Four Imperial Days Later

Jolu Ikno stumbled toward the cavern, hoping it wasn’t delirium that led him there.

He was the last one. Of the twenty-one who’d gone into drift, four had deserted, six had been killed by something along the way (pick your poison – falling into a crevasse, being bit by a poisonous skalra…there were thousands of ways to die in drift), and seven had died from a potent combination of hyperthermia and dehydration.

If you’re doing the math, you’re right – there are three unaccounted for.

Jolu tried to tell himself it was worth it, but it was gorram hard to believe it. They’d had a satellite link with Walak at the start, and they’d been initially hopeful. They’d told them about the situation on Kembror, and they’d hoped that the New Archavian Empire would come to their aid. But it soon became clear that there was no New Archavian Empire, not the one the Poron had promised.

They’d argued, an argument that grew less cogent as the water ran out, and as they found themselves disoriented. Jolu had been their leader, and he tried to keep them together, but after a week in drift, with it becoming clear that their dwindling number was all that existed of a resistance to the rebellion to the secessionist movement…well, he’d accepted the inevitable. They had to surrender.

Jolu wasn’t a true believer. Just a believer. He believed in the Block, believed in the Guide, and believed in the inherent superiority of Titans. This was not so much because Jolu was evil as naïve; he had only met a Dunnermac once, and while the old man had seemed okay, he hadn’t talked to him long enough to know him other than an old Dunnermac man. He had yet to meet a Ler, or an Avartle, and there were precious few humans on Kembror anymore, and they were all pets.

Jolu was a believer, yes. But he was not radical about it. He had nothing against anyone else, just thought it best if everyone stayed with their own kind.

That was not true of Baly Casido. Baly was thrilled that they were finally gonna have revenge on the other species, the ones who’d kept the Titans down. And he was definitely not interested in surrendering. Better death than dishonor, he’d said, and his girlfriend had agreed, so one night as they tried desperately to rest, Baly and Noni tried to kill Jolu and Milius.

Milius, bless him, had caught it – got in between them and Jolu, took the shot and returned fire. They had all died before Jolu even had a chance to draw a weapon.

Jolu just wanted to go home. He’d spend time in the brig. The rest of his life, if he had to. But their locator system was jammed, the magnetics on the planet were in their usual chaotic condition, and he was completely lost.

He stumbled into the opening of the cave. He knew he had to go deeper. Deeper meant water, maybe. Deeper meant something to eat. And water. And cool. And water.

He stumbled forward until he fell. Not that he was aware that he fell. He simply fell, and landed hard on the cave floor, not moving at all.

* * *

On Diona, things were deteriorating.

Not in the streets – there was order in the streets, and the Black Block had been routed. But in the office of the Governor-Praetor of Diona, the argument was becoming increasingly vocal.

“I am truly sorry if you disagree with my methods,” Elali Cich said. “If you wish, I can always send you back to Senedj XXII.”

“That’s the way you’ve been handling it so far, so why wouldn’t you keep it up?” Khora Perol barked. “Disappearing one more person won’t bother you, so disappear me, why don’t you?”

“There’s a war on, Councilor! We didn’t ask for it!” Cich barked. “You worked for Cesil until the last gorram second, for all I know, you still are.”

“I’m not the one jailing anyone who dares to protest! Frak, Praetor, we can’t just become the Block! We can’t just become Cesil! I understand, believe me, but we have to be better than this!”

“I’m willing to take what punishment the Empire wishes to impose,” Cich sniffed.

“I don’t give a frak about that,” Perol said. “It shouldn’t be about getting jailed. It should be about doing what’s right!”

“Would both of you please shut the frak up?”

The two turned to Agoch Uslev in surprise; they’d forgotten he was there, to be honest. They’d forgotten about almost everyone in the room, save themselves.

Uslev stood up tentatively; he was not one for confrontation, even during more normal times. But this had to stop.

“Governor-Praetor, you are right, we are at war. And councilor, you are right, we cannot completely ignore our obligations to treat opponents better than the Block has treated theirs. The simple truth is that you are both looking at this from your own perspective, and you can’t. You have to look at it from all the perspectives, even those you would never consider.”

“Like whose, councilor? Yours? The Block’s?”

“How about humans?” Agoch asked.

That caused the entire room to pause, before seven or eight people said, almost at once, “How about what?”

“How. About. The Humans? Or the Dunnermac? The Ler, the Jotunn, the Avartle…all of those who were at the heart of this power grab?”

