Tyler glances at me and raises that scarred eyebrow and his lips curl in that infuriating bloody smile.
“Keep us flying, Zero.”
Just you and me, Tyler.
Staring at each other across that barroom table and all those empty glasses.
We’d known each other since we were five years old.
I turn to my controls, and plug in our course.
“Yes sir,” I sigh.
Best friends forever, right?
7
Kal
The song is always the same.
It is two hours since we returned to realspace through the decrepit FoldGate near Sagan station. Ninety minutes since the Syldrathi refugees aboard began negotiations. One minute since Scarlett Jones finally broke the news that a member of the Warbreed Cabal was present aboard our ship. Ten seconds since Sagan’s defense grid locked missiles on us.
Humans are such fools.
Well-meaning fools, sometimes.
But fools, always.
“… And I respect that, sir,” Scarlett Jones is saying, trying to ignore the large missile lock flashing on our displays. “But Legionnaire Gilwraeth is our combat specialist. If we’re to fully examine your defenses—”
“No member of the Warbreed Cabal will set foot upon this station while I am First Walker!” comes the reply. “By the spirits of the Void, I vow it!”
I study the holographic projection Scarlett is speaking to. Taneth Lirael Ammar is an elderly man—at least two centuries by the look. His skin marred by faint wrinkles, the silver sheen in his hair is darkened by age, swept back from the small sigil of the Waywalker Cabal etched on his brow. The glyf reminds me of my mother. How far I am from home.
What is left of it, anyway.
It is often said other among other races that we Syldrathi are arrogant and aloof. That we hide our feelings behind walls of ice and stares of stone. But still, Taneth is clearly outraged at my presence. His violet eyes flash as he speaks, and a faint flush of anger shows at the tips of his tapered ears.
Tyler Jones raises his hands in supplication, trying to calm him. “First Taneth, Legionnaire Gilwraeth is a member of the Aurora Legion, and I can—”
“He is Warbreed!” Taneth glowers. “He is not welcome here!”
I look at my squad leader, and bite down on the words I told you thus.
It has been two years since the war between Syldra and Terra ended. Twenty months since I tried to forge a new future as a member of the Aurora Legion, despite my mother’s protests. I have studied among the Terrans. Lived and worked and fought among them. And I still do not understand them.
They are like children. The youngest race among the galactic milieu. Oblivious in their righteousness. Firmly convinced that any problem can be solved with enough faith or good hard work or, when all else fails, bullets.
But they have not seen their sun die. Their people burn. Their world end. And they do not know, yet, that there are some breaks that cannot be fixed.
“Maybe there’s a compromise?” Scarlett Jones suggests to Taneth, running one hand through her flame-colored hair. “If you’re willing to let Legionnaire Gilwraeth into the cargo bay, he can deliver the medical supplies while the rest of us see to Sagan’s onboard systems?”
Hmm.
I look at the human who would speak for me.
A wise one.
First Taneth remains silent, stroking his brow in thought.
“Honestly, sir, the faster we work, the sooner we’ll be out of your business,” Tyler Jones assures him. “I give you my word, Legionnaire Gilwraeth will follow all AL protocols while aboard Sagan station.”
I look at the human who would be my leader, eyes narrowed.
A trusting one.
Despite our diplomat’s assurances, I still do not believe Taneth will agree. Syldrathi are a noble and ancient people. The warriors who followed the Starslayer, who refused to accept peace with the Terrans, named themselves “the Unbroken” in their hubris. Even those of us who accepted the peace still felt our pride stung by the treaty. Though we Syldrathi are fallen far from what once we were, we do not accept charity from others. Especially not those who made their first stumbling steps into the Fold only a few hundred years ago.
And so I am surprised when Taneth purses his lips, and bows his acquiescence. Looking at the shadows under his eyes, the desperation on his face, I realize their situation must be more dire than I imagine.
All is not as it seems here.
•••••
Our Longbow’s airlock hisses open, and I immediately taste stale oxygen and old sweat. Faulty lighting flickers in the cargo bay, and I