Never would such a time come again, She knew.
And yet, solemn as the occasion might be, the Empress’s heart was warmed by Ku’ar-Marekh’s spirit. Her soul, complete now, had at last taken its rightful place among the warriors of the spirit.
“My Children,” the Empress began, “we grieve the loss this day of the high priestess of the Nyur-A’il, not because she fell in battle, for she did so with great honor, but because she was the last of her kind. Never again shall there be another. For with her death, the ancient crystal that dwelled here, one of the seven that formed the heart of the ancient orders, has become dark and cold. Never again shall a warrior experience the fire of the Change in the temple of the Nyur-A’il.”
She paused, looking around the inner circle of high priestesses. “Never before has this happened, in all the pages of the Books of Time. The Nyur-A’il was fated to be the first to pass into the darkness, but it shall not be the last.” She glanced at the empty place to her right where Tesh-Dar would have been standing.
“In this, the Last War, all of us shall succumb to the same fate unless we can find the One and the tomb of the First Empress. Even then, most who stand here before Me now shall fall in battle, as is your honor and your right.
“I wish My Children to survive the dark night that is falling over us, borne by the Curse of Keel-Tath. Yet even the ancient prophecies from the oldest of the Books of Time do not speak of our salvation, only what we need to achieve it.”
The warriors and clawless ones nodded. All of them knew the peril in which the Empire found itself, and realized that they were all bound to the same fate.
Sensing their darkened spirits through the Bloodsong, the Empress caressed Her belly where Her next child was growing in Her womb. It was a female, for which She was thankful, but would be born with silver talons. Sterile. While the Empress would give birth to new life, She knew that it would only bring Her Children one step closer to extinction.
“The humans,” the Empress went on, looking up at the stars. “They are the key. We know much about them from the first of their ships that came to us, and from others since, lost in battle. We have pressed them hard, driving our blade deep.
“Yet, this is not prey we wish to kill quickly. They now build greater, more powerful ships and are training legions of warriors that will bring you much honor in the coming cycles. But we must bleed them slowly; I do not want to overwhelm them and break their courage. And no more shall we take them to the arenas. It is clear they do not understand the honor we accord them.”
The high priestesses nodded their understanding. The pace of the offensives against the humans would be slowed. It did not upset them, but gladdened them. For the humans were worthy opponents, and letting their soulless race live longer would give greater opportunity for the warriors of Her Children to bring honor to the Empress. And all of them had seen by now that the arenas were nothing but slaughter pens for most of the humans, slaughter in which there was no honor, nor glory for the Empress.
“The world where Ku’ar-Marekh and her legions fell, we shall leave to the humans in her honor, until the time comes when we have found the One, or until we perish from the cosmos.”
“In Thy name,” the assembled warriors and clawless ones intoned, “shall it be so.”
The Empress watched as the sun set over the distant white-topped mountains, beyond which lay the great sea of Tulyan-Ara’ath. The sky rippled with fiery hues of red and orange, yellow and violet that glittered in her silver-flecked eyes, eyes that opened onto an ageless soul.
“It is time.”
Acolytes handed torches to the five high priestesses and Pan’ne-Sharakh, who stepped forward and set alight Ku’ar-Marekh’s funeral pyre. As the flames grew, the wood crackling and throwing sparks into the air, they stepped back and watched as their sister’s body was consumed.
As the smoke rose into the sky, the Empress focused Her love on the once-tortured spirit of Ku’ar-Marekh, whose soul now rested in the peaceful stillness of the Afterlife.
* * *
The beach was perfect. The sand was white and fine, the water clear blue and warm. A light breeze blew in from the ocean, carrying with it the sound of the gently rolling surf and the voices of the children playing in the waves.
Valentina took a sip of her margarita, savoring the taste of the tequila and strawberries as she sat in a beach chair under a huge umbrella. She watched Allison, hopping up and down in the waves and screaming with delight as she and some other kids she had found to play with splashed each other.
Not having any other relatives on Alger’s World, and not wanting to stay there, Allison had come back to Earth. Ichiro and Steph, who had recovered quickly from her leg wound, had taken care of her while Valentina and Mills were in the hospital.
But when Valentina had been well enough for visitors, Allison had asked if she could live with her and Mills. Permanently.
“You two are going to get married, right?” The girl had gone straight for the jugular with an assumption about something that Valentina had only just been giving some thought to. “And well, I thought maybe you could adopt me. I promise I won’t be any trouble!”
Valentina had been taken completely off-guard, and the girl’s expression tore at her heart.
She was a great kid, and Valentina would never be able to have her own. The injuries she’d sustained in the battle at Saint Petersburg had seen to that. She’d never considered adopting, because she had never really given much thought to being a mother. But after all that had happened…
Adopt Allison? Why not?
Looking into Allison’s expectant eyes, Valentina knew she couldn’t say no. Instead, smiled and said, “Okay. We will.”
Allison had been elated, but that was nothing compared to her delirium after meeting Valentina’s parents, Dmitri and Ludmilla Sikorsky. That’s when she discovered they owned a horse farm, and Allison could ride as much and as long as she wanted. And she was in complete heaven when they presented her with her very own horse.
