Thirty-Nine

The world was strangely white, so unlike the darkness of Death, so unlike the place where the First Empress’s spirit had waited all these generations for Her awakening, and where only he, among all mortals, had ever been. He could not imagine the power, the wonder that must come to the Empire upon Her return, and his heart stopped beating for a moment as he thought of Keel-Tath’s spirit encased in Esah-Zhurah’s body. He would have given anything, everything he had ever had, to see her in the white robes and slender golden collar, high upon the throne, the most powerful Empress his people had ever known. His only regret would be that he could never again call her by her birth name.

In the whiteness that was now the Universe, he saw strange shadows hovering above him like odd birds fluttering above a snow-covered field. Their jerky movements were accompanied by noises that were sharp and purposeful, but not threatening. Were they other spirits, perhaps?

But he knew that this could not be; the place of the banished was forever dark and cold, and all those who dwelled there did so in eternal solitude. Or did they?

The world seemed to turn slowly, the white turning to gray, the strange noises drifting away into silence.

He slept.

***

If any time had passed, he was unaware. Dreams of life, and things that were beyond life as any other human had ever known, came to him, played their parts upon the stage that was his slumbering mind, and left to wherever such dreams go. While he would never be able to recall the exact moment, at some point he became aware that he did, in fact, possess a body. He gradually became sure of this because of what his mind perceived with gradually increasing clarity: pain. It was not the sharp, excruciating pain of a weapon cutting flesh, the kind of pain that he had been trained and toughened to withstand, to endure; it was the slow, throbbing pain of his body struggling to heal itself. This pain also was something he was well accustomed to. But this was deep, to his very core, and he realized in that instant that he was still alive.

The shock of that realization was sufficient to send enough adrenaline through his sluggish body to bring him to the threshold of consciousness. He opened his eyes. He was still in the white place, but saw no shadows.

“Reza,” said a voice, so softly that he could barely hear it. “Can you hear me? Squeeze your right hand if you can. Do not try to talk.”

Not questioning the instructions, Reza tried to carry them out. Sluggishly, he traced the nerves from his brain to his right hand, commanding it to close. Nothing. He concentrated harder, ordering his hand to obey. At last, he was rewarded with a slight twitching of the muscles in his forearm, causing his fingers to move fractionally.

“Can you feel this?” the voice asked with barely contained excitement. Reza felt a gentle pressure around his fingers, the squeeze of another’s hand. He replied with another feeble movement of his fingers.

In his vision, he saw a shadow appear above him that gradually resolved into something that, after a moment, he recognized. It was a human face.

Nicole.

He tried to speak her name, but somewhere in the complex chain of physical operations that made speech possible was a breakdown. His lips, feeling swollen and numb, parted. The tip of his tongue curled toward the roof of his mouth, behind his teeth, to its accustomed position for making the “n” sound. But that was all he could do. His lungs were too weak to force enough air into his larynx to make the sound of her name. He tried again, hard.

“Ni…cole,” he breathed faintly.

“Please, mon ami,” she said softly, placing a finger gently against his lips, “do not waste your energy trying to talk. We will have plenty of time for that later.”

She smiled, and Reza saw tears brimming in her eyes. It took him a moment, but it finally struck him that she looked exhausted, haggard. Her face was pale and drawn, her normally flawless ivory skin creased and sallow. Her eyes were bloodshot, with dark rings beneath them.

She mourns, he thought absently. But that was at odds with the light that shone in her eyes now. They were joyful, relieved.

“You will be all right, now,” she said. It sounded to Reza as if the words were more to reassure herself. “We were very worried about you for a while. You were hurt very badly.”

“How… long?” he asked, ignoring her pleas to conserve what little strength he had. His range of vision began to constrict, the periphery of his world turning to a dull, featureless gray until all he could see was Nicole’s exhausted face.

She hesitated for a moment, and Reza sensed a general feeling of unwillingness to tell him the truth. His senses were terribly dulled, blunted like a rusty sword, but they told him that much.

“Six months,” she said finally, her eyes questing, hoping the news would not send him into shock. When she saw that he was not fading on her like he had so many other times over the last months, she went on, “It has been six months since we left Erlang. After you got Eustus and Jodi to Gneisenau – however it was that you did it – the surgeons worked on you for many hours.” Her smile faded with the remembrance of how agonizing that time had been. She herself had to be anesthetized, to shield her from the pain that Reza was feeling as the surgeons worked on him, trying to reconstruct his shattered body. “You never came out of the anesthesia, never fully regained consciousness,” she went on. “Until now. You have been in a coma all this time.” Her own recovery from the psychologically-induced trauma had taken two months, and the news that she was being forcibly retired from combat duty sent her into a bout of depression that she had still not entirely recovered from.

“You… all right?” he whispered.

“I am… better, now. I know I must look awful, but I have not been able to leave you.” She looked down at her hand holding his. “I had a great deal of leave built up, so I decided to take some. To be here for you, when you woke up.”

Reza’s heart ached for her. He sensed the long, lonely hours she had spent at his bedside for months, wondering each moment if the next he would be dead, or would never wake up at all. “Thank you, my friend,” he sighed.

