* * *
“Impossible! How could the Alliance have gotten here so quickly?” Lyssandra asked as the corsair ship ahead of her exploded. Enraged, she reached for her saber, ready to call out a full charge.
“General,” Erusal cautioned, grabbing her hand. “Most of our armor is already gone. We can beat them another day.”
Lyssandra’s golden eyes burned brightly, her face trembling as she struggled with her temper. “Come about, get us out of here!” she ordered, slowly releasing her grip on her saber. “As soon as we’re clear of the dampening field, signal the other guilds; we’re moving the gathering to a new location.”
Lyssandra ground her teeth as she watched the remaining corsairs shot down by the Alliance craft while hers escaped. Long after they had disappeared into the blackness of space, she stared at the spot where they had been.
She chuckled at herself and closed her eyes. “I am sorry, my beloved Hee’hidzin, even after all this time I still have not managed to rid myself of pride. I forgot that I am not doing this for myself, I am doing it for us.”
She opened her fierce eyes. “Gerald Dyson, I will make you beg for death before the end.
* * *
As Alliance tugboats cradled the Kalia Greir into a repair bay on the lead cruiser, Ilrica finally allowed herself to slump into a chair. “Whoo! This vacation is way more exciting than I had planned.”
Gerald moved over to help Trahzi where she still lay sobbing, but she disappeared in a flash of flame.
Ilrica slugged Gerald in the shoulder. “Never a dull moment around you, is there?”
Gerald laughed and rubbed his arm. “I guess not.”
Zurra slid up alongside Gerald, leaning in expectantly. “Hmmm? Hmmm?”
“Oh fine.” Gerald relented and patted her on the head. “You did real good back there, Zuri.”
It was adorable how happy that made her. She wiggled from head to toe as if she were made of jelly.
Still weak, Cha’Rolette propped herself up one elbow.
“You did okay yourself, Ssykes,” Ilrica praised, linking her fingers behind her head.
Same to you, she said suspiciously. Without any backup at all, you sliced through a black-market grade attack barrier. That was way too technically savvy for a Bertulf. Where did you learn to do that?
Ilrica yawned. “Oh, just something I saw in a movie once.”
Cha’Rolette narrowed her eyes, her ta’atu glowed faintly.
“What are you doing, Ssykes?” Ilrica asked without opening her eyes.
Just as I thought. You’ve got telepathic blocks built into your crystronics.
“Do I?”
Yes, best ones I’ve ever seen, too. Must have cost a fortune.
“Good thing, huh?” she tapped her own forehead. “Can’t have you rooting around in here, make me think I’m a mushroom or something. You might try and keep Dyson all to yourself.”
Zurra took the shape of a cat and hissed at her. “Hey! I thought you weren’t interested in Dyson.”
“I changed my mind.”
As Ilrica got up and walked off the bridge, Cha’Rolette and Zurra looked at each other worriedly.
“Great, we have another rival,” Zurra moaned as the door slid closed.
Cha’Rolette tapped her chin in thought. That is not what I am worried about.
“It’s not?”
Of course not, it’s perfectly obvious that I’m going to win in the end. No, what bothers me is what she was able to do back there.
“I don’t understand. What is the big deal?” Gerald asked.
Bertulf have a pathological distrust of machines. They don’t use money, they barely wear clothes. The rest of the time she’s a vlair-head, but in battle she’s as calm and collected as a grizzled veteran.
Cha’Rolette looked back over her shoulder. Just who are you really, Ilrica Faolan?
* * *
Gerald knocked on Trahzi’s door. There was no response.
“Trahzi,” he said, knocking again. “I’m sorry for intruding, but I need to talk with you.”
“Leave us alone!”
Gerald scratched his nose. “Look, I know you don’t like me, but we’re shipmates now, and the rest of us need to know what happened to you back there.”
“Go away!”
Gerald knocked again. “Trahzi, this is a safety issue. Maybe I can help.”
The door slid open and Trahzi stood there, towering above him in her full demon form. Black scales and talons protruded from her arms and shoulders, blue fire hung around her like a cloak. Her hand was raised, a ball of white-hot plasma held ready to use.
