“He’s fortunate to be out of Alsean space,” Andira snarled. “If I’d known—”
“You couldn’t have done anything. Not without endangering everything else you were working on. But Sholokhov did.”
She had since given it a great deal of thought, trying to puzzle out why Sholokhov would come down so hard on an unimportant player. A gasbag, he had called him. Admiral Greve had meant nothing—until he saw those files.
The invasion of her privacy had offended Sholokhov’s personal code, she concluded. Blackmail and murder were all in a day’s work for him, but the file of her making tea in the nude had no purpose other than to titillate. It had no political or military value. It existed solely for Greve’s masturbatory fantasies, which made it not merely an abuse of power but a waste of it.
Sholokhov had spent years playing terrifyingly dangerous games with her, one of which took the life of a promising young officer. He was frustrated by her lack of fear and compelled to prove his power over her again and again, yet she knew instinctively that deep down, he didn’t want to win. He respected her for the fight. Had she ever surrendered, he would have despised her.
To his view, then, Admiral Greve had been put into a position of power over her but hadn’t proven himself worthy of it. He had wasted her potential and topped it off by disrespecting her in the most puerile of ways. In doing so, he had earned the enmity Ekatya was so careful to avoid.
He was now paying for it in spades.
Public mortification was only the beginning of Greve’s woes. Court-martial proceedings had already begun, with conviction guaranteed given the amount of evidence. Still, he could have walked away with a lenient sentence. Left to its own devices, Fleet would likely have retired him with full rank and benefits just to get him out and shut him up.
On the day of his first court appearance, Ekatya received a one-line message from Sholokhov.
At which rank do you suppose he last served satisfactorily?
With that, she knew what Greve’s punishment would be. Other than prison time, the worst sentence for a convicted officer was dismissal—a dishonorable separation resulting in loss of pension, benefits, and voting rights. It also included a reduction to the last rank at which the officer was deemed as having served satisfactorily.
In the shuttle bay, Admiral Greve had pulled rank, huffing that their warrant was probably pushed through by “some ensign at Fleet Justice.”
Ekatya deleted Sholokhov’s message with a laugh, poured herself a shot of iceflame, and lifted it in salute to the future Ensign Greve, Retired, Protectorate Fleet.
31
Ceremonies
The last time Salomen had been aboard this ship was in the chaos of battle.
It felt decidedly odd to sit here now and watch such calm proceedings. Lowering her blocks brought a river of excitement, anticipation, pride, happiness, melancholy, quiet regret—emotions that were in every way the antithesis of what she had felt before. She let them roll over her, enjoying the mostly pleasant flavors until their weight grew too pressing. With her blocks back in place, the gentle music of the ship’s band seemed markedly louder.
On a screen above the temporary stage, the lyrics to this ballad were displayed in both Common and High Alsean. It was a love song, speaking to the seductive call of life in space, and many of the attendees were singing along.
She had thought the ceremony would take place on Deck Zero, given its incomparable aesthetics. What could be better than sitting in a landscaped park where they could look up through the transparent hull to Alsea?
“Too impractical,” Lhyn had said during their last quantum com call. “Deck Zero doesn’t have any really big, open spaces. It’s designed for privacy. Besides, they’ll have to build temporary stands, and those are a lot easier to construct in the shuttle bay where they don’t have to worry about crushing plants.”
Salomen looked around the gray walls of the cavernous bay and concluded that practicality had its limits. The most aesthetically pleasing views in this windowless space were the two women flanking her in the front row. Then again, she admitted, she would think the same regardless of location.
The Phoenix’s shuttles and others that had brought so many guests were stationkeeping with the ship, leaving the deck open for the stage and seating. Occupying the floor-level chairs around her were the ship’s senior officers, dignitaries from both Alsea and the Protectorate, her tyrees, and two people she had liked the moment she met them: Ekatya’s grandparents. They sat beside Lhyn, wreathed in smiles and pride a sonsales could see. Her grandfather, wearing a Fleet uniform with a commander’s rank insignia, sang with gusto.
