21. Falkion

Juk's right. I do want to see this.

"What is it?" Zeerah asks, pulling on her skinsuit.

I shake my head. "I don't know how to describe it."

"Is it good?"

"Come here."

Zeerah comes to my side and leans into my communications console.

I pull her inside, on top of my lap.

An Arrisan Reaper-class ship escorts a collection of Xovisan ships.

A Harsi ship breaks from our horde and focuses on the Arrisan Reaper.

The Xovisans spread out like they're forming a funnel.

The Harsi ship flies into the funnel like it doesn't see them or doesn't care.

Then it lists to one side and slows, dropping back, aimless. As if it's been burned out or has lost control.

The Xovisan ships cluster around the Reaper once more and lure in another Harsi victim.

Zeerah hugs me. "They've done it. They figured out how to beat the Harsi.

"Soon we'll be free," she says, dancing on my lap. "Rejoined to the empire. Ready to face the…" Her smile drops from her face. Her hand goes to her collar. The tip of my mark is visible on her neck. It looks great on her.

I can guess what she was going to say. "I am ready to face the consequences."

Her smile flashes, then disappears. She's worried.

I nuzzle her. She hunches her shoulder and giggles. The happy, light sound bursts little sparkles in my chest.

We watch the Arrisan and Xovisan fleet destroy our enemies and clear our flight path as I dress and we both eat.

Zeerah touches my right ear, her expression worried, and applies healing ointment.

Oh.

I didn't realize until this moment that my earspikes were missing.

She pulls back with a frown, inspecting me.

"Do I look ready to accept hails from the empire's armada?" I ask.

Her clear brown eyes focus on mine. "You look like the greatest captain of all time."

My chest aches.

Strange. I thought I would feel only secure now. But instead, her earlier worry is mirrored within me.

I am not afraid of consequences for myself.

But I do worry about the cost to her.

"Captain." Marip's voice comes from my console. "You're requested on the bridge."

I offer Zeerah my hand. She takes it without hesitation. And that, too, makes the swelling behind my ribs painful.

More of my soldiers crowd the commander's hallway now. They subtly flow out of her way. She no longer pushes through opposition, but strides confidently as I do.

The bridge entrance is open and unguarded. Kollok has been moved to the brig.

My officers sit at their stations. They look rested, like they've taken shifts. "Captain Falkion," they murmur respectfully. "Officer Zeerah."

She checks her movement. A funny expression crosses her face. Surprise, I think, that they greeted her like she's a real officer. She takes her seat and straightens, head held high.

This is how it should have been from the beginning for her.

My eyes really are opened.

And then come the hails.

The Xovisan trap takes care of the horde. When their number decreases to a smaller size, the remaining Harsi ships change direction and disperse. We scramble across the empire to follow them and make sure the threat is eradicated.

The Xovisans also take control of the Harsi ship dragging us. They capture the few Harsi inside alive, and the Harsi ship we fished is also out of commission. They carried in at least one explosive. So, if the Xovisans hadn't already figured out a quicker way, we have at least two successful methods.

The Spiderwasp is decommissioned and turned into a permanent research station.

We—all survivors—are recalled to Arris Central.

Zeerah gapes at my artificial home planet as we descend to the outermost layer.

We line up on a massive platform in rank order. I stand with Zeerah at the very front. As the platform glides through the air, the residential honeycombs spill out millions of Arrisans, watching us in respectful silence.

The artificial sky darkens, and Empress Allie's face appears from horizon to horizon.

"Welcome, heroes." Empress Allie smiles brighter than any sun. "You have saved the empire."

Cheers erupt. My crew flinches with surprise. We're not a cheering race. This is the influence of the aliens seeping in, changing us in unnoticeable small ways until they bubble up into huge changes that flip over everything we are.

"Form up," Olasi says hoarsely a few rows behind me.

Engineers are rankless, which means they can stand anywhere, and I have chosen to place them with my officers, surprising especially Olasi. She was one of the last survivors to be unearthed, pinned beneath the wreckage of the engineering bay, and even she's incredulous that she survived.

"Look respectable." She whacks a restless engineer with her cane. "They think we're heroes."

Juk elbows her. "Who's going to tell 'em the truth?"

The other engineers laugh raucously.

My officers eye each other, sharing silent communication without moving a muscle from our stiffest salute.

The parade winds into the tunnel between layers. A new artificial sky lights above us, and Empress Allie formally welcomes us to the fourth layer. We enjoy another round of cheers.

The fourth concentric ring is filled with businesses, nightclubs, and embassies, as well as millions more Arrisans. The next ring contains aristocratic families and their spiky-gated mansions. The streets outside fill with soldiers and visitors waving and cheering.

Our destination is the second ring.

The Palace.

I've passed through the Palace's main cyclopean doors and strode down the narrow, defensive halls before. The walls are covered with ancient carvings, steles of heroes felled by ravaging demons, innocents skewered by multi-headed hungry monsters. I came here over five years ago. The heavily guarded door to the arena, the genetic security of our future, is concealed within the deepest core of the planet. The Harsi almost eradicated us once, and we have never forgotten, sacrificing all else to protect that precious core.

But now, perhaps, a new dawn is rising.

We can see light.

Change.

Opportunity.

Some, I know, see the light as blinding. Dangerous. Frightening.

But as I stand beside Zeerah in the ceremonial amphitheater honored by the emperor and empress, I know these changes are right.

Zeerah pinches her collar shut nervously as Empress Allie grips her other hand and shakes it aggressively. But Zeerah laughs happily, so I guess aggressive handshaking is a fine thing.

