They were nearing the end of a double shift when Alejandra delivered her report to Ekatya’s office. The pirates had been oddly restrained: with one exception, none of the crew were assaulted, physically or sexually. They had simply been flung out the nearest airlocks. One young man had a blood alcohol level indicating that he had drunk heavily after finishing his prior shift; Alejandra theorized that he had slept through the intruder alarm and was caught in bed. He had been tossed into space in nothing but sleep shorts.

  The exception was the captain. His body bore signs of a hard fight, the broken knuckles showing that at least some of those pirates paid for their attack. In the end, it hadn’t mattered. Thirty years of clawing his way up from low-paid miner to captain of a ship was ended with the push of a button.

  Perhaps it was the sympathy of one captain for another, regardless of the size or purpose of their ships, but Ekatya felt this loss keenly. She hoped the captain had stared down those pirates in the last few seconds before they decompressed the airlock and shot him into space.

  In the end, sometimes the best you could hope for was to die with dignity.

  “I know it’s probably useless,” Alejandra said, “but would you like to speak with one of my staff?”

  “No.”

  “No, of course not.” She rubbed her eyes. “Well, I’m calling it a day. A long, thoroughly unpleasant day. I’m looking forward to a hot shower, a glass of wine, and a nice talk with someone who understands.”

  “It is nice to have someone who understands, isn’t it?”

  “Fahla, yes.”

  Despite her own weariness, Ekatya chuckled. “Your swearing has changed.”

  “Might as well swear on something I believe in.”

  “Do you?”

  Alejandra glanced toward the security cam in the corner. “Shall I make it for the record?”

  “Hold that thought. I need to call this in.”

  Though confused, Alejandra crossed her arms and waited.

  Ekatya placed a call, tapped a key on her deskpad, and relished the momentary ease. “A priority blue call to myself. You can speak freely.”

  It was a measure of Alejandra’s exhaustion that she needed several seconds to figure it out. Then her shoulders dropped and her neck loosened, tilting her head to one side. “The security data is encrypted until you end the call. Ingenious. Who does it look like you’re calling?”

  “It varies,” Ekatya said vaguely. Even with the encryption, she would not risk exposing her methods or the officers who assisted with them. “I’ve had it with the lack of privacy. This office should be as sacrosanct as my quarters. More so, given the kinds of conversations I have with my officers and the rights they should be able to expect. I refuse to drag them to my quarters just so they can speak off the record, not to mention that the act of walking into my quarters puts a target on their backs. Now, you were about to say something?”

  Alejandra stretched, ending slumped in her chair with her legs extended straight out and hands draped over the armrests. “I was about to say yes. I do.”

  “That’s wonderful! I’m happy for you.”

  “Even though you don’t?”

  “I don’t have to believe in Fahla to understand what your faith means to you. I can’t think of a greater gift than for you to recover something so critical to your sense of self.”

  “That’s a good way of putting it,” Alejandra mused. “Critical to my sense of self. It feels like I’m bigger on the inside.”

  Ekatya thought of a six-pointed bond and relationships that might have conflicted but instead strengthened one another. “You are. It doesn’t matter what anyone else thinks, or what your past experiences tell you to believe. You know your truth. Accepting it frees you from self-imposed constraints. You’re more now. Full of potential. Just . . . more.”

  “I must be tired. That actually made sense.”

  “Good. Don’t expect me to repeat it tomorrow.”

  Alejandra’s laugh turned into a yawn. “Thanks for the little bit of privacy. Next time, don’t waste it on something I’d be glad to tell Greve to his obnoxious face.”

  “Giving us a chance to have a real conversation outside our quarters isn’t a waste. I miss being able to talk to you.”

  “Me too.” She pulled in her legs and straightened. “I’m off to make a quantum com call and have a real conversation with Micah. I know you’re in Captain Invulnerable mode, but you should do the same with Lhyn.”

  “I will. Just not by quantum com.”

  “You’re spoiled. Give her my regards.”

