“You hide it well.”
“Weakness isn't for the great. It's an excuse others use for their failings.”
“Ever get tired of that mentality? Seems like it would wear a person down.”
She shook her head. “I see the way you hold your arm to your side. Yet, you're not about to let it stop you from accompanying me. It's what I like about you, Clevon. You make me feel like I might not be alone anymore. Like someone else might share my aspirations.”
I didn't say anything, but I appreciated the compliment. Every day I found myself striving to be more than I'd been the day before, and it was all thanks to Endellion. She didn't let anything stand in her way. I wanted that same kind of passion and drive.
“You can count on me,” I said.
* * *
I was told “weather” was the state of a planet's atmosphere at a certain place and time. I had learned all about rain, hail, and snow. They were only words before I saw them for myself—things I thought I knew but could never understand.
Each drop of rain against my skin was a surprising sensation. Different than a shower, and with a unique odor that carried the scent of the dirt. The distant rumble of thunder added to the chorus of natural sound. Better than the groan of warped steel aboard a dilapidated space station.
I pulled on my helmet and watched the droplets splatter against the visor.
“Sawyer,” I said into my comms. “You ever see weather like this?”
“Not often,” she replied, bored. “Vectin-10 has a lot of dust storms, due to the barren megafarms.”
“I'd like to see those.”
“Trust me. No one wants to see that. Some days got so bad, it was a danger to step outside in anything less than a sealed enviro-suit.”
“I want to see everything,” I muttered, lost in my own wanderlust.
“I'm sure you'll change your tune after you witness a tropical cyclone.”
I chuckled. “Is there anything that gets you excited about the outdoors?”
“The thought of going back indoors.”
“Blub would like rain.”
It was Sawyer's turn to laugh, and I joined in—just imagining the floating fish getting taken away by a strong breeze amused me. Poor thing would never stand a chance.
“All right,” she said. “Endellion is waiting. Get on the mag-lev train already.”
I turned and headed back into the station. I was surprised no one wanted to join me outdoors, but I supposed the novelty of planetside experiences would wear off eventually. Still, I enjoyed the feelings while they lasted, picturing the clouds and dreary skies with a smile.
We traveled fancy. A special mag-lev train reserved for diplomats and ministers arrived to transport Endellion and a few other military personnel to the pre-meeting garden party. Each commodore got their own train car, and I headed to the one labeled MG-8—Endellion's designated accommodations.
Once I stepped inside, I took note of the spacious atmosphere, the white-and-silver decor, and the lack of passengers. Endellion and I were the only ones aboard, and it took me a couple seconds to look away from her.
Endellion sported a black dress, similar to Ontwenty's. It flowed with her movements, covering, but not hiding, the form of her body. It exposed her long legs, ribcage, and shoulders, plunging deep enough to the curve of her breasts. Her skin had a healthy glow—pristine, despite her history of violence—and her auburn hair wasn't braided. It was pulled back and flowed in waves between her shoulder blades, stopping at her hip.
“Clevon,” she said, motioning me to one of the cushioned couches.
I took a seat and continued to stare. Unlike everyone else on the Star Marque, I had never seen her in the showers or in a state of partial undress. Her outfit made me think it would be an amazing experience.
Endellion took a seat opposite me, her stiff posture likely a result of the surgery that had taken place hours before.
The mag-lev train started and headed out of the station. I motioned to our surroundings. “Only me?”
“Who else would you recommend I bring?”
“Sawyer, for one.”
“She doesn't care for the company of superhumans.”
That was true.
“Lysander,” I said.
“He's a genetic defect,” Endellion replied and shrugged. “And was dishonorably discharged from the Navy HSN Corps. It would be awkward to explain his presence, and most would see it as an oversight on my part.”
“Quinn?”
“She has a criminal record on Midway Station. Technically I absolved it, but I'm sure one of the attendants would bring it up to spite me. Another faux pas I don't wish to deal with.”
“They don't know about my Capital Station record?”
Endellion smiled. “Capital Station is far from here, and I doubt they'd be able to find your record, even if they looked.”
That ended the conversation, and I returned to admiring her.
It occurred to me that femininity—like the plush environment of Vectin-14—was a luxury. Most women on Capital Station couldn't afford to be dolled-up and pampered. They were starving, or they were born with a misshapen limb, or they were criminals who needed to worry about the chems they were smuggling more than their appearance.
Seeing Endellion fit both the role of an enforcer captain and a beautiful woman worthy of Vectin-14 high-society was another accomplishment I hadn't even considered. Most would have had to pick one over the other, but Endellion seemed to consider sacrificing anything to be a failure on her part.
Despite the buildings that rushed by the window, the smooth flow of the mag-lev train made it impossible to detect any movement. I relaxed back on the couch, knowing we would arrive within a few minutes.
I returned my attention to Endellion. She rubbed at her neck, her hands trembling.
“You okay?” I asked.
“Yes.”
“No, you're not.”