Around three of the walls, tiered seats were full of Phoenix crew and those Alsean pilots whose special courage had earned them tickets to the event. The divine tyrees were there as well, their attendance one of the few public acknowledgments the war council could give them. Their private acknowledgment had taken place in the State House two ninedays ago, when Andira, Salomen, and the caste Primes awarded each of them the Sonalia Prize. It was the highest honor the government could bestow and came with a cash prize large enough to make a difference in their lives.
During a lull in the music, Lhyn leaned past Salomen to speak with Andira, sitting on her other side. “I haven’t seen this many medals and ribbons since launch day,” she said in a low tone.
Andira leaned over as well. “I haven’t seen this many ever. Does Fleet award medals for successfully using the toilet?”
Salomen pressed her lips together, barely managing not to laugh.
“That’s an Ekatya question. I dare you to ask her.”
“Oh, I will.”
“I suggest you wait until after she collects her latest medal.” Salomen smiled at her bondmate, resplendent in her own dress uniform. The high-collared crimson jacket set off her bright hair and light eyes beautifully, and the Seal of the Lancer was all the more arresting for being the only decoration on her breast. Andira Tal did not need a chest full of medals to prove her worth or power.
“Though I’ll admit I greatly prefer our tradition,” she added. “Some of these people look as though they’ll topple forward any moment under the weight. You look sleek and . . . edible.”
A familiar thrill zinged through their link. “So do you, tyrina. You have a talent for choosing clothes that challenge my strength of will.”
Lhyn’s hand slipped onto her leg, palm up. “Seconded.”
That was a different thrill, less familiar but no less potent. Salomen had not been in Lhyn’s physical presence for a moon, making her hyperaware now. She let their hands touch briefly, soaking up the emotional connection while cognizant of the many vidcams recording this event for Alsea and the Protectorate.
They had not gone public with their unusual bond, and now was not the time to do so. But it needed to happen soon, she thought. She hated secrets, Lhyn was a terrible liar, Andira deserved to love without reservation, and Ekatya had spent too much of the past cycle alone, concealing the most vibrant parts of herself. Even now, on this joyous occasion, it was the three of them together and Ekatya sitting apart.
But today was the last of it. After this, Ekatya would be free.
The ship’s band ended on a quiet sigh of stringed instruments, and Ambassador Solvassen spoke from the podium. Salomen tuned out his voice, listening to the translation on her earcuff.
“Now that we’ve gotten through all the preliminary bits and too much talking on my part,” he said to a swell of light laughter, “I’m very pleased to introduce Admiral Tsao, Fleet Commander, Sector One.” He stepped back and applauded as the woman who had been sitting next to Ekatya moved to take his place.
She had a slim build, unlike most of the admirals in attendance, and gray hair pulled back in a no-nonsense style. This close, Salomen could see the scar that ran through her left eyebrow.
“Good afternoon,” she said in a clear voice. “It took me sixteen days to get here for this ceremony. I’d like to s
tate for the record that I’d have come if it took two or even three times as long. I’ve waited a long time for this opportunity to recognize Captain Serrado’s courage, tactical brilliance, and selfless contributions to Fleet and the Protectorate.”
Ekatya sat straight-backed in her chair on stage, her own dress uniform perfectly pressed and bearing a bewildering array of medals. She had listened to the first part of the ceremony with little outward expression, but now seemed startled and oddly shy.
Salomen leaned forward, fascinated by the change.
“Ekatya Serrado first came to my attention as a newly promoted full lieutenant. I was a captain at the time, and on the lookout for skilled officers that I could poach—I mean, encourage to serve with me.”
This seemed to be of particular humor to the admirals and section chiefs in attendance, though Andira laughed as well.
“A service record surfaced in my pile with an unusual entry. Lieutenant Serrado had taken leave to visit her grandparents on Gaia, a trip that passes through some lonely stretches of space.”
Ekatya’s grandparents nodded in agreement.