Uslev looked around the room. “Have you not even thought about what comes next for them?”

“I’m trying to get through one crisis at a time….” Cich began, but Uslev waived him down.

“I am not saying you are not prioritizing correctly, Governor-Praetor. Our security is important, and until and unless it is won completely, the rest is secondary. But somebody needs to think about it. And somebody needs to think about transitioning this temporary dictatorship back to a democracy. And somebody needs to think about integrating non-Titans in such a way that they can never have their rights stripped again. And right now, we’re thinking mostly on the first, a little on the second, and not at all on the third, and I haven’t even gotten to the fourth-through-seven-hundredth points.”

“Or any point,” Xetar Vjodal said.

“Nicely put, Councilor Vjodal,” Cich said.

“Not so fast, Praetor-General…I think I see what you’re driving at,” Perol said. “You think we need the Council back and functional, don’t you?”

“The Dionan council is doing what we can, but we’re figureheads, providing legitimacy for the Governor-Praetor’s actions – and do not misunderstand me, Governor-Praetor…I believe that is the right thing for us to do at this moment. But we will need a transitional government for when Cesil falls…or we will have a government imposed upon us by the Empire. And while I am quite certain the Empire will have a significant role in our governance, probably for generations, I am also quite certain, as a native Federationer, that the people are going to chafe against a buncha occupying rabble-rousers from outside the province. Anyone disagree?”

The silence that greeted him this time spoke volumes, so Uslev continued. “Are there enough councilors who would be willing to break with Cesil to put a council together?”

Perol frowned. “There are if we take a few liberties…if we assume that those who stayed loyal to Cesil are by their actions resigning their seats….”

“We could,” Uslev said. “They violated their oaths. Cesil and the Rimosis are serving in a foreign government.”

Khora smiled. “There are three Dionan members on the council who can be removed, then, and the Dionan council can replace them temporarily under the charter. If we can find six more….”

“If it would help,” a woman said, “we could have very official-looking documentation from a few councils appointing ministers in the same way. I mean, it would stretch credibility for the Senedj XXII council to have done it, but….”

“Ms. Vilum, we may need you to do that. But there are three councilors still on Senedj XXII who would immediately give this council legitimacy. If we can get them, a few odd choices will go down easier.”

“We have contacts,” said Yrusa Tam. “We can reach them. But getting a shuttle there….”

“Leave that to me,” Vilum said. “I know a pilot.”

“Yes, you do,” Perol said. She looked at Uslev. “Councilor, I am very much hoping that you will consider a promotion to the Leadership Council of the Federation. And that this council will give you one.”

“This is lovely,” Cich said, “but it accomplishes nothing.”

“Not at all,” Perol said. “We will continue as we have been. As soon as we can gather the council together, we will authorize your actions, and the actions on Kembror, and place you under civilian control – and don’t get your back up, this is a civil emergency, we’ll make sure you’re given a free hand to work. But we ensure that there are minds thinking beyond the immediate, voices discussing beyond the now.”

Cich nodded. “All right. And I will look at the positives. At least I won’t have to play economist anymore.”

* * *

Jolu awoke, and was immediately surprised to have done so. He had fallen to the cave in a heap, and expected as much as he could that he wouldn’t wake up this side of the grave.

He might be dead, he supposed, but he felt rather awful, which suggested he was just awake. But he was less deliriously thirsty than he was…albeit not completely sated.

“You’re awake, good. You gave us a scare.”

Jolu blinked. He was in near-darkness, which meant he was still in the cave. It must be night. He didn’t know who was with him, but frankly, it didn’t matter. Whomever it was had saved his life.

“Did…you give me water?”

The voice chuckled. “Yes, as much as we could. Couldn’t give you too much, as you were near-dead, and asleep. Give you too much, you’d choke or get sicker.”

Jolu’s eyes could make out shadows on the wall now, from a faint bioluminescence. He looked toward where the owner of the voice should be, but didn’t see anyone. “Who are you?”

“Now that is impolite, come into someone’s cave, and ask who they are. My name is Pipidu. And you are?”

“Jolu. Jolu Ikno,” he said, reflexively, then winced. “Look…I’m surrendering. I’m no threat. I’ll go to the brig.”

The voice laughed. “Oh, I’m not going to harm you, Jolu. From the city, then, I imagine. Of course, we all were, once.”

