“Do I want to know what you just said?”

  “No. On Alsea, our report would go on his permanent record. He’d be fined, and you could withdraw your oath of service with full caste approval. That would go on his record, too. Service is a gift, not an obligation. He’s abusing yours.”

  Ekatya stared at her as the clouds parted. In all her worries about taking advantage, she had forgotten the built-in failsafe: Rahel had agency.

  Rahel seemed to have come to an equally brilliant understanding.

  “I had months of training in your system,” she said. “Didn’t anyone train you in mine?”

  “Andira did. I know the basics. But she’s hardly representative, is she? The leader of your entire caste.”

  “I refused her order once.”

  Ekatya put a hand on the overhead pipe, needing the support. “You can’t be serious. You disobeyed your Lancer?”

  “It was the day of the uprising. Salomen had no Guards, because we couldn’t trust them after Demerah’s betrayal. She burned herself out finding that sniper, and then she slept the rest of the day in a ground-floor salon. The security situation was a nightmare. Vellmar and I guarded her door until Lancer Tal called in reinforcements from her own Guard unit. She said we should get some rest. I told her she wasn’t my oath holder.”

  Unbelievable. “What did she say?”

  “That Salomen was fortunate to have me. And that I should remember she was better served by an alert, rested warrior than a stubborn one.”

  The laugh bubbled out of her throat. She pictured the scene, heard Andira’s exasperated tones, and laughed again. “You are something else. No wonder she likes you.”

  “She does?” Rahel’s eyes rounded. “Did she tell you that?”

  “Not in so many words, but I know her.”

  She flicked a hand in a dismissive motion. “She tolerates me because of Salomen.”

  “She did in the beginning, yes. But she’s come to appreciate you on her own terms. How many times has she given you advice?”

  “Um. Quite a few.”

  “Andira Tal doesn’t advise warriors she doesn’t like. Didn’t you realize she’s mentoring you?”

  “No!” Now it was Rahel reaching for the overhead pipe. “Fahla’s farts and fantasies. I never even imagined that.”

  “It seems to be the day for it.” She had never imagined her personal warrior saving her from her own superior officer, either.

  “Shekking Mother on a burning boat,” Rahel croaked.

  Ekatya had never seen her so visibly overwhelmed. It was her turn to offer the courtesy of silence as Rahel hung her head and wiped her eyes with her free hand.

  “Thank you for telling me.” She did not look up. “It, um, it means a lot.”

  “You’re welcome. Was that the last piece of your redemption?”

  Something that was not quite a laugh shook her upper body. “It doesn’t work that way, does it? Even if everyone else forgives, there’s one person who never will.” She rested a palm against her chest in illustration. “But Lancer Tal, of all people. Maybe it really is just me now.”

  She pulled herself together with remarkable speed, straightening and crossing her arms in a familiar stance. “May I tell you something, Captain? About my system?”

  “Go ahead.”

  “You earned my loyalty the moment you accepted my oath even knowing what I’d done. You’ve earned it every day since then. It’s in the way you lead this crew. You’re so honorable that you worry about giving me orders. Honor is what counts for us, much more than rank. I would never serve someone like Greve. But I’m proud to serve you.”

  Ekatya stood beneath a gurgling pipe, in a security-blind spot that wasn’t supposed to exist on her ship, and wondered why the most extraordinary moments of her life always happened in the strangest places.

  Because she knew now. She had been fighting it for years, trying to hold on to an identity that once meant everything. Eventually she had accepted a hybridized role, a Fleet captain whose responsibilities included an alien culture in addition to her own.

  That culture was alien no longer. It was hers.

  Silently, she held up a palm. When Rahel met it, she interlaced their fingers.

  Alseans could be so efficient. A single gesture to say so much: that their relationship was not solely professional, that they had helped each other and could expect more of each other than simple crew mates.

  “I accept the gift of your service with a glad heart,” she said in High Alsean.

  Rahel inhaled sharply, then offered a breathtaking smile.

  It was part of the oath of acceptance—the oath Salomen had spoken, and Ekatya had taken by proxy. But she had never said the words herself, because she had never considered herself a true oath holder.

  Until now.

  27

  Negotiation

  With the last file sent on its way, Tal rolled up her reader card and shut down her office. Today had been a short one, with the afternoon reserved for the divine tyree party at Hol-Opah. It had been Salomen’s idea to host it as a way of rewarding their hard work. The success of yesterday’s test meant it was now a victory party as well.

  But first she had an errand to run. Blacksun Base was holding a special package for her, and while she hadn’t personally arranged this surprise, she planned to take full advantage of it.

  She had nearly made it out of her antechamber when her aide paused a call and said, “I think you’ll want to accept this.”

  Her shoulders slumped. “Who is it?”

  “Director Sholokhov of Protectorate Security.”

  “Oh, I do,” she said, wheeling around. “Is he using an Alsean translator, or is he playing power games?”

  “Power games.”

  “Naturally.”

  Back at her desk, she activated her Gaian pad, briefly considered engaging Sholokhov in his ridiculous power play, then dismissed the thought as being both unproductive and beneath her.