“The public shuttle she was on had the misfortune of being stopped and boarded by pirates who ordered every passenger to hand over their bags for a search. Lieutenant Serrado refused. I should add here that there were four of them and one of her. I should also add that two of them were half again as tall as she is, and the other two were twice her weight.”
Now the crew of the Phoenix chuckled, knowing the reputation of their captain and expecting the outcome of the story.
“They decided to teach her a lesson and make an example of her to the rest of the passengers. This is all on video, by the way, so I can tell you with certainty that it took exactly seven moves for her to lay all four of them out on the deck. Two were unconscious; the other two had multiple bone fractures. She sustained a bruised cheekbone and a sprained finger.”
“Yeah!” someone shouted from high up in the crew section. Applause rang through the shuttle bay.
Onstage, Ekatya smiled.
“When it was over and the passengers had helped her restrain the pirates, someone asked what she had in her bag that was so valuable she would risk life and limb to protect it. She said, and I quote: ‘Dirty laundry and some of the best chocolate I’ve ever tasted. It’s for my grandmother. Nobody is taking chocolate from Grams.’”
Ekatya’s grandmother rose from her chair. “It was very good chocolate,” she said tartly.
This time, Salomen didn’t suppress her laugh. Neither did the rest of the audience, especially when Ekatya blew a kiss to her grandmother. Tsao acknowledged the interruption with a genial nod and waited for the laughter to die down.
“I knew then that this young officer was only beginning to make a name for herself. Anyone who would take on four-to-one odds for dirty laundry and chocolate was not, in fact, fighting for dirty laundry and chocolate. She was fighting for her principles.”
The mood in the shuttle bay was suddenly serious. Admiral Tsao leaned forward and spoke deliberately. “She risked her life for her principles. That kind of courage, that unwavering devotion to right versus easy, was what I wanted on my crew. So I recruited that young lieutenant. I have been privileged to watch her progress since then, and it doesn’t surprise me that I’m standing here now to award her the Presidential Medal of Galactic Service. Because Ekatya Serrado never stopped fighting, no matter the odds or how unpopular or inconvenient her principles might have been. It has rarely been easy for her. But it has always been right.”
Having gathered the attendees in the palm of her hand, Admiral Tsao took them through an overview of Ekatya’s career. She skated through the early parts, going into more detail once Ekatya made commander and still more when she reached the rank of captain. Salomen listened closely, recognizing bits and pieces but hearing far more that Ekatya had never mentioned.
The stories gained depth, covering Ekatya’s loss of the Caphenon in defense of Alsea and her subsequent command of the Phoenix. Finally, Tsao gave an extensive description of last moon’s battle and the specific actions that had earned this medal. She ended by calling Ekatya to the podium and taking a slim case from her pocket.
“Unlike Fleet medals, I can’t pin this to your uniform,” she said, lifting out a large, gleaming disc hanging from a golden chain. “This isn’t a medal to go beside others. It’s one that stands alone, as you have.” She hung the medal around Ekatya’s neck and shook her hand. “Congratulations, Captain Serrado.”
The shuttle bay exploded in applause and whistles as every person in attendance jumped to their feet. Ekatya’s grandmother wiped her eyes with a lacy kerchief while her grandfather applauded wildly, ignoring his own tears.
Lhyn leaned against Salomen. “I’m so shekking proud of her. It’s about time Fleet got its ass in motion.”
“About time?” Andira asked. “Right at the end of time, I’d say.”
“Thank you, Admiral Tsao.” Ekatya’s voice rang out over the shuttle bay com. “Of all the people who could have bestowed this on me today, I’m glad it was you. But I have to correct one detail. I didn’t stand alone in that battle. I had the backing of the best crew in Fleet, two extremely skilled captains and their crews, Alsea’s most formidable pilots—” She paused for the happy shouts from the pilots in question. “And most of all, I had Lancer Andira Tal, Bondlancer Salomen Opah, and my bondmate, Dr. Lhyn Rivers. Without them, none of this would have been possible.” She raised her hands to them with a brilliant smile, inspiring another round of applause.
