The Caphenon

by Fletcher DeLancey

  “She’s the first one on the field?” Candini asked.

  Everyone looked at Lhyn, who shrugged. “I don’t know,” she said. “I’ve never seen anything like this.”

  Ekatya watched the Lancer, walking alone in front of her Guards, and thought she understood. “She’s not a politician today. This is a state funeral for warriors. Today she’s the leader of the warrior caste.”

  “And leaders go first,” Baldassar said. “Nice.”

  Lhyn’s eyes were round as she looked from him to Ekatya. “Do you think? How interesting. If that’s the case, then won’t the highest-ranking officers follow her on?”

  “I guess we wait and see.” Ekatya held up a hand when Lhyn would have spoken again. “I want to hear this.” Those horns were giving her goose bumps. And what did a high empath feel when she was marching into a stadium of fifty thousand people who were probably getting the same goose bumps times a factor of ten? Lhyn had said they could block their senses, but was it total?

  The horns and drums rose to a crescendo as Lancer Tal reached the empty platform and mounted the stairs. Her Guards split into two lines and wound themselves around the base, taking up posts on all four sides. Two gigantic matching holograms appeared at the north and south ends of the field, showing a real-time image of the Lancer as she walked to the raised dais in the center and lifted both of her arms. It had been timed perfectly, with the horns reaching a point where it seemed that something had to break, before the long bells rang out in a bone-rattling tone and the symphony fell silent.

  The long bells were still reverberating when Lancer Tal called out, “Warriors, advance!” Her voice filled the stadium, and the symphony began playing a march. It wasn’t as royal-sounding as the earlier fanfare, but the increased use of percussion made it seem more militaristic. A stream of crimson flowed onto the field as what looked like every warrior in the city marched in from the two northern corners, led by—yes, Lhyn had guessed right—all of the high-ranking warriors that Ekatya had met so far, plus many more.

  The holographic images shifted to show various warriors as they swung along, starting with Prime Warrior Shantu, who for once was not in some fancy outfit but in a dress uniform matching those who were marching right behind him: Colonel Micah, Colonel Razine, Colonel Northcliff, Colonel Debrett, and a raft of other ranking warriors. The other stream was led by a squadron of Guards with the same three chevrons on their sleeves that Lead Guard Gehrain wore. Behind these leaders came what she guessed were the rank and file warriors. In all, there were hundreds—no, thousands of them. They filled the field with red, the two streams converging on the platform where Lancer Tal stood alone. The high officers mounted the platform and seated themselves, while the others echoed the actions of the Lancer’s Guards, streaming around the platform and arranging themselves in ever-deepening ranks, facing outward on all sides.

  When the last warrior slotted herself into place, the entire field was a sea of crimson, broken only by the three platforms housing the ranking warriors, the symphony, and the choir. A final blast of horns and an enormous roll of drums finished the march, and silence settled over the field once more.

  The only person on the main platform who hadn’t taken a seat was Lancer Tal. The holograms switched back to her as she spoke.

  “Today is a day of deep sorrow and great joy, as we bid farewell to our loved ones and celebrate their Return. Twenty-three warriors fell before the weapons of the Voloth ground pounder. Seven of them were retired. They had put in a lifetime of labor and love in service of Alsea, and when their service was fulfilled, they found a quiet part of the central Pallean mountains in which to enjoy their well-earned reward. Instead, they were murdered by a merciless enemy.”

  She paused while a low rumble of voices filled the air, tens of thousands of Alseans voicing their outrage.

  “Six more warriors were cut down in their prime. They were searching for what they thought were inert pieces of an alien ship that had been destroyed in our atmosphere, but what they found was blood and death as this same merciless enemy blew them apart without a moment’s thought. Our warriors were merely obstacles in its path.”

  Another rumble poured out of the stands, and the Lancer spoke more forcefully over their voices.

  “Then came two hundred and forty-one civilians: Alseans who were producers, crafters, builders, merchants, and scholars. They had never fought a battle and never offered offense to anyone. They were not trained for war and should never have been targeted. But this enemy, these Voloth, were barbaric. They did not fight. They merely killed, indiscriminately, viewing us as nothing but targets on which to expend ammunition.”