Endellion didn't remove her hand from her neck. I got up and walked over to her. When she didn't protest, I placed my hand on her shoulder and rubbed my thumb along the grooves of her muscles. The harder I squeezed, the more of her cybernetic implants I could feel beneath the skin. Everything about her was tense.
I kneaded her flesh up to her neck and pushed her hair to the side. Her spine felt… jagged. I knew it was nothing like a natural spine, not anymore, but I was surprised by the asymmetry of it. When I rubbed down past the axis, Endellion shuddered.
“Painful?” I asked.
“Very.”
I released her, but when I went to move away, she reached back and grabbed my hand.
“Continue,” she said between shallow breaths. “I need it.”
Torn, because I didn't want to hurt her, I placed my hands back on her neck and massaged softer. She didn't protest or complain, but I could feel the shivers and the trembling. Normally I would've been into rubbing down a beautiful woman, but it seemed more like torture than foreplay.
“Keep this between us,” she said, her voice strained.
“Why? Afraid people will see you as weak?”
“Yes. They're always judging me. I can't let them see me as anything other than completely in control.”
“Them?”
“Superhumans. My crew. Everyone.”
Judging, huh?
I remembered the time her shoulder had gotten nicked by the rebellion fighter. The way she'd fretted about her appearance. She took that shit to heart.
“You think the superhumans will be harsh on you?” I asked. “You're a human. I thought they didn't think much of humans. Everything you do should be impressive.”
“I have to be seen as an equal,” she said, curt, “not as a child who presents her parents with a halfway-acceptable finger-painting. If they can maintain themselves—if they can flaunt their beauty, if they can lead massive organizations with ease—then so can I. And I'll prove it. When Felseven makes his claims that I can't handle the stresses of the Federation, I'l
l be there to dispel the doubts. I'll look the role, I'll speak the role, and I'll be everything and more.”
“What if they deny you?”
“I'll make sure they won't.”
I didn't think I had ever heard that amount of edge in her voice. I rubbed her spine a little harder, and she ground her teeth.
“Should I stop?” I asked.
“No. Continue.”
I did as she said, despite my reluctance. Determined to take my mind off the situation, I asked, “Is it true you were born on Ucova?”
“Yes.”
“What're your parents doing? Now that you're a commodore?”
“They're rotting in their grave, like they've been doing for the last decade.”
I almost laughed. Pretty macabre answer. But I should have remembered. Mara had told me Endellion's parents had died.
“Think they'd be proud of you?” I asked.
Endellion shook her head. “They hated my very existence. My mother made that quite clear. She didn't want to support a child, and as soon as she could, she kicked me out. If they were alive, there's no doubt in my mind they'd beg me for credits and favors. They didn't value dignity.”
“That's not like my mother,” I said, my thoughts already warm with the memories I still carried of her. “Every stupid little accomplishment I had was the next greatest moment for her. A semi-decent grade from my instructor? That's a day to celebrate. A completed scale-model of Capital Station made of toothpicks? Another day to celebrate. My mother thought I was humanity's savior, made flesh.”
I wondered what she'd think of me now.
Endellion leaned back into my hands. She stopped shaking and relaxed into my touch.
“Feel better?” I asked.
“Much. You work wonders with your hands.”
“You're not the first woman to tell me that,” I said with a smirk.
Again, I attempted to step away, but she stopped me.
“Continue,” she commanded.
“Yes, Ma'am.”
I didn't mind putting my hands all over her, if that was what she wanted. Not that we had time for that, but still. Then again, I was more than willing to be late to the meeting.
“It might not hurt for others to see your more human side,” I said, digging my thumb in deep along the edges of her spine. “Makes you more relatable.”
Endellion exhaled, her muscles untwisting beneath my fingertips. When I grazed a cluster of wires, it was an odd sensation, but they followed the lines of her muscles, blending enough that no one would be able to notice. She'd made sure her cyborg nature couldn't be detected from sight alone.
“I find it hard to trust anyone,” she said.
Yeah, that was obvious. People with a lot of secrets didn't tend to socialize well.
Endellion inhaled deep. “You really are quite skilled with your hands.”
“You think this is impressive? You should see what else I can do.”
She chuckled. “You're not the first man to tell me that.”
“But I can be the last.”
“Smooth,” she replied, almost sardonic. “Sawyer was right. You're never at a loss for words.”
“Yeah, well, it's not doing me any good.” I gritted my teeth as I recalled my myriad of rejections. None of them were having it.
“I enjoy it.”
A nice statement, but I doubted it would go anywhere. Endellion had just admitted she kept her distance. I was in another Sawyer situation all over again. Good for some flirting, but not much else. Women were complicated. Hell, everyone was complicated—even Lysander had rejected me.
When Endellion didn't offer anything more to the conversation, I decided to resume my questions. Anything was better than stewing in frustrations—especially while I had my hands all over her.
“You ever think you've accomplished enough in your life?” I asked. “You're a commodore, for fuck's sake. You could stop trying and still be more accomplished than anyone I know.”
“You only think the title of commodore is significant because of your limited understanding of the situation.”
“What does that mean?”