“I could not leave you here alone,” she whispered. Tony had understood, and had supported her after Gneisenau had returned to Earth on Fleet HQ’s orders. He himself had spent many hours beside her, beside Reza. The two men had not seen each other in a long time, since the wedding that had made Tony and Nicole husband and wife, but there was a bond of trust between them that went far beyond the measure of their acquaintance.

“Erlang?” he asked as his strength began to wane, his range of vision narrowing again.

“The Mallorys, and what few Raniers are left, are well,” Nicole said, still marveling at how that was possible. While the cities and major townships had been totally destroyed with grievous losses among the population, the vast majority of Erlangers – almost exclusively Mallorys – had survived. The Kreelans, after retrieving whatever it was that they had come for, had mysteriously departed without inflicting further harm. “Several convoys of ships have taken them the things they need to help rebuild. Ian Mallory sends his hopes for your recovery, and his thanks.”

She did not add that he had also petitioned to be a witness in Reza’s defense at the court-martial that had long since been planned for him. He was charged with multiple counts of murder, including those of President Belisle of Erlang and Chief Counselor Melissa Savitch, as well as high treason against the Confederation.

Reza sensed that there was something deeply wrong, something that she was not telling him, but his body demanded that he rest. “I am glad that Ian lived,” he said quietly

The last thing he felt before his eyes closed was the gentle warmth of Nicole’s lips pressed to his.

***

Tony Braddock was a troubled man. Someone to whom he owed his own life and that of his wife was in a dire situation, and there did not seem to be any way for him to help. While he had told Nicole that Reza had been charged with murdering President Belisle, Counselor Savitch, and an Erlang Territorial Army soldier, plus what he took as nothing more than a gratuitous and hate-inspired charge of high treason, he had not told her how extensive was the evidence against him. Not only did Colonel Markus Thorella claim to have been a witness (by remote, naturally), the man had also produced an especially damning piece of evidence in the form of a recording of the soldier’s and Belisle’s murders. The holo had been validated by the court in the last months, meaning that it had been declared devoid of tampering, was genuine, and would be admitted as evidence in Reza’s court-martial. The alleged murder of Counselor Savitch was based entirely on Thorella’s say-so, but considering the other evidence in hand, Tony Braddock knew that almost any military or civilian court would convict Reza out of hand. Politically, as the war went on and worsened, they could ill-afford not to. The public wanted a scapegoat for the pillaging of their civilization, and they would have one. And who better than Reza, who was caught between two worlds?

Worse – How could it be worse? Tony asked himself – since so much time had passed and no one was sure if Reza would ever come out of the coma, they had dispensed with the pre-trial preliminaries that might have given him some sort of due process, at least in terms of technicalities. Most of the witnesses for his defense had been released to fleet duty, their sworn testimony recorded for the proceedings. But it was not the same as in-person testimony, Braddock knew, especially when Reza’s chief accuser, Colonel Thorella, had conveniently been ordered to a posting on Earth after he had somehow explained away the annihilation of his own regiment on Erlang.

While Tony had no proof, he had no doubt that there were some dark forces moving things along. He suspected Senator Borge and his increasingly large and vocal militant following of having a hand in it, but there was no way to prove it. And even if that were true, what could he do? Go to the president and accuse Borge of subverting the legal process in the military?

He smiled bitterly. Even with evidence as solid as Kilimanjaro, that would be foolhardy, at best. Borge had few remaining political enemies except the president and a few older and more powerful senators who still remembered what democracy was like, and who cherished the ideal above the rhetoric of their office.

And there were still a few young fools like Tony Braddock.

He rolled over, careful not to disturb Nicole, sleeping beside him. She seemed so much better now, after the months she had spent recovering from whatever had come over her, all the while distraught over whether Reza would survive. Tony had found it maddening sometimes, but he had done everything he humanly could to be there for her, to comfort her and try to lighten her burden. He knew she had been, and still was, deeply depressed at being assigned a non-combat position, but he was relieved that she had finally been taken out of harm’s way. She had done more than her share, and it was time for them to have some time together as man and wife, and perhaps to ask themselves again if they were ready to become father and mother.

He heard her whisper Reza’s name in whatever it was that she dreamed. His heart used to darken out of jealousy, wondering if perhaps she did not really love Reza more than she did himself. But over time, his fears had subsided. She loved Reza, yes, but as a sister might a brother or close friend. Perhaps there had been a time when she had wanted it to be something more. But he knew, from both Jodi and Nicole, that Reza would never have accepted anything more than platonic love from her or any other human woman; Reza’s heart lay elsewhere, deep in the Empire.

Braddock had also listened to Jodi tell him of her suspected “psychic link” between Nicole and Reza, but he had never believed it until Admiral Sinclaire himself had told him of what had happened to Nicole on Gneisenau’s bridge when Reza was wounded.

Braddock would have to learn more about that, and many other things, come morning, he thought, as well as bring an old friend some very bad news. He would go and visit Reza, not as a friend, but as his legal counsel in a trial that he knew could only result in Reza’s execution.

