"Let It Burn!"
Sotha, Az Shiber agent (Saul Bental)
****
Talvalen
Az Shiber headquarters, deck 4
55 years after launch
****
Talvalen was burning.
An emergency meeting was summoned, and less than an hour after the fires began to sweep the agro-deck, the leaders of the Az Shiber agency filled the small and eavesdropping-proof conference chamber at deck 4.
In the span of five years, the small organization grew from thirty to forty members, including agents, handlers, analysts and administrative staff. Not a small number considering that the ship carried several thousand people. This growth, which also translated to increased resources, was in part due to the outstanding success of the newest addition to the directorate.
It was only his second meeting.
Sotha felt slightly uncomfortable in the chair, the feeling of real wood still foreign for him. His advancement was meteoric - from new recruit to a team leader and a member of the directorate in five years. At the last meeting - his first - he did not say a single word. He was properly introduced, sure, but the other four members knew who he was and he did not have anything else to add, so he remained quiet. Not today.
The Az Shiber's second-in-command, a tall dark woman with small pointy chin, reviewed the present situation. She gave facts - the magnitude of the fire, the damage assessment, and the initial forensic results.
"... that this fire was started on purpose, not as a result of an accident or a malfunction."
"They'll blame us!" exclaimed Sevyok. He held a position similar to Sotha's, and was the only one amongst the five of them which was visibly stressed. "We failed our main objective. We did not see this coming!"
"False."
Sotha's eyes fell on the speaker. The only person in the directorate which was worth listening to, in his eyes, was Director Semeck. The grey-haired man was perhaps the only Az Shiber member other than Sotha who knew what he was doing. If not for him, the organization would have decayed and crumbled decades ago. The failure to catch the arsonists before they started the fire, though, could be the final nail in the agency's coffin.
"It was our duty to spot dissents within the lower classes, and apparently we did not succeed." Said Semeck with the tone of someone who was stating the obvious. "Their success will increase the friction, and may lead to open unrest and mutiny. If this happens, THEN we failed our main objective. This did not, however, take place."
The other members of the directorate expressed their consent. Semeck, however, did not find their reaction agreeable.
"Don't just nod like Hoopel cattle! I don't need meetings for hand shakes. Give me suggestions on a course of action!" He demanded, slamming his fist on the side of his seat.
"We gave them too much freedom!" Sevyok spoke up. He seemed intent to restore the respect he lost when the director rebuked him. "We pull all of the available strings, use all of our resources, all of our contact, fish that arsonist, and--"
"We do nothing."
All eyes turned to Sotha. Sevyok's mouth remained agape, as he was stunned by the loss of both words and attention.
"What do you mean, nothing?!" He shouted at the newbie.
Sotha did not raise his voice in return. He leaned back on his seat, fingers interlaced beneath his chin.
"We do nothing. We let this fire run its course. The worst time to recruit new agents and expand our operation is the time of strife. Remember Pi Haaton."
Pi Haaton was a stronghold in the ancient days. Pi Haaton's enemies were devious strategists, and the stronghold was crowded with spies, traitors and taps. However, none of this helped when war came - a single, swift bombardment on Pi Haaton killed most of the agents and evaporated four decades of careful scheming and plotting in fifteen minutes of flame.
"We do nothing." repeated the second-in-command, T'Pra.
"Perhaps those behind the fires will be foolish enough to show their faces, and then the ship security will wipe them out without needing our help." Sotha continued. "But, assuming this does not mark the beginning of a mutiny, I think that once the fires are extinguished, it would be the best time to infiltrate whatever underground movement that stood behind it. They'll use the momentum to expand, and that's when we'll come in. Once we've penetrated the organization, we could either eliminate it or manipulate it for our needs."
"This is pure cowardice.", Sevyok turned toward the director. "This is not how I see this agency develop."
The director ignored him. He was looking at Sotha, as if he saw him for the first time.
"Let it burn, you say."
"Let it burn."
Was it Sotha's imagination, or did the director's lips arched?
"And after it burns, perhaps the Captain will realize that this agency requires more resources and manpower to operate."
"That would be a nice side effect, yes." Sotha agreed.
"Or they could remove me from leadership because of my failure, and put someone else in my place. Perhaps you, Sota?"
If Sotha had any doubts left about who reall stood behind the attempt on his life two years ago, they now dissolved. The man he and Eela killed, T'Pra's predecessor, was just the middleman.
"As you said, sir, we did not fail yet. I believe that my suggestion will, in the end, strengthen the agency and your position."
"I agree."
Silence fell on the conference room.
"You will take no action until the final flame is extinguished." The director stopped conversing with Sotha, and was now addressing all of them. No, not addressing. Ordering. "You will continue to watch covertly, but take no action. Once things run their course, agent Sota will be in charge of the operation to locate and infiltrate the organization behind the fire. You can choose two men from your team, Sota, but they won't be necessary."
Sotha smirked. Both he and the director knew that he could pull this off better if he worked alone. He was presented with a challenge. If he fails, it would be his head on the line; Success will accelerate his progress even further, and he'll probably be promoted over that blabbering idiot Sevyok. Grand success for the agency or getting rid of an overly ambitious agent - either way, the director wins. But will Sotha be on the winning side?
He felt his body tingling with expectation.
And the Talvalen continued to burn.
"Objects in Motion"
Kythus (Keldan), Civilian
Talvalen, 65 Years After Launch
It was a mere wisp of fresh air that first told him he was no longer alone in his workshop. Though large in volume, the domicile had but three entrance ways. Since it was impossible for anyone to have crept in through the gallery window leading to the exterior of Talvalen at the rear of his workshop, and since the main entrance to the corridor at the front of his workshop was in plain view from where he was currently working, that left only one other possibility: the environmental control systems duct about 20 paces behind and to the left of where he was currently sitting.
Whoever it was had certainly mastered the ‘silent’ part of his stealthing technique, he had not heard a sound as the intruder opened and then closed the environmental hatch, nor when he had maneuvered past the piles of discarded metal that littered the floor in that part of his workshop. But the would-be thief...assassin?...had not counted on Kythus’ fine sense of attunement to this, his most personal of spaces. He could clearly feel the intruder as he moved behind from his left to his right, creeping ever so slowly toward its target. As for Kythus, he continued working with his welding torch, visor down, open to attack as if everything in the universe was as it should be.
Kythus waited patiently for the right moment, knowing if he was too quick he would tip his hand...too late, and he would probably be dead. But then there it was...a flash of reflection in the metal sheeting he had been welding, telling him that his assailant was directly behind him, moving fast.