The ceremony ends, and we disperse to the complimentary transports. Zeerah links her fingers with mine. I return her secret squeeze.

"You know the emperor has a nightclub on the fourth level?" Marip asks Zeerah, startling her as we shuffle across the main Palace entrance. "I bet we could get in for free."

"Free is good," Zeerah says easily.

"Did you ever have a Zimvar bitter?" Marip asks. "Do they have those on Humana?"

"Um…not sure…"

"Ugh, no." Werrin shudders, and Laris shakes his head. "Don't subject her to that first. She's going to think we don't have any taste."

"She won't know. Have you ever had human food?" Marip sticks out her tongue, then tells Zeerah archly, "Your first round is on me."

The navigator crowds Marip with a new tune. "Oh, well, if you're treating—"

"Not you, get off…"

They roughhouse in front of the transports. Yarvi shakes his head at them, then offers for Zeerah to precede him into the private transport.

She stops in front of me, worried. This is the moment we part. "Are you going to be okay?"

We've gone over this, so she already knows my answer, but humans need reassurance that Arrisans don't. Our differences exposed.

And I am happy to have her attention. I would repeat myself a million times over having to chase her, once, as I did in the beginning.

"My commission as captain of the Spiderwasp is over. The High Command's interrogation will determine whether I become captain of a new vessel or whether I retire."

"Drin's left an opening on the High Command."

So, then, she's overheard the other officers gossiping about it. "I consider my appointment to be very unlikely. I will probably be forced to retire."

"To civilian life?"

I rub the chevron tattoo marking my right sheath. Normally, any blade assigned to a different role should, once that role ends, be reassigned back to the Arsenal.

But I am damaged. Broken. A fraction of the warrior I once was.

It's lucky that our survival as an empire does not depend on the sharpness of my weapons. Not anymore.

Once blades are broken, they, too, are usually forced to retire.

But so long as I can keep the High Command from criminally charging me, I will have the freedom to move within the empire.

And that will serve me very well.

Because, more than anything, I intend not to be separated from Zeerah.

So I lift her hand between us. "That depends on you."

She presses my palm to her chest.

I can't feel her heartbeat beneath the skinsuit, but, like my mating mark, I know it's there.

Behind me, the High Command's escorts await me.

Behind Zeerah, someone in the transport calls her name.

She startles, jerking her hand free. A small spike of fear pierces me. She is not Arrisan. Although I have marked her, she is a human. She could still leave.

I have given her all that is within me to give. I have bound myself to her, permanently and forever, in all the ways that matter. Arrisans, once mated, do so for life. Our happiness, safety, and contentment are entirely dependent on our mate.

But humans don't mate for life. They can withdraw their feelings at any time. For any reason. The nerves pierce me again. I have faith in her. In us. And I am determined I will not give her a reason to flee.

One of my officers calls her name again.

She steps forward and brushes my cheek with her kiss. Her soft scent washes over me like sunshine, like happiness. She rests on her heels. "Good luck."

I nod.

She leaves for the transport, and I pivot to face my stoic escorts.

The interrogation is long and brutal, as I expected it to be. My every act is analyzed, every order second-guessed. High Commander Drin had allies on this council, and they compared my answers with known records and testimony.

Once, multiple shifts of brutal needling would have driven me mad, but now, even their worst accusations roll off me. Their opinions of me don't matter. I only care how one person sees me. Whether they think I was justified or not is also not important.

My only interest in this outcome is whether they assign me to a new ship. A new command must allow me to be with Zeerah.

In fact, the only time I feel anything for them is when they bring in Kollok, because it's not what I expect to feel when I finally see him face-to-face.

He's aged twenty Standard Years in the last kortan. His gray skin stretches across thin cheeks. More white spots have appeared in his hair. He sits across from me in the conference room. We both have our backs exposed while everyone else is comfortably seated on wall benches against the outside of the room. He folds his shaking hands and can't meet my steady gaze.

The high commanders watch my non-reaction carefully.

"Don't you have anything you wish to say to the usurper?" one commander finally asks. "Any justice you still wish to exact?"

Past me would have cut him down.

Past me would have raged and screamed.

But Zeerah was right. He's broken. This punishment of being demoted, rank-stripped, and turned into a nothing is much more painful.

"No," I tell them honestly. "There's nothing left to say."

He slowly deflates, and escorts take him away.

It's sad. He was a good officer. We worked together well, and before my transformation, we understood each other. In another era, against a different enemy, perhaps I would be the one being led away, and he would be the honored one in my seat.

But that is not this era.

The doors close on him for the last time, and the high commanders look at each other. Perhaps they think I have an unusual capacity for mercy. Perhaps they know I couldn't care less about Kollok's old insults or allies. My feelings are consumed elsewhere.

The Harsi couldn't be defeated by a head-on attack. They had to be tricked into lowering their own shields. We couldn't carve up their ships in battle. They had to carry in the explosives or fly into a trap.

And they were so smug, so unconcerned, so certain that they were unstoppable. They didn't learn from their mistakes. Didn't change.

We Arrisans have been the same.

Many still believe that only we can defeat the Harsi. But only working together with the other races gives us that victory. It required the data from the Tsingvaris Box shared with the Xovisans and then analyzed by the entire empire in order to come up with the effective trap.

Perhaps the High Command sees that as well, because the interrogation wraps up after nearly a gora with a shocking invitation to join the High Command.

As the youngest-ever high commander.