“There are currently 1,614 commodores serving the Federation in the Vectin Quadrant at this moment, with a 150 in reserves. While some wield a great amount of influence, many are like me—small. Assigned to tiny segments of the quadrant. I'm a joke in terms of power, especially when compared to even a midlevel commodore who serves a rear admiral directly.”
“Ever get tired of comparing yourself to others?” I asked, more dismissive than I should have been.
“Never,” Endellion said, the cold edge returning to her voice. “Anyone who doesn't is delusional. They want to fool themselves into thinking they've done an admirable job with their life—that their limited accomplishments are noteworthy—but the reality is, they're insignificant. Worthless in the grand scheme of an endless universe. Like my parents. Most people never amount to anything, because they can't compare themselves to greatness. Because there's nothing about them to compare.”
“Is that you or your inner demons talking?”
“Perhaps we're one and the same.”
I ran my knuckles down her back, half-smiling. Her fire never died. It never even waned. Could she handle failure? Someone like her, I worried it would break her. But then again, maybe people like her never failed.
“When is enough?” I asked. “Once you're governor… are you going to be satisfied then?”
“First, I have to become governor,” she whispered. Then she smiled. “We're almost there. Clevon, I want you to pay attention to the topics discussed. You might not realize it now, but the legislation decided here will affect everything, including my future. Do you understand?”
“I'll pay attention.”
“Good.”
The mag-lev train came to a halt, and the doors opened. Endellion stood, and our therapy session concluded.
She turned to face me. “Now let's attend our pre-meeting, shall we?”
CHAPTER NINETEEN
VOTING BLOC
I felt like a schlub. A ratty outcast who'd drunkenly staggered into a high-class gala.
Everything impressed me, from the lavish carpets to the high ceilings. Capital Station had none of it. Wasting space had been unthinkable when I'd lived in a tin can, floating in orbit. Only a planetside building could have had ceilings ten meters up with windows that created entire walls.
Lights floated above us in clouds, like hordes of distant stars. Endellion had said it was a utility fog. Swarms of nanomachines connected through a static wave—powered by room temperatures and moveable with ease—once collapsed together could fit into a container no larger than my hand. I'd never known such technologies existed, and it seemed like my life on Capital Station had been a time capsule, separated from the progress of the rest of the universe.
Commodores, admirals, ministers, and governors mingled in the open rooms, discussing politics and trade with an acute understanding of nuanced subjects. I knew after two or three conversations I couldn't participate. I opted instead to listen and admire the surroundings. Even the smells were beyond anything I had experienced before. Food was served, beverages followed. Each was a pleasant taste and a new experience.
Once, in my younger days, my mother had watered down three-year-old soup from a can to last us for four days. Now I was snacking on fat little animals—sweet and juicy—while downing it all with real wine, made from grapes grown in the dirt.
The humans outnumbered the superhumans. Given my company, I would have guessed the ratio was 20 to one, but each superhuman commanded attention. They were all tall, a head or two over the tallest Homo sapiens in the room. They spoke with perfect enunciation at a speed slightly faster. A hair of a difference, but it was enough to highlight their intelligence in a subtle but constant way. There was no stutter, there was no stammer, and there was no gap of time between complex thoughts and formulating words. They spoke with wit and confidence that could
n't be faked.
Ontwenty stood in a small group, discussing policy with politicians and lobbyists. “I've backed the Stellar Engine,” she said with a smile. “It'll centralize the Vectin Quadrant like nothing before. It'll eliminate poverty and strife.”
“Minister Felseven and his uncle have denounced the project,” someone chimed in. “Their constituents will vote to block the construction. I wouldn't be surprised if the project gets stalled indefinitely.”
Endellion had told me to pay attention, so I made a mental note.
Ontwenty and her voting bloc wanted to construct the Stellar Engine, centralizing power in the quadrant and eliminating the need for outer planet farming and mining. Surprise, surprise, Governor Felseven—who'd made his name and gained his power from an outer-planet farming empire—didn't want the Stellar Engine to be constructed. He and Minister Felseven, along with their voting bloc, were determined to make sure it never happened.
In theory, the Stellar Engine would have to be paid for by increased Federation taxes on each planet, which undoubtedly made it easy for Felseven to convince other planet governors not to vote for it.
Sounded like they were at a deadlock.
But no one spoke about Endellion's petition, and I wasn't sure how to participate. Instead, I milled about on the sidelines, listening to the conflict and thinking about issues I'd never known existed.
“Twice your research has been targeted, Minister Ontwenty,” a woman said, her lithe, superhuman posture giving her a regal elegance. “Why these attacks?”
Ontwenty smiled. “They're disgruntled that the Federation refuses to treat or sell to United-Earth terrorists. If they want to bask in the progress of my research, they shouldn't call for my death, should they?”
“What do you think about Emissary Barten's attempt to establish commercial dealings with the United-Earth Homo sapiens?”
“He's a fool,” Ontwenty replied with a wave of her hand. “The rebellion should be put down, and these attempts to treat them as a sovereign group will only give their cause a sense of legitimacy they don't deserve.”
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