With one swift motion he was up and twisting to face his assailant. He knew he had little chance against a trained assassin, for his fighting skills were minimal. But he had size and he had strength and he knew how to use them to his advantage. He threw his hand forward, palm open, aiming for the chest of the man standing before him. A brief flicker of steel told him the man was armed with a knife or some other kind of small blade. There was a short twang of pain as the metal came down across his bare forearm, just missing his heavy work glove. But he had the satisfaction of seeing his own strike hit home...dead center in his attacker’s solar plexus. The force of the blow sent the man sprawling backward into the side of a refuse bin, his knife clattering to the floor.
Kythus walked over and stood above his now-dazed assailant, who looked up at him with arms spread in surrender.
“You move fast for a person as big as you are. I underestimated you. I am sorry for this unannounced intrusion. My intent was never to cause you any serious harm.”
“Oh, really? Then how about this?” With one foot on the man’s chest Kythus bent down and picked up the small, curbed blade the man had dropped. The edge was coated in blood where it had sliced him open. “I suppose this is just for self defense?”
The thief smiled wryly. “No, but I’m sure you would agree, one can never be too careful down here on the lower decks.”
“Yes. If one wasn’t careful, one might find oneself stabbed in the back or with their throat suddenly slit. Get up.” The thief rolled up into a crouching position, with Kythus looming large over him. “Talk. And it had *better* be good. Because if it isn’t, I will tell you now that you and my welding torch are going to become very close acquaintances...at least until I stuff you down the refuse incinerator.”
The assassin got to his feet, removing his hood and mask. He was somewhat shorter than Kythus, and much more wiry in build, obviously built for speed and stealth.
Kythus half-smiled at the man. “I know you. I saw you in the market yesterday, and I *think* you were outside my father’s office a couple days ago.”
“You are correct. I have been following you for several days. My name is Baran. I was sent by Lord Hasin, of House Menaxa, to prevent you from attending your meeting tomorrow with Minister Yalak.”
“Why would anyone from House Menaxa be interested in my meeting with the head of the Artisan’s Guild? It is not as if it was the first time. Besides, in my previous dealings with Yalak, it was my understanding that the Minister’s position was a non-partisan one.”
“Your information is grossly incorrect. Yalak’s loyalties are to House Methir. They are the ones responsible for his posting to the ministry and as such, he is in their debt.”
Kythus sneered, uninterested at this information. “And House Menaxa and House Methir are at odds, is that why you’ve come? You should know I am about as interested in House politics as I am in the politicking of the civilian councilmen. Why don’t you take that back to Lord Hasin.”
Baran merely shook his head. “Hasin already knows that. But you need to realize that it doesn’t matter to the Houses if you are not interested in what they do, Kythus. They are only interested in how they can possibly use you as a tool in their scheming.”
“I refuse to be a tool to anyone.”
“And it is that refusal that has placed you in your current dilemma. It is why I was sent here. Don’t you see, you have no choice in the matter? Yalak’s goal is to entice you, whether with promises of work, access to the nobles’ artistic treasuries, or whatever, to aid him, and through him, House Methir, in their political agenda.”
“I would never aid them in any agenda.”
“Not consciously, no. It is a well-known fact that your father and brothers are extremely dedicated to the civilian political machine. But you are not. There are many among the Houses that would like to take your disquiet and use it to their own advantage. They would love to have someone like yourself as a means to gather intelligence and information. Hasin believes that your primary value would be in the information that could be acquired through you about your father’s plans for the civilian council. It has become a topic of some concern among the noble houses given the predilection for disquiet caused by the Socialists.”
Kythus absorbed this as Baran continued.
“Given the choice, my Lord Hasin would have been glad to have you work for him instead of our enemies. Barring that, however, he cannot risk the prospect of your falling into others’ hands. Hence, that is why I am here.”
“So what does Hasin and House Menaxa have planned?”
“I cannot divulge the plans of House Menaxa, for like you, I do not know the whole story. I do know that their plans are contradictory to those of House Methir, who has demonstrated that they will do anything to achieve their goals.” Baran looked hesitant for a brief moment. “Tell me about your wife Salara, Kythus. Tell me, how was it exactly that she was killed?”
Kythus immediately felt anger starting to boil in the pit of his stomach. “She was killed while investigating a robbery for House...Methir, actually. It was her first assignment as detective with the civilian security force. The robber returned to the scene of the crime and executed her and two other detectives on the scene before he was brought down.”
“Are you sure?”
Kythus squinted in anger. “What do you mean, ‘Am I sure?’ I didn’t witness it, if that’s what you’re asking. But I know my...knew my wife. And I knew what she was capable of. She was a damn good officer. If you are insinuating that Salara had something to do with the robbery? I really don’t like that.”
“I’m not insinuating anything, other than perhaps the circumstances weren’t quite as cut-and-dry as they were made out to be. I don’t know. I wasn’t there either. But what I can tell you is this: when something goes wrong...something that a House doesn’t want anyone to know about...a lot of effort and energy is put into making it look like something...mundane. Because the last thing they want is to be put under the microscope and be scrutinized. I don’t know Methir’s involvement in your wife’s murder. I can’t even tell you if Menaxa was involved. But I do know that the whole story is not being told.”
Kythus’ head began to swim with all this seemingly contradictory information, trying to sort it out. When he turned back to look at Baran, however, he realized with some alarm that the room was actually spinning.
Kythus hit the floor, but Baran attempted to cushion his fall somewhat.
“The sleeping poison from my knife has starting to take effect...it certainly took long enough.” Baran smiled as he laid Kythus out into a somewhat comfortable position. “You’ll be unconscious for about 36 hours, not enough time to kill you, but enough time for you to miss your appointment with Yalak tomorrow. He will want to reschedule, but this will give you more time to think about what I’ve told you and perhaps to do a little detective work of your own. Remember what I’ve told you.”
“How can I trust that anything you’ve told me is even remotely true?” Just as he succumbed, he heard Baran’s reply.
“You can’t.”
(Takes place prior to 'Talvalen Is Burning')
"Stayin' Alive"
Chulak
Eela
***
Talvalen
Various parts of the ship
50 years after launch
***
All in all it had been a normal day, except for the body that had dropped from out of nowhere.
Actually, Chulak decided as he studied the broken-necked corpse lying on the deck in front of him, bodies couldn't suddenly appear out of nothing. There were physical laws that prevented that, and, shy of some fictional matter transportation device, they had to come from *somewhere* in order to be *here.*
*Somewhere* in this case, was the overhead light bay with its access panel still swinging from the falling man's passage.