  She pulled up the Common translator and accepted the transfer. “Director Sholokhov,” she said. “You’ve made an interesting request.”

  The images Ekatya had shown her were accurate, but they didn’t capture the intensity of his stare. “Right to business. I appreciate that. I’m sure your time is just as limited as mine.”

  His mouth movements did not match the words, a dissonance that came with translation and made her itch.

  “It is. I’m sure you can understand my disinclination to consider your request, given your attempt to murder First Guard Rahel Sayana.”

  “Hardly that.” He waved a dismissive hand. “You wouldn’t have sent an incapable warrior as your first envoy to Fleet. Sayana was in no danger.”

  “If you were so certain, why bother with your little test?”

  “Expectation is one thing. Proof is another. Politicians always want the latter, particularly when reviewing a request for funding.”

  He was cool and unruffled, discussing an attempted assassination as if it were nothing more than supporting documentation for a budgetary request.

  “Whatever funding you received will not be enough to induce me to reconsider,” she said.

  “You might be surprised. Let’s not waste each other’s time, Lancer Tal. Tell me what you have in mind and I’ll tell you whether I have the funding.”

  “First I’ll tell you that you won’t get twenty high empaths. What you’re looking for requires a very specific skillset and long cycles of training. Those empaths are in perennially short supply and tend to have multiple employers hoping to procure their services. Finding twenty we can spare would be difficult enough. Finding twenty willing to work for the government that sold us to the Voloth?” She shook her head. “I could possibly find ten, if I looked under every rock.”

  He seemed neither surprised nor disappointed, confirming her guess that he had opened with a high ask and expected to be bargained down.

  “I suppose I’ll have to accept that explanation, given the impossibility of confirming it. What would ten high empaths cost me?”

  “One Pulsar-class warship.”

  Ekatya had been startled by her audacity. Sholokhov merely raised his eyebrows. “I knew you’d ask something outrageous. I have to admit, this is more excessive than I imagined. Surely you realize it’s not possible.”

  “Surely you realize it’s a bargain. Our treaty requires the commitment of a warship to our protection on a permanent basis. It’s already here, staffed by your people, maintained by your space docks and stations, paid for by your government. In the long term, the Protectorate will save money by turning the staffing and maintenance over to us.”

  “The very long term. Do you have any idea how much it costs to build a Pulsar-class warship?”

  “Do you have any idea how much it costs to raise and fully train ten high empaths?”

  His eyes narrowed. “That is a false comparison.”

  “If you truly believe that, then you don’t know the value of what you’re asking for. I’d be surprised if that were the case. You want a resource that’s unavailable anywhere else in the galaxy. The resource I want isn’t nearly so rare.” She looked at her wristcom. “You caught me as I was leaving for an unbreakable appointment. Unless you have something better to offer than denials, this conversation is over.”

  “I believe we can reach an agreement with a more nuanced discussion of what you’re prepared to accept. Your initial ask is too high, but it does give me an idea of what you’re looking for. There are other ways to provide the protection you want. An orbital weapon installation, perhaps, in—”

  “No.”

  “In combination with putting Captain Serrado in command of your battle group,” he finished. “With a promotion to rear admiral and a guarantee that she will remain in that command until retirement. We both know that’s what she wants.”

  The wave of fury made her voice clipped. “I will not allow you to use her career as a bargaining chip.”

  “I already have. You accepted my call.”

  If only she could reach through the com to wipe that smug expression off his face.

  Shutting down all outward emotion, she said, “I will accept a Pulsar-class warship in exchange for ten high empaths, who will serve on a rotating basis of no longer than two of your years, for a total of ten of your years. If you want a more nuanced discussion of that proposal, I’ll listen. Otherwise, you needn’t call again.”

  She ended the call before he could respond.

  28

  Caretakers

  The chime startled Ekatya, who had just turned out her living room lights in preparation for going to bed. Grumbling to herself, she changed direction. If someone wanted a signature, they would get an eyeful of her in loose trousers and a sleeveless sleep shirt.

  It was not a duty officer but a tired-looking Alejandra on the other side of her door.

  “Sorry, I know it’s late,” she said. “Can I come in?”

  “Of course. Phoenix, resume prior light setting.”

  Alejandra entered and stood uncertainly, arms crossed and head down.

  “I was about to make a cup of bluethread tea,” Ekatya said, crossing to the kitchen. “Would you like some?”

  “Bluethread?”

  “Alsean flower. Salomen turned me on to it. It has actual flavor, as opposed to every other bedtime tea I’ve tried.”

  “That sounds good, thank you.” Alejandra followed her. “You made an appointment for me with Lanaril.”

  Ekatya pulled two cups from behind the wooden rib that kept them secure on their shelf against ship movement. “I knew that test would be difficult. I didn’t want to leave you alone with the aftermath.” She opened the center drawer, popped the lid off the tin Salomen had given her, and removed two tea packs.

  “How long ago did you make it?”

  “The day you agreed.” The packs went into the cups, followed by steaming water from her dispenser. A fragrant cloud arose, redolent of sun-warmed berries. Cradling a cup between her hands, she leaned against the counter. “Did it help?”