***

“…and that’s where you stand, Reza.” Having finished outlining his friend’s situation, Tony sat back in the chrome chair next to Reza’s bed, feeling drained. A week had passed since he had first resolved to visit Reza, but the doctors had refused any visitors other than Nicole, who seemed to be a catalyst in Reza’s recovery. But after seven days the patient’s condition had improved enough that the doctors had finally allowed Reza one additional visitor. His defense counsel.

Reza showed no reaction, but continued to stare out the window as he had the entire time Tony had been talking.

Braddock frowned. “Reza, did you hear anything that I just said?”

“Yes,” Reza said, at last turning to face him, his face an unreadable mask. “I heard and understand.”

Braddock’s temper flared. “Dammit, Reza, they’re not just trying to throw the book at you, they’re trying to dump the whole library on your head! Everyone who knows you knows that you would never have committed these crimes, but the court will–”

“I did, Tony,” Reza said quietly, his eyes glinting in the light.

Braddock’s mouth hung open for a moment. “What?” he said. “What did you say?”

“I killed Belisle and the Territorial Army soldier,” Reza went on, his voice not showing the keening in his blood. “The killing of the soldier was unfortunate, an act of self-defense, but I killed Belisle with forethought.” He paused, noting the blood draining from Braddock’s face. “And if I had to do it again in front of the Confederation Council itself, I would. He was an animal, a murderer. Had I not killed him, or had the Kreela not come and destroyed the city, many of Erlang’s people would even now lay dead at his hands. As for Melissa Savitch, her death was Markus Thorella’s deed. And I shall yet find a way to avenge her.”

“Can you prove that Thorella killed her?” Braddock asked, seeing his case to defend Reza foundering as surely as a scuttled ship. But perhaps there might be enough to hang Thorella for murdering Savitch. At least that bastard could swing beside Reza on the gallows.

“None but my word.”

“That’s not good enough, Reza.”

Reza nodded gravely. In the world in which he had been raised, the world of the Kreela, one’s word was a bond stronger than steel, a commitment backed by one’s very life. Among those of this blood, among humans, however, it often meant little or nothing. Especially if one stood accused in a court of law. “I would have taken his head, as well, had he not outwitted me,” Reza told him, describing Thorella’s scheme and what exactly had happened in Belisle’s office. “He shall not deceive me again.”

No, Braddock thought, he won’t: you will be a dead man and he will go free. “Reza,” he said, leaning forward to emphasize what he was saying and shocked that Thorella’s accusations were even partially true, “confession is only going to earn you a quick trip to the gallows. The only way I can help you is if there are some mitigating circumstances, maybe by having some Mallorys testify as to Belisle’s misdeeds. We might be able to get that charge reduced to a crime of passion in the UCMJ, or even dropped altogether if we can get the Council to cede jurisdiction to Erlang.”

Reza was warmed but amused by his friend’s determination to keep him from the hangman’s noose. He shook his head. “My friend Tony, you know far better than I that the Council will do no such thing. They cannot. I killed Belisle and the soldier, but not Melissa Savitch. To try and convince anyone otherwise would be to lie. And what of the charge of treason?”

Braddock shook his head, wishing that this were all a bad dream and that he would wake up in a warm bed next to Nicole. Even if he could get the murder charges dropped or reduced, the treason charge would not be let go. “How could you have done this Reza?” he asked more to himself than his doomed friend. All Tony could do now was to ensure that due process was given and the procedures themselves were legal. “You don’t have a prayer with the judges. You may as well have just stayed there and died.”

“I tried,” Reza said quietly.

Braddock frowned. “The only other alternative I can think of is to ask the president to pardon you. I mean, since you are the only real authority on Kreelan affairs, maybe–”

“Impossible,” Reza said quietly. “I am accused of capital crimes, Tony, two of which I am guilty by my own admission. How can it be that your society, which claims to hold justice so high, could simply allow me to go free? I do not well understand the politics of the Confederation, but I do not see how even the president could manage such a thing without devastating repercussions. He would not pardon me; he could not. And I do not wish it. I knew what I was doing when I took Belisle’s head. I simply did not intend to survive to receive the punishment I must under Confederation law.”

“You could escape,” Tony said quietly. He was not suggesting it as a counsel, but as a friend. He knew that Reza would not have done what he did without good reason, but that would not hold up in a court, especially if Reza confessed. “It would be easy for you,” he said. He knew as well as anyone that Reza could disappear like a ghost if he wished.

Reza shook his head. “And go where, Tony? To the hills of this planet? To the desert? Even if I could whisk myself to Eridan Five and dwell among the saurians there, I would not. What would be the point? Even without a trial, I am an outlaw among your kind, having forsaken the cloth of the Corps and the Regiment, and I cannot return to my own people without disavowing the oath I made that banished me. And that is something I can never do, even at the price of my own head.”

Braddock did not say anything for a while. He felt like his guts had been ripped out and stomped on.

“What about Nicole?” If Reza had resigned himself to death, then so be it. There was nothing more he could do for him. Now he had to worry about Nicole. His wife. “How will she handle your death?” Tony asked, imagining the metal cable tightening around Reza’s neck, Nicole writhing in agony as it happened, filling her with the same grisly sensations that Reza would feel. “What is this bond, or whatever it is, between you going to do to her?”