A moment's study revealed that the bay had been rigged to allow someone to lurk inside it and drop down on a passerby without warning. Which, aside from the long list of violations of the ship's maintenance codes the modifications represented, really meant only one thing to Chulak: One of the other engineers was slacking off and not performing the regular maintenance inspections properly or, far more likely, he was being paid to do so. A moment's more study of the hidden compartment, and he decided that it had to be the latter, since the work involved was too invasive and complex to accept that anyone could not see it. It was also faulty, otherwise the assassin wouldn't have fallen out of it and broken his neck like that.
Frowning at the dead man, he considered his options. Should he report the individual responsible for this section's inspections? Arrange a demotion? Transfer them to the crew that was repairing the waste reclamation pumping station on Level 47?
In the end, he decided to do none of those things. Instead, he filed a simple priority request in the work-order system assigning the individual responsible for inspections of this area - he didn't bother looking them up - to come and perform repairs on the light fixture to 'remove unauthorized modifications' and clean up 'waste material left at scene.' A few keystrokes attached a rider to the work order, requiring a video log of the repairs be kept for training purposes, and ensuring that everyone that saw it - and it would be mandatory watching, he'd see to that - would know what had happened.
Let's see someone in the department take money to perform illegal and substandard work again after that, he decided before moving on.
Two days later, it happened again.
This time, the falling man didn't just break his neck - he also fell on his own knife.
Twice.
That told Chulak three things: One, that someone definitely did want to kill him. Two, that they were either poor or cheap, since they were apparently only capable of hiring mentally defective engineers to help them and coordination-challenged assassins to do the deed. And three ... he considered the corpse and replayed the fall in his head before checking his portable scanner. No there was no mistaking it. Three ...someone else was involved.
Either that, he decided, as he called up the maintenance logs and records and looked up the name of the man he was about to assign to exterior hull maintenance and who would suffer a catastrophic suit atmospheric seal rupture when he was too far to make it back to the airlock, or the laws of physics no longer applied.
And, despite the way many aboard Talvalen behaved, Chulak knew that there were some laws that no one could break.
****
It was five years later before Chulak heard the conspicuous - and familiar - sound of a body hitting the floor again. This time, he was standing outside a lift door near the agro-decks, returning from checking the artificial sun lamps that helped grow the crops there. He turned and found a man face flat on the ground with a knife in hand and an even bigger knife stuck in his back, cheekily adorned with a pink ribbon tied into a bow.
"People don't seem to like you very much," A voice commented from the darkness and then was gone.
Chulak looked at the corpse, looked at the knives, ignored the bow, and frowned. This was going to be annoying if it kept up. He was, however, pleased that there appeared to be no engineering assistance involved in this attempt.
Obviously the safety video he'd had made of the last engineer to accept money for work of that nature dying as his EVA-suit's seals failed and his eyes boiled away had done it's work.
Still... why would some woman he didn't know stop an assassin? He looked down again, made a notation for the authorities to come and pick the remains up, and keyed the lift open.
And stopped.
Keys... why was that important? He looked down at the master engineering key in his hand and frowned for a moment until the memory returned. Decades ago. The accessway. The bleeding girl. The engineering access key he'd given her.
As the lift opened and he rode back up to his work, he wondered if she knew that the keys carried a unique signature that could be tracked.
****
Since she only lifted an eyebrow when he entered the room, Chulak guessed that it was likely.
The woman sat on a crate with a protein pack in one hand and a knife in the other. "Is this a conversation where I need my knife because I'd like to finish my lunch."
"I didn't come here to start, participate in, or even observe, a fight," Chulak replied. "They're stupid - too many variables, too many things to go wrong - you can't control the outcome reliably. It's easier to just not have one."
Eela tilted her head, examining him as she chewed. "You look different."
Chulak thought about that. "I'm older. You're not bleeding to death." He looked down. "I'm dressed differently. There's different lighting here than in the accessway. Any or all of that would make a difference in how you saw me."
"Ah," She said. "That would do it."
"All I wanted to do," he said after a moment of watching her chew her food in silence, "was ask why." Well, not just that, he admitted to himself. "And to determine if I was right and it was you who killed those assassins."
Eela's lips twitched. "I like the practice."
That was, he had to admit, at least an understandable reason, if not a very clear one. "Are you likely to feel the need to suspend practice anytime soon?"
The assassin looked at him curiously. "Do you want me to, Chulak? Given my profession, it seemed a decent way as repayment but I suppose I could get you a fruit basket instead."
"Not particularly, but it seemed sensible to ask and see." He looked around the small room before adding. "There is only so much goodwill that one might expect from the gift of a key, after all."
"True," She replied. "Keeping me from bleeding to death might be a part of it as well. Don't worry; I'll let you know if I get bored of saving your life. What have you been doing to piss so many people off?"
"Who knows why people think of things like this?" Chulak shrugged. "They want my job. They don't like me. They want my wife for themselves." He shook his head. "The ship might get to its destination before I went through the possible list."
"Fair enough." She finished up the last bit of her meal, wiped her mouth, and then jumped off the crate. "I'm not going to be around for a few days so try not to get yourself killed."
"Considering that I haven't been *trying* to get myself killed, that should be easy enough," he nodded. "I expect that the hard part will be convincing whoever it is that's doing this to stop."
"I could help you with when I get back," Eela offered. "If you want."
"I think," Chulak said after a moment of turning over the idea, "that it would be smart to know who is doing this, even if I don't decide to go further. I also think that doing so will be something that I should offer payment for. Assuming, of course, that you will accept?"
"Of course," the assassin replied. "Why wouldn't I?"
"I have no idea. I don't understand what it is that you do, or why you do it, any more than I think that you really understand what it is that I do or what motivates me. Simpler to just ask and make sure - there are no misunderstandings that way."
"Then I'll start when I get back. In the meantime, get me a list of names to work with. It might make things faster."
Chulak considered telling her 'everyone on the ship' - there were fewer than ten thousand suspects after all - but decided that it would take too long to sift through all of them. "I'll make a list of the Engineering Personnel for you to check," he nodded. "But you might want to start with the associates of my late mother-in-law. She tried to approach me several times about some..." he waved a hand "...something... she wanted me to do, or to join, or assist her with. I never paid any attention to it - there were more important things to spend my time on - but that seems more reasonable than an ex-suitor of my wife's, considering what happened to her."
Eela tilted her head. She didn't know what had happened to the woman; she didn't follow Chulak's life outside of his near death experiences.
Of course. Why would she know? "Her stepmother was Lady Siena Raal. She had... many enemies. One of them hated her enough to kill her some years back with a personal energy weapon." Chulak shook his head. "We were all lucky the fool didn't punch through a bulkhead to vacuum or destroy some circuit necessary to run the ship."