  “First I’m Captain Invulnerable, then I’m spoiled? Make up your mind.”

  Alejandra smiled, tapped her temple, and walked out.

  35

  Invisible

  The first thing Ekatya told Lhyn when she connected that night was that she was following doctor’s orders.

  “That’s a first.” Lhyn was stretched out on the floor of their suite, propped up on an elbow and surrounded by open books. “So the secret to getting you to take care of yourself is to prescribe what you already want to do.”

  “Don’t I get any more credit than that?”

  “Nope. Why would Alejandra tell you to talk to me? What happened?”

  Ekatya looked down at her, safe and happy in her nest of research, and changed her mind. She would not bring the day’s death into this peaceful place.

  “Just a reminder that bad things happen to good people. And I can’t always be there to prevent it.”

  In a graceful movement, Lhyn crossed her long legs and sat upright. “Any of your good people?”

  “No, thank the stars. The crew of an icebox.”

  “The whole crew? What happened? Catastrophic environmental failure?”

  She should have known better. Incomplete information never satisfied Lhyn’s curiosity; quite the contrary.

  “They were spaced by pirates,” she admitted.

  The look of horror made her feel worse. Lhyn had seen a spaced corpse once, when one of her researchers sold Alsea’s location to the Voloth and was promptly murdered. It still haunted her.

  But the expression faded into something closer to assurance. “This isn’t a me conversation, is it? It’s an Andira conversation.”

  “I needed to see you,” Ekatya said truthfully. “But I don’t want to talk to you about today.”

  “So much for doctor’s orders, eh?” Lhyn rose and stepped over the books. “Fortunately for you, there’s a medical substitute right over there.”

  Following her pointing finger, Ekatya turned in place and was startled to find Andira and Salomen asleep on the sofa.

  Sharing minds meant she only saw what was in Lhyn’s thoughts. In a familiar place such as this suite or Hol-Opah, the views were extensive, built from detailed memories. People were not included unless they were in Lhyn’s field of view or had a strong presence in her thoughts.

  Of the latter, the two strongest were right here.

  “Why didn’t I see them?” she asked, moving closer.

  “I wondered that when you appeared. It might be a combination of factors. They’re asleep, which enabled me to set aside my awareness of them, and I’ve been down a research hole, which means—”

  “—the Blacksun Symphony could play in here and you wouldn’t notice.”

  “I’m not that bad.”

  “Yes, you are. Remember when I walked through the room naked to get your attention?”

  “Remember? You won’t let me forget. I was doing a difficult translation!”

  “My ego has never recovered.”

  “Your ego was in perfect condition the last time I checked.” Lhyn looked her up and down with a smirk before turning back to the sleeping women. “They’re adorable, aren’t they?”

  Salomen had somehow managed to fall asleep sitting upright, her head resting against the back of the sofa and her mouth slightly open. Andira was lying on her side, knees tucked up and head pillowed on Salomen’s thigh. She still wore State House clothing, though her jacket was thrown over the back of a nearby chair and her polished boots were lined up neatly at its base.

  Lhyn reached down and extracted a book that had slipped from Salomen’s lap to wedge itself between her leg and the side of the sofa. “Andira has been in meetings all day,” she said, straightening a bent page and setting the book on the side table. “Salomen came back from Hol-Opah and asked if she could wait for her here. So she read and I researched, and then Andira came stumbling in, dead on her feet. She hardly said three words before curling up there.”

  It was easy to picture the rest: Salomen idly stroking Andira’s hair as she read, sending her bondmate to sleep and following shortly after. “You realize that Andira would hate being called adorable.”

  “You’ll notice I didn’t do it while she was awake.”

  Ekatya laughed, secure in the knowledge that it wouldn’t disturb the sleeping pair. But when Lhyn joined in, they began to stir.

  Andira rolled onto her back, bare feet on the sofa and knees bent. Rubbing her eyes, she mumbled, “What are you laughing at?”