Reza had been devoting a great deal of thought to that, but he had no answer. He simply did not know. Even the memories of the Ancient Ones that only seemed to unlock themselves in his dreams had left him no clue. “I do not know,” he said helplessly. “There is no way to undo what has been done.”

“Does this link still exist?”

Reza shook his head. “I do not know. I have not sensed her since I awakened, but that means nothing. The Blood that flows through her is much diluted, for there is little enough in me. The bond has always been little more than a filament between us. Perhaps the shock of what happened broke it…” He shrugged helplessly at Braddock’s uncertain expression, his own heart filled with fear on her behalf. “Tony, if there was any way at all to guarantee her safety, I would do it. But I just do not know.”

“Sometimes, when she dreams, she speaks in a strange language. Would that be the language… your people speak?”

Reza nodded. “It would be the Old Tongue,” he explained, “the language used in the time of the First Empress. She would only speak it if the bond was unbroken.”

Braddock’s heart sank. He was afraid that would be the case. “She spoke that way last night.”

Reza closed his eyes, his heart beating heavily in his chest with grief. “Then I fear that whatever I feel, so shall she.”

“She’ll die, Reza.”

Opening his eyes, Reza looked his old friend in the face, his own twisted in a mask of emotional agony. “I know,” was all he could say.

***

“Now tell me, Markus,” Borge said cheerfully, “isn’t this far better, even after having had to wait so long?”

Markus Thorella smiled as he cut a strip of sirloin that was among the usual delicacies served at Borge’s table. “Yes, your Honor,” he said honestly. “I have to admit that I thought you were wrong all this time, but now…” He shrugged. “I was wrong. Publicly humiliating Gard has been more fun than I possibly could have imagined.”

In many ways, an outside observer might have thought that the two were like father and son. It was a comparison that would not have been lost on Borge, although Thorella would have chosen to ignore it. Borge had sponsored the younger man, getting him out of trouble when required – as in the nasty incident on Erlang – while developing him into the political and military tool that he needed. He was daring, ruthless, and bloodthirsty, all characteristics that suited Borge’s needs most satisfactorily. It had been a lengthy struggle to keep Thorella from following his passions when he should have been following orders, but it had been worth it. Borge’s plans demanded such an individual, and the time was drawing near for him to put Thorella to his ultimate use.

The fact that he would eventually have to kill Thorella was entirely beside the point. He could never allow such a powerful weapon to exist after its usefulness had ended.

“So,” Borge asked, “tell me, how goes the war?”

Thorella looked startled. “You haven’t heard?”

Borge shook his head as he carefully set down his fork. He was not in the mood for surprises. He never was. “What’s that supposed to mean?” he said. “Is there something the General Staff hasn’t been telling us?”

“I don’t know, Senator. But Admiral Zhukovski–”

“That Russian bastard,” Borge hissed under his breath. I’ll make Zhukovski eat gravel one day, he vowed to himself. “He’s a meddler and a fool.”

“Well,” Thorella went on, “my little network found out that there’s been something strange going on. Zhukovski’s people apparently believe that the Kreelans have slacked off heavily in the last few days in their overall offensive, and a lot of their fleet units have mysteriously disappeared.”

“Are you telling me that those witches are retreating?”

“I don’t know, sir,” Thorella said carefully. He was not about to stick his neck out on the basis of someone else’s information, no matter how valid it might be. “But that was the word I got. Unfortunately, I assumed that it would have already made its way to the Council by now.”

Borge nodded. He was furious, boiling inside, but not with Thorella. The Council should have been informed immediately, and he was determined to find out why it had not. “Not your fault, colonel,” he said graciously, actually meaning it, “not at all. But I am afraid that this will cut our dinner date a bit short.”

“I understand, sir,” Thorella said, relieved that Borge’s wrath would be directed away from him. Without hesitation, he rose from the table after Borge and followed him to the hall that led to the front door of the senator’s mansion.

“Be standing by, Markus,” Borge said. “I may need your services very soon.”

“It will be my pleasure, your Honor,” Thorella replied, shaking the older man’s hand before he put on his cap and opened the door to leave. The smell of coming rain was strong in the night air. “You know where to reach me.”

As the younger man walked to his waiting speeder, Borge returned to his study to contact his staff. They all had a great deal to do tonight.

***

“Blast it,” the president said, “how did he find out? The entire bloody Council and Senate is up in arms, screaming that the Executive has withheld vital defense information from them without due cause. Borge has asked for an emergency Council session this morning, and no doubt putting my head on the chopping block will be the topic of discussion.” He had no doubt what the result would be if Borge somehow managed to push through a vote of confidence.

Zhukovski shrugged. “Is not so difficult that he found out, given nature of information,” he said. “Anyone gets idea that Kreelans are backing off, word spreads like fire, and to devil with security.”

“That does not help us, Evgeni,” Admiral L’Houillier said, exasperated. “The fact that your people came up with some analysis like this on the war and were not able to keep it secret–”

“What do you propose I do, admiral?” Zhukovski retorted before his superior could finish. “Shoot my entire staff, their families and friends? Everyone wants war to end, and is willing to pass on good news to others, rules and regulations be damned. But leak of Kreelan ‘withdrawal,’ as good Senator Borge might say was, perhaps, premature.”