“Yeah,” Jolu said. He caught a glimpse of something, out of the corner of his eye. He turned his head, and fought not to shout in surprise.

The old woman was sitting cross-legged on the ground. Her skin was leathery, and appeared to have seen a thousand summers and winters on Kembror. She wore what looked like a very light dress, and sandals on her feet. And she stood about as tall as Jolu’s pinky.

“You’re a human,” he said.

“I know, you’re shocked. ‘How can a human walk a unit without falling over and peeing herself?’ That’s what you’re asking, and yet you know how sick you were, you know I must have saved your life.”

“Well…I mean….”

“I had help,” she said. “Which reminds me….Sagur! New bottles!”

Jolu saw where she was shouting – a small crevasse in the wall, about as wide as his thumb. Two humans emerged, rolling what to them must have been quite a large keg. It was carved out of hard-mushroom – a fungus native to Kembror that was a cross between wood and plastic. They tipped it up, pulled out the top, and the two humans went back, as Pipidu gestured.

“I know, one is not much for you. But we have more coming.”

Jolu took the cask, and downed it in less than a shot – it was but a few droplets to him, but still, that was more than he’d enjoyed in days. The humans brought ten more, and it wasn’t until the fifth that he paused.

“This must be…I’m sorry,” he said. “That must be so much water…I can’t….”

“There is a spring, far deep in the cave,” Pipidu said. “Down where we live. It flows during the hot, and during the cold. There is as much water as we can use. We save these bottles to use when we need it somewhere else, but it will take but a day to fill them again.”

“You live…you live underground?”

“Yes, we do. The brightmoss gives us enough light to see by. Oh, we come up above when it is pleasant, between the hot and the cold. We gather food and enjoy our time above. And then we retreat to the ground and wait again. We would not have come out for some time, but the sound of you falling frightened a watcher, who came to get me.”

“You said you came from the city, once,” Jolu said.

“And we are not going back! We had our chance to live the simple lives of pets. We left, or our parents, or our parents’ parents. Made the long journey – and no, I’ll not tell you how. Left when someone told us how we could live free. It is a hard life, harder than being your toys. But it is the life we want.”

Jolu looked at Pipidu, unsure whether the difficulty he was having was a product of his dehydration or the situation. Humans were inferior to Titans, everyone knew that.

“How many of you live underground?” Jolu asked.

“Five hundred and eight,” Pipidu said.

Five hundred and eight humans, descendants of pets, who’d walked into drift and survived generations. His soldiers…twenty-one armed with survival gear and weapons, and they’d died damn near immediately.

“I can respect that you want your freedom, truly I can,” Jolu said, finally. “I will tell you…there is a change coming, in our laws. I fought it…but did not know you then. They say they will let humans be people, not pets. Be free members of our society.”

“And I am supposed to trust that, I suppose,” Pipidu said.

“No, not easily. I wouldn’t,” Jolu agreed. “Especially since, like I said, I fought the change. Freedom is freedom to live here, though,” Jolu said. “Not to come back to the city. Not if you don’t want to.”

Pipidu studied him carefully. “It is night. When dawn comes, the colony will be directly behind the sun. Walk toward it, and you will reach the high road eventually. That is as far as we will forage; we know beyond that is yours.”

Jolu struggled up, very carefully, and turned back. “Pipidu, I owe you my life. I will repay your hospitality when I am able. I do not know when that will be. When I return to the city…I will have to pay for my crimes.”

“Crimes? Oh, your offenses, ways you’ve wronged your people. Do not tell them of us, that is payment enough.”

“No, it isn’t,” Jolu said. “But when I am able to repay you, whenever that is…I will promise you, no matter what…your freedom will be guaranteed by me as long as I live.”

“That is quite a guarantee, Jolu.”

“I mean it,” he said.

Five hours later, as Sol Kembror began to heat up the land from hellish to impossible, Jolu Ikno approached marker ten. He saw the men and women standing guard – they were his friends, once. They raised their weapons, and he raised his hands.

“I am not here to fight,” Jolu called. “I am surrendering. I have no weapons.”

One of the guards stepped forward, weapon trained on him, executing form and training perfectly. “On the ground, Jolu. Arms and legs spread. Latha, search him. Where are the others?”

Jolu chuckled, as he complied. “Hi to you too, Lil. They’re dead. All of them. I almost was too.”

“He almost is, ma’am,” the man checking him said. “Temp is 59 Vathmos.”

“Frak!” Lil said. “Medic, get him a drip. Jolu, what the frak happened out there?”

