Allies and Enemies: Fallen

by Amy J. Murphy

  “Sir, you—”

  The vox line went silent.

  ---

  Sela roamed the Storm King for nearly three hours. It was easy to do on a vessel the size of this carrier. Her course took her through the hab levels meant for infantry. The outer sections were the realm of tactical, engineering— places she had seldom needed to venture. A soldier could spend entire tours and never look at anything more than the hab and hangars.

  She did not exactly disobey Veradin’s order to take down time. After all, the captain had never specified how she was to take it. In truth she was reluctant to return to the squadbay that she shared with her team, no matter how badly her body needed the rack time. She would not be able to bear their attention, feeling—despite their calls of gratitude and praise—that she had somehow failed them.

  Of course, if she were actually hungry, she could eat. But the commissary would mean more stares or worse, blatant questions from the other platoon commanders. It would mean talking about Veradin’s stunt, or about Atilio. She could seal herself in a rec suite to sleep. But she knew the moment she lay down and shut her eyes she would see Atilio’s face, or hear the priest’s voice.

  So, she wandered.

  Finally, Sela found herself lingering in the passage that led to the officer’s hab level. It was as close as she dared get to the restricted area that belonged to the cresters. She leaned against the wall of a shadowed alcove. Absently, she fingered the sets of tarnished ident tags strung about her neck and very specifically avoided thinking about what had happened on Tasemar.

  Two techs passed. They granted her a wide berth, but she did not miss their secretive, awe-struck expressions. One of them had the nerve to stare too long.

  Sela drew her shoulders up and glowered back. He quickened his pace and looked away. The techs were frail things: pale with shaven heads. Never had she witnessed a Fleet tech set foot planetside. It was rumored they were forbidden to do so, for fear of ‘tamination from simple air and soil.

  Turning, she caught her ghostlike reflection in the darkened glass of the portal. Little wonder the tech had stared. Her dark blonde hair stood up in unruly spikes. Dirt coated her utilities. Her son’s blood had dried on her hands in maroon patches. She supposed that to them she appeared as some battlefield wraith.

  She had already heard what the Fleet personnel had taken to calling her: Sela the Immortal. If she had not found it so pitiful, she would have laughed. As if she were some kind of legend. Hardly. A legend is supposed to take care of her soldiers. A hero would not watch her son die. Or have these alien thoughts swimming in her head.

  Every soldier longed to be a hero, but the incident at Tasemar had brought her unwelcome attention. The stories of the daring retrieval launched by Captain Jonvenlish Veradin for his lowly breeder soldiers had spread quickly through the carrier. And now, just has she had predicted in the hangar, Sela waded through the fallout. There were whispers and stolen glances. There would be the inevitable rumors to circle about her taking rec with her captain. But they were just that—rumors. Decca forbid the pairing between soldier and commander and specifically against breeder and crester.

  ---

  Sela was beginning to lose her resolve. The niggling voice of doubt had spread further, feeding her exhaustion and grief. She moved away from the wall, ready to slink back to the squadbay. Then she saw Veradin round the corner to the habs. Incredibly, he did not look like a man who had just gotten the reaming of his career. In fact, he looked almost proud of himself. She knew from experience that this most likely meant one thing—he had managed once more to talk his way out of a near-catastrophe.

  “You have downtime for the next eighteen hours,” he said. “Are you planning to spend it wandering the hallways, Commander Tyron?”

  “Captain.” She saluted. “A word?”

  “Is it your turn to reprimand me?” he said with a brief chuckle, returning a lazy version of her salute.

  Sela did not do well with his jokes, not often. He had poor timing. But it didn’t stop him from trying. Cresters were difficult for her to gauge. They joked, told falsehoods and embellished. It was the same with conscripts, the non-breeders who sometimes found themselves forced into service with the Regime.

  But weary and raw, she had lost whatever patience she could sometimes call upon. “As your second, it is my duty to point out actions which are deemed strategically unsound, sir.”