“HELP US!” she screamed, her voice rumbling and demonic. “YOU ARE THE ONE WHO DID THIS TO US!”
“You promised you wouldn’t burn me again,” Gerald hollered as he ducked down, his hands held up over his face. But the blow never came. Beneath his fingers, he saw a drop hit the floor between her feet, then another. He lowered his hands and looked up. Tears were rolling down her red cheeks.
“Trahzi, you’re crying.”
“Of course we are crying,” she said, embarrassed. “You did this to us! You ruined us!”
Her fire extinguished itself and she dropped to her knees.
“Please...” she whispered as she placed her hands over her heart.
Gerald moved in closer so he could hear her better.
“Please take these emotions back. We don’t want them anymore.”
Gerald felt a sting in his chest. He looked at her sympathetically, wishing he could help.
“You told us love would make us strong,” she said, a tear dripping off the tip of her nose. “But you lied to us. It has made us weak. So weak we could not even move.”
Gerald looked inside her room and saw the puppy sleeping in its bassinette. “You were worried about Puppy Trahzi, weren’t you?”
She nodded in shame. “When the crew quarters were hit, we suddenly realized that Trahzi might have been hurt, or even killed. We were so afraid, so afraid of losing her. You see, when one of our bodies dies, the whole remains. But she is not like that. If her body dies, then everything she is would be gone, gone forever. We wanted to go back and check on her, but we were so scared. We thought, what if we find her, and she is already dead? And so we didn’t do anything. Nothing at all. We were afraid of losing her if we did nothing, but we were also afraid of finding her already gone. And so we sat, unable to move, and unable to stay.”
Trahzi reached up and wiped the tears from her face. “You have made us afraid of everything. We are humiliated. HUMILIATED!”
She held up her hand, showing the moisture from her wiped tears. “Look at this! We are supposed to be Trahzi, we are supposed to know no pain; we are supposed to know no fear. With a mere flick of our might we reduced a thousand worlds to ash. You have transformed us to a sniveling coward!”
“Trahzi, I...”
“SHUT UP! We do not want to hear any more of your lies!”
The puppy stirred in discomfort, and Trahzi panicked. She crawled over and held her close, rubbing her head and trying to speak softly to it. But her words came out hurried and alarmed, distressing the puppy further. When it began yowling, Trahzi stood up and ran over, giving her to the automated nursemaid, as if she no longer trusted herself.
Trahzi paced back and forth as the nursemaid attended to the puppy. When it finally got the puppy to sleep, Trahzi collapsed to her knees. She covered her face and sobbed into her hands.
Gerald felt a tightness in his chest, an aching throb. He searched for the right words, the right gesture, but nothing came to him. As she cried pitifully, he noticed the dilapidated state of her room. Every mirror had been broken, every reflective surface had been scratched, twisted, or otherwise ruined.
“We cannot bear to look at ourselves any longer,” Trahzi sobbed. “Please, undo what you did to us.”
“I... can’t.”
She threw down her hands. “PLEASE! Make us like we were before. Make
us strong like we were. We don’t want to be like this anymore. We don’t want this love; it is a curse to us!”
Gerald reached out to her. “We all feel that way when someone close to us is in danger. I have felt it many times myself. But...”
“If you knew, then why didn’t you warn us?”
“I did. I was completely honest with you at all times. I know you are only seeing the downside right now, but there is joy and meaning to be found in the connections we make with others. It can hurt, but even at its worst, it is better than being alone.”
“Not for us! We were always alone, and it suited us just fine.”
“This is new for you, if you just give it time...”
“NO!” she snarled, her teeth growing into fangs. “You tricked us. You betrayed us. You are just like him. You are just like the ArchTyrant! He was the first other we ever trusted, and he used us spitefully. After that, we were so hurt we thought we could never trust another again.”
Trahzi stood up, and wiped her nose. “But then we met you, and even though we didn’t think much of you at first, we found ourselves drawn to you. We trusted you, we opened our heart to you, and look what happened!”
