“You’re not supposed to be up,”a small voice said.
Zev turned until he could see the source of the statement. A small girl with dirty blonde hair sat on the ground by his bed. She held a disfigured doll and calmly brushed its hair. Judging from the melted plastic, Zev guessed she had found it sometime after the attack. He tried to smile, but the pain in his face made the room spin.
“Where are we?”
The girl stood, setting her doll gently on a nearby chair.“They called it a fob. The man with the black bar on his vest said so. He went to the radio tower a few hours ago.”She rocked back and forth on her heels, shy in front of the injured soldier.“What’s a fob?”
Zev pushed himself back against the bed frame until he could sit up straight. The bandage on his chest pulled tight enough that he thought a stitch popped, but nothing snapped or broke. When he was settled he turned back to the girl.“It means Forward Operating Base. It means we’re setting up lines so we can take back the city.”He grinned.“What’s your name?”
“Mary,”she said.“You won’t take it back. We were running with you, after they blew up the school. There’s too many. The man with the bar said we’d need to leave the planet.”For such a small girl, she took the loss of her hometown and world with a brave face.
Zev reached toward a nearby table and grabbed a glass of water. He gulped it down eagerly, savoring the way the cold liquid felt on his scorched throat. A thought struck him and he blushed.“Was this yours?”
“Yeah,”she said with a toothy grin.“But I’ll share with you. Dad says we have to work together if we’re gonna get through this.”
“Your dad’s a smart guy,”Zev said. He set the glass down as a man approached. The doc wore army fatigues under a white coat. Dark circles hung under each eye, and deep lines criss-crossed his face. He pulled absently at his scraggly beard as he approached, stifling a yawn. The name tag on his coat read“Missirlian.”He checked Zev’s lines and the IV bag, writing notes on the tablet on the table. Finally, after a minute, he spoke.
“You’re something else, sergeant.”The doctor pulled a pen light from his coat and shined it into Zev’s eye.“Pupil dilation is normal. You’ll still see fine from this one.”He put the pen away, cocking his head to the side.“How are you feeling?”
Zev yawned.“Like someone stabbed me in my face. What happened, doc?”
“Punctured lung, severe lacerations to the face and neck. Your eye suffered a nasty bit of trauma. We had to remove it.”
“Figures.”He was surprised it didn’t hurt more, the thought of losing an eye. There were surgeries and mechanical solutions, of course, but only if he lived long enough to use them. It just didn’t seem all that important, in the grand scheme of things. What’s one eye against the thousands dead?
Doctor Missirlian sat at the edge of the bed.“I’d tell you that you’re lucky to be alive, but I honestly can’t say those words anymore. Not while we’re still in the city.”
Zev asked,“How bad is it out there?”
“It’s war,”the doc said.“Metts is in their hands. Hell, the planet is theirs, we’re just pests they need to deal with. They’ve missed our little hamlet because it isn’t near anything important, but they patrol all the time. Your lieutenant is trying to get a signal to Primus, call in a rescue mission. So far, no luck.”He pulled a syringe from his pocket and jammed it into the IV line. After pumping in the medicine, he tossed the needle into a red bin.“I have no idea what’s happening with Fleet, but for now, we’re on our own.”
Zev struggled to move, to get down from the bed, but the doctor’s hands were quick to push him down.
“I have to get back in there, doc.”
“That’s not gonna happen,”the man said.“The fight’s over, sergeant. Tomorrow you’ll be stable enough to move, but for now you need to rest.”He turned to Mary.“And so do you. Tim will kill me if he knows I let you stay up talking to my patients.”
She nodded, but pouted nonetheless. As she grabbed her doll under her arm, Mary reached out and squeezed Zev’s hand.“It was nice to meet you, sergeant.”As he lay back down, he watched her skip out of the area.
“It was nice to meet you too, Mary.”He closed his eye and drifted into a fitful sleep.
