by Rachel Ford
Davis Telari smirked, glancing down at the papers before him. Presider Grik raised an expectant eyebrow. Raylor and the Bik brothers watched him curiously. Even Giya Endan shifted in his seat awkwardly.
Nikia Idan rose again, lifting the hush that had fallen on them. “Presider, I move that this body appoint a panel of advisors, persons yet to be determined, to counsel the people of Theta on the reopening of the mining facilities.
“These members will be chosen for their industry expertise, and will be subject to the approval or rejection of the Thetan government. They shall serve at the pleasure of the duly elected Thetan ruling body, for as long as said body shall have need of them, with the understanding that any decisions undertaken are ultimately the Thetan ruling body’s to make.”
“The floor recognizes Minister Idan,” Grik nodded. “The motion has been made. Is there a second?”
Here, at last, Brek found his voice. “Here,” he said, mimicking the protocol he’d seen for accepting committee reports. His tone was not so strong as he would have liked, but it carried to the officiator’s dais.
Grik nodded again. “Very well. Thank you, ministers.” Nikia resumed her seat, and Brek followed.
For half a moment, he caught her eye, and he nodded. He doubted a single expression could convey the debt of gratitude he felt. She’d intervened before he’d made a proper fool of himself; she’d intervened before he shamed his home world with his ignorance. She seemed to sense something of what he was feeling, for she smiled in turn, a gentle, reassuring smile. Then, she turned back to the proceedings, and he did the same.
Grik was saying, “The motion has been made and seconded. All those in favor, say ‘aye.’”
Chapter Eight
The ayes had it. Telari and a few others dissented. Gretchen Mira abstained from voting. But the ayes overwhelmingly carried the day.
The debate was far from over, of course. The council had been established, but not who would sit on it. They had yet to be identified and then confirmed.
It was understood that the government would earmark funds for Theta’s use, but the figures had yet to be determined and approved.
Likewise, since the Consortium’s supply ships were gone, there was the matter of the appropriation of ships and supplies for the colony’s use.
The hours dragged on. Nikia attended to it all, but her mind and body ached – the first, from boredom, and the second, from inactivity. The dry minutia of decisions made by committees of dozens was numbing to both.
Still, the ministers appeared to be tiring of the fight. The business of Theta wrapped up before the day ended, with a council chosen, sums allocated, and initial supplies provisioned. Nikia’s back ached, and so, somehow, did her feet. One of the many joys of pregnancy, she assumed, wryly.
It had been a long day, and the prospect of returning home to a hot meal and a long shower pleased her rather more than she would have admitted out loud. When did I become such an old woman? Next it’ll be naps and a rocking chair.
Her mind was full of such happy visions as she filed out of the House of Commons chamber. She’d need to make a quick detour to her office, but otherwise, she could be on her way.
“Nik,” a voice at her elbow sounded, drawing her from her reverie.
It was Giya Enden, and she smiled at her friend. “Gi.”
“Hey. I need a word, if you’ve got a minute?”
She nodded, not quite sure how to take his words. There was a hint of something – concern, perhaps – in them. His expression was inscrutable, for he wore his standard frown. “Of course. I’m heading to my office.”
He nodded too, and they walked in silence for a moment.
“Is everything alright?”
“Yes…just…we haven’t talked about Diven.”
Nik felt a stab of pain shoot through her at her brother’s name. “Diven?”
“He was found guilty, Nik. The council left his punishment up to you, but that was six weeks ago. Velk is dead. Diven has yet to be punished at all.” They’d reached one of the side halls leading to the offices, and he put a hand on her shoulder to stop her. “I’m sorry. I know this is hard. But people are starting to talk.”
Her voice caught in her throat, but she managed a, “He’s my brother, Gi. My only living family.”
