11 July 2176 – One Year, Five Months, and 13 Days after the Battle of the Embassy
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The only thing that made it bearable was his respect for the man at the podium.

He had grown weary of the congratulations from politicians and local leaders, the promise of assistance from hospitals and universities and businesses. He had been shuttled from Avalon to Minnesota to Paris to New Trantor, back to Avalon, and finally on to Paris, before he had been invited to this ceremony in New York City.

They had not completely rebuilt him; they probably never could. Oh, they had done a remarkable job; even on his darkest days, he could not deny that. His cloned lungs worked perfectly, and his artificial larynx was almost unnoticeable – only a slight metallic whir would give it away, and then only to those who were paying close attention. His ears and eyes were artificial, but they were both, if anything, more acute than the biological versions they’d replaced. True, they hadn’t gone to great lengths to hide them – but he had been through that hellish month when he could not see or hear, and he wouldn’t give them back for anything.

His arms and legs were also artificial, and it appeared they would be for the foreseeable future. It’s not that they couldn’t clone limbs and suture them on, but they had cleared away so much of his original body already. All of his skin was cloned and carefully applied over muscles that had been regrown, fat that had been redeposited. It was a bit mottled, a bit rough; he looked much older than his true age, despite having received life-extension treatment while on Avalon (they said it would help his healing; he doubted it, but he had not been in much position to argue.) The doctors did not want to do too many more surgeries, not for now, and the artificial limbs would provide almost the same level of sensation as the real thing, after all.

And they did, and he didn’t complain about them – they were state-of-the-art Imperial hardware, and if he didn’t look at them, he could almost forget they weren’t his. Still and all, he was happy that they had agreed that one other extremity should be cloned and reattached; he wasn’t sure what an artificial version of that would be, but he preferred it to be real. They had done a good job; it worked well. But alas…he had not had a chance to try it with someone else, and he questioned whether he ever would.

They had done a remarkable job, and he was alive and healthy, and for a man who had been burned to a cinder, he looked quite good. But that meant that one side of his face was noticeably lower than the other, that his nose was slightly crooked, and that his skin looked as if it had seen many years, rather than the 17 months it had existed. He couldn’t imagine dating again; he couldn’t imagine what he would do going forward. He was here, in full dress uniform, sitting on stage, and he had no idea what the future might hold after they handed him the medal they were going to give him.

The only thing that kept him from walking off stage was the man who was concluding his remarks. General Martínez was no blowhard, no glory-seeker; he had gone out on the tip of the spear, and if he’d come back intact…well, his wife hadn’t, had she? He knew, like Hercule did, that these medals did not mark one a hero, and neither did they represent glory. They were simply a marker, to indicate that the person receiving it had been damaged. Perhaps the damage was beyond repair, perhaps it could be patched together, perhaps the damage was so deep inside that there was no physical evidence of it. But it was always there, and it was Hercule Desrocher’s damage that was being honored today.

“Sacrifice in battle is, unfortunately, not rare,” Ted was concluding. “It is laudable; it is honorable; it is heroic. But it is not rare. What is rare is the courage to have time to understand the sacrifice you are about to make. To consider your mortality, indeed, to consider that you may be hurt even worse than you could be by death…and still step forward and sacrifice yourself. It is that action that we honor with the highest honor that can be given by the United Nations to one of its officers. On behalf of Secretary-General Ridgemont and by order of Marshall Akimoto, it is my honor to present the United Nations Medal of Heroism to Major Hercule Geoffroy Desrochers, Gunner, Acolyte 2-22.”

The crowd broke into applause, and Hercule rose, and turned to the General, and Saluted. Ted saluted back, and draped a ribbon and medal around Hercule’s neck, and shook the gunner’s hand.

Ted himself wore a similar medal, won in the skies over Tau Ceti E. And he gave Hercule a slightly crooked smile, and a brief nod, that Hercule understood perfectly. It was a welcome to an exclusive club…and more than that, an apology for the same.

* * *

“Well. Sibel Abidilidi. What brings you here?”

“Vif?” Sibel said, with some surprise. There were many places they could have crossed paths immediately after they came home, but a Rixie’s on Folkvangr Station in the Sol Tarsuss system several months later seemed unlikely.