“We were idiots, Lil. We were idiots,” he said, barely registering the sting of the IV as it slid into a vein. “And you were right, the whole frakking time….”

The medication and fluids they pushed into him were comprised of hydration, analgesics, and sedatives. Jolu wasn’t surprised as he drifted to sleep. He just hoped he’d wake up well enough to explain himself.

* * *

Two Imperial Days Later

A steady rain pelted down on Disykles Starport. The small group of Titans waiting on the tarmac shivered; it was technically daytime by the clocks, but here at the small landing field outside of Walak, it was dark, the middle of Senedj XXII’s 23-hour night.

“They’re late,” a thin man with red hair and a pencil mustache said, looking up at the sky.

“So they are,” said another, his voice buzzing metallically.

“You’re sure this isn’t a trap?”

Palsa Temis laughed hollowly. “Of course I’m not sure this isn’t a trap. But we beat the Peacekeepers by about five minutes in Nuvotuaut. And I heard the fun you had in Ysam.”

“Fun. Right,” Krol Nempa said, rubbing the healing pack on his left arm. “Damn miracle I made it out alive.”

“Usually is.”

“I do hate this,” another woman added. “It feels like running away.”

“We’ll be staying in the Federation, Remma,” Temis said. “That’s what the communication says. I assume we’re heading to Kembror, or maybe Colony Eight. But Sol Federation is too difficult right now. If we’re offered a chance to stay in the Federation, but somewhere safer….and they are late. You’re sure they know this strip?”

The woman he asked smiled. “This captain knows every starport in the Orion Spur, folks.”

“Not the time for hyperbole, Ms. Maris,” Nempa said.

“Not hyperbole,” a small voice replied. “You ever hear of the White Shaar?”

“I thought Liss Peten had gotten out of the smuggling business, Mr. Maris,” Remma Skalar said, staring up at the sky.

“No, councilor, she just went to work for someone who could cover her tracks better. Ah – there it is!”

A bright light suddenly appeared from a ship that had been dropping quietly through the sky for a much shorter time than prudent piloting would recommend. But then, the pilot of the Akelois had not built her reputation on prudence.

The ship turned on its gravitics so high that the spillover briefly pulled the waiting group inward toward the ship. It bounced once, then secured, and its gate opened. A large, middle-aged Jotnar man ran down the gangplank.

“All right, no time to talk. Get in, quickly,” he shouted. “My name is Karral Vilam. Welcome aboard,” he added, shutting the door as soon as they were all aboard. “All right, Captain, we’re clear.”

“Good work, bierdna,” a voice crackled over the intercom. “Everyone, hang on, this is not going to be a smooth lift-off.”

The Akelois groaned as Captain Peten pushed the gravitics full. Masra headed up the ladder.

“Captain Peten doesn’t want or need your help,” Vilam said, but Masra didn’t much care. She was guarding Councilor Temis; she didn’t trust that job to just anyone.

She opened the door to the cockpit, and was greeted by a dismissive, “Sure, I can give you a tour. Nothing else going on.”

“You could use another set of eyes,” Masra said.

“What makes you think that?”

“Every pilot could,” Masra replied.

There was a pause, before the ship’s pilot said, “Grab the co-pilot’s stick. Keep a lookout for peacekeeper ships. Kid, you ready?”

“On it, Liss. And…now.”

The immediate response of Federation ground defenses was like music to Xele’s ears; they were scrambling to figure out how the massive Imperial fleet had just materialized out of nowhere. It would only fool them for about five minutes, but that was all the longer they needed. In the chaos, they wouldn’t be looking for one small ship with its transponder turned off.

Liss Peten kicked in thrusters full as the ship broke through the atmosphere, and laid in her course. By the time the sudden sensor ghosts were cleared, the Akelois was at full warp en route to their destination.

Masra finally took the opportunity to look at the third person in the cockpit. She’d been vaguely familiar, though she couldn’t place her. She looked older, Masra thought, but couldn’t figure out why she thought that. It finally clicked when Liss Peten said, “Nice work, Xele.”

“Oh, frak,” Masra said, unconsciously fingering her weapon. “Xele Cesil?”

Xele sighed. “Xele Vilum. Haven’t gone by Cesil for twenty years, and I’ll be frakked if I start up now. Bad enough I share genes with the frakking traitor.”

“Oh. I see,” Masra said. Then smiled, just a bit. “So you’re married to a Jotunn?”