  Now the rumble became a roar, and Lancer Tal’s voice hit its most powerful register.

  “But our Alsean deaths were not long unavenged! As the sun set that day, the ground pounder was blown into a thousand pieces, one each for the broken hearts among us as we mourn those it killed. The fireball reached to the stars!”

  As the Alseans bellowed their approval, Lancer Tal turned to face the opposite stands.

  “Before the Voloth barbarians died, before our warriors blew them into dust, they surely heard the battle cry that has defended Alsea for generations.” She took a breath, spread her arms wide, and shouted, “For Fahla and Alsea!”

  Every warrior on the field shouted with her, as did fifty thousand Alseans in the stands, and when the chant went on three more times Ekatya’s goose bumps made a reappearance.

  Lancer Tal paused, letting the echoes die down, and resumed in a slightly lower tone.

  “Ten more died in the battle, but they gave their lives gladly to avenge the deaths of their fellow Alseans and to prevent the Voloth from killing even one more. Warriors live to serve, and around us are twenty-three of them, all of whom served and all of whom deserve the thanks of a grateful people. They stood between us and harm, and in so doing they fulfilled their destiny. Their deeds shall ever be taught.”

  The warriors on the field and the Alseans in the stands chanted something that Ekatya couldn’t quite make out, but she heard the last part of it: “And if she calls the heroes home, their deeds shall ever be taught.”

  Lancer Tal turned again. “There are more heroes among us today, heroes who are not Alsean but were surely sent by Fahla. Fifteen aliens risked their lives to protect us from the Voloth. Three of them died in the effort. We honor them as we would the best of Alseans, for they gave their lives in our service and we owe them more than we can ever repay.”

  She lifted an arm to point to Ekatya, who straightened and said, “Look alive, everyone. We’re on.”

  “Alseans!” shouted Lancer Tal. “I give you the heroes of the First Voloth Battle, the captain and crew of the Protectorate ship Caphenon!”

  The symphony swung into a new march, this one accompanied by the chimes of the long bells, and Ekatya led her crew onto the field. A swarm of disc-shaped vidcams zipped up out of nowhere, one of which hovered directly in front of her, and she blinked as a twenty-meter version of herself appeared at the far end of the field.

  Directing her attention anywhere else, she focused on Lancer Tal, who was saying, “Ekatya Serrado, captain of the Caphenon.” A beat later she spoke again: “Amis Baldassar, commander and first officer.” The gigantic hologram switched to Baldassar, who looked briefly surprised before getting his expression under control. Ekatya smiled; she’d have something to tease him about later.

  Lancer Tal introduced them all by name, rank, and specialty—and even managed to pronounce Hmongyon’s name properly, a feat that Ekatya was certain had taken some practice. They had reached the outer edge of the warrior ranks now, and she was just beginning to wonder how they could possibly get through such a solid mass of bodies, when the warriors nearest them shifted to the sides and thumped a fist to their chests. As if by magic, a path appeared through the sea of red, ending at the steps of the platform. Without a pause, Ekatya led her crew through. Fist after fist thumped in a salute, and try as sh
e might, she couldn’t keep her eyes from blurring. She thought of her medals, now lying in a dried pool of blood back on her ship, and knew that even if Admiral Tsao had guaranteed her a Blue Star for saving this planet, it would have meant nothing compared to this. Never in her life had she felt such an unabashed pride for doing the right thing.

  When she reached the stairs, she had a moment of panic about her two injured people. How exactly were they going to get those chairs onto that platform?

  Lead Guard Gehrain stepped forward and smiled at her. “Don’t worry, Captain. We’ll take care of them.”

  She nodded her acceptance and mounted the wide stairs. A row of seats had been set aside for her crew, but the Lancer had said her place was on top, so she continued up the aisle between chairs full of officers, all of whom stood and gave her the same salute. Shantu nodded at her gravely, Colonel Micah gave her an encouraging smile, and then she was on the dais.