Marrying Mills, on the other hand, had been something that Valentina had been a lot less certain about, and so had he.
While they had been living together after they got out of the hospital, they hadn’t discussed anything more serious than what Valentina had originally promised him. Some time together on a beautiful, sunny beach, sipping margaritas.
They had Allison along, of course, albeit sleeping in an adjacent room at the hotel. She didn’t seem to mind, and was happy to let Valentina and Mills have a little privacy.
“Looks like she’s doing well enough.” Mills, sitting next to her, was watching the kids, too, and when Valentina glanced at him, she could see a look of fondness on his face. While he was still a bit of a tough guy on the outside, she knew that he couldn’t have loved Allison more if she’d been his daughter by birth. “Tough kid.”
Valentina smiled, thinking of how happy the three of them were now.
It hadn’t been that way at first. Both of them had gone through hell the last few months since returning from Alger’s World, but Mills had gotten the worst of it. While her own injuries had been bad enough, her implants had shut down her body’s systems after the warrior had stabbed her, preventing her from bleeding out. She had lost a kidney and suffered some other internal injuries, not to mention the damage to her shoulder joint, but had recovered relatively quickly. She still experienced some pain, but knew that over time it would fade away to nothing.
The worst of it, she thought wryly, was that she’d never wear a bikini again. Her body had too many scars.
Mills, on the other hand, almost hadn’t made it. Surgeons on the Guadalcanal had worked on him for six hours. His heart had stopped three times, and the surgeons would have given up on him the last time, except for Sato’s impassioned pleas for them to try to resuscitate him one last time. Just as they were about to give up, his heart started beating.
His survival had been little short of a miracle.
After that he’d had to battle a series of infections, and then the ultimate torture of physical therapy for his right shoulder, which had to be completely reconstructed. Many had been the nights when she’d held him, his body shivering from the pain. He refused to take any painkillers after leaving the hospital. At first she had thought it was because he was trying to be a macho fool, but gradually realized it was because he was afraid of becoming addicted. As a big, powerful man, a trained killer, he had very few fears, but that was one of them.
Finally his condition reached a tipping point. The pain eased off, his strength and range of motion dramatically improved, and after the last of the dressings and restraints had been removed, he was again able to sleep.
Among other things, she thought with a sly smile.
“What’s that look for?” He squinted at her, as if trying to read her thoughts. “God, but you’re a randy wench.”
Valentina couldn’t restrain a laugh. “Well, in that case, I guess we needn’t have a repeat of last night.”
“Well,” he said quickly, “you wouldn’t want to deprive me of some great physical therapy, would you?” He made a show of moving his right arm, flexing the muscles that, between his physical therapy and increasingly tough workouts, were quickly growing back to their earlier massive size. Unlike her, he had no reservations about displaying his battle scars for all to see. He liked the attention.
His flexing drew more than a few appreciative glances from some of the bikini-clad women nearby.
“You’re hopeless.” Rolling her eyes, Valentina took another sip of her margarita, turning her attention back to Allison.
“But you love me, anyway.”
“Yes, you idiot. God help me, but I do.”
* * *
Ichiro came into the apartment and closed the door behind him, puffing a breath out through his lips. It had been a long day at Africa Station, as most days were, overseeing the repairs of Orion and the construction of the next batch of new battleships. Eight of them were being built at Africa Station, with another six in the yards at Avignon and four at Ekaterina. The new class was only slightly changed from the Orions, but the next battleships that were now being designed would be even larger and more powerful.
It was exhausting work, but it was no longer the focus of his life. He called Steph at least once a day to tell her he loved her, and made sure he did at least one little thing each day when he came home to prove it. And sometimes a big thing or two.
But his work week was over. While he was technically always on call, unless Earth were attacked, he was looking forward to an uninterrupted weekend that he fully expected to enjoy.
His wife, too, had made more room in her life for their marriage. She was back working on the president’s staff, but this time as a coordinator for the agency the president was establishing to handle the massive refugee problem. The goal wasn’t to simply find a place for refugees to go, but to use those who were willing to establish new colonies on the edge of human-explored space.
While that was an option for adults and families, it didn’t help the war orphans like Allison and the other children from Alger’s World. That was a much harder problem to solve, and is what Steph concentrated her energies on while at work.
Her first success had been placing the children Allison had saved in foster homes. The children had been on one of the boats that had escaped to reach the fleet, and the kids had first class accomodations in Admiral Voroshilov's living quarters aboard the Guadalcanal for the trip back to Earth.
After the story of what Allison had done hit the press, Steph's department had been deluged with thousands of inquiries from people offering to adopt. After personally interviewing the families that seemed most promising, Steph had placed Amrit, Vanhi, and the other children with families on Earth, and had stayed in touch with them to make sure they were getting the love and care they deserved.
“Steph?” He called out again.
No answer.
Frowning, he quickly hung up his uniform jacket in the foyer closet, then walked down the hall toward the living room.