“Meaning?” the president asked sharply.

Zhukovski called up a galactic map on the table’s holo system. “Information that Borge received was initial analytic conclusion,” Zhukovski explained in his rumbling voice. “Young analyst of mine saw pattern of sharply increased losses among Kreelan ships and ground forces in battles over last few days, without apparent reason. Further, she found that far fewer Kreelan ships are now in human space than week ago, and offensives on and against many of our colony worlds have suddenly and inexplicably collapsed.” He frowned. “It is as if Kreelans have suddenly lost will to fight. This is information she initially reported informally to me, and I presume is same information received by Borge.”

“I sense a large ‘but’ coming up, Evgeni,” L’Houillier said.

Zhukovski turned his good eye on the senior admiral, nodding his head gravely. “Indeed, it is so. Analyst continued her good works, and discovered what I believe to be Truth, with large T.” The other two men were silent. “Her analysis of STARNET reporting shows that large number of Kreelan warships have passed through trans-Grange and Inner Arm sectors on what looks like converging vectors.”

“Well, where?” the president said impatiently. “Dammit, Evgeni, spell it out!”

“We have only been able to plot location to spheroid of about eight-thousand cubic light years, centered toward galactic hub, past Inner Arm rim worlds.” He sat back, waving his hand dismissively. “But that is immaterial.”

“Why, Evgeni?” L’Houillier asked him.

Zhukovski eyed him closely. “Because, my dear admiral, if projections of my analyst – completed as of this evening – are correct, as I believe they are, no fewer than three thousand Kreelan warships are massed in that sector for what can only be final chapter in this war: total destruction of humanity. And those are ships we know about. There could be more. Many more.”

The other two men sat silent, dumbstruck.

“Three thousand,” L’Houillier whispered finally. “Evgeni, that is impossible! How could they mass that many ships, and so quickly? We do not have half as many warships in our entire fleet!”

“Exactly my point,” Zhukovski said as he took another sip of the over-sweetened tea. “Why Kreelans suddenly die like flies in combat, like drunkards or fools, I do not know. But with three or four thousand ships, even drunkards or fools can destroy Confederation Navy and every colony populated by homo sapiens.”

“Lord of All,” President Nathan whispered, “what shall we do? Evgeni, even if you are completely wrong – which, unfortunately, I doubt – if that information were to reach the press, we’ll have an interstellar panic on our hands. The government will collapse.”

“Borge will not hesitate to use it against you, Mr. President,” L’Houillier said. While he was supposed to be apolitical, the Grand Admiral had no illusions about Borge’s own lust for power, and had no doubt that he would use any tool available to further his own cause. “Nor can we legally keep the information from the Council, even if there were no leaks.”

Nathan nodded. His political position had just disappeared, vanished into a bottomless morass. But that was not his real concern; the people of the Confederation were. “I’ll have to strike a bargain with him.”

“Better to be bitten in throat by venomous snake,” uttered Zhukovski, not relishing the president’s position. He himself despised Borge and his sycophants, avoiding them whenever possible. Unlike L’Houillier, he made no effort to disguise his personal or political likes and dislikes.

“Believe me, Evgeni,” the president said, “I would much rather jump into a pit of such snakes than give Borge this kind of leverage.” He thought of how long he and Borge had been friends, before Borge had changed, been consumed by a lust for power that had made him into something alien, despicable. It’s strange, Nathan thought, how well I thought I once knew him. I wonder what ever made him change into something so evil? “But I don’t have any choice, do I?”

The two military men looked at each other, then at the president – their commander-in-chief – for whom they had worked for many years. They could not exactly call each other friends, but they were close and respected one another.

“No, sir,” L’Houillier said flatly, wishing there was some other way out, “you do not.”

“And what of the Kreelan fleet?” Nathan asked. “Is there anything we can do?”

“I have already taken liberty of calling operations officer,” Zhukovski said, exchanging a look with L’Houillier. The woman, competent though she was, was a political animal who would jump at any chance to get ahead. “I gave her ‘hypothetical’ scenario to model on command computers, to see what best fleet reactions would be.” He winked at L’Houillier. “I explained that Grand Admiral was most interested in such extreme cases to get more money for fleet expansion, and would be most grateful. Results should be available in another hour.”

“Evgeni, you are incorrigible,” L’Houillier said with a wry smile. “You are worse now than as a midshipman.”

They were silent then, each of them turning Zhukovski’s grim news over in their heads.

“Well,” the president sighed, “I guess there’s not much for it. Thank you gentlemen, and please keep me apprised of the results of the simulations. If you’ll excuse me, I have some calls to make.”

The two Navy officers got up, saluted, and left the president as he called in his aide and began to prepare to meet Borge’s onslaught.

“You realize, admiral,” Zhukovski said quietly as the two of them walked down the corridor to the elevators, “what simulations will say?”

“Of course, Evgeni,” L’Houillier said glumly. “Despite Laskowski’s best efforts to show that she can come up with a plan for victory, the computers will show that we are about two thousand ships short. Even if we concentrated every battle group in a single place to defend against a massed Kreelan attack, we would still be outflanked and destroyed, no matter how poorly the enemy fought.”