  “Oh, Fates. You too?” He rolled his eyes. Veradin had once pointed out that strategically unsound was her favorite thing to say and went so far as to suggest she have it tattooed somewhere on her body. An observation that, had it been delivered by anyone else, would have resulted in bodily harm.

  “Captain, our extraction from Tasemar—”

  “I’ve already been formally reprimanded by the fleet XO. But he came down on my side. Silva was wrong to make the call for infantry. He never had formal orders to withdraw—”

  “Captain,” Sela blurted. “I don’t care.”

  Veradin gaped. He seemed startled that she had interrupted him. “Then speak, Commander.”

  “You put yourself at great risk, sir. No other Kindred would have done what you did today.”

  “Ty….” He put up his hands in a staying gesture.

  “You challenged a Fleet Captain. And we are not even conscripts… we’re only—”

  “Essential members of my team that I would never be able to replace.” He forestalled the word she was going to use. Breeders. Sela had never heard him use that word around her or her team. It was as if he found it offensive.

  Veradin stepped closer. “Commander—”

  “If you do a foolish thing like that again...sir.” Her voice threatened to break. She jabbed at his sternum with an accusing finger. “I will shoot you myself, if just to teach you a lesson.”

  Veradin gave her a bemused grin. Somewhere beneath the heavy dull ache heaped upon her by the past twenty hours, she felt that lovely glimmer of warmth.

  She stepped closer, peering into his brown eyes. “There are those who would find losing you a great tragedy. There are those of us who could not bear it. Do you understand me, sir?”

  His grin disappeared. “I would never want to disappoint those people.”

  She looked down, shoulders sagging.

  “What’s happened, Sela?” Veradin asked quietly. He could always seem to read her mind, guess her moods.

  “Atilio. I failed him.”

  “You aren’t responsible. There is a limit. You have to leave some of it to the Fates.”

  Her next words seemed to travel from far away. She had no intention of uttering them, but they appeared nonetheless:

  “Captain, have you ever known one of my kind to become a Citizen?”

  The question seemed to catch him completely off guard. He hesitated, then looked away as he dragged a hand across the back of his neck. “I’m not going to lie to you...”

  “I see.”

  Somewhere, Lineao was probably smiling with smug satisfaction.

  “Why did you ask me that?”

  “On the planet, there was a cleric to the Fates…”

  Sela stopped abruptly, as if realizing her surroundings. She perceived a subtle movement in the darkness beyond her captain’s shoulder. There at the junction of wall and doorframe nested a crawler, an automated unit used for ship-wide surveillance.

  She had wanted to tell Veradin about the deserter-turned-priest, about watching the Storm King from planetside, about the warring jangle of doubts now taking root in her mind. And about the anguish of watching her son die without ever being able to tell him that his mother had known him, was proud of him.

  “I apologize, sir.” Sela lowered her head. “I’ve already taken too much of your time.”

  “No apology necessary.” But he was studying her, his gaze questioning.

  She glanced up. A second crawler had appeared on the ceiling above them.

  “I should go, sir.”

  He ret
urned Sela’s salute. As she began to turn, he pressed a hand on her shoulder. “No.”

  She looked down at his hand, then up at him. “Sir?”

  “What did you want to tell me?”

  “This was wrong of me, sir. I shouldn’t even be here uninvited.” Her voice was barely audible above the rustle of fabric and the whisper of the environmentals. “It’s not Decca—”

  “I know Decca. The fleet XO just spent the past three hours reminding me of it. And right now, Nyxa can have it.” He squeezed her shoulder. “You came here to tell me something. I want to know what’s bothering you.”

  Sela was intensely aware of the crawlers now, but did not pull away.

  “Captain,” she warned, casting a wary glance around. He could be so careless, and nearly contemptuous toward Decca. He had never been raised as a breeder.

  “Sela, what is it? You can tell me.”

  Can I tell you? Would you understand? Trust was not the question. She bore it wholeheartedly for this man.

  “Atilio—” she began.

  Heavy footfalls echoed from the corridor. Sela pulled away from him and straightened her shoulders.

