The Caphenon

by Fletcher DeLancey

  “We’re trained, as are most of the high empaths who serve as Guards. We left ours intact.” She remembered a cabin full of gore and added, “Well, not the first ones. But the ones that we turned are unchanged, except for the instruction we left preventing them from ever attacking us again. But they’ll have to live with the knowledge that they killed their own people. So I guess how well they do will depend on how the Voloth treat them.”

  “From what I know of the Voloth military, my guess is ‘not very well.’”

  Lhyn looked between them. “I have to say this is a first. I’ve never felt sorry for Voloth before.”

  “Your sympathy does you credit,” Serrado said, “but they brought this entirely on themselves. They bit off more than they could chew.”

  “Yes, but it wasn’t the soldiers who did that, was it? They were just following orders.”

  “You mean like I was following orders when I tried to blow the Caphenon and leave Alsea?”

  Tal’s eyes widened as she felt that hit Lhyn right in the center of her chest. These two might be together again, but they clearly had some unresolved issues.

  The room was uncomfortably silent. A few more fireworks popped outside.

  “You’re right,” Lhyn said at last. “I’m applying a double standard. And they’re an invasion force; it’s not as if they didn’t know in advance what their orders would be. I just…I hate all of this. I mean, I’m happy Alsea is safe, but the price is so high.”

  “And it will keep climbing,” Tal said. “We still don’t have the body count. Whitesun took heavy shelling before our units could get control of the ground pounders there. So did Redmoon and Port Calerna. Other cities were less damaged, but none of them escaped intact. Even Blacksun wasn’t entirely safe, and we had the Caphenon.” She lifted her glass. “And thank Fahla we did. Not even in our worst-case scenario did we plan for the possibility of the Voloth dropping three hundred ground pounders on one city.”

  “In my experience, that’s a first. They really wanted to break you.” Serrado reached out and rubbed Lhyn’s leg as she spoke, a silent apology. “They must have expected that they could bring the rest of the population under control more quickly if they simply wiped out the capital city.”

  “Okay, I’ve changed my mind,” Lhyn announced. “I don’t feel sorry for them anymore. Three hundred? You didn’t tell me that.”

  “Best fireworks display Blacksun ever saw.” Tal remembered something she’d meant to share. “I forgot to tell you. Healer Wellernal called earlier this evening. The first post-battle baby was born at Blacksun Healing Center at mid-four today. Guess what the parents named him?”

  They looked at her expectantly, and she smiled.

  “They named him Caphenon.”

  Chapter 64

  A bridge between sonsales

  The two ninedays after what was now called the Battle of Alsea were a dizzying blur. Tal concluded that her task list was the world’s first perpetual motion machine, never shrinking no matter how hard she worked to cross items off. And it was impossible to make anything a priority, because everything was equally important.

  They had to remove the mines they’d laid around their cities, which had done their jobs to devastating effect whenever a ground pounder had stepped on one. Tal wished a few more of them had stepped in the right places, saving the effort of removal. Though the triggers had been designed for the immense weight of the ground pounders, that didn’t make the job of digging them up a safe one. As far as she was concerned, the battle wasn’t really over until the last mine had been pulled out.

  They’d begun repairs on buildings—and in some cases, entire city blocks—that had been damaged in the shelling. At times Tal could forget how much devastation the ground pounders had managed to inflict, since her own city was almost entirely unscathed. But when she toured the hard-hit cities of Port Calerna, Whitesun, and Redmoon, she was aghast at the destruction. Vids and reports didn’t do it justice, but standing in front of an eight-hundred-cycle-old caste house that was now a pile of rubble brought tears to her eyes. They had been so very, very fortunate in fighting off this invasion, but the price was still high.