“Then don’t kill him. Exile him, or, hell, fine him and strip his names from the rolls of prominent citizens. Something. But you can’t sit on this one forever.” Now, he glanced up and down the hall. “Telari will use this against you – against us. He is an accessory to Luk and Elsa’s murders, and the longer he sits unpunished, the more it starts to look like nepotism shielding him.”
Nik reeled for half a moment at his words, under the memories they conjured of her parents’ murders; under the weight of accusation. “Gi, I…I don’t think I can do it.”
“You have to, Nik. It’s your duty.”
“What if I refer him back to the council for sentence?”
“Then they will execute him,” Giya said without hesitation. “If a death sentence it’s to be, much better it comes straight from you. Demonstrate your strength. Don’t let them see weakness or hesitation.”
“I can’t kill him,” she said. “He’s my brother.”
Giya sighed. “I won’t tell you what to do. Only that you must do something, sooner rather than later.” Resting his hand on her shoulder again, he squeezed it. “Alright?”
She nodded numbly, afraid to employ her voice further in this conversation. She didn’t trust its strength.
“Good. I’m sorry. I know it’s difficult.” He smiled reassuringly. “But the price of empire is high. You’ve come through worse, and we’ll come through this too – together.”
She nodded again, and again said nothing.
He took this as his cue to leave, offering a, “Goodnight, Nik. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Brek Trigan hobbled wearily down the hall toward his office. He wasn’t fond, exactly, of his crutches, but they did help keep the weight off his injured foot. Still, it was slow going, and he felt a bit ridiculous taking one careful, awkward step after the other.
It had been a long day, but, for him, it was far from over. If today’s session showed him anything, it was that he had much yet to learn. He had stacks of papers, he knew, awaiting perusal. He had requested copies of all the committee reports, too. They’d be ready, by now.
His office was situated in the same hall as Nikia Idan’s, a good dozen or so doors down from hers. She’d shown him and the new ministers their respective spaces that first day. Now, he took the long way, specifically to pass her door. He rather doubted she’d be here this time of night. The day seemed to wear on her, for she looked desperately tired as she’d left the chamber earlier.
Still, if she was around, he wanted to thank her. She’d been an invaluable resource already, long before the episode in the House of Commons. And that? Well, he remembered Doctor Kel’s words, and he was keenly aware of the truth of them. Though he’d made a few allies among the provincial and regional ministers, he wasn’t certain he had many friends in this city. But in Nikia Idan, he felt he had both.
A bluish light seeped out from under her door, and he felt his heart gladden at the sight. She was still here, then. Good.
Brek ambled his slow way to Nikia’s door, perching enough weight on the crutch to fix it in place, while still retaining the mobility of his arm. He moved to knock, but was arrested by a strange sound.
It was deep and guttural, a kind of desperate, mournful cry, and at first he didn’t recognize it. He didn’t need to recognize it to respond to it, though; instinctively, alarm shot through him, adrenaline coursing through his veins. Something was wrong.
When he did recognize it, his concern only heightened: they were sobs emanating from Nikia’s office, long, gut-wrenching sobs.
He opened the door now, forgetting to knock altogether. “Minister Idan? Are you alright?”
She started, glancing up at hi
m from her desk with red, puffy cheeks and bloodshot eyes turned the grimmest, saddest blue he’d ever seen.
“My gods,” he said, moving to her as quickly as he could, “Nikia, are you alright?”
She, though, seemed embarrassed, hastily wiping at her cheeks, and saying in a choked voice, “Minister Trigan?”
She was on her feet by time he reached her. He repeated, “Are you alright? Should I call a doctor?” She was, he knew, pregnant. He had little familiarity with the condition, but miscarriages and complications were common among the women of Theta. He’d had to summon the medic more than once for women in his camp.
“No,” she said, wiping again at her face. “I’m fine.”
He stared, distressed and unsure of how to proceed. She was far from fine. That was evident in the way her lips still quivered, in the palpable effort she was exerting just to maintain the minor exchange they’d had so far. “Minister Idan,” he said, “please: what’s wrong? How can I help?”