  “Captain Veradin.”

  Two troopers tromped into the corridor, shattering the strange tension. From the gleaming black of their lowered visors and heavy oversized armor, it was easy to tell they were SSDs: suppression and surveillance deployment for internal lawgiving and infractions.

  Sela licked her lips. Something was wrong. The crawlers had only just appeared and she and Veradin had committed no real transgression in their interaction. Although she had danced tantalizingly close.

  Her hand moved to the spot on her thigh where her sidearm would be, had she not surrendered it to the armory tech.

  “Speak,” Sela demanded and took a half step forward, barring the path between the SSDs and her captain.

  “Captain Veradin, come with us.” The guard ignored Sela who stiffened at the slight.

  “Why?” Veradin asked.

  “You’re under arrest, sir.”

  “What charges, sub-officer?” Sela blurted. “Under whose authority?”

  The smaller trooper seemed to regard her for the first time. Although it was impossible to see her expression under her lowered visor, Sela detected the slightest tone of reverence in the woman’s voice. “Stand aside, Commander Tyron. Please.”

  “Whose orders?” Sela repeated.

  The SSD’s shared a look before the female one answered. “Officer Trinculo.”

  “The Information Officer? Silva pulled the Information Officer into this?” Veradin said, astonished. “I’ve had assurances from the XO that the issue had been resolved.”

  It was absurd, even by crester standards. Silva had wrangled Veradin’s arrest for what amounted to a conflict of egos. This was not something to appear even briefly on the radar of someone as powerful as Trinculo. His authority superseded even the battlegroup’s commander.

  “On what charges?” Veradin demanded.

  “Sir, the IO gave explicit instructions—.”

  “You’re not taking him,” Sela growled, filled with challenge.

  “Commander Tyron, our orders are from the IO. If you do not comply, you will punished.”

  “Fine. Punish away,” she snapped.

  “Ty, stand down.” Veradin grabbed her arm.

  “Captain?”

  “You heard me. Stand down.”

  He kept his eyes on the two SSDs, but his expression told her something else. He saw it too. This was far more serious than a pissing match with an over-inflated ship’s captain. The two officers showing up in the bay to lead Veradin to the XO had been for theatrics, drama for everyone to see. It sent a message of discipline being served out, even among the cresters. But this action was secretive. Not the way Regime did things. This was wrong.

  Sela realized that the two crawlers had disappeared. Incredibly, this scene was not being recorded.

  She turned her focus back on the two troopers and gauged her odds. With a little luck, she might be able to disarm the one on the left before…

  “No. You can’t, Ty. Think.” Veradin whispered as he stepped past her. He turned his back to the troopers and clasped his hands behind his head. “Breathe. Count to ten.”

  Panic washed over Sela as she watched them place the restraints on him, like some common criminal.

  “Ty,” he said, facing her. His expression was stony, jaw set. “Do nothing. This is not your fight. I order you to stand down. I’m going to take care of this. Do you hear me?”

  “Yes, sir. I hear you.”

  She saluted him, arms stiff. Technically, she had just lied to her captain. Sela had no intention of obeying his orders.

  5

  Count to ten. Breathe.

  The trick Veradin had taught her still wasn’t working.

  “Officer Trinculo.”

  Sela nearly regretted speaking when Trinculo’s flat gaze moved over her. His mouth pulled into a distasteful bow. It was as if he had been expecting her. His frown deepened as he studied her head to toe. At that moment, she was fully aware of her mired utilities and grime-covered face. Her appearance might have evoked awe in the Fleet techs, but Trinculo was far from impressed. No doubt he would have expected her in full dress before even considering appearing at his hatchway.

  She did not even own a dress uniform.

  The stout older man looked back down at his desk and resumed his reading. She stared uncertainly at the top of his thinning silver hair.

  “Officer Trinculo.” Sela repeated. “Sir?”

  “Commander,” he said, seemingly engrossed by the documents on his desk. “Are you lost?”

  “I would speak with you, sir.”