- II -
Mara paced a hallway of the Rebel Flagship Barrenon. She’d been given a decent suite in which to rest and change, and clothing that fit her lithe frame had been laid out on the bed before her arrival. The revolutionaries had known for some time that the Historian would eventually join their ranks. She still hadn’t entirely come to terms with the reality of the situation. Her people were tearing each other apart, using the deception of the humans as an excuse for war. She knew better than to believe that the cause was so black and white. The Domin had long held a grudge against the Magistrate, calling them the elitist knife ever present at the throat of the working class.
At least they had Barrenon. Of all the warships in the armada, Barrenonhad the best chance of survival. It was the newest of the refugee fleet, built during the Boxti incursion. At three thousand hands, it also boasted the largest crew and—if the talk could be believed—the most loyal. No sailor under Domin Shodon would betray the trust of their beloved commander.
Hanweh had bidden her to come and speak with the leaders of the revolution, who had come to call themselves Dadu’Ando—Those Who Walk in Light. After a few fitful hours of rest Mara found herself standing in the crisp and clean command center awaiting the Domin’s arrival. All around the room the crew went to work as though nothing was out of the ordinary. She wondered if they had been given a choice. The Domin knew the consequences of the their actions. Not just the physical toll, the bloody end result of such a conflict, but the price of failure. Everyone labeled a traitor would face death or banishment from the community.
The armada had split, but what of the civilians? Not everyone in the hideaway nebulae was a soldier. There were scientists, teachers, merchants and engineers who had managed to escape the destruction of Nangol. Were they a part of the Magistrate or the Dadu’Ando? Did they get the message that a civil war had begun? So many questions raced around her head she thought she would faint. The sound of heavy boots clacking on the ground brought her back to the present with a rush. Looking up, Mara saw Hanweh approach.
They had met several times before, for no longer than a few minutes. Historians were highly regarded in the world of the warriors, and it would have been odd for such a prominent Domin to never speak to the leader in the anthropological circles. Mara had spoken with Hanweh several times at different functions, but never more than small talk. Conversation in Nangolani culture was always brief and to the point. At least in the cities. Rural areas tended to linger on topics longer, and lengthy discussions were not outside the ordinary. The more Mara thought about it, the more she realized how insulated she had become during her years in the fleet.
“Fah rhok dashtan,”Hanweh said as he arrived. Well met, Historian.
Mara bowed her head, showing the Domin the respect he deserved.“Filan Marmakan, Domin Shodon lilot reh bon.”Honored, my elder, to be welcomed by the great Domin Shodon.
“Please,”he said.“Relax. Ever since the opening shots, we’ve become rather informal.”
Mara looked into the older man’s eyes, wondering what went on behind them.“Thank you for rescuing me.”He offered his hands out, palms up. She was surprised by the gesture. Rebel or not, he outranked her by a far margin. Historians garnered respect but lacked authority. She was humbled. Carefully, as though he might change his mind, she placed her hands on top of the commander’s.“I am in your debt.”
“It is I who owe you the debt of gratitude. Without your research, we never would have discovered Anduin’s treachery. Who knows how long the lie would have been carried by our progeny. It may have erupted a year down the line, or a thousand years. But it is wrong to burden our children with the effects of our transgressions.”
The historian nodded.“I
worry about our people. What will this war do to our numbers? To our chance of survival?”They walked in step down the corridor, the dim green lighting casting deep shadows across their faces. As they neared the command center, others joined their procession. Mara recognized a few faces, members of the Navy mostly. All wore their most impressive uniforms, as though they marched toward the gallows.
The group was led to the commander’s meeting room just off the bridge. They took seats around the oblong table and waited as Glin, a rather sweet spirit, was served. Mara took a chair near Hanweh and an ancient Nangolani named Io. For a few minutes the talk was cordial; the usual banter that precedes the real meat of the conversation. Pleasantries were exchanged regarding nephews and nieces, children and grandchildren. Most Domin lived and died aboard their fighting vessels, rarely seeing lifemates or children aboard the civilian ships. One the rebellion had done was reunite families under one roof. Finally the matter at hand was broached.