  “Immensely. I’ve been thinking about what she said. About caretakers.” Alejandra braced herself against the opposite counter and looked into her mug. “How long does it need to steep?”

  “Phoenix, timer for three minutes.” She plucked two spoons from another drawer and set them out. “What about caretakers?”

  “That’s what we are. You and me. Credit where it’s due; you chose the perfect test for the purpose. I’ve been a caretaker all my life. My first instinct is always to provide aid. Do you know why I was so upset?”

  “We took away your free will. I’d have been more worried if you weren’t upset.”

  She shook her head. “Because you made me helpless. You forced me to stand there and watch someone I love be hurt. Without any way to change the outcome. Without any ability to change the outcome.”

  Ekatya frowned. “I know. That was the design of the test.”

  “It’s happened before. A long time ago. Lanaril knew right away why I was so devastated, because I’ve been working with her on the cause.”

  When the understanding hit, Ekatya barely managed to set down her mug without spilling it. “Josue. Fucking Hades, I never made that connection.” She clutched her stomach, sick with the knowledge. “I didn’t—it wasn’t supposed to—I’m so sorry.”

  “I know you didn’t do it on purpose.”

  “I would never hurt you that way on purpose. We should have used Lokomorra.”

  “Then you’d worry yourself sick over risking his career instead of worrying yourself sick about me. Who counseled you?”

  She could not meet her eyes, too ashamed that she hadn’t foreseen what that test would bring up. “I’ve been so happy for you, finally coming to terms with his loss, and then I put you—”

  “Ekatya, stop. Look at me.”

  Reluctantly, she looked up.

  Alejandra sighed and set her own cup aside. “I had Micah last night. Physical assurance that it wasn’t real. It’s a phantom wound. You made sure Lanaril would be there for me today, and now I know exactly why it went so deep. That makes it easier to process. Who have you talked to?”

  “I talked to Andira and Salomen last night—”

  “About me, right?”

  “We were all worried about you.”

  “Have you talked to Lhyn?”

  “Not about that. Not yet.”

  “So you took care of me, but not yourself.”

  A soft chime rang through her quarters.

  “That’s our tea.” Ekatya picked up a spoon and fished out her pack. “I’m not the one who was hurt.”

  “I don’t think that’s true. Do you know what one of my worst experiences as a new mother was?” Alejandra tossed her own pack in the organics recycler. “Taking Josue for his first vaccinations. They can’t use injectors at that age. The tissues are too delicate; a needle is actually less damaging. But it hurts, and there’s no way to explain to an infant that the pain is necessary. I held him while a doctor hurt him, and I swear it hurt me just as much. More, in some ways.”

  Ekatya sipped her tea, needing the bracing heat and the excuse to keep silent.

  “We all did what was necessary. We were all hurt. I had Micah and Lanaril, Salomen had Tal, and you were here alone last night, not telling Lhyn about it. So I came by to make sure the caretaker was given proper care.” Alejandra took the mug from her hand, set it on the counter, and pulled her into an embrace. “I’m sorry you had to do that.”

  “I’m sorry I hurt you.” Ekatya held her tightly. “Thank you for coming. I knew you weren’t all right last night.”

  “I’m much better tonight. And I did get the benefit of a good talk with Salomen. She’s an interesting person.”

  “That’s what you say when you don’t like someone but you’re being tactful.”

  “Yes, because I’m known for my tact.”

  That made her chuckle. “Why interesting?” she asked as they separated.

  “She’s the closest I’ll ever come to meeting a genuine goddess, and what does she do with her days? Spends them tending to plants. I respect that.” Alejandra tried her tea and made a face. “Not sure about her taste in teas, though.”

  “Keep drinking. It’ll grow on you. It’s a learned taste, like alcohol.”

  “Oh, speaking of that. Did you know you can take down a grown Alsean warrior with a little Gaian alcohol? We should probably keep that data away from Sholokhov.”

  “Is that why Lokomorra caught you acting like hormonal teenagers in the lift?”

  “He wasn’t supposed to spread it around!”

  “Telling his captain isn’t spreading it around. It’s sharing critical personnel information.”

  “Dokshin.”

  Ekatya studied her over the rim of her cup. She still looked tired, but the uncertainty had lifted, making her looser and more herself than she had been since the test.

  Because she had been able to change an outcome, Ekatya realized. To be a caretaker instead of the one needing care.

  “I’m so glad you’re here,” she said.

  “Me too.” Alejandra relaxed against the counter, took another sip, and wrinkled her nose. “It still tastes like dried twigs and fermented berries.”

  “Focus on the fermented part.” Ekatya watched her smile and felt a load slide off her shoulders.

  They would be all right.

  29

  Surprise package

  Tal rarely had occasion to visit the detention center on Blacksun Base. Those occasions were invariably unpleasant, but today she trod the corridors buoyed by happy expectation. Her destination was not a cell but a small, unguarded waiting area, occupied by a single person whose attention was on the room’s vidscreen.

  “I had no idea you liked Merchant of the Mountain,” she said.