do not say that lightly. We would do well to greet them as equals; they would learn much from us, and we would learn much from them.”

“We know our destiny lies with the Imperials. And we now know, beyond a doubt, that these humans of Earth are our other friends. The stars are practically shouting this. They are the second great power that we will befriend. The second great power that will help us to divine the language of the stars itself.”

“I believe it must be so, Seer, for I feel it in my stomach.”

“As do I, Ambassador. You are of the bureaucratic caste, but you hold within you pieces of the warrior and religious castes, and I shall allow your children to mate across caste if they should desire.”

Srassuna was momentarily silent, and bowed his head in deep gratitude. This was as great an honor as could be given to one’s family; only great and successful leaders were pre-emptively allowed to have their children marry across caste. No more than one in forty per generation could be permitted, and most had to prove to the clergy that it was the will of the language behind the stars. His children could marry warriors, marry clergy. Or marry laborers – he refused to become one of those who would look down on another caste, they were all necessary to the plan beyond plans.

“I cannot express my gratitude, Seer of the Invisible. You honor me.”

“You honor the Sodality with your work and your wisdom, Ambassador. And that is why I would ask you to take on another role for me. You will return home, of course; you have been too long without your family. But if Earth would be willing, and the stars say they would…I should like you to then travel there, to serve as our ambassador to the humans. To build our embassy to our new friends.”

“I will go where you command me, Seer.”

“I know you will,” the Stotolsa said. “And I do command you, because the universe wills it.”

* * *

A few hours later, a small group of officers gathered on the quarterdeck. The ship’s bell was flanked by Captain Gwenn and Commander Riases on one side, and Navarchos Lemm, whose shuttle was currently docked at the quarterdeck’s airlock, on the other. On a small table – or a large, raised platform, depending on one’s perspective – stood Izzy Ibanez, who stood to the left of Ahek Uɉa, who stood at the head of a rank of three Acolyte officers. There were four more ranks of three officers – and one rank in the middle, conspicuously left empty. Beside that table stood Krator-Imperator Vidol Decanus Johkanan, and Crewmate Idisoko, and again, a conspicuously open space.

Ambassador Ssutassa, Vif Stauseo, Sibel Idilidi, and Myo Usilu stood in the front row of a small audience, mostly senior officers from the Bass, including Commander Riases. Lauryna checked her chronometer, and at the precise moment she had ordered, she pressed a button. A three-tone chime announced her to her ship.

“All Personnel, attention to orders. Ms. Riases…sound the ship’s bell.”

It was a very old tradition, one that went back literally thousands of Imperial years, to the Aementi navy. Solemnly, Xianara Riases grabbed the bell’s rope, and struck the bell twice. She repeated again, and once more – three time two strikes. Each one sounded deep and rich – the bell was bigger than Big Ben, after all, and its hum note was half an octave lower. The room remained silent as the last note reverberated around it, and about the ship. Lauryna stepped forward.

“For as long as anyone can remember, it has been said that ships are more than things. Those that serve aboard them soon know that they are not mere transportation, or weapons of war. They are far more than that. They are alive. And what gives them life is the people who serve on them, every day, working to keep them moving forward, keep them in perfect condition, Most of all, what gives them life is those who give their lives to preserve their ship, and their fellow crewmates.”

Lauryna stepped over to a wall, one that was blank, save for a small cloth that obscured something. Everyone in the room knew what it was.

“Every ship in the fleet has a wall like this, with names inscribed upon it. Some of them have pictures, because they expect that there will not be many names inscribed. We do not have that luxury. The people who will have their names inscribed on this wall today will be but the first of many from the Aertimus H. Bass. We know what we will face in the coming years; we know that any one of us, or all of us, could be called upon to sacrifice for our fellow crewmates, or for the Empire, or for our allies on Earth. When that time comes, may we face it with the heroism of those who gave the ultimate sacrifice, for we go forward today in the knowledge that each moment of our life is a debt we owe on a purchase made by these, our fellow officers.”

“Let us now name those who we honor. Commander Riases.”

Xianara stepped forward. “Olthympo, Shagda Naskia. Senior Crewmate, Second Class. Chief of Security. Larisin, Utti Gavgu. Junior Crewmate, First Class. Security officer.”

Lauryna nodded. “Captain Ibanez.”

Izzy stepped forward. “al-Zayadeen, Isra Amatullah. Lieutenant. Pilot, Acolyte 2-22. Bâ, Fatoumatta. Sublieutenant. Flight Engineer, Acolyte 2-22.”

Once more, Lauryna nodded. “Sebastokrator-Imperator Vidol.”

Mpola stepped forward. This was kind of Lauryna; she did not have to recognize Embassy-Guard as one of the Bass’s crew. But she knew enough about Gwenn to know that the captain would have an expansive view of her responsibilities.

“Embassy-Guard. Decanus, Second Class. Security officer.”

She stepped back, and Xianara rang the bell, five single tones. Two officers carefully removed the fabric covering the names of the first five officers of the Bass to give their lives in service. Satisfied, Lauryna gave the benediction.

“Remember these, your comrades, tonight. If you believe in a higher power, commend their spirits to them; if you do not, then think kind thoughts for their families and loved ones. And may all of us prove worthy of their sacrifice. Dismissed.”

Xianara rang the bell once more, and Lauryna closed the comm link.