He wasn’t worried, although Steph had been acting a bit odd the last couple days. He hadn’t been able to put his finger on it, but she’d seemed unusually anxious.
Walking into the living room, he saw her there, seated on the couch. She was leaning over, her elbows on her knees, with her chin propped up by her hands. She was beaming at him, but she had wet streaks down her cheeks.
Ichiro stopped, confused by her behavior. “Steph, are you all right?”
She nodded as she stood up and came over to him, reaching for his hands. “Yes, we’re just fine.”
Cocking his head, Ichiro asked, “We? You mean…”
“Yes.” She nodded, a look of uncertainty on her face. “I’m pregnant. I know we hadn’t exactly planned it, but-“
She didn’t get a chance to finish as Ichiro threw his arms around her.
“I’m going to be a father!” Lifting her gently from the floor, he whirled her around, his heart filled with joy.
* * *
“It worked, by God.” Secretary of State Hamilton Barca’s deep voice carried the mixture of pleasure and relief he felt at the news he had brought to the president’s cabinet meeting. “Every government that was even whispering about secession before the Alger’s World operation has stepped back from the proverbial abyss. They remain concerned, obviously, but nobody can argue now. The Kreelans can be beaten. And the real key to it was the footage that Steph gathered. The stuff with those kids surviving until the Marines got there, and the recounting of the young lady - Allison, correct? - who helped kill the warrior leader…” He shook his head in admiration. “Along with the combat footage, it was some incredibly powerful stuff that really helped turn things around on the diplomatic front.” He grinned at the president. “Your speech didn’t hurt, either.”
At the head of the table, McKenna blew out her breath and leaned back in her chair, a huge weight lifting from her shoulders. The news about the operation had received a lukewarm reception from the Confederation planetary ambassadors until the video footage had been released. It had been heavily edited, of course. Steph’s assistant had compiled a documentary from the mass of footage Steph had captured, and McKenna and her defense counsel had been the first to see it. Some of what they had seen had been disturbing, to say the least. In particular, the phenomenon that had nearly led to General Sparks’s forces being defeated.
Those things, McKenna had decided, the public did not yet need to see.
With Steph’s help from her hospital bed where she was recovering from her leg wound, the raw footage had been transformed into a documentary that had left McKenna with her heart in her throat, overcome with pride in the men and women she had sent there, and in the people of Alger’s World who had fought to survive.
Most of the planet’s population had survived, although the butcher’s bill had still been enormous. Fifty thousand civilians and Territorial Army soldiers had died. Another eight thousand sailors and Marines had been killed in the fighting, with hundreds more wounded.
But it could have been far, far worse.
“The reconstruction effort on Alger’s is moving along well,” Barca continued. “A number of other worlds have even stepped forward, volunteering to send workers and supplies to assist in the effort.” He cocked an eyebrow at the president. “That, Madam President, is a first.”
“They feel confident enough to send some of their own resources off-world in troubled times,” said Vice President Navarre. “That is indeed a good sign.”
“How are things going on the production front?” McKenna turned to Defense Minister Sabine and Admiral Tiernan.
“Aside from some supply problems we’re having with certain components, things are actually going amazingly well,” Joshua Sabine told her.
“Supply problems?” McKenna leaned forward. “Who do I need to lean on?”
Tiernan and Sabine exchanged grins. “No one th
is time, Madam President,” Tiernan told her. “The problem is simply that our growing building capacity has outstripped our ability to produce certain parts, mainly for the hyperdrive engines. We had anticipated that problem and were already establishing additional production facilities, but our shipwrights and yard workers have been, shall we say, excessively efficient.”
“So what’s the projection for the fleet’s strength?” McKenna asked.
Sabine smiled. “We’ll double the number of ships and nearly triple our warship tonnage in the next eighteen months.”
“And that’s a conservative estimate,” Tiernan added. “More importantly, by that time we’ll have naval shipyards established in sixteen systems, four times what we have now. So in case the Kreelans give us another sucker punch, we won’t have to worry so much about its impact on our shipbuilding.”
McKenna nodded, impressed. “And what about the Marines and Territorial Army?”
“We’ve found a candidate world that we’d like to set up as a primary Marine training facility,” Tiernan told her. “We’ll expand the Corps as the Navy builds its transport capacity, as that’s really the limiting factor beyond raw manpower. We certainly don’t have any shortage of volunteers.”
“And the Territorial Army is rapidly expanding, as well.” Sabine paused, considering how far they’d come from the chaos three years before. “We’ve got cadres fully established on every Confederation world now, and some of the bureaucratic interference we were starting to get from the governments considering secession has pretty much vanished since the Alger’s World operation.”
McKenna nodded in satisfaction. They had bought the Confederation some time to bind itself together and better prepare its defenses. It was time she desperately needed, because she had no doubt that this war, more than any other ever fought by humanity, was going to be a long, bloody affair.
We’ll win in the end, she thought. There was no other option. Because in this war, the only alternative to victory for humanity would be its extinction.
In Her Name: The Last War Page 111