  “Nothing I can tell you without getting in trouble. Welcome back to the land of the living.”

  “I’m not entirely back.” Her arms fell to the sides, eyes still closed.

  Salomen rested a hand on her chest. “Stay put. I like you here.” She brushed back her hair with her free hand and smiled up at Lhyn. “I did promise that I wouldn’t disturb you.”

  “You were quiet as an empty temple. Andira, are you awake enough for a visitor? There’s someone here to see the Lancer.”

  “For the love of Fahla.” Andira let out a heartfelt groan as she rolled over and thumped her feet to the floor. With her back bent, forearms on her thighs, and head hanging, she was the picture of exhaustion. “Have they no sense of self-preservation? I’ll throttle whoever chased me down here. Just as soon as I can call up the energy.”

  “Fleet captains aren’t known for their sense of self-preservation,” Ekatya said.

  Her head snapped up. “Ekatya? When did—oh. Oh! Goddess above, I can hear you!” A joyous laugh bubbled out, chasing away the lines of fatigue from her face. “This is brilliant! Speedier than speedy.”

  “As Jaros would say.” Smiling broadly, Salomen pulled her into a side embrace and kissed her cheek. “She sounds good, doesn’t she?”

  “She sounds—” Her breath shuddered. “Like something I’ve been hoping to hear.”

  “I can hear you, too,” Ekatya said, tactfully ignoring the emotional overload. “Did you know that you snore?”

  “Nice try. I do not.”

  “I can vouch for that,” Lhyn offered. “Given that you’ve been sleeping here for the last half hantick.”

  “Yes, don’t you have your own quarters in this enormous place? You have to clutter up ours?”

  “Don’t forget who arranged for you to have these quarters. I remember a time when you were grateful.” Andira brushed a thumb under one eye and laughed again. “Thank you. This is just what I needed today. I was, ah, a little concerned that it might not work for me.”

  “You rebalanced,” Salomen said. “You strengthened the connection.”

  Lhyn cocked her head. “Do you think it wouldn’t have worked if they hadn’t gone on their date?”

  “The first time I heard a faint whisper of Ekatya was the night before the uprising, after you and I spent three days forging a deeper connection. It makes sense, does it not? The closer one of us gets to one of you, the easier it is to slip into your link.”

  “That does makes sense. Huh. I wonder . . . What if the energy frequencies of our bonds are almost identical? Right next to each other on the spectrum, so if we shift one frequency ever so slightly, they overlap?”

  “Like radio channels.” Ekatya could easily visualize it. “Even if you don’t have the frequency perfectly dialed in, you can still hear some of the data. It just isn’t clear or complete.”

  “You’re clear. It’s as if you’re standing right in front of us,” Andira said.

  “I am.”

  “Don’t bother,” Salomen advised as Andira focused. “You’ll only confuse your brain. I find it easier to close my eyes.”

  “I suppose it’s Alsean nature to be given a gift and want even more. You’re right, Ekatya. It’s not complete.”

  “Not yet,” Lhyn said. “I don’t think we should assume this is the end point. We’re learning as we go.”

  That sent them on a happy discussion of possibilities, with three of them doing most of the talking while Salomen listened with her eyes closed and a soft smile on her face. Andira didn’t seem able to limit herself that way, instead glancing out the windows, at Lhyn, or at the approximate area she thought Ekatya might be.

  As they wound down, Lhyn brought up the original purpose of Ekatya’s visit and announced that “an Andira conversation” needed to happen.

  “I don’t think that’s necessary,” Ekatya objected. “I’m in a much better mood. Just being here with the three of you is a tonic.”

  “I’ve no doubt.” Andira was leaning against Salomen, their hands tangled together and resting on her thigh. “I also have no doubt that if I tried that with Salomen, she wouldn’t allow it.”

  “Not without a good reason. Lhyn, wasn’t it you who said Ekatya would never get away with anything again?”

  “That was me.” Lhyn crossed her arms and looked expectant.