"Ah," Eela replied. She remembered now ... not many people played with energy weapons lightly - she had only used one twice - but the Lady's killer was definitely worthy of Chulak's criticism. "I'll check it out."
She narrowed her eyes. "Stay alive while I'm gone, Chulak."
"It isn't on my schedule of things to do in the foreseeable future," the engineer replied, as if that was enough to guarantee the event couldn't come to pass. "I have too many things that matter to do to die."
"Don't well all," Eela replied.
"Dragon Of Fire"
Chulak Vardek, Prime Engineer (Victor Krieghoff)
Sulaed Vardek, Former Prime Engineer
****
Talvalen
Main Agro-Deck Observation Window
55 Years After Launch
Talvalen was still burning.
Over a day had passed since the agro-deck had caught fire; a day in which the flames had spread across fields of grain that would have supplied the passengers and crew, across parks that had sheltered lovers, across acreage that had helped to purify and renew the air that circulated throughout the great ship. All were gone now, all lost to the flames that spread further and further, consuming all they touched.
He'd fought them, fought the flames, every step of the way - to no avail. They had been started by incendiary devices, Chulak and his engineers had no doubt of that - the flames had spread too far, too fast and far too fiercely to be the result of an accidental ignition. That knowledge and the anger it fueled hadn't helped them fight the blaze more effectively, though. All the fire control procedures, all the extinguisher hoses and fire breaks they utilized were just delaying the inevitable, and they all knew it.
Even his attempt to install emergency pumps on the water reservoir and use that to help fight the fire had failed, when the fire circled and consumed the pumps before the water had really started to make a difference. That was when he'd known for certain that the fire was deliberately set - the sights and sound of the detonating incendiary bombs the saboteurs had set to ensure that the fire had spread in that direction at the right time to consume the pumps had been unmistakable.
As he watched the agro-deck burn through a heat-cracked observation window, Chulak wondered if the saboteurs hadn't done their job too well, wondered if they knew how close to death Talvalen was... and wondered if that hadn't been their aim all along. Had they meant to starve Talvalen? Destroy her delicate air recirculation balance? Both?
He coughed once, trying to expel the last of the acrid smoke he'd inhaled while dragging one of his engineers away from a ruptured extinguisher tank before it exploded. It hurt to cough, though not as much as it hurt to watch his reason for living die around him.
None of that mattered, though. Nothing did, now. Not the pain, or the flames, or the saboteurs. There was only one thing that mattered, one thing that he had left to do. Only one thing left that he could do.
And only one person that he trusted to help him do it.
"Find my father," he said finally, his voice rasping as though a file had been taken to his vocal chords. "Bring him to Auxiliary Control Three."
****
"What are you doing?"
Chulak considered those words from his position underneath the control console he was rewiring. What was he doing? How could he explain it? Should he? Would his father understand? "Rewiring the console," he finally replied without pausing. "Hand me a T56B circuit from the bin on top of the console please."
There was a pause, and then his father rummaged in the bin, and crouched down slowly to offer the circuit to Chulak. "What are you doing?" he repeated. "And why do you need me?"
His father's voice was older, something that Chulak had never noticed before. When had that happened? When had his father become... old? "Rewiring the panel," he explained, taking the circuit and beginning to solder it into place.
"Rewiring it to do what?"
That was a fair question. "Extinguish the fire."
His father didn't answer for a moment. "All right. Extinguish it how?"
"I'm going to suffocate it."
That only took a few seconds to process - his father was still Talvalen's first Prime Engineer, and even if his voice was older, his mind was still the equal of Chulak's. "The pressure doors aren't designed to... oh, that's what you're doing. You're reconfiguring the console to open and close all the necessary doors at once."
It was, Chulak reflected as he set the solder rod down and closed his eyes for a moment to let them rest, good to work with his father again, to work with someone that understood. "Yes."
"Why do you need me for that?" his father continued. "There are many qualified..."
"I can't use them," Chulak interrupted. "The fire was set deliberately, and the saboteurs have someone in Engineering to have known what I was doing I the reservoir quickly enough to react to it the way they did. I need you, because you're the only one I trust."
"Why?" his father asked curiously.
"Because whether or not you're one of them," Chulak explained quietly, "you gave your entire life to get Talvalen to the stars... and you wouldn't see her destroyed like this. Not for any reason." And because you are my father, he added silently.
"Have you told the Valen what you're going to do?"
Chulak frowned. "Why?"
"He might want to know that you're going to vent the agro-deck atmosphere into space," Sulaed pointed out.
"Once we're done," Chulak decided. "When there's enough time to evacuate the necessary areas and not enough to sabotage the effort. I'll tell him then."
After a moment's silence, his father said, "What can I do?"
****
It took four hours to rewire the console, four hours more for the fire to rage out of control, consuming resources and precious oxygen. Many parts of the ship had closed off their circulation vents to keep down the smoke that had overloaded the filters, and were full of scared, desperate people that sat in the dark and felt the air around them grow heavier and heavier with each breath.
Four hours until Chulak and his father were ready, and the call was made to the Valen.
It had been, Chulak decided, the most interesting conversation he'd ever had with the Valen. There had been no discussion, no argument, no conversations full of gentle reminders of available resources or the need to explain his decisions. He'd simply told the Valen what he was going to do, what he needed the Valen to make happen, and that had been it.
Perhaps all meetings should be handled that way.
Regardless of future meetings, the time was here, the moment was reached. The klaxons had sounded and all the required passages were - he assumed - clear. If they weren't... if they weren't, there was nothing he could do for the ones caught there now.
Chulak looked at his father, nodded, and reached for the controls, Sulaed's hand a mirror to his as they grasped the two switches needed to make the sequence work. "One... Two... Three... Now!"
The switches dropped, the relays closed and dozens of pressure doors slammed closed or opened as one, opening a passageway from the agro-deck to the outer hull in an instant.
For a moment nothing seemed to happen - but only a moment, a single heartbeat. Then, with a roar louder than ten thousand sehlat's, the atmosphere within the agro-deck gathered itself into a twisting, turning rope of fire that snaked through the ship and burst out into space like a dragon taking flight into the vast darkness of space.
As the atmosphere vented, taking the fire with it, Chulak saw a single spark pop on the console as a newly-soldered circuit overloaded. Without thinking, without time to think, he lashed out with an arm, striking his father and sending the older man reeling backwards an instant before a ribbon of electric fire, a twin to the one leaving the ship, arced over the console and wrapped around him.