“Nothing’s wrong,” she said, her tone wavering again. “I just need to…”
Here, though, her voice broke, and she loosed a series of great sobs again. Intermixed with the tears, she would manage to choke out an, “I’m sorry” here and there.
Brek was at a loss on how to proceed. She was in distress, of an acute variety. That much was clear. But if it was medical in nature, he could not say. Still, the sight of her in tears affected him powerfully, and after a moment’s indecision he put a hand on her shoulder. “Nikia, how can I help?”
She cried for a long moment, finally managing to say, “You can’t.”
“There’s got to be something,” he said. “If you need a doctor, or…” He wasn’t sure what else might be the cause. “…if there’s anything I can do, you only have to tell me. I’ll do whatever I can.”
Chapter Nine
Nikia felt a wretched imbecile, wailing and inarticulate – before a colleague and a veritable stranger, at that. He was sympathetic and seemed genuinely distressed by her plight, but that only served to make her feel more a fool.
Things only went downhill when he glanced at her desk terminal, and the video she’d paused when he entered. It was the execution video Supreme Leader Velk had broadcast when he’d murdered her parents. She’d seen it then, playing live. But she’d not watched it since; not until tonight.
She remembered Diven’s part that day, but she needed to see it again, to hear him accuse their parents of treason and declare they deserved their fate. Her memories of the day were clouded with emotions she was still reeling under, and the truth was, she couldn’t trust her own impressions of Diven at that moment. She’d hated him, then.
Now, he was the last member of her family, and she was faced with deciding his sentence. Now, she didn’t hate him. She’d watched that feed looking for something to exonerate him, some sign that he’d been under duress, some reason beyond her own feelings to show leniency.
She hadn’t found it. Instead, she’d relived those moments, those terrible, unthinkable moments leading up to her parents’ deaths, more convinced now than ever that her brother was a willing party to their murder.
“Nikia,” Brek was saying, “please, sit. Let me get you something to steady your nerves. Are you sure I can’t call Doctor Kel?”
He was all solicitude, and though she sat, she tried to stem the outpouring of his kindness. “I don’t need a doctor, Brek. Truly.”
He glanced again at the screen, and then back at her. “Forgive me, I know it’s not my place, but – must you watch this, Minister? It is so soon.”
She shook her head. “I must…I have to make a decision.”
He seemed perplexed, and no less concerned; and she was too tired to convince him that his worry was wasted. The easiest means to send him on his way seemed to be the most straightforward: an honest explanation. “My brother was found guilty, an accessory to our parents’ murder.”
He nodded. “So I heard.”
“The deciding council…they left the sentence to me.”
Now, at last, he comprehended. “I see. Then, you are deciding his punishment?”
She nodded, saying simply, “I have put it off too long.” This was an echo of Giya’s words, and it sounded hollow passing her lips. “It is my duty.”
“Surely someone else can do it, though?” he wondered.
“He is my brother. It is my duty.”
A long frown formed on his brow, framing the yellows of his eyes in deep shadow. “Must you suffer more for your brother’s sins?”
The words, and the earnest confusion and concern with which they were said, somehow sent a cascade of tears free flowing from her eyes. This had been done as a favor to her, but he was not so far from the mark. The idea of deciding her only brother’s fate, her last living family member’s future, was a burden she could barely stand to contemplate. The weight of it seemed fit to crush her, and – though she knew Giya and all the rest of the council had meant well – she cursed the decision.
She knew what Diven had done. She knew what the punishment for it should be. And if it was anyone else, she knew she wouldn’t have hesitated.
She knew.
And yet, he was her brother. She had loved him dearly, once. Despite everything, despite the blood she felt stained his hands, she still loved him.
And she had lost so, so many already: her husband, her mother, her father. Was she now to lose Diven too, at her own command?
She sank forward at the thought, cradling her head in her hands, and bawled.