“Yup,” Xele said, beaming. “I did send my dad an invite, back when we got hitched. He didn’t show up for some reason.”

“Can’t imagine why. Okay, Captain Peten…nice flying.”

“Thanks,” Liss said. “All right, Kid, you go talk to the group. We’ve got some explaining to do.”

The recreation deck of the Akelois was bursting; four councilors, members of their staffs and families, and Aezhay and Thrurfrit Maris were packed into the room. Fortunately, they wouldn’t be there for very long; this was a short trip, all things considered.

“Good evening!” Xele said, loudly, bounding down the ladder. “You probably know who I am; if you know my history, you know that I’d sooner spit in my father’s eye than work with him. I’m here because like you, I don’t want the Federation to leave the Empire. I may have spent a good chunk of my life outside it, but…this is where I grew up. I won’t let traitors destroy it.

“You all know that you’ve been contacted by other members of the council, and told that they’re putting together some sort of anti-government group. I’ve been reaching out to like-minded people since the illegal secession announcement; my friend Liss was brought on to get you all there. I’m sorry, we couldn’t communicate more due to the risk that information would be compromised, although to be honest, we know that the separatist government is aware that they have lost significant territory.”

“So we’re going to Kembror?” Nempa asked.

“Kembror is part of loyal territory, but no. We’re going to Diona.”

“Diona?” Palsa asked, hardly daring to believe. “I heard about the rebellion, there, but they took Opsistor down shortly after that.”

“That’s my fault, things got busy, I couldn’t keep up with routing swaps, and my algorithm wasn’t perfect.”

“Not at all,” Temis said. “You kept information flowing much longer than we’d hoped. And we still have back-channels working. You did excellent work.”

“That means a lot to me, Councilor,” Xele said. “More than you know.”

Temis smiled; Xele was Cesil’s daughter genetically, but she’d managed to avoid being raised by him. She was damned lucky for that. “So,” he said, “Diona then.”

“I’m not saying it’s totally secure. But Anola is, and the pockets of resistance are falling apart. It’s mop-up work. With you three ministers, the council there will have a total of 18 members. Nine were on previously, and six more…well….”

“Given the situation, strict legality is not the most important issue,” Temis said. “So eighteen members.”

“Right. They intend to declare themselves the official council, the legal government of the Federation.”

Temis broke out into a crooked grin. “I dared hope…that’s perfect! We declare that Cesil never spoke for us, and we are able to petition the Empire directly. They won’t be invading; they’ll be coming to our aid.”

“Precisely. Once you arrive, they will be officially removing all members of the council who are part of the rebellion against the Empire. Councilor Temis, I have a communication for you specifically, from Councilor Perol.”

“Councilor Perol survived?” Nempa said.

“Barely. Just got out of Senedj XXI ahead of the Block. I heard that they reported her killed….”

“Wonderful news,” Remma said. “Simply wonderful.”

Temis had been reading the letter carefully. He re-read it, just to be sure. “I…find this rather…I mean….”

“What is it?” Nempa said.

“Councilor Perol is asking me,” Palsa said, “to serve as Poron. I don’t….”

“You’d have my vote, sir,” Xele said.

“And mine,” Krol said. “Nobody better.”

“It will not be easy,” Temis said. “If they can restore order in Sol Federation, they will come after us as quickly as they can, and they will not be merciful. All of us are putting our lives on the line.”

“We won’t be able to hold out against a Federation attack,” Krol said.

“True. But they won’t hold out against an Imperial one. Which becomes much more likely if the government of the Federation requests assistance in dealing with rebels. After all, at that point, it’s not an invasion. It’s a rescue mission.”

“And if they kill me,” Remma said, “I die fighting for our people and our worlds…and the Empire. Besides, I think all of us have had our lives on the line from the moment this started.”

Temis smiled. “Too true. All right,” he said. “How long until Diona?”

“A few hours,” Xele said.

“Very well. Mr. Maris, you’re a communicator by trade; would you help me to write an announcement? It will necessarily be a draft, of course.”

“I would be honored,” Thurfrit said. He paused, and added, “Poron Temis.”

“Not Poron. We’re going to retire that title,” Temis said with a smile. “The Poron of the Federation has guided us amiss. It is time for us to stop looking to guides, and start looking to what we know is right.”

Thurfrit grinned. “You know, sir, you may not need my help.”

“Nonsense,” Temis said. “We need all the help we can get.”