  On the other hand, not a single temple had been hit. Given that they were the largest buildings in every city except Blacksun, where the State House was larger, this was something of a miracle. The templars pointed to it as proof of Fahla’s direct involvement in the battle: she had not allowed her houses to be touched by the Voloth. Tal’s communication team advised her to jump on that theme and declare that the pristine condition of the temples was also evidence that Fahla had approved the temporary breaking of her covenant. Tal thought that was a cynical use of a miracle, but she was too much of a politician to say no. The messaging went out, and within a nineday her team reported with great satisfaction that it was working. The voices calling her a war criminal had quieted somewhat, unwilling to publicly argue with a statement that so many Alseans took to heart.

  Two villages in the plains north of Blacksun Basin were nearly wiped out by crashing Voloth fighters that had come down far from any Alsean-controlled ground pounders, and three more in central Pallea had suffered the same fate. The Natural Disaster Response Agency was working at a feverish pace to provide food, shelter, and clothing to those who had lost their homes. The healers were overworked to a ridiculous degree, taking care of casualties not just from the battle, but also from the many accidents that had occurred during the mass movements of people both out of and back into the cities.

  The state funeral for warrior and scholar dead was the biggest in modern Alsean history, taking place over a four-day period in Blacksun, Whitemoon, Whitesun, and Redmoon. They had so many fatalities to honor that it took the combined fleets of all four cities to perform the Flight of the Return at each event. The transports were so thick in the skies that they blotted out the sun, a sight that put a lump in Tal’s throat every time. A commemorative vid of the highlights from the four ceremonies was selling as fast as the government public station could produce it, with all profits going to the assistance fund for those who had fought and suffered.

  Tal attended the ceremonies accompanied by what was left of her Guards. Prior to the battle she’d sent them all over Argolis to head up the high empath units, or in Micah’s case, to shepherd a unit of scholar caste empaths. Her people were among the most highly trained in the Alsean Defense Force; it had made no sense to keep them around her when they were desperately needed elsewhere. More of them had returned than she’d had any right to expect, but she’d lost Parksor, Nicolo, Betany, Sofrensenner, and Continal. Each loss hit her hard, but the worst of all was Continal. Micah was testing out new pilots, and every time one of their voices sounded over the state transport com, she felt Continal’s absence keenly. He had been a solid, assured pilot who was never intimidated by her title. These new pilots were all too young and too jumpy around her.

  She took some solace from the fact that Continal had died a hero. The crafter caste, which was busy designing war memorials all over the planet, had proposed one to be placed near the new ground floor entrance planned for the Caphenon. It would be a sculpture of an Alsean fighter in mid-collision with a Voloth fighter. Three spotlights shining upward from the point of impact would symbolize the Return of the pilots who gave their lives to save the Caphenon, and their names and ranks would be inscribed in the base.

  It was as close to immortality as a warrior could hope to get, and Tal could not have wished better for him. But when she saw the proposal, she had to lock her office door for half a hantick until she could get control of her front.

  There were four hundred and forty-six Voloth prisoners to deal with, most of whom were being kept sedated as an act of mercy while they tried to figure out what to do with them. On the positive side, they also had one hundred and eighty intact or reparable ground pounders, and quite a few of the sane Voloth prisoners were anxious to help them learn about the technology and weaponry if it meant they could see “the
ir” empaths again. That was a line Tal wasn’t sure they should ever cross, but at this point she’d retired her emergency powers, so it was up to the Council to decide. It was currently the topic of a hot debate.

  Also being debated were the negotiations with the Protectorate. Shantu and a significant percentage of the warrior councillors were fiercely opposed to any negotiations at all, on the grounds that the Protectorate had not only brought the Voloth to Alsea, but had then turned its back on them until it realized that Alsea had something it wanted. “We didn’t need their help then; we don’t need it now” was a common refrain. Tal understood their position, and in private she would admit to a strong desire to tell the Protectorate negotiators just where they could shove their treaty offers. But that was her anger speaking, not her common sense. If Alseans were to break out of their gravity well and join the other races in space, they would need technological assistance. And if there was one thing she was certain of, it was that Alsea should never again be a sitting target, with none of her own people out there to keep watch or help stop attacks before they reached the planet.