Chulak convulsed once under the electric lash, then again, and started to convulse a third time - this one surely enough to make the pain stop - when he was jerked away to lie twitching on the floor, the strap from his tool case looped over his head and shoulder and the case itself in his father's hands.
He lay there for a moment, the current no longer making his limbs twitch and reveled in the sound of alarms ending and the gauges on the wall changing color.
He was still alive.
Talvalen was still alive.
The fire was out.
"Scorched Earth"
Captain Talvath Raal (Mathieson)
Centurion Ejiul Tei (Quaaliu)
Talavan
50 years after launch
===============
It started as a faded memory for some, linked with that of green fields and forests of distant memory, and pale blue skies almost forgotten. There was no image to spark the recollection, merely the smell of burning plant material that only the old ones who had walked on distant Vulcan could remember. Others newer to the elements knew it only as a fire on the only home they had ever known, and the black smoke spawned by the flames quickly overpowered the atmospheric filters and sent the charred scent and dark haze into every part of the massive ship.
The scent of smoke was quickly intermingled with that of fear as the consequence of the fire in hydroponics settled on the exiles. Food riots were a weekly occurrence on the lower decks, and even the privileged were beginning to feel the pinch of rationing. The flames in the large hydroponic bays fueled the dry fears that had been slowly growing and festering for years.
Chulak and his people were competent in battling the flames on the agro-deck, but by the time the burning had ceased the damage had already been done.
Dirty, tired and bloodied from a day of righting hungry and angry rioters, the Senior Centurion dispensed with the usual formalities when addressing the ship's Commanding Officer. "It's as bad as it's ever been on the lower decks - they're numbers are growing and we're becoming thinner."
Leaning over the guardrail from the command deck with his eyes closed, Talvath nodded as he listened to the brewing chaos below. "I know", he said at last, the voice ragged with fatigue. "Tomorrow will be the worst when the full impact of what's happened settles in. The morning's hunger will fuel the day's fear and anger. Old friend, I don't envy you the morning's work your troopers will face. Hope for calm… but expect the worst."
Tei pulled off his Centurion's helm and ran his fingers through the matted, sweaty hair now almost pure white. "Is there anything we can tell them – any sign of hope?"
The Captain raised his head and looked at the Centurion, giving Tei a shock. Talvath had grown ancient and fragile under the burden of commanding the pilot ship, but the Lord of Raal's eyes still maintained their dark, almost feral intensity. "Something…. perhaps. A planet is on our scanner's horizon, but doesn't seem to have landmass – only water. Perhaps there will be food to be found. Whether we have fuel enough for the reactors to slow our speed?" The old man shrugged. "That's something for the Elders to announce, not you or I. Your work, Tei – is to find those responsible for the fire. Find them. Punish them." Talvath opened his eyes to see the clustered masses below, writhing with fear, anger and loathing. "Kill them."
"The engineers have just put out the flames", Tei replied, wide eyed and disbelieving the Captain's words. "The fire's suspicious, but we don't have evidence of a crime! It will take days to sort through the ashes!"
"Then sort!" Talvath snapped, his face now bearing only the mask of pure anger. "Prod, poke and look all you want Tei, but have suspects before me within two days or by Fire and Water I'll find someone smarter, younger and more obedient as Senior Centurion." The older man neared the Centurion and spoke menacingly between clenched teeth. "The mob will not rule this colony ship as long as I am alive. You have your duties, soldier", Talvath ended with a sneer. "Attend to them."
Ejiul Tei had served with Talvath Raal for over a century, but the sense of loyalty the Centurion had for his Captain had been ebbing for some years as the hunger and fear below festered. So too grew the cancer of disquiet that grew in the Centurion's soul. For years he had followed Raal as trooper, then Centurion. No tear had he shed when his own family burned in the nuclear fires of Kharath at Raal's own order. "By your command, Enarrain", Tei offered quietly as he strapped the sweat-stained helmet back onto his head. He gave the Captain a rarely-used, formal salute before making his way down to the Lower Decks to deal with the masses… or join them.
"The Death of L’eeo"
or
Raven and Leo: This is your Romulan Life Part 4 of 7!
With Proconsol R'aven, leader of the Sienae (Blade) Guild, his beautiful wife the Lady L'Eeo, holder of the sacred chalice of Femininity, one of the six pillars of Serenity and heiress of...well... of nothing since they left their home world behind! Also included is their son Eean.
Time: 100 years after the departure.
Location: The Tal Valen’s promenade.
Previously: After dispatching a rival guild representative in combat, R'aven was told that his beautiful wife is going into labor. The Proconsol rushed to be by her side to bask in the sweet moment and was surprised to learn that his wife was having twins. Twenty five years later, the family gathers around the supper table for a nice quiet meal where a “Hatfield and McCoy” like feud explodes and creates a rift in the family. Now, 70 years after that evening, tragedy strikes once again…
The smell of burnt flesh was so overpowering, that R’aven could feel bile begin to come up his throat. He walked briskly, surrounded by his honor guard, through the still smoldering debris cast aside by the powerful explosion that rocked the crowded promenade only moments ago.
His eyes focused on the green blood stains that were spattered across the deck plates and he felt as though he were going to loose consciousness and fall were it not for his trusted viceroy slipping an arm under the aged Proconsol’s own, giving him a subtle support.
“What happened, Liam?” he asked with a voice that betrayed the weariness that he felt.
“From what we can piece together, Lady L’Eeo was shopping for produce in the market when she was approached by a male wearing some sort of explosive device.” he said walking past a line of body bags, their contents wrapped in anonymous black plastic.
“At that point he shouted ‘brikol ver shutias’ prompting two of your wife’s handmaidens to fling themselves over her protectively. At that point the…device was detonated.”
“Freedom through tragedy“ R’Aven translated, then shook his head. “What of the handmaidens?”
“Loree and Ch’ate. Both dead. At the very least it was painless.” Liam said watching yet another body bag being carried to the growing pile.
“Make a note so that I may visit their families. How many casualties?” the Proconsol asked.
“14 dead, 6 wounded.”
“Such senseless cowardice.”
“We suspect the Shia (rival Phaser Guild!). The ship’s Security is looking into it which doesn’t put me at ease - especially as of late.” Liam said candidly.
R’aven himself had winced at the mention of the Security force. The ship’s new Lord of Security* had overhauled the department alarmingly, taking a more proactive and aggressive stance against not just criminals but also the growing sense of mutiny amongst those who had grown up having never breathed fresh air or felt soil under their feet, turning the department into what seemed to be his own private army.
He knew that any investigation into the incident would result in the torture and likely death of innocents.