As they made their way back to Joint Headquarters, Zhukovski wondered about the Kreelans’ sudden lapse of fighting spirit. He made a note to ask someone who might just know.

***

Reza stood perfectly still in the center of the room, naked except for his collar. His long black hair was again carefully braided in a cascade down his back, a startling contrast to his pale but now healthy looking skin. Starting with his left little toe, he began to flex each muscle in his body, working up his left leg to his waist, then back down his right leg. Then he began to work on his abdomen, then his upper body. He noted with dismay how weak he had become, how quickly his muscles tired, but that only fueled his determination to rebuild both his body and his spirit. It was all he could do, and so it is what he did.

He performed the exercises of body and mind that he had learned as a boy and young man, taking himself to his present limits, slightly beyond, then resting. Even though he was a prisoner shortly to be condemned, the hospital still viewed him as a patient, and so he had no trouble getting the food he needed for the repairs his body was making to itself. At one point, he had even considered asking for his Kreelan clothing to be returned to him to wear, but there was no point; the shape of his body had altered so much that nothing would fit, or so he believed. If necessary, he would wear no clothes at all rather than disgrace himself in ill-fitting armor.

He was just completing the first cycle of calisthenics, vaguely similar to human tai chi, when a knock came at the door. He closed his eyes, looking beyond the metal confines of the room as he ran an impromptu test of his weakened psychic abilities.

Evgeni Zhukovski, someone he had not seen in many years. And he had a very, very troubled mind. He put on a plain white robe for the admiral’s benefit.

“Come,” he said as he turned toward the door.

He heard the electronic buzz as the security lock was released, and Zhukovski quickly pushed through with his good hand.

“Welcome, admiral,” Reza said, taking Zhukovski’s hand. “This is a pleasant surprise.”

“I wish I could say same, Reza,” Zhukovski said sadly. “You as man condemned does not appeal to me. Counselor Braddock has told me of your situation. I wish there were something I could do. I am sorry.”

Reza nodded. Zhukovski understood him.

“I know this is unfair, Reza,” Zhukovski went on as the two of them sat at the tiny table in Reza’s room, “but something has come up, and I find I must ask your help.”

“I will try,” Reza told him.

The admiral nodded, and over the next few minutes explained what he and Admiral L’Houillier had discussed the previous night.

After he had finished, Zhukovski said, “Well, how do you think?”

Remaining silent, Reza stood up and walked to the armored window that looked out over a tree-filled courtyard. It was also backed with an invisible force field. While he was still technically a patient, he was very much a prisoner, at least in the minds of his keepers.

“Something has gone wrong with the Ascension,” he said quietly, his fists clenching at his sides to keep them from trembling with anxiety. “The Empress is in distress.”

“What does that mean?” Zhukovski asked. “Is she sick? Dying?”

Reza shook his head. “It is not so simple as that,” he told him. He had never spoken to anyone of the Empire, save for what he had told Nicole and Jodi. But now, after hearing what Zhukovski had told him, he felt the old admiral had a right to understand. “The Empress is really two entities, one of flesh, the other of spirit. Her body is that of a warrior who is determined in life to be the vessel for Her spirit. When the reigning Empress is near death, the Ascension takes place, and the spirit is passed from the old Empress – whose body then dies – to the chosen vessel. That process has not been interrupted in over one-hundred thousand Standard years… until now.”

Zhukovski was shocked not so much by the event itself, but by the longevity of the unbroken chain. One-hundred thousand years, he thought to himself with amazement. So long ago, early humans had not even scrawled primitive paintings upon the walls of their caves, and these aliens already had a global, perhaps even interstellar, empire. “What could have caused this?”

“I cannot be sure, but it must have something to do with what took place on Erlang. You see, there is another, a third entity, that of the First Empress, whose spirit fled to what you might call Purgatory many, many centuries ago. It was said in legend that someday Her spirit would return to us; that, joined with the reigning Empress, She would grace Her Children with the ancient powers which had for so long been lost to us.” He turned back to Zhukovski, a look of genuine fear on his face. “She has returned. I know this to be true. But something has gone wrong.”

Zhukovski did not know what to make of Reza’s explanation, Kreelan religion holding little interest for him, and the rest sounding like fantasy from ancient legends. He was interested only in its effects. “Is this why they fight so poorly?” he asked. “They are… preoccupied with these events?”

“‘Preoccupied’ is hardly the word, admiral,” Reza told him, fighting the nausea that rose from his stomach. Esah-Zhurah, he wanted to cry out, what has happened? “The will of the Empress is their will, their motivation, their reason for existence. They are not telepathic as you might understand it, but there is a psychic bond that links every heart in the Empire together unless, as in my case, it is intentionally severed by Her hand. If the Empress is in distress… if the vessel of Her spirit has died prematurely… they will not know what to do. They will be lost.” With difficulty, he managed to find the chair opposite Zhukovski, slumping into it like a dying man.

It was difficult for even Zhukovski’s natural cynicism to stifle his growing excitement. “If what you say is true, now could be our opportunity. If we struck at them, at their homeworld…” He slammed his fist against the table. “But we do not know where to strike! We know where their ships are gathering, which must be around their homeworld, but our information is not yet accurate enough.”