“I’m guessing you got a call about a job,” Vif said with a grin. “I was surprised, but now I’m guessing you and me both got the same call.”

“Yeah,” Sibel said, settling down into the booth. “I got it too. A lot of money, it sounds like. I’m surprised with your record….”

“They said it would be legit. I’m not risking Penthe, no matter the cost. Don’t know who it is, but way I figure it, given the money…it was worth a look. So what have you been up to?”

“You know…trying to adjust to everything. Still seems weird, being back, you know?”

“I do,” Vif said, sipping a watermelon wine. “Not complaining – pretty much anything’s better than hanging out with the bugs, but…not a lot of friends want to hang out. To be fair, a good chunk of ‘em are facing prison thanks to what Krator Vidol found, and that doesn’t make ‘em happy.”

“Oof. Yeah, that’s better than I’ve had to deal with,” Sibel said, watching ice dissolve into her kapskrasi and mosaberry juice. “For me, it’s just…Dasi’s parents tried to be okay when I came home and he didn’t, but…and I get it, I do, it’s their son. I loved him too, but….”

She shrugged. “Not sure what to do next. We thought this would be a bit of a fun adventure, see the galaxy, make some money, build up some savings. Now, well…no we anymore.”

“Everything you’ve said, Dasi was a good guy. He’d want you happy, Sibel. Not either of our faults that we survived. Don’t know what I’m doing, but I figure there’s gotta be something. And maybe this job is it. Just curious who it was who’s meeting us.”

“Probably that woman,” Sibel said, gesturing to a tall Jotnar woman walking toward them.

“’That woman?’ Emperor’s mustache, you know who that is?” Vif said, awestruck. He didn’t have time to say more, as it was not a large bar, if one was a Titan.

“You both showed. I’m glad,” the woman said, sliding in next to Sibel. “Liss Peten, nice to meet you both. You come highly recommended.”

“Sibel.”

“Vif Stauseo. I…really can’t do anything illegal, Captain Peten,” Vif said, after a moment. Liss laughed.

“Don’t worry, you won’t be,” Liss said. “I’ve got enough legal work to keep six ships busy, and unfortunately, only have seven crews working for me right now, I’m short a ship.”

“I think your math is off,” Sibel said. Liss just grinned.

“It isn’t. I have five crews moving cargo, and two more on special projects. And I will make sure, Mr. Stauseo, that you don’t get onto any special projects that might jeopardize your freedom.”

“Okay. That’s…I’m willing to work. Just…might have some folks on Penthe who owe me for the trip. I’d rather not run into them.”

“You aren’t the first one,” Liss said.

“So what is the job?” Sibel asked.

“I operate a boutique cargo service. My clients are well-connected, wealthy, and looking for things to be moved quickly and discretely with a minimum of drama. They need someone with connections and resources to take care of them. That’s me. I need someone with pilot experience and ship security experience. That’s you, and you.”

“I don’t…why us?” Vif asked.

“My most important client has an employee who’s very tied into the Imperators Corps. She heard from an old partner of hers about a former smuggler and a guard who’d done some nice work during the Battle of the Embassy. He told her that he knew you were looking for work, and Rixie knew I was looking for a crew. They made the connection. Seemed fair to give her restaurant some business for the favor.”

“Rixie…you mean Rixie Carey? The owner of Rixie’s?” Sibel said.

“Yeah, I’ve heard about her, a bit,” Vif added. “She‘s not really the owner though, it’s her husband, the human. What’s-his-name, Alrex or something. He‘s a senator. Saw something on him, his wife was an imperator, but now she works for…ah,” he said, as he put it together. “That’s why we’re at Avalon. And yeah, she’d be about as important as any client could be. We’re moving stuff for her?”

“Among others. So what do you say? You interested?”

“Well…yeah,” Sibel said.

“Definitely,” Vif added. “But I don’t…I’m kinda between ships. Don’t know if you want us on one of yours, or….”