“Artful,” Andira murmured. “She told the truth, but no one will understand it.”
“That’s our Ekatya.” Lhyn blew a kiss and rested her hands over her heart. On stage, Ekatya mirrored the gesture.
In fact, Ekatya managed to tell quite a bit of truth in her acceptance speech. Her facility for choosing words that others would hear incorrectly—and in the way she meant them to be heard—was a talent she shared with Andira. The two of them were eggs from the same bird, as Lhyn said. There was a time when Salomen had found that intimidating and even threatening, but that was before she understood how a heart could love in different and complementary ways. She could no longer imagine Andira without Ekatya, just as she couldn’t imagine her own life without Lhyn. They were far better together than apart, a lesson Fahla had apparently been determined to teach them.
She sometimes wished she could speak with Andira’s mother, who had spent her life loving two men but only one openly. Of the three involved, only Corozen Micah had lived to see Andira take the same path.
“I feared for her,” he had said when she asked him about it. “I couldn’t bear the thought of watching her suffer the way I did. Then she met you, and I feared for you both if Ekatya ever came back. You would all try to do the right thing, and it would hurt each of you in different ways. Then she did come back, and I stopped being afraid.”
“Why?”
“Because I could see the signs. You had never met Lhyn before, but by the third day of your bonding break, you made her your family.”
“That’s what a bonding break is for.”
“Yes, and how many other people have you taken into your heart that quickly?”
None.
Perhaps a part of her had known back then, she mused, standing with the others to applaud the end of Ekatya’s speech. Perhaps she had instinctively recognized the balance they would eventually find.
But she could never have guessed where it would lead.
In a well-timed move, the President of the Protectorate called in via quantum com, his image displayed on the massive screen as he congratulated Ekatya and lamented his inability to be there in person.
“Better not to speak at all than to tell such a transparent lie,” Andira grumbled. “But she’s making him look good.” She watched avidly, her emotional signature alight with pride and a desire that no longer came burdened with guilt.
Salomen found this view far more comp
elling than the Gaian politician spreading his tail feathers onscreen. Leaning in, she kissed Andira beneath her ear and whispered, “I cannot imagine anyone else worthy of you.”
The desire expanded and grew warmer, wrapping around the base of her spine. “Nor can I of you. Lhyn is a treasure.”
“The Protectorate’s most decorated starship captain and its most famous anthropologist. We have high standards for each other.”
“Why wouldn’t we?” Andira turned her head, their eyes meeting with an electric jolt that reverberated through their bond.
Even after a moon, the effects of their battle link had not fully dissipated and were unlikely to do so, according to Healer Wellernal. Salomen did not mind. The initial compulsion had settled into a background hum they could choose to ignore if they wished. Or they could let it grow, as they were in this moment, and enjoy the pleasure it brought them.
She pulled Andira’s hand into her lap and leaned back, watching Ekatya with proprietary appreciation. Yes, Fleet and the Protectorate were belatedly giving her the recognition she deserved, but Andira had known her worth from the beginning. Now she was the Savior, beloved of all Alseans—and the one person in the galaxy to whom Salomen would entrust her bondmate.
That trust would find a new level tonight, she knew. All four of them were poised on the edge before the jump, vibrating with anticipation and a delicious sense of the unknown.
She glanced at Lhyn, so close and still so untouchable, and smiled to herself. She could wait a few more hanticks. The expectation was part of the thrill, after all. Sealing their new bonds was an event that would occur but once in their lifetimes.
“We’re doing things a little differently than usual today.” Ambassador Solvassen was back at the podium. “Normally, the band would now play a rousing rendition of the Protectorate anthem and we’d end the ceremony with a final salute to Captain Serrado. But this is not a normal ceremony. I now invite Dr. Lhyn Rivers to the stage.”
Alsea Rising: The Seventh Star (Chronicles of Alsea Book 10) Page 23