  When Lancer Tal held up both palms, the spectators let out a collective gasp. Ekatya met her touch, allowing their fingers to intertwine, and over her shoulder she could see the gigantic hologram of the two of them with their matching capes rippling slowly in the breeze. She had to admit they made quite a picture.

  Lancer Tal released their hands and turned, enabling Ekatya to watch her crew’s arrival on the platform. Baldassar was sidling along the empty row to take the farthest seat, with Lhyn right behind him, her civilian clothes making her stand out from the others. For that matter, Ekatya realized, she stood out from every individual on the field. Other than the musicians, Lhyn was the only person in this entire production who didn’t belong to a military organization.

  She was distracted from that thought by the sight of Gehrain and Corlander lifting Trooper Mauji Mauji’s chair between them. They walked up the stairs in perfect lockstep, and behind them came two more of the Lancer’s Guards carrying Hmongyon. Trooper Blunt was sitting in the last chair of the row, next to the open space that had been left for the mobile chairs, and she graced Gehrain with a dazzling smile as he set Mauji Mauji down next to her. Gehrain responded with a big smile of his own, reaching out for a quick palm touch before heading back down with his fellow Guards.

  “They’re getting along well,” Lancer Tal murmured over the music.

  “They spent almost the entire day together yesterday, after you left with Colonel Micah. Is it as obvious to you as it is to us?”

  “Probably a good deal more.”

  The holograms weren’t focused on them at the moment, so Ekatya took a chance and asked, “Did you just announce to the entire world that you’ve given me honorary family status?”

  “Yes, I did. There are few things I can give you that are worthy of what you gave us, Captain. That’s one of them.”

  The symphony wound up its march, and silence settled over the field once again. Several little vidcams rose up around them, and this time Ekatya was better prepared when the holograms shifted to show her and Lancer Tal. Fortunately, all she had to do at this point was stand there and look confident while the Lancer spoke, detailing her battle with the orbital invader and spinning the tale far better than Ekatya had when she’d explained it to the High Council last night. She mentioned Candini by name and praised her expertise in avoiding a crash in Blacksun—to the sound of even more gasps—and then described the night-long rescue in which twelve of them had been saved, while three slipped beyond their grasp.

  Ekatya couldn’t make out any faces in the stands, but every warrior on the field was turned toward them, and it was clear that Lancer Tal held them all in her hand. She was an excellent storyteller, making the Caphenon’s crew sound like the kind of heroes that only existed in myth.

  Then she named the dead and said that their captain was here to honor their memories, and it was Ekatya’s turn to speak.

  When the giant holograms focused on her face, she forgot everything she’d planned to say. Speaking on the com to a thousand unseen crew members was one thing, but this was out of her league. Lancer Tal touched her hand encouragingly, and a surge of confidence unlocked her memory.

  She spoke of the way Ensign O’Sullivan had come aboard her ship, with all the cockiness of a freshly minted officer, and how Trooper Cuthbroad had promptly put him in his place during a simulated engineering emergency that had baffled O’Sullivan. Cuthbroad solved the problem in five ticks flat and pointed out that every gray hair on his head came from experience. To O’Sullivan’s credit, he’d chosen learning over pride, and the two eventually became inseparable. When Cuthbroad volunteered to stay aboard the Caphenon for its final flight, it was a given that O’Sullivan would stay as well. They were friends in death as they had been friends in life.

  She talked about how Trooper Shelley had requested a transfer to the Caphenon specifically to work with Commander Kameha because of his reputation as one of the top engineers in Fleet. She’d been put on the night shift upon arrival, which was standard procedure for crew with less seniority, but it foiled her plan. After ten days she’d come to Ekatya with a shift change request, and when Ekatya had wanted to know why she deserved special treatment, Shelley had opined that seniority shouldn’t matter as much as capability, and she was more than capable. Curious to see if she had the skills to match her boast, Ekatya had given her ten days to prove herself. At the end of it, Kameha had recommended her permanent transfer to the day shift.