“I prefer my contractors to own their own ships, but don’t worry. I got a great deal on a surplus Imperial ship, one that had been impounded.” Liss made a show of checking her pad, though she knew the ship inside and out. “Jona class, last registry had it named…Rusely, it looks like. If you enter into a standard contract, we’ll have you operate-to-own. No interest charges either, I want you to have it free and clear, sooner than later. Maybe four, five runs and you’ll pay it off.”

Vif blinked, and looked over at Sibel. “Well…uh…I almost feel like I have to take this, don’t I?”

“It’s not an offer you can’t refuse,” Liss said, with a grin, “but trust me…it’s an offer you shouldn’t refuse.”

* * *

Myo Usilu looked out of the window at Tuaut, more lost than she’d ever been.

She wondered, as she often did, if she should have told them everything that Regda had said.

Maybe. But she wasn’t an adult, she was still a kid, and she couldn’t…she couldn’t just turn on her parents, not without giving them a chance to explain. And they had told her that Jolus Regda was nuts, they had been skeptical of some things, but working with the Insectoids? Backing the Federation? Ludicrous! They’d asked him to look after her because they had been friends, not because they had some sort of backroom deal. How lucky, they’d said, that Vif Stauseo had managed to kill him – and she wanted to believe them.

“Myo dear, lunch is ready,” her mother called. Myo sighed heavily.

Her dad had gone back to running for the legislature, and she’d gone to a few of his campaign events – trotted out, like a prop – and she’d listened to his speeches, which were full of innuendo and subtle slurs and paeans to an Empire that had never really existed, one where the ethics of the Titans who civilized the worlds around them were paramount, where their way of life was protected…and she could hear the echo of Regda’s words.

“I worry about you,” her mom said, as Myo sat down. “I still think a therapist….”

And her doubts compounded when her father won, thanks in no small part to the boost provided by his daughter coming safely home. And he had introduced her to Eras Kameo, and Regda had been right – Kameo had an instant respect for her.

“I’m okay,” Myo said. “It’s…just a lot, you know.” That usually shut them up.

She had told the Imperators about Kameo, of course, but Kameo had taken the same tack as her father and mother, with them, and with her. She could still remember him chatting with her, leaning too close, his breath laden with kapavi. “I condemned the Federation. Buncha idiots, kid. Thought they could take on the Empire. Stupid. Would’ve broken them. I don’t know how Jolus got mixed up in that. Oh, I can see how he went overboard, he was always hot-headed. Good man, but I mean…he never understood that there are lines you don’t cross. It’s a shame – if he’d had more sense, he would have stayed away from the bugs, let them rescue you clean, come back home.”

And Myo, who was no fool, understood the message between the lines – Regda’s sin was not working with the bugs. It was not ending the alliance when it became troublesome. It was continuing to work with them after they had ceased to be useful.

And she had definitely noticed that Kameo never said that he hadn’t worked with the bugs himself.

“You know,” Ligyra, her mother, said, as Myo picked at her salad, “your father and I have been talking. We could send you back to Navyenev for school. Torsta Prepatory is an excellent school, and with your father’s new job, he could get you in there. I know it’s hard, being away from your friends.”

“I’m used to it,” Myo said. “And it’s okay. I can go to school here. Really.”

Myo’s mother nodded, and she couldn’t quite tell if Ligyra was happy or sad. Myo suspected that they knew that she suspected they were in on it. She didn’t know for sure, but she worried that they knew she was trying to keep an eye on them. She tried to play it off — it wasn’t like she didn’t have trauma to fall back on to explain her coolness. But she worried they saw through it, and worried what would happen if they did.

She wouldn’t go back to Navyenev. She would stay here, and watch who her father talked to. Watch who his allies were. And when she was sure – when she was sure – that he was the traitor she thought he might be, she would go to the Imperators.

But she would have to be sure. Because she was still a kid, and she so desperately wanted to be wrong. She couldn’t just turn on them. Not without giving them a chance.

* * *

The ceremony had concluded, and now Hercule was in a reception area, accepting congratulations from officers and functionaries and a few family friends. He was unfailingly polite, if a bit distant. He was aware at some level that a couple years ago, he would have been awed by some of the people he was greeted by. Meeting Admiral Xú alone would have made his week, even if she didn’t say to him, as she had just now, “You’re as heroic as any officer I’ve seen, and I’ve seen a lot of heroes in my day.”