“This way, Proconsol” Liam said walking him into the triage area.
R’aven nearly gasped laying his eyes upon his wife. The explosion had burned her body badly and he could see by the outline of her legs beneath the sheets that she had lost her legs in the blast.
Her lush gray hair was burnt short and the medication and saline wraps had caused her body to swell.
“Husband” she whispered through cracked and charred lips.
R’aven knelt beside her, picked up her blackened hand gently and held it in his own. He glanced to her left and the medical minister closed his eyes and shook his head slowly.
Feeling his eyes moisten, the Proconsul centered himself and said “You are going to be fine, my love.”
L’Eeo coughed roughly.
“I am not a fool. I know that I am closer to the next world then this.” She said tightening her grip on her husband’s hand. “And it appears that I will need help walking there.”
“That’s just the medicine talking,” he choked, caressing her cheek with his shaking hand.
“As you wish. “ She said wincing in the grip of pain. When it subsided, she took a deep breath and continued to speak. “I want you to tell Eean that I love him. That I have always loved him.”
“Soon you will be able to tell him yourself. Just remain strong.” The proconsul reassured.
“I have lived a full life. I don’t have the strength left in me to fight this battle. Besides, soon I will be able to hold Paat again.” she said, her free hand wrapped around the amulet that held her deceased son’s holo picture.
R’aven began to sob openly. Liam moved his form to block any onlooker’s view and give his lord some shred privacy.
“I don’t know what to say. I don’t know what to do.” he told his wife.
“I will tell you what to do my love. End this war. End it before it consumes us all. Live long and prosper and when the time comes, I will wait at the gates of the afterlife for you.”
R’aven carefully laid his head across her chest.
“I have always loved you. Even when we first met and you were pestering me and I swore that I was going to throw you out of an air lock.” he confessed.
“I know. Why do you think I kept pestering you?” L’eeo asked then her muscles began to spasm.
Pain once again wracked her body and she let out an anguished scream.
R’aven looked over pleadingly at the medical minister.
“There is nothing more I can do.” He said in hushed tones. “I have called for the Keeper to collect her Katra but I do not think it will be in time.”
The Proconsol lifted his wife upon his own lap and cradled her head in his arms until he could feel her muscles finally loosen.
“I would have liked to see….our new home….” she said as her last breath left her body.
*** Outside of Ground Zero ***
“My liege, we believe we know who was responsible for the bombing!” the centurion said rushing over to the ebon cloaked Lord of the Security force.
Eean turned his black eyed gaze from his parent’s pain to the man looking slightly nervous before him.
He rested his hands upon the hilts of both his blaster and the smaller version of the Lirpa strapped around the waist of his black and silver uniform.
“Then by all means, Centurion.” he said coolly, “Let us go dispense justice!”
"The Blindness of Youth"
65 years after launch
---------------
Corridor of Ship
-------------
The daughter held her indifferent gaze out the port window as she watched the scattering of stars flash before her. Unbeknownst to her, it had been twelve years since the day her mother's body held two soul essences. Now, it held none. It had been but a few short days since her mother's passing. How the daughter wished she felt something, anything! Yet, as much as she tried, as much as she struggled, no emotional attachment birthed itself.
She was seventeen, orphaned as a result of her father's death the previous moon, and her mother's death this cycle. The girl, naive in the true ways of the world of this ship was but a piece of clay. To any person, she was moldable with nothing but a well crafted, convincing tale. Fiction or otherwise.
Sighing an agrivated puff of air, she pivoted on her heel, making her way along through a ship of lies, greed, evil, and yes...some light and goodness. Who would be the first to grab the attention of this young woman? What did the future hold for her?
"The Transfer"
By Petty Officer 2nd Class Benedict "Max" Maxwell,
NCOIC Emergency Medical Response Team (Current Status: Prisoner #8813-E419M25)
USS Galaxy
Typhon Sector, En Route To DS5, Runabout Julio Verdes
It was one thing to get caught by the crew of the Wellington and transferred to his rightful ship, the Miranda. But it was a completely different story when he spends several days in a Runabout with two Security Officers being sent to DS5 for another unknown period of detention. Worse even, was not knowing his fate. He hasn't been formally charged, he hasn't been assigned an ADC, no JAG has visited him offering a deal to reduce sapping the legal resources and time of the 'Fleet.
Nada, zilch, nothin'. And right about now, Max was sick and tired of it. He made no effort to hide his annoyance from the two who were escorting him, and made every effort to give as much attitude and lip. For example, just now he was asked if he was hungry. "Maybe if your mother opens her legs just once more..." was Max's response. He was rewarded as before with a well placed nerve strike. Funny thing about those nerve and pressure point strikes. They never left a mark...but hurt like a mother fucker.
After the little games were played between prisoner and guards, Max would eventually succumb to the hunger and eat something. Then a few hours would pass and the same routine would play out. Eventually that would get tiring as well. But this time to the Security Officers. "You know, Maxwell," one said, "if you just behaved yourself this could actually be a fun ride. You know, tell jokes, reminisce about our hometowns, best pussy you ever had stories, you know, stuff."
"Well," Max began, a sly smile on his face, "speaking about the best pussy I've had. Let's see." Max seemed to give this serious thought, which gave the first Security Officer, whose name was Marshall, reason to pay full attention to the storyteller. The other Security Officer, a brawny female humanoid, ignored Max. She had no interest in 'having fun'.
Finally, Max snapped his fingers. "I've got it," he exclaimed. The smile grew ever wider, and Marshall leaned in closer, as if he were about to hear something so secretive, that only he should be able to hear it. Max himself leaned in, smile so wide he appeared to be a bipedal humanoid Cheshire Cat for a moment. "The best pussy I've had was..." Max looked around conspiratorially, then finished his statement. "...your mother's." Max wasn't rewarded with a nerve strike or even a jab to one of his pressure points. This time he was simple ignored a Marshall shook his head and moved away from his prisoner. The Amazonian Security Guard simply shook her head and giggled.
__________________________________________________________________
DS5, two days later
Max liked this holding cell a little better. He had company, which made the time pass a little faster. Coralez, the mercenary that helped him find his sister was using the bunk opposite his. They updated each other on what has happened since Max had beamed down, Coralez gave his condolences, a moment of eerie silence passed, and then they wound up playing a few hands of Fizzbin. Max lost miserably. He was always a 5-Card stud man, anyways.