  If she were speaking to a Fleet audience, Ekatya would have talked about the friends they’d made, the activities they’d enjoyed off duty—things that defined them outside their ranks and responsibilities. But this was a memorial for warriors, viewed by a race that had no understanding of Fleet culture. So she spoke of their accomplishments, how each of them had impressed her in their unique ways, and the fact that each had chosen to stay aboard when the safe thing to do was leave.

  Lancer Tal took over, explaining that the Gaians had different beliefs regarding the treatment of their dead, so these three heroes would not be sent to their Return until they could do so on the soil of their home planets. Then she launched into her own eulogy, speaking on behalf of the seven retired warriors who had died in the attack on Duin Bridge.

  When she finished, Colonel Debrett mounted the dais and eulogized the sixteen warriors who had died on active duty. It took considerable time, but Ekatya hardly noticed, so fascinated was she by the stories she heard.

  With the eulogies over at last, Colonel Debrett returned to his seat, and Ekatya felt a twinge of envy. Lancer Tal had warned her that the caste leader never sat during a funeral of her people, and Ekatya was the de facto leader of her caste. So she stood there while the Voices of the Deep began a lament, and soon she forgot all about wishing for a chair. These singers were glorious. Their discipline and timing were perfect, as was the blending of their voices, and she couldn’t figure out how they did that without a director. Then it occurred to her—they were empathic. Not high empaths, obviously, but enough to feel their fellow singers and experience the music as one.

  At the end of the song, they hardly paused for breath before beginning another, this time with the full symphony behind them. The Alseans in the stands joined in to sing what was clearly an old and well-loved ballad about the Battle of Blacksun. Ekatya made a mental note to ask Lhyn about it when she had the chance. Knowing her, she was probably singing along.

  The holograms shifted continually during the ballad, showing various faces in the crowd, and then settled on what had to be the VIP section of the seating. There were the other five caste leaders, along with a bunch of dignitaries Ekatya didn’t recognize.

  As the last notes died away, one of the dignitaries stood up. She wore a high-collared tunic of such dark blue as to be almost black, with a silver tree emblazoned on the chest, its branches reaching up to her collarbones. The holograms zoomed in on the tree, then moved up to her face, which Ekatya thought was quite beautiful. She had a light olive tone to her skin, dark brown eyes, and black hair that fell in soft waves to just above her sh
oulders. Her smile was warm and serene, lighting up her face.

  “Lead Templar Satran,” Lancer Tal said into her ear.

  “Great galaxies,” Ekatya murmured. “Your templars look like that? I might turn religious.”

  Lancer Tal chuckled. “You wouldn’t be the first.”

  The Lead Templar turned in place, scanning the crowd, and for a moment Ekatya would have sworn that the hologram had looked directly at her. It was certainly a valuable skill for someone who regularly addressed large crowds.

  “When Fahla created us,” she said in a throaty voice, “she gave us one great responsibility. Above all others, above the duties to learn and grow and better ourselves, above even our love for our friends and families, is the duty to protect Alsea. We all do that in our own ways, large and small. Sometimes we can only protect the little piece of Alsea we live on. Other times, we are given the opportunity to protect much more, as the scholars and builders did when they created the nanoscrubbers to save us from a terrible nuclear accident.

  “Three days ago, Fahla herself stepped in, for the threat to Alsea was greater than we knew. She sent us the Gaians, who fought the Voloth above our planet and defeated them, only to lose their own ship in the process.

  “But Fahla has never meant for others to assume our responsibility when we are capable of fulfilling it ourselves. And so it was Alseans who dealt with the last threat of the Voloth, and Alseans who lie there now on their pyres. Though we mourn them, we also rejoice that they lived in honor, protecting our world and serving Fahla in the highest manner.”

  She spoke for several minutes, telling stories that Ekatya thought were either fables or highly embellished history, and ended with a reminder that a Return, though sad for those left behind, was always a time of joy for those who were being reunited with the ones who waited for them.

  When she sat down, Ekatya saw a vidcam zip up in front of the dais and braced herself. To her relief, it was Lancer Tal alone who appeared on the holograms next.