  Fortunately, the other five castes were open to negotiations, and Shantu’s warrior bloc was outvoted. They still made enough noise that Tal had to incorporate some of their demands into the Alsean offer, largely because Shantu’s political power was so strong. She’d made him the commander of the Pallean forces, with his center of operations at Whitesun, and it was because of him that Whitesun had survived as well as it had. The Voloth had dropped a hundred and fifty ground pounders there, and with no Caphenon to stop them before they could land, the battle at Whitesun had been the worst of all. Shantu was a hero and the darling of Alsea’s second-largest city.

  Captain Serrado and her crew were indispensable in these ninedays of insanity. They offered their translation services with the Voloth prisoners, their matter printers to help with repairs, and their engineering know-how to understand the ground pounders. Candini and Baldassar asked to be trained on cargo transports and were soon helping with relief flights as well as deliveries of repair materials.

  Most helpful of all was the assistance of Lhyn and Captain Serrado in the negotiations. The Protectorate representatives had Alsean language chips installed, eliminating one source of confusion, but Tal was at a disadvantage. Not only did she not have the political or technological knowledge to make sure Alsea wasn’t taken advantage of, but she couldn’t use her empathic senses over a quantum com. It was like flying a transport blindfolded, and she despised it. But she trusted Serrado and Lhyn, and they made it very clear that they were on the Alsean side of the table. With their assistance, and the fact that the Protectorate was desperate to get its hands on the nanoscrubbers, Tal was reasonably certain that she was wringing out every concession she could.

  Serrado certainly thought so.

  “You realize that you’ve completely upended the Non-Interference Act,” she said after evenmeal one night. Lhyn was over at Blacksun Temple, speaking with Lanaril, and Serrado had invited Tal to keep her company.

  “I thought you did that.”

  “Funny, you are. I just crashed a ship here and locked it up when I left. I certainly didn’t give you blueprints for fusion core technology, surf engines, matter printers…” She shook her head. “You’re the first non-FTL world to vault right over the Act and into parity with Protectorate races. Or you will be once you get started building your fleet. Speaking of which, has there been any progress on the great orbit debate?”

  “No, it’s still going strong. And I still don’t know which side I’m on. Shuttles would be more expensive, harder to scale up for the numbers we’d need, and require far more maintenance. The space elevator makes more sense in terms of expense, cargo capacity, and ease of maintenance, not to mention the time factor. We’ve already got the nanotechnology for the cable; we just needed a few hints in the manufacturing department for the sheer scale of it. But I can’t shake the feeling that it’s a terrible idea to put our entire orbital capacity in one or two elevators. A couple of missiles from the Voloth and that would be the end of that.”

  “Then don’t choose. Build both. You can have space elevators for cargo and a smaller fleet of shuttles as fast transport for personnel and small cargo loads, not to mention emergency backup. As for the exposure factor of the space elevators, you’ll have the same issue with orbital shipyards. No matter what you do, building infrastructure in orbit means you’re exposed to orbital attack—that is, if anyone feels it’s worthwhile to attack you. I’d say that having the capacity to destroy a ship’s hullskin would make most Expansionists think twice about trying it.”

  “So long as that threat keeps them at bay long enough for us to get our infrastructure built. This is not going to be done quickly.”

  “No. But in the meantime, I know where you can get some nice surplus Fleet ships for a reasonable price.” Serrado raised her eyebrows rakishly, and Tal chuckled.

  “I’d guess you have all sorts of shady acquaintances from wandering around space stations.”

  “I wish. It’s a bit difficult for a Fleet captain to make any shady acquaintances at all. Being the shining representative of military order doesn’t exactly open those kinds of doors.”

  Tal watched her, sensing the grief that always accompanied the captain’s thoughts of Fleet. “If you could go back, would you?”