“The Nangolani can no longer suffer under the heel of the Magistrate,”one elder commander said. Mara recognized him as Luthat, the oldest Domin in the fleet. His face was scarred from fighting the Cthanul over a hundred years before.“When we learned about the ruse placed over the humans, the Domin called a meeting. It took days, but the decision was not reached lightly.”
Hanweh’s head bobbed in agreement.“It was painful, but both sides understood what had to happen.”
“All of the Domin were present?”Mara asked.“Even those from the other side?”
“It would not have been proper to go to war without mutual consent,”Hanweh said.“We first thought that merely leaving the fleet and beginning our own would solve the issue, but Domin Terobas knew that the species would not survive if divided as such. Only through conflict will the question of authority be finally resolved.”He sipped at a cup of sparkling liquor, a deep furrow forming on his brow.
An aide refilled Mara’s glass.“Domin Shodon, I appreciate that the traditions involving open conflict are set, but aren’t you worried their knowledge of your roster will put you at a disadvantage? Surely the Magistrate has ways of locating your ships.”
The other Domin began to murmur, and Hanweh sighed wearily.“The Magistrate is gone, Historian. Sent to their deaths by the Royal Magister and our late Emperor.”He gave her a moment to process before continuing.“Regardless, they would know who we are the moment we failed to respond to their calls. It seemed a faster route to write a declaration of war and accept the consequences. Deception would buy us days, but rob us of our honor. That was a trade no commander would make.”
“And your crews? What say did they have in all this?”
Luthat coughed.“A soldier knows his place.”
“It wasn’t that simple,”Hanweh said quickly.“We told our ships the intention of the Domin, and allowed them the option to move to one side or another. Only a few actually requested to change positions, and they were placed on shuttles back to the home fleet.”
Mara had to admit, it was a fair beginning to the fight. Nangolani political structure demanded that both sides of a conflict understand the issues and come to an agreement of terms before the first shot was fired. It allowed the actual violence to take up as little time as possible, lowering the expected casualties and greatly improving the chances of a peaceful resolution down the road. Still, her time among the humans had left her somewhat aghast at the casual way in which the Domin spoke about their treason.
“So what is the request of the Dadu’Ando?”
Luthat sipped from his cup, some of the green liquid spilling down his chin.“It seems obvious now that the Empire is crumbled. That it took one hundred years of exile to realize is our own fault. The Royal Magister must relinquish control of the fleet. We will install a temporary Tribunal of elected Domin to run the government until a more permanent solution can be found. The humans will be told of our predecessor’s deception and granted the option to choose our punishment. We will find a way to repent for the great pain our people have caused.”
“Domin, forgive my boldness.”
Hanweh waved a hand.“I invited you hear as an equal, Historian. Not just a witness.”
Mara wiped a hand across her forehead, surprised at how hot she felt.“We seem to be forgetting that we’re in the midst of another, far more dire war. The Boxti are literally at our throats, ready to wipe us and our newfound allies from existence if we are not constantly vigilant. How can you decide that now is the appropriate time to go to war?”
The room began to fill with side conversations, but Hanweh held up a hand to silence them.“Yes, the Boxti is our true enemy, but our focused attention allowed Anduin and his ilk to walk on the backs of our people. We will continue our support of the humans in their efforts, but truth be told we haven’t seen a direct attack from the Horde since the attacks at Eda Taura. If we had not summoned the Boxti, they might have left us alone entirely. The actions of the Emperor have to be dealt with immediately.”
“That’s ridiculous,”Mara said, drawing several gasps.“Our people have held off conflicts for far less important causes. The Gulan War was delayed for nine years while the Qom alliance was negotiated. Emperor Popasi ordered the Domin to wait almost a generation for their war on the Archinarians, to the point that most of the commanders didn’t even know what their enemy looked like.”Her voice rose, despite her best efforts to control it.“Don’t pretend that there wasn’t another option. We don’t have the luxury of lying to ourselves. Our real enemy is here, right in front of us, and we are looking to each other for a fight. I’m sorry, Domin, but I am truly at a loss to understand why you would choose now to bleed our race of able-bodied soldiers.”