“Do not ask me to help you find the Homeworld, admiral,” Reza told him, his voice no more than a hoarse whisper. “For even if I knew how to guide you there, I would not.”

Zhukovski shook his head. “I would never ask you such a thing, Reza,” he said apologetically, alarmed at how old Reza suddenly looked, how tired. How afraid. “I am sorry that you are caught between humans and Kreelans like deer between charging tigers. I do not envy you. But as human, I can only hope worst for your people, that your Empress is dead, that they will be helpless before us for just this once.”

Reza nodded sadly, his fingers caressing the eyestone on his collar, on which was engraved the rune of the Desh-Ka. He bit back the tears that burned his eyes, for he knew how uncomfortable it would make his guest, bearer of bad tidings though he was. “Please do not wish Her dead,” he whispered. “Wish the Empire all the ill will your heart may conceive, but do not wish my Empress dead.”

Zhukovski leaned back in his chair. “Reza, I know Empress is leader of your religion and government, as it were, but–”

“She is also my wife,” Reza rasped, his green eyes burning with fearful longing. “She was to ascend to the throne. If the Empress lies dead, so, too, does she.”

The admiral felt a sudden pang of shame and guilt for his words. “I am sorry, Reza,” he said sincerely. “I… I did not know. Please, forgive me.”

Reza nodded slowly, his eyes falling closed, his mind turning inward to wonder about Esah-Zhurah’s fate, his heart calling out to her. In vain.

Evgeni Zhukovski laid his hand on Reza’s shoulder for a moment before he got up and left the room, quietly closing the door behind him.

***

Nicole awoke from her nap with a start. Her chest felt as if it was being held in a giant vice, making her heart thunder in her ears and her lungs heave against air that had suddenly become as thick as water. She was not in physical pain, but she sensed a hurt far deeper than any lance could make, an echo in her brain from someone calling her from far away.

“Reza,” she said aloud.

“Nikki?” she heard from the other room. “Are you okay?” Jodi’s concerned face peered through the door.

“Oui,” she said with more energy than she felt. “I am all right.”

Jodi was not convinced. She came in and put her hand on Nicole’s forehead. “And I think you’re a lying sack of shit. You look terrible.”

“Complimentary, as always,” Nicole murmured, trying to brush Jodi’s hand away. “Please, Jodi, do not pester me.”

“Pester, my ass, woman,” Jodi said, straightening up. She had been staying with Nicole and Tony while she completed some of the non-resident courses for the Command and General Staff College. She was still on flying status, occasionally going to the Fighter Weapons School for refresher training and to help beat the new crop of fighter jocks into shape for the real thing, but she spent most of her time with Nicole, who was still on medical leave. She knew that Nicole resented someone keeping an eye on her, but that was just too bad. “You just don’t know how good you’ve got it. There are a lot of people who’d pay to have me telling them they’re full of shit. Now that I think of it, that’s what the Navy does.”

“You are impossible,” Nicole said, managing a weak smile. “Now, get yourself out of my way. I need to visit Reza.”

“Need to?”

Nicole sighed. “I wish to. Is that good enough?” Jodi was still frowning. “Merde, commander, get out of my way!”

“Aye, aye, ma’am,” Jodi saluted as Nicole made her way past her to the bathroom. “Mind if I tag along? Maybe those stupid jarheads guarding him will let me through this time…”

The trip into the city did not take long. Someone from the twentieth century would not have recognized New York City, or any other major city of that time, for a very simple reason: they no longer existed as they once had. Earth had largely been depopulated in the twenty-second and twenty-third centuries through a combination of famine, regional warfare, and then mass exodus soon after interstellar travel had finally been made practicable. It was only after humans had finally begun to explore the worlds in their galaxy up close, discovering just how inhospitable most of them were, that they realized what a priceless treasure their own birthplace had been. In the twenty-fourth century a program was begun to revitalize Earth as something more than a breeding ground for homo sapiens. While much of what had been done in centuries past could never be undone, the new caretakers did the best they could, and in their hands Earth had been reborn. Humans still lived here in great numbers, but with swift and clean transportation available to go anywhere on the globe, they were able to widely disperse themselves, minimizing their impact on the again thriving world. The great cities, which had been so instrumental both in humanity’s early development and in the catastrophic consumption of its resources, had gradually been dismantled into smaller townships and villages, and much of the land returned to a natural state that had brought back the luster to planet Earth.

The automated shuttle dropped them off at the central entrance to Kennedy Memorial Hospital before speeding off to fetch more passengers. They made their way through the warmly lit corridors and elevators to the penthouse level: the isolation ward.

“Captain,” the Marine in charge of the security detachment said politely as Nicole showed him her ID. “I hope you didn’t come for a smile, ma’am. He hasn’t been very happy since Admiral Zhukovski left this morning.”

“Admiral Zhukovski was here?” she asked, looking at Jodi, who only raised her eyebrows. “Do you know what about?”

The Marine, a first lieutenant, laughed. “No, ma’am,” he said. “Admirals usually don’t confide their business to the likes of us. We’re just the hired help around here.”