  “I don’t know. I know I can’t go back to the way it was. What Lhyn and I had before wasn’t satisfying even then; it would be worse now. And I’m no closer to figuring out a way to balance a Fleet career with a non-Fleet relationship. Neither is she.”

  “Is that why you haven’t told her you’re tyrees?”

  “It never seems to be the right time. It’s not a concept she’ll accept easily, and…well, she still hasn’t recovered her trust.”

  Tal looked down at the glass of spirits in her hand.

  “Just spit it out, Lancer Tal. You’ve had that look on your face several times over the last three ninedays. It can’t be healthy to keep that inside, whatever it is.”

  Startled, she glanced up and found a knowing gaze on her. “Sometimes I forget how well you can read emotions.”

  “I may be sonsales, but I’m not literally blind.”

  “There have been times when I’ve questioned whether you’re really sonsales.”

  “That’s because you depend too much on your empathic senses and forget about all the others. My senses have been telling me for quite some time that there’s something you’re dying to know but afraid to ask.”

  “Afraid?”

  “Sorry. Reluctant.”

  “Better,” Tal said, fooling neither herself nor her friend. She fidgeted with her glass, turning it a few times as she tried to find the right words. “Why haven’t you told Lhyn what we were prepared to do to her? She trusts me, yet I’m the one who—” She stopped, unable to say it even now. “It just feels backwards. You’re the one she should trust.”

  Serrado gave her a sad smile. “That’s why. Because she needs someone to trust that way, and right now it isn’t me.”

  “So you’re giving me what you can’t have.”

  “More like I’m not taking something away from her that she needs.”

  Either way it was humbling. “Thank you. I know you’re doing it for her, but…it’s a beautiful act of love and I’m benefitting from it. Her friendship means a great deal to me.”

  “It’s not a sacrifice. And she’s not the only one who trusts you. You’ve earned it, so stop feeling so damned guilty.”

  Tal had to chuckle, because it shouldn’t have been a surprise that Serrado would see that as well. “Wouldn’t it be lovely if we could simply order our emotions out of the way?”

  “I’ve tried. It doesn’t work.”

  “It doesn’t work for us either. So we front them instead.”

  “You may front them from Alseans, but only because they don’t know you.” Serrado pointed at her own eyes. “Your emotions are right here
.”

  “They are?” No one had ever told her that.

  “Yes. But I get the feeling that most people don’t look at you that closely. They look at the persona instead.”

  Tal nodded. “It’s just a different kind of front.”

  “And not many people see past it, do they?”

  “Micah does.” She felt a familiar signature brush her senses. “Lhyn is in the building.”

  The door opened a few ticks later and Lhyn blew in, full of news about what she’d learned from Lanaril.

  Tal sat back and listened, absorbing the dissonance that was always present in their emotions. It was deep enough that she’d never have sensed it in an Alsean without probing, but the way the Gaians broadcast everything, even their unrecognized emotions were on the wind for anyone to feel.

  She couldn’t be a bystander to this anymore. It looked to her as if they’d never resolve it. All they had was words, and they weren’t even using those.

  Patting the couch cushion next to her, she said, “Lhyn, I need to tell you something.”

  A burst of alarm came from Serrado, who was now straight-backed in her own chair. Tal gave her a reassuring nod.

  “What’s going on?” Lhyn sat down and looked at her expectantly.

  “Do you remember, when Captain Serrado walked on that shuttle and tried to leave, that I told you she’d come back?”

  Lhyn’s emotions dimmed, as if she were shutting down. “I’m not likely to forget it.”

  “I know you’re not. There’s something I didn’t tell you at the time. I wasn’t guessing about her coming back, and it wasn’t a platitude to make you feel better. She couldn’t leave, because a tyree would never leave her bondmate in danger. As long as you were still here, she couldn’t go.”

  She watched the realization dawn.

  “You think…no, that’s not possible. We’re not empathic.”

  “That’s what makes it so surprising. But there’s no doubt you’re tyrees.”