Gerald felt like his heart would break. “Trahzi, please...”
She appeared before him in the doorway. “Our mission is a failure,” she declared, pain in her eyes. “We will never trust anyone ever again.”
She slid the door closed and welded it shut with a touch of her finger.
Gerald reached out and touched the door with his hand. His own tears fell. “Trahzi, I...”
“Just go away,” she whispered.
Gerald rolled over and leaned against her doorway. “I’m so sorry, Trahzi. I didn’t mean for it to turn out like this.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
Despite tens of thousands of years pondering the subject, there is still rigid disagreement amongst philosophers about the purpose of pain. The Theorists of Xenlo believe that pain must exist so that pleasure may exist, that we recognize pleasure because we have experienced pain, and that without those polar opposites everyone would be a single, gray, congealed ‘meh.’ The Sophists of Solgleb, on the other hand, believe that all suffering is unjust and unnecessary, and that any and all discomfort must be pointed out, railed against, and eradicated. This has given them a rather distasteful reputation in the interplanetary community of being perpetual whiners, and they are hardly ever invited to the really nice philosophy parties, except ironically. The Sages of Nepe, on the other hand, believe that people suffer pain because they are too connected to the physical world, and that by separating ourselves from the needs and wants of the flesh, one also separates oneself from suffering. The Logicians of Brakav counter that the Sages of Nepe are just a bunch of dirty hippies. Still others, like the Savants of Vende, stalwartly maintain that philosophers are intentionally refusing to come to a consensus because that would end the debate and force them to go out and get real jobs.
- A Quick and Simple Guide to The Galaxy, page 117, Tongzen Press
As Gerald was brought before Admiral Greir, he wasn’t quite sure how to greet him, so he settled on the old standby and offer him his hand.
The Admiral looked at it like it was a venomous snake. “My apologies, my people normally do not greet by touching.”
“Oh, that’s okay,” Gerald said, withdrawing his hand.
“What is he talking about?” one pilot whispered to another. “Just five minutes ago the Admiral had his arm around Lieutenant N’Derson.”
Greir cleared his throat and turned to look out the viewscreen.
“I feel I owe you an apology,” Gerald said. “I did not take very good care of the ship that carries your namesake.”
“It’s only a ship,” Greir reassured. “Although I suppose it was rather indulgent of me to name her after my daughter. You tend to get a little sentimental when you reach my age.”
Gerald looked at the screen as well. The way the stars whizzed past was soothing. Despite the rows of bridge crew working at their stations, the domed room was surprisingly quiet and serene. He took little comfort in it. He felt terrible about the way things had gone with Trahzi. She hadn’t come out of her room for days, and it didn’t seem like that was about to change. Usually Gerald tried to keep busy, keep moving. It was a way of masking his thoughts, and a trick to avoid dealing with his own feelings. But out here there really wasn’t much for him to do, and so the single thing he didn’t want to think about constantly stared him in the face: In trying to help her, he had hurt her, and he hated himself for it.
“Actually, I should be the one thanking you,” Greir said, breaking the silence. “We’ve been hunting the Garan Corsairs for over twenty cycles. Now, thanks to you, they have all either been captured or killed.”
“But Lyssandra Bal got away.”
Greir flexed his hands. “Yes, she has quite the talent for that. But we’ll get her next time. Perhaps even with your help.”
Gerald wasn’t used to being complimented. “I didn’t really do anything.”
Greir looked at him oddly. “Didn’t you? Interesting. My brother is that way too. Never wants to take credit for anything. It’s as if praise is poisonous to him.”
“You mean the Emperor?”
Greir nodded. “I was born a Qetimong, but in my wife’s culture, the husband changes his surname when they are married. You should have seen the look on my brother’s face when I told him I was changing my name to Greir.”
Gerald smiled. He found that he liked the Admiral immediately. Gerald had expected a career military man to be quite different than this. He was easy to talk to. He had a kind of casual way about him that was instantly likeable. It was no wonder that his people were so loyal to him.