She was vaguely aware of how hysterical, how irrational she must have appeared. She could only imagine what the Thetan representative thought of her. But, try as she might, she could not stop the tears.
She heard him try a few more times to get her attention, and then she heard him shuffle away on his crutches. She hoped he’d at least leave her in peace, to make an imbecile of herself in the privacy of her own office, with nothing but the aged wood and ancient art of the place to bear witness to her spectacle.
But a moment later, his voice sounded again near her, very low and concerned. “Here, Nikia,” he said. “Drink this. It may help fortify you.”
She glanced up, and saw through the tears that he was kneeling beside her, offering a glass of some dark liquid. A whiff of alcohol hit her nostrils a moment later. “I can’t,” she choked out. “The…baby.”
“Oh. Of course. I’m so sorry.” An expression of such raw and genuine consternation crossed his features, that she found her tears making way for laughter, even as he apologized, “Forgive me, I didn’t think.”
His cheeks had turned very red, and he was pushing himself to his feet against her desk. “Wait,” she said, catching his arm, “please. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to laugh. Just…you were so concerned. Thank you.”
He hesitated, seeming as confused by her emotions as she was in the moment. “I’m sorry,” he repeated.
She shook her head. “Don’t be sorry. Please. You have been very kind.”
He glanced dolefully at the glass. “Except when I almost poisoned your baby.”
She laughed again, until there were tears streaming down her cheeks. “Even then.”
And, hesitantly at first, and thoroughly chagrined throughout, Minister Trigan laughed too. “Is there nothing I can get you? Nothing safe, I mean?”
She shook her head and, with an effort, forced some composure. “No. Truly. You must think me mad, Minister Trigan.”
He shook his head. “Of course not. I just…wish there was something I could do.”
“You have.” He snorted and she said, “No, really, you have. I am very grateful for your kindness.” Now, though, she saw his awkward placement, crouched precariously with his cast behind him. “But come: let me give you a hand. Where are your crutches?”
He protested that he could not ask a pregnant woman to assist, but she waved this away. “Come, Brek. Give me your hand.”
He did, and she helped pull him to his feet. Th
en, glancing around, she saw that he’d left the crutches by the liquor cabinet. “Wait here, I’ll get them.”
Again, he protested, and again she ignored him. He began to move toward them, but, unencumbered as she was, Nikia of course reached them and returned long before he rounded the desk, chiding as she went, “Minister, what are you doing? Doctor Kel will have my head if he finds out you’re walking on that thing.”
He took the crutches with a frown, but there was a twinkle of amusement in his eyes as he spoke. “Minister, I meant to assist you. Not poison you first, and then be waited on by you second.”
“You’ve got me to stop weeping like an imbecile,” she smiled, “and that is certainly more than I could have managed on my own.”
He took the crutches she offered, but his expression grew more serious. “Are you alright, Nikia?”
“I am,” she said. At his unconvinced expression, she added, “It is…difficult. And, to be honest, I don’t know what I’m going to do. But I will figure it out.” Now, she shrugged, chagrined, “And I am sorry I made such a fool of myself just now. I hope you won’t hold it against me, Minister Trigan.”
“Brek,” he reminded her, “and of course not. It’s a hellish thing, to ask a sister to sit in judgement of her brother.” He shook his head. “It’s not right, and they should be damned ashamed of themselves to have done it.”
Nikia had grown used to hearing condolences and well-wishes. She’d gotten so used to it that it became almost a reflex to nod her thanks and move on, as much as it was a reflex on the part of her peers to offer their sympathies. But something in the vehemence of Brek’s tone arrested her. This was more than polite words. “Thank you. You may not believe it, Minister Trigan…but that does mean a lot to me.”
She wasn’t sure he did believe it, but he nodded all the same. “If there is ever anything I can do, Minister Idan…you have only to ask. As it is, I owe you for this afternoon.”
She frowned, unsure of what he was referring to. “This afternoon?”