"So what they gonna do with you, hombre," Coralez was asking on their twelfth hand. "I honestly don't know," Max answered, laying down 2 cards to draw from the deck. "They haven't told me anything, and it's already been about three weeks now." "That's unusual," his opponent remarked, laying down a joker and three Aces. Max only had a One-Eyed Jack and a pair of fours. "You think they'll discharge you?" "At this point I wouldn't be surprised if I had marching orders to go to a penal colony."
Coralez gave Max a long look, then finally said, "I think something good is in store for you, Max." Max gave Coralez a look, but said nothing. After what he experienced with being able to link with his sister, he figured anything in this universe was truly possible. He looked at his cards and layed them down. "Fizzbin," he declared. Coralez looked at Max with disbelief. "It's Thursday, bro.One-Eyed Jacks are worth a wild and two's are Aces. And Aces are worth two's." Coralez could only smile and shuffle the cards for the next deal.
"The Spaces Between" - Backpost
(Takes Place before the events in 'Talvalen Is Burning')
Chulak Vardek, Prime Engineer (Victor Krieghoff)
Sakonna Vardek, his wife (Tarin Iniara)
****
Once the children had left, Sakonna began to quickly tidy the room. The quartet of folding metal stools went back into the closet, followed by the wire music stand with its few pages of yellowed staff paper. Next came the oval rug, which she kicked smooth with her slippered feet, followed by a light dusting off and fluffing of the throw pillows scattered about the room.
Her first round of work complete, Sakonna quickly surveyed the room. All traces of her four students -- not that they left behind many traces, that is -- were gone. It left her simultaneously satisfied and unhappy; perhaps even a bit lonely. Their presence always reminded her of the fact that even after years of marriage and years of trying she had yet to conceive a child. And since one of her primary duties in this life was to produce and raise an heir to the House of Vardek, Sakonna couldn't help but feel that she was failing in that regard. She had to remind herself that she and her husband were still young, but every day they grew a little bit older, and it became a little less likely that they would ever have a child.
Determined not to let those negative thoughts overcome her, Sakonna crossed the room, meticulously inspecting all her plants, taking great care to remove any and all yellowed leaves or wilting flowers, then positioning them so the branches and leaves were perfectly spaced, their varying heights forming an interesting grouping to look at. It mattered not that Chulak would probably never notice the careful way she maintained the flowers, nor the specific arrangement of colors and shapes. But Chulak was as much of a perfectionist as she was, Sakonna reminded herself. He would most certainly notice if the flowers, or any other part of their living quarters, were less than perfect. She had come to realize that by not noticing and not commenting on them, he was in his own way noticing and commenting.
"Ah, there I go again," she whispered to herself. She shook her head, causing a stray piece of hair to break free from the loose bun at the nape of her neck and fall into her eyes. Sighing, she tucked the hair behind one ear. A quick check of the small digital chrono on the room's single bookshelf told Sakonna her husband would be home soon. Making her way into the kitchen she quickly set a pot of water boiling. He would probably want tea.
****
He was almost there.
Just a few more steps and... now.
Once past the security of the Vardek Family's outer doors, and with the 'click' of the security locks closing behind him on the inner doors to the rooms that were his and Sakonna's, it was time.
Chulak took a single breath, held it, and, as he had done every day for years now, let it out slowly, allowing the pain in his head to show for a single, solitary moment. Only here, in the shadows of his own security door, safe from any prying eyes, even those of his wife, could he allow himself to let the pain show., to be, if only for an instant, weak.
The breath done, he drew himself up and pulled the ache back inside himself, pushing it down into the place in his mind where he kept it during the times he wasn't here. No one could know how bad the pain was. No one could know that sometimes he thought that the pain... spoke... to him.
He frowned and shook his head. That was impossible. Pain couldn't speak, it wasn't alive and sentient and able to form words; it was merely neurological impulses, tiny bursts of energy running along nerve fibres. The fact that it had no biological reason he could find with his clandestine scans didn't help matters any. Without a biological cause, there was only one thing he could think of to explain it: madness.
If he were going insane - or were insane already - there wasn't anything he could do about it. But he could do one thing: he could make certain that, until he knew it *wasn't* madness, he would not father a child to suffer the same fate as he was. That, he'd decided, was the very height of insanity. The drugs to prevent conception were simple, easy to obtain untraceably for one with his access codes and technical skills, and effective.
The mask that he wore to hide the pain in his head back in place, he continued on into his quarters. His tea should be ready soon.
****
The kettle began to squeal just as Sakonna heard the inner doors of their quarters sliding open. She removed the kettle from the heat before making her way into the foyer. "Welcome home, dear husband," she replied with a pleasant smile, already moving to take his things. "Would you like some tea?"
"Yes, please."
She asked him the same question every day when he came home, and his answer was always the same. Some might have called that a waste of breath. But it was the routine that comforted her, one of a precious few things that kept her sane on this endless journey through the stars.
As Chulak made his way into the main room, Sakonna slid quietly away, carefully depositing the few items in a hall closet. Her footfalls were barely audible as she padded back to the kitchen and began to prepare the tea. This too was something she had done every day, the process becoming so automatic that it required almost no thought. It was unfortunate in a way, as Sakonna was the type of person who always had to be thinking about something. And as had happened every day for the past few decades, when the simple act of preparing tea failed to engage her mind, Sakonna's mind started to wander to other topics.
Such topics usually revolved around her husband. And today the stream of thoughts went something like this: He looks tired. Oh, but he always looks tired...but today it seems worse. He seems to age a year for every day he lives. What's wrong with him? Is there anything wrong with him? Is it just the stress of living in space, being stuck on this floating ship in the middle of absolutely nothing? Has he seen the doctor lately? He tells me he sees his father's physician on a regular schedule and that there has never been anything wrong with him......but is he lying? He wouldn't lie to me...would he? Would he keep things from me? Does he know I keep things from him? Is it really keeping things from him...the room and the tor'kan'an and the fire music......would he care either way? Would he prefer to not know how I spend my own time? Would he see it as a betrayal? Have I betrayed him? Have I done this to him? Does he know? He's so quiet...so hard to read...he could be dying and I might not even know. Elements, what's happening to him? What's happening to me? What's happening to us... to all of us?
It wasn't until she looked up into those unnaturally green eyes of his that Sakonna even realized that she had already prepared the tea, brought it into the main room, poured it, and was now in the process of offering the steaming mug to her husband. She realized that he was looking straight at her, while at the same time appearing to look through her. She blushed slightly and looked away; even after decades together - before and after marriage - a certain look from Chulak was enough to make her heart flutter.
"Was your day pleasant?" she asked when he had taken the tea.
"It was," he nodded.