Jodi took the opportunity to thrust her ID forward. The Marine verified with a quick retinal scan that she was who she was supposed to be, then checked his approved visitors list, which was very, very short. “Sorry, commander, but I can’t let you in. You’re not on my list.”

“Oh, come on–”

She shut up as Nicole gestured for her to be silent. “Lieutenant,” Nicole said, “Commander Mackenzie is a very close friend of Captain Gard.” The Marine started to shake his head, but Nicole persisted. “I know it is against the rules to let her in, but the last time she saw him was in sickbay on board the Gneisenau when we all thought he was going to die. I would appreciate it if you would consider letting her in long enough just to greet him. I will vouch for her conduct.”

Jodi could see that he was hesitating. “Please,” she said. “Just for a minute.”

The lieutenant looked at the other five Marines, all enlisted, who made up the guard detail. They were astutely looking in any other direction but at him and the two Navy officers. Why is it, he asked himself, that this always seems to happen on my watch? “All right,” he relented, “but so help me God, commander, if you–”

“I’ll be a perfect angel, lieutenant,” she said. “I promise.”

“All right,” he went on, “I’m sure I’ll live to regret this. Step into the lock, please.” The two women stepped into the security lock that was both a physical safeguard against escape and a scanner that looked for concealed weapons or other contraband. Satisfied, the lieutenant passed them through. “Five minutes,” he said pointedly Mackenzie.

She nodded, then opened the inner door.

Reza stood before them, bathed in sweat from the exercises he had been doing to focus his mind. Other than his collar, he was again naked.

“So much for modesty,” Jodi said lightly. “At least you know how to greet a girl in style.” Without hesitating, Jodi embraced him, sweat and all. “I’m so glad to see you. That you’re all right,” she said, kissing him on the neck, on the lips.

“And you, my friend,” he said, returning her embrace with moderate pressure, his effort rewarded with a light popping sound from her ribcage.

“Your Marine friend out there gave me a few minutes with you,” she told him, surprised that his strength had grown so quickly. “Nicole sweet talked him for me. But I can’t stay long.”

“So true,” Colonel Markus Thorella said as he stepped through the security lock. “I just had a little discussion with our Marine lieutenant outside. I don’t think he’ll be making any other security breaches again for quite some time.”

“I take full responsibility for Commander Mackenzie’s presence, colonel,” Nicole said, cutting toward him like a destroyer. “The lieutenant–”

“Spare me, please, Carré,” he snorted. “The lieutenant is my concern, not yours. He was negligent, and he’ll pay the price.”

Jodi felt the muscles in Reza’s back flex like steel springs. With feline grace he separated himself from her embrace. “You should not have come here,” he hissed, his blood singing in his veins as he prepared to attack.

“Reza, no!” Nicole shouted as she tried to get between him and Thorella, bracing herself to protect someone she hated so much from someone she so loved.

But she need not have bothered. As Reza’s fury peaked, something inside him seemed to break, as if his brain was no longer able to command his body. His eyes wide with surprise, he collapsed in a heap on the floor, completely paralyzed.

“What the fuck did you do to him, Thorella?” Jodi snapped as she knelt next to Reza, feeling for his pulse. It was there, his heart beating rapidly to clear the adrenaline from his system. His eyes were still open, but they stared straight ahead, unblinking. “What did you do?”

“Not a thing, commander,” he said, a surprised smile on his face. “And I would remind you not to address me like that ever again. I don’t care if you like me or not, but I am a superior officer.”

“Then let me say it, Markus,” Nicole growled like a leopard, her nose not an inch away from his, “what the fuck did you do?”

“I already told you,” Thorella said, obviously pleased with whatever had happened. “While I know you won’t believe me, I did absolutely nothing. It just appears to me that your traitorous friend there has not fully recovered. Such a pity.”

“Reza, can you hear me?” Jodi said urgently, looking into Reza’s glazed eyes. The pupils were dilated wide open. “Nicole, I think you’d better get the doctor in here. There’s something–”

As she watched, Reza’s pupils suddenly began to contract to something close to normal for the light in the room. He blinked and tried to speak.

“Well,” Thorella said merrily, “I do have to leave now. I just wanted to check on our temporary guest, pending his trial and execution.” He stepped back toward the door, then turned around as an afterthought. “And Commander Mackenzie, please don’t stay more than sixty seconds after this door closes behind me, or I’m afraid I’ll have to have you arrested.” He smiled, and was gone.

“Nicole–”

“I know, Jodi,” she said, kneeling down beside her as Reza began to recover from whatever had happened to him. “You had better do as he says. I will take care of Reza.”

“But–”

“Go,” she said. “He means it. We can ill afford more trouble now.”

Furious, Jodi did as she was told. As she stepped through the outer lock of the holding cell, she noticed the Marine lieutenant standing at stiff attention, eyes boring a hole in the far end of the corridor, staring after the retreating Marine colonel who had just promised to destroy the younger man’s life in the military. “Lieutenant,” she said to his pale, emotionless face, “I’m terribly sorry. I’ll see… I’ll see if there’s anything I can do…”

He said nothing, did not even acknowledge her presence.

Feeling like a fool and plagued with guilt, Jodi turned and walked away, the sound of her boots on the marble floor echoing hollowly in her ears.