  “It is little wonder Captain Veradin is arrested if he does not discipline his second for her unacceptable attitude and manners to superiors. Perhaps Veradin’s correction is overdue then.” Trinculo said with a bitter sigh, leaning back in his chair.

  She flinched. Not much. Just enough to earn a renewed scowl from Trinculo. She swayed from foot to foot then looked uncertainly about the corridor.

  “Are you going to enter or jitter about in my doorway, Commander?” he asked, perhaps realizing she was not going to leave.

  She stepped into his suite, ducking her head beneath the low-set jamb. Immediately she saluted. When it was apparent he would not return her salute, Sela snapped into a straight line, eyes firmly fixed on the seal of First set in the bulkhead above his desk. Her fists folded against her thighs.

  She began, “Captain Veradin’s arrest—”

  “Commander Tyron, you will cease your inquiry.”

  “This is a mistake,” she blurted.

  “Mistake? You judge the decisions of First and call them mistakes? All I know is my duty, Commander. Does that make you wiser than me as well?” Incredulity filled his voice.

  Her eyes widened. “First? Then it was not Silva…”

  “You will cease this, Tyron, if you value your position. You have already endangered your career because of the wayward influence of Captain Veradin.”

  His influence? Her eyes left the seal over his shoulder and fell on his face.

  “Perhaps it was an oversight to appoint one of his kind as your captain, that damnable Miri sect with their high-handed preaching of equality for breeders… of all things.” Trinculo seemed to nod to himself in agreement. “He has done you a disservice by treating you in such a way to make you think you are special… equal.”

  The open insult to Veradin made her furious, but she held her tongue.

  “Do you think I am blind, Tyron? I know of your… inordinate loyalty to Veradin. But as a soldier of the Regime, you have a sworn oath to uphold the teachings of Decca. He is your superior. You are his subordinate in more ways, may I point out, than one.” The disgust was plan in his expression.

  Rumors and half-truths were his business, Sela realized. Of course, Trinculo had heard the stories. But they were just stories. Regard
less, she felt the flush invade her face.

  “You will quit this… adolescent fawning at once.”

  He rose and stepped around his desk, hands clasped behind his back as if he were loath to chance touching her.

  “Why risk everything for a half-imagined romance with an officer who is clearly off limits to a breeder such as yourself? You must obey Decca, Commander Tyron.”

  “Captain Veradin and I have never—”

  “You disobey Decca, you disobey First.”

  Sela drew her chin up. She looked directly into his face now. Her words were edged with frost. “First would have seen us die, abandoned on that planet. Death without honor is not Decca. Should not the same Decca guide First as well? Is it not interesting how First decides when Decca is convenient or not?”

  Incredibly, she heard Lineao’s words coming from her own mouth.

  “Enough!” Trinculo’s hands curled into fists.

  “Captain Veradin is why I am alive. Not First.”

  “Jonvenlish Veradin is dead quite soon. He will be collected at the next FP transfer.” He leaned closer. No more yelling from him, but a soft steely voice. “Tyron, do you wish to join him? I can grant your fondest wish and see to it you are shackled at his side.”

  Dead. They were going to kill him.

  She blinked. Her shoulders sagged and her breathing hitched. It felt as if something within her had crumpled. She was hardly aware of stepping closer.

  “Do you not ask why, Officer Trinculo?” Her voice was quiet, almost introspective. “Why does First destroy an officer that has served with unwavering loyalty? What are the charges against him?”

  “They are of no concern to you, Tyron.”

  “Sir, Captain Veradin has—”

  “This decree was issued by First. It is sufficient for me. That should be sufficient for you, breeder.” He jabbed a bony finger into her sternum. “Whatever thoughts are loose in that spongy mass you call a brain, Tyron, you are wise to ignore them.”

  “He is innocent.” Her throat tightened under the threat of tears.

  “Innocence. Guilt. These are things judged by our betters.” He leaned close, his chin nearly bumping into hers. “First ordered your birth and can order your death, breeder. You will forget Captain Veradin. Understood?” His mouth was a compressed white hook.