She never asked anything new, always the same questions, to which he gave the same answers. Chulak sipped at his tea and thought about that as he did every day at this time. Why was it that they never said anything new? Why was it that that they were like this? Was it the pain in his head? Was it him? Was it her? Was it... something, anything, that he could point to and declare the cause? Or was it... just the way things were?
He considered, as he always did, saying something else, anything else. How pretty she was. That he, oddly, thought of her sometimes to help fight off the pain in his head, using her eyes and smile and laugh as a weapon against it. That he'd like a different kind of tea. That his day was terrible. That his day was merely average. That someone had tried to kill him eight times since the voyage had began, and that a woman he didn't really know kept killing the assassins because he'd put a hydraulic line patch on a stab wound she'd had years before. That he worried that he was going mad. That the pain in his head was so bad some days that he wanted to scream until his voice was gone. That he liked her hair up like this. That he didn't understand why she loved music so, but found it soothing to listen sometimes. That he knew about her visitors and the lessons she gave and didn't care. That he'd also known about the engineer that made her instruments for years and knew that they weren't lovers. That he'd killed two men who'd tried to blackmail him with that information over the years, making her visits out to be other than what they were.
What would she do if he said any of that? What would she say? Would she be surprised? Would she be scared? Would she hold him suddenly, hold him so tightly that it would force the pain out of him? Would she laugh at him? Would she tell him about her day, the things she'd really done and felt instead of the things they always said? Or would she just sit there, as if he'd said nothing at all? Would the words flow past her and around her and leave her untouched? Would she just sit there, as she always did, and say the same things she always said, no matter what words left his mouth?
He sipped his tea again, and then looked down into the empty cup. He'd finished it. That meant it was time for him to say, "And how was your day?"
Oh. He'd said that out loud, hadn't he? Perhaps he would say something else in a minute. Perhaps today would be the day. Perhaps...
"It was nice," she replied, the same as always. She picked up the kettle and refilled her husband's mug, then filled one of her own. Steam swirled around her face and prickled her cheeks as she blew on the hot, golden liquid and tried to think of something else to say.
"V'Lot and I spent much of the day tending the plants," she said at last. It was only partially true. She had become so skilled at it that tending to all the plants in their quarters took no more than an hour. After that she had ventured into the lower decks, to the room she called her studio, the tiny room in which she practiced her music. The true music that came from the deepest depths of her soul, not the methodical, predictable tunes she taught the daughters of the nobility.
It was something she could never admit to her husband. Or could she? Was it not her duty to remain faithful to Chulak in every way; to keep no secrets from him, no matter how damaging they might be? She felt guilty about it sometimes, especially when she turned to thoughts of him for inspiration. Was that so wrong? Would it be better for her to cease the activity immediately, to forget about the instruments she had commissioned over the years, to never again return to her tiny hiding place even if it meant a part of her soul would inevitably die? Or should she just tell him? Should she admit her transgressions right now? And if she did, would he hate her for it? Would he banish her from his house? Or would he not care? Would he simply look at her with that neutral, enigmatic expression of his, the one that revealed nothing to the world but everything to her? Perhaps she should tell him. Perhaps today was the day. She inhaled deeply, her lips parting slowly...
"I found red gespars at market this morning." The words tumbled from her mouth automatically, barely filling the chasm of silence between them. "I'm told they are a new variety, and have a fuller flavor than ordinary gespars."
Gespars. She wanted to talk about gespars. They were nice enough, Chulak supposed. Tasty even, if prepared correctly. But important? No. Talvalen was important. His work was important. They were *real* in a way that no root growing in the ground could ever be, no matter how it was prepared for dining. Why didn't they ever talk about something that was *real?* Why didn't they talk about the ship and his work? That was real, sometimes the only thing that seemed real to him. Or the music she made with her commissioned instruments? That was undoubtedly real to her given the trouble she went to in order to play it in private, even if it wasn't, wouldn't be, *couldn't* be real to him in the same way. Or why didn't they talk about why they couldn't talk? Why didn't they talk about the silences that had grown and grown between them over the years?
He remembered wondering about them, the silences, on their wedding day. He'd wondered then if they would grow until there was no sound at all, save their breathing, when they were together. He'd been wrong about that, he knew that now. That fate would, in many ways, be preferable to this. If they said nothing to each other, then he could think his own thoughts, or wrestle with the pain gnawing at the back of his mind, trying to devour him even as it whispered to him in words he couldn't quite understand. But the few words they said, the few short words they always said, kept them anchored here, kept them from drifting away in their own private silences, tied them together in a way that their marriage vows couldn't.
In a way, they were comforting, those words. As long as they were here, then he knew that she was still here - and he wanted that, deep inside, in the places where his thoughts didn't go, where they hadn't gone many times since his mother had died so long ago, he knew that he wanted her here. He wanted Sakonna with him, even if all that they had were the short words.
"Are we having them tonight?"
She nodded once. "I thought it would be a nice change."
In truth she didn't really care about the gespars, but it was something to talk about, something to try and fill the spaces between them. She wished she knew why the spaces were there, and why they had grown longer since their wedding day. Wasn't marriage supposed to bring two people closer together, to give them something more to talk about, to give them a reason for being together other than procreation or establishing ties between families? This wasn't like any expectation of marriage that she'd had back in her younger days. How had their life come to be like this?
"Unless you'd like something else," she blurted out, unaware she'd said the words until only their echo was left ringing in her ears.
Something else? That would be silly - she'd already gotten the gespars. What was she thinking? "No, they'll be fine," Chulak replied. Why would she talk about them, and then ask if he wanted something else?
She smiled, for once deciding not to respond with words. Perhaps it was the words which seemed to cause him pain. The same old back and forth, the endless chattering about flowers and music and clothing and gespars. Perhaps all her husband wanted when he came home each night was to relax in silence, free from the worries of his day. There was no way to know without asking him. She thought about it for a moment, and then set her tea cup on the table, turning and looking into his eyes. All it took was a little courage.
"I was... thinking," she began slowly, trying to hide the uncertainty in her voice. "We haven't been to the gardens in some time. After dinner, would you... like to go?"
There. She'd said something different for once. It hadn't been what she truly wanted to say, but it was a step in the right direction. She could work her way up to it. Sooner or later. Right?
That was... different. Something different. She'd said something different. What should he say? What could he say? What was he supposed to say? Was he supposed to say anything? Yes, he was sure of that, he was supposed to say something. But what? 'Yes'? 'No'? 'Maybe'? 'What do you mean'? Something else entirely?
Chulak considered his options, couldn't decide what to say or how to say it and finally simply opened his mouth to speak and waited to see - as it appeared Sakonna was - what words would come out.
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