  “What happened, Ekatya?”

  Though Andira was merely repeating Lhyn’s earlier question, Ekatya found it easier to tell her the story of a difficult day.

  “My official involvement ended when I sent the report to Fleet,” she concluded. “But I can’t get that captain out of my mind. He fought so hard, and all for nothing. He never had a chance.”

  “No,” Andira agreed. “But that wasn’t the point of fighting, was it?”

  Ekatya shook her head, briefly forgetting her invisibility. “I went down to the morgue to see him. I needed to do something, if only to bear witness. To tell the universe that another captain knew he went down swinging. He deserved that respect.”

  In the silence that fell, Andira looked at a spot to the right of Ekatya’s waist—and then straight into her eyes.

  “That will not happen to you,” she said.

  Ekatya froze. Could she—?

  “If you go down swinging, it will not be for nothing, and it will not be in anonymity. You’ve already earned a hero’s memorial on Alsea. No matter what happens, you won’t be alone in a morgue, depending on the recognition of a fellow captain who never knew you.”

  She opened her mouth, prepared to deny it as a concern, but the words would not come. Andira had brought a hard truth to the surface.

  She was losing her place in Fleet, still a hero in some corners but increasingly viewed as a dangerous renegade. They had put her on a short leash and given the other end to Admiral Greve. He had isolated her, forcing her to push others away to protect them. Talking with Alejandra in her office had been a painful reminder that what she once took for granted was now an illicit act.

  She had taken dignity and respect for granted as well, trusting that she had earned them with a lifetime of service. Having conducted her share of official memorials, she was secure in the knowledge that if her luck ran out, Fleet would repay her sacrifice with honor.

  That security had been chipped away, day by day. She hadn’t paid attention until it was already gone, taking her last bit of faith with it.

  “How did you know?” she asked.

  “You’re a warrior. You gave that captain the respect he deserved because you were afraid no one else would.”

  “And you extrapolated from that to—are you sure you’re not sensing my emotions?”

  “She doesn’t need to,” Salomen answered. “She knows you.”

  Andira nodded. “You once gave me your captain’s bars and an oath of service. You took back the bars but not the oath. Even if I didn’t have a personal stake, I would still have an oath holder’s responsibility to honor you.”

  “Stars and Shippers, I forgot! I never got around to canceling it.” The memories poured out of a box she had sealed and shoved to the back of her mind—that interminable month when she hung in limbo, trapped on Alsea while Fleet decided her fate. “You never said anything. Greve would blow an aneurysm if he knew I really am serving two governments.”

  “You’re not. You’re serving one while being the best ally you can to another. The purpose of that oath was rendered moot the day you returned to Fleet. That said, until you formally rescind it, my responsibility remains.”

  “That’s not fair to you. I should—”

  “Furthermore,” Andira said firmly, “we both know the day will come when you’ll swear a new oath, this time to Fahla and Alsea. I will gladly transfer my responsibility to the state then.” In a gentler tone, she added, “Since the day you put your captain’s bars in my hand, there has never been a time when you could Return unrecognized. There never will be.”

  The words hit with the weight of truth. Her inexplicable grief for the Blue Arctic’s captain was in fact a mourning of her own loss—yet a far stronger safety net still hung beneath her.

  “Thank you,” she managed. “I’ve seen how you honor your heroes. I know you’d do the same for me.”

  “I would inscribe your name in the stars, Ekatya. But I do ask that you delay that event for a long, long while.”

  “I’ll do my best.”

  Movement in her peripheral vision caught her attention, and she glanced down in time to see Lhyn’s arm dropping away.

  It had been curled around her waist, she realized. Lhyn was giving the others a visual cue, and Andira had used it to create an illusion.

  Then again, was it really an illusion? Andira did see her. Based solely on Lhyn’s cue, she had known exactly where her eyes would be. It was careful attention to detail, a knowledge that made her feel more seen than if her body had actually been standing there.