Hanweh stood, his dark skin flushed.“The Magistrate has treated us as second-class citizens for centuries. Aside from Io, only Luthat and I are old enough to remember the purges during the escape, how veteran officers were chucked aside to make room for political appointments.”He looked around the room, making eye contact with each loyal Domin.“They used the privilege of command as a bargaining chip in negotiations. Ships were given away to boys who could help finance the lifestyles to which they’d grown accustomed.”
Mara shook her head.“Troja, do you even hear yourself? Is that what has you so incensed you would go to war? This is caste nonsense—the Nangolani are beyond such petty things. Without that money, we would never have fielded enough ships for a true evacuation. Anduin made concessions for the greater good.”
“You don’t understand, Mara. Not all of us were lucky enough to be born on the Niluth vessels.”Luthat picked at a piece of chuda, a gummy bread with a sweet center.“I grew up poor on the streets of Vetan. I joined the service to be a part of something better than my normal lot. To have a bed of my own in which to sleep. I rose to my position because when my people called for help, I answered. You have no idea how it feels to watch some pompous dow troja step into equal rank because of their family name.”
“And you know nothing of the sacrifices you’re asking of your people.”Her voice cracked as emotions welled up inside.“This isn’t just a fight for us, it will cost the lives of your crewmen, of your soldiers, of your friends and loved ones.”
Hanweh hissed.“Don’t lecture me about sacrifice. Every man and woman aboard Barrenonis family. Every Nangolani in the fleet is my brother. I ache for every life lost.”
Mara didn’t have a retort. She scowled, chewing on her lower lip. It was a nasty habit she’d picked up from a secretary on Earth.“What of the humans?”
Luthat laughed.“What about them? They’re keeping the Boxti busy.”
“We can’t just leave them as living shields. It isn’t right.”
The older Domin leaned over the table, pointing with his gnarled hand.“They would do the same or worse if the sides were changed. Those hairy animals are barbarians, callous and uncultured and good for nothing but cannon fodder.”
“Enough,”a voice boomed. Io, still seated by commanding attention, glared at the assem
bled officers. His skin was dry and pale, wrinkled like a prune and hanging down off his face. Mara had never before met the Odai, the Judicator. Like her, his position was unique amongst the Nangolani; he was a member of neither the Domin nor the Magistrate.“We will not allow our anger with our former leaders to cloud our judgment on such an important matter. The fate of the humans is our burden to bear, like it or not. Our people betrayed their trust and fed them to the Great Devourer. It is only fitting that, as we take steps to separate ourselves from such damaged leadership, we make amends for the wrongs they committed.”He sipped gingerly at his glass of Glin.“We will reach out to the human leaders. In fact, we must be the first to do so. If we delay much longer, the Magistrate will surely paint a very crooked picture of our actions. They may even seek to lay the blame on our heads.”
Luthat rolled his eyes, turning to face the rebel commander.“And how exactly do we broach such a sensitive subject?”
Domin Shodon didn’t answer, but just looked over at Mara. The Historian immediately put her hands up, shaking her head.
“You can’t be serious. I had to leave there because of what I discovered. They were becoming violent.”
“But your devotion to the truth is why you are the best-suited for this position. You earned many friends in the human hierarchy. If you reach out to the right one, they may be able to help.”
Mara couldn’t believe what she was hearing. She’d thought this meeting was a simple gesture; a formality. They’d rescued her and she deserved to know what was going on with her people, as her position of Historian demanded. But to become a party to such a dangerous plot seemed completely outside her comfort zone. By law, the Historians were bound to serve as neutral parties in the key events of the species in order to maintain an objective vision. This was quite the opposite.
When the Stars Fade (The Gray Wars) Page 52