Xú Mùlán. Hero of First Contact. Merde, one of Hercule’s earliest heroes! Praising him! He knew he should be walking on air over that. Instead, he had moved over to a corner of the room, where he could look down on New York City, and wonder what the hell he was doing here.

“Pardonnez-moi, monsieur Desrochers.”

The pronunciation was not terrible, but clearly non-native. But that alone caused a brief flicker of a smile to cross Hercule’s face; the person behind him was making an effort to speak French on her own, rather than allow the translator to carry through. He appreciated that. It was polite. He turned, about to tell the person that, but as he looked at the woman, his voice caught.

She was Titan, using a hologram; he would have realized that even if his artificial eyes hadn’t been good enough to catch the extremely slight glow of the hologram. For one thing, the gold dress uniform stood out in a room full of khaki and blue and white. For another, there was a portable holoemitter that appeared to be attached to the woman’s chest, slightly above her name badge. (Of course, that holoemitter was in fact drawing the hologram, but given the skill of the holographers, the illusion was convincing.) And finally, her hair was dyed green; while dyed hair was not banned in the JTDI, it wasn’t commonplace.

But even had he not noticed any of that, he would have recognized her face. True, the scale was off from what he remembered, but he had a vivid memory, and it had been a face that had stuck in his mind, even through his recovery.

He finally forced out, “Ms. Idisoko?”

“Hello, Hercule,” Glyta said. “I’m sorry I couldn’t be at the ceremony itself. I was hoping to, but the trip from Titan Station took a bit longer than we’d hoped.”

“We?” Hercule asked.

“Yeah,” Glyta said. “Captain Gwenn and I are at the Embassy, we’re here using holos,” she said, gesturing toward her captain, who was currently engaged in a pleasant conversation with Xú and Martínez. “I also wanted to warn you, basically all of Wing 22 is on their way to New York – here, I suppose. Odsetseg says they intend to take you out and get you good and drunk.”

“I do appreciate the warning,” Hercule said, with a thin smile. “I’d ask what the Bass is doing in the system, but I suppose it’s classified.”

“It’s all classified,” Glyta said. “But we’re here for four Imperial days, and the timing worked out well. UN Heroes Medal. You must be very proud.”

Hercule sighed. “I am, I suppose. I’m…very glad that you are alive, mademoiselle, and the others. But as for the award, well….”

“It’s not much compensation for your heroism,” Glyta said.

“No, no…I just…it’s…foolish,” Hercule said.

“The award?”

“No, me,” Hercule said. “I have this piece of metal and fabric around my neck and I don’t know what it even really means. I know my old wing will come and want to celebrate, and they were there, they bled with me, I should be thrilled about it, but…it feels empty. And I’m sorry,” he said, looking down. “I don’t want to burden you with that. You aren’t a dream,” he muttered.

“What do you mean, ‘I’m not a dream?’” Glyta asked. “Is my translator having trouble?”

Hercule sighed. “It’s foolishness. Not long after I woke up, when I was still on the Bass…well, I think I was there, it is…difficult to remember. But I dreamt that I was telling you how scared I was. And I don’t remember it all, but I remember that.”

This was not entirely true. He remembered parts of it vividly. It was of course mixed up and confused, like all dreams; he seemed to be talking to her in the aft section of the Rusely, before he went in to the relays. Sometimes she loomed over him, even larger than life; sometimes she seemed to sit behind him, and whisper in his ear.

He didn’t remember what she told him. But in the dream, she had offered him hope. He remembered that. Hope for what…he wasn’t sure. But in the dark hours, it had been just enough of a spark to keep him from utter despair.

But how do you tell someone that you dreamed about them without sounding crass? He knew what he looked like now; a slightly molten Hercule Desrochers, but with robot arms and legs. This young woman was beautiful and smart, she could do better than him even when he’d been whole, even if he’d been her size. He didn’t want to seem rude or make it seem like he was making a pass. Even though part of him very much wanted to, and had it been two years ago, that part would have won out.