“What is he like?” Gerald wondered aloud.
“Well, important people often have a mythos surrounding them, a public life that is quite different from their private lives.”
“Oh,” Gerald said, disappointed.
“...But my brother isn’t like that. He is exactly like what you see in the weekly addresses. When he slew the ArchTyrant, he had no thought of reward or power. The only thing in his heart was saving as many people as he could and ending the war. It was quite a shock to him when the mantle of leadership was thrust upon him. I don’t think he’ll ever really get used to it.”
Greir took his cap off and ran his wrinkled fingers through his white hair, revealing a large reddish birthmark just above his right ear. Gerald recalled seeing the same mark on The Emperor during some of his speeches.
“Well, the repairs to the Kalia Greir are completed,” Gerald said, doing his best to give a proper salute. “I just wanted to thank you personally before we departed.”
Greir nodded. As Gerald turned around to leave, he stopped him.
“One other thing. We also replaced the portside life pods on the Kalia with a captain’s yacht.”
“A yacht?”
Greir nodded. “We gave you a ship full of spare parts and you broke it in just a few hours, so we’ll try something a little more low-tech, we’ll just strap a second ship to your ship.”
“I broke it?”
Greir turned and gave him a smile. “I’m kidding of course.”
Gerald saluted again, just for good measure, and was escorted off the bridge. As the doors closed behind him, a lighting fixture broke free and crashed to the deck where he had been standing only moments before.
“Frakkin kid is like a walking demolition crew...”
* * *
Gerald slid the door open and walked onto the bridge with Cadbury just as they broke moorings and swam out into space. Loud Bertulfian music roared through the ship’s sound system. A kind of caterwauling opera that was howled instead of sung. Ilrica sang along, her feet propped up in the pilot’s station. Cadbury panicked and tried to hide her head in the sand, but only managed to bonk her head against the deck instead.
“Where is everybody else?” Gerald yelled, co
vering his ears.
“They’re all in their rooms sleeping, I think,” Ilrica shouted as she stood up and stretched. “They said something about needing peace and quiet, I dunno, I wasn’t really listening.”
Gerald caught himself staring at her exquisitely toned athletic legs, and her delectably taught muscular waist. Despite all of the fur, she was extremely attractive. Gerald wondered if he had always found her pretty, or if it was just because he had gotten to know her better.
Cadbury pecked at her long tail as it swung back and forth behind her.
“Gerald, you might want to take a picture, it will last longer,” Ilrica said, giving him a wink.
Gerald’s face went red at having been caught staring. “How come you’re not wearing your uniform when you are on bridge duty?”
“I already told you, I’m on vacation. Also, before I left school, the contents of my room were vaporized.”
“Vaporized? How did that happen?”
“I dunno, must have been a gas leak or something.”
“I guess I don’t know her that well after all,” he grumbled.
“What?” she asked over a particularly loud yowling aria.
“Nothing, I’m going to go take a cold shower.”
“I’m flattered,” she said as she stood up, arching her back to show off more fully her deliciously fit body. “One look at me and the pious man of the cloth is off to take a cold shower.”
“Not because of that! The hot water in my room is broken.”
Ilrica laughed and slapped him on the back. “Yeah, sure, whatever. Oh, go wake up the princess on your way, we’re almost there and she’s the senior diplomat-thingy.”
“Yeah, yeah,” he said as he left, Cadbury wobbling off after him.
* * *
A little girl swung her legs in anticipation as the hover carriage came to a stop. Her filthy clothes had been replaced with the most beautiful ruffled dress she had ever seen. Her ta’atu had been cleaned for the first time in ages, and styled into a gorgeous braid. She felt like a princess. She felt like the luckiest girl in the whole universe. She was so happy she felt like she was going to burst. Her tummy was full of the most expensive cookies she had ever seen, the shoes on her feet had been made just for her. Just for her, by a personal cobbler. She hadn’t even known what a cobbler was, but as she rocked her tiny feet happily back and forth and admired her sparkly shoes, she decided that she liked cobblers.
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