Though that part of him, which had been very good at reading women, was muttering that Glyta did not appear upset by his statement, or confused. If he didn’t know better, he would say she was excited by it.

“I don’t know how much you remember,” Glyta said.

“I know you brought me to sickbay,” Hercule said. “That you pulled me out of the relay. Thank you for that,” he added, and to his surprise, he realized he meant it.

“I had to try,” Glyta said. “I owed you. And after they got you stabilized, I did come back and talk to you. Dr. Kretus said you wouldn’t remember, but…well, I didn’t want you to feel like you were alone.”

Hercule must have known his face registered surprise. “I…thank you again,” Hercule said. “Perhaps that’s why I dreamed of you. I…it helped,” he said, deciding that he didn’t need to get into specifics.

“I’m so glad,” Glyta said. “I didn’t know what else to do to help you, but…well, I know if things had been reversed, you would have tried to help me.”

“I must have looked even worse than I do now,” Hercule said.

“You look wonderful!” Glyta said.

“I look old, and lopsided.”

“You look like the war hero you are,” Glyta said. And Hercule couldn’t help but notice that she took a step closer to her as she said it. “Do you remember,” she added, “anything about what I told you?”

“It is…confusing. I do remember you wanted me to get better. That I had to get better for you. I don’t know why, exactly, but that seemed important to me.”

Glyta’s smile grew just a bit wider. “You were fairly drowsy, so I will not make you it if you don’t want to,” she said, “but in one of our conversations, you asked me out on a date.”

Her laugh was enough for Hercule to realize that he must look stunned.

“Oh, don’t worry,” Glyta said. “I accepted. On the condition that you got better.”

“You…accepted?”

“Oui,” Glyta said. “You asked me out to dinner. When I accepted, you asked me if I realized it was a euphemism.”

Hercule looked at her in shock, his slightly glowing eyes wide. “’I’m a linguist, of course I do,’” he said. “That was…that wasn’t a dream?”

“It wasn’t. You remember it?”

“Not all of it. But….”

He looked away for a moment, and looked back. “It was kind of you. So kind. But I won’t hold you to it.”

“And why not?” Glyta asked.

“Well….”

“I’ve already told you that you look like a hero, and you do. So you’re plenty handsome enough for me.”

“You don’t owe me anything,” Hercule said.

“I do, but that’s not why I said yes,” Glyta said. “I like you. I’d like to go on a date, see what happens.”

“I’m human,” Hercule said.

“And I’m Titan. Capt. Gwenn and Capt. Ibanez seem pretty happy, so who cares? Now, if you don’t actually want to go out with me,” Glyta said, and she became a bit more serious, “that’s fine. You don’t have to. I didn’t ask if you were dating anyone, and if you are, well, I’m late. But….”

Hercule grasped her hands, without even thinking about what condition his hands were in. “I am not dating anyone. And I am…I would very much like to go on a date with you. Logistics will be difficult, I suppose, but at some point….”

“Like I said,” Glyta said, “I’m gonna be at the Embassy a couple more days, staying in junior officer guest quarters there. They’re not big…well, for you they would be. After you go out with Wing 22, hitch a ride back with them. They’re going back to the Bass from Prometheus Base. I’ll get us reservations at Rixie’s.”

“Very well,” Hercule said, and for the first time in a long time, he realized he was smiling, really smiling. “I’m sure Odsa will know how I get in touch with you.”

“I’ll leave you my contact information,” Glyta said. “Now, I suppose I should let you mingle. Capt. Gwenn is heading this way, she’ll want to say hello.”

“Of course,” Hercule said. “Au revoir, Glyta,” he said.

Glyta passed by Lauryna, and as she did, her commanding officer paused just long enough to say, “So did he say yes?”

“Ma’am?” Glyta said.

“Choni Kretus told me a few months ago, and I know that look,” Lauryna added with a chuckle. “I’ve seen it on my face. So?”

“He…did, ma’am,” Glyta said.

Lauryna smiled. “Ms. Idisoko…I hope it works out for both of you. Dating a human isn’t always easy…but trust me, it’s worth it.”