Except for Chief Kameha, of course. Though Lhyn Rivers was also acceptable.

  When they finished their presentation and powered down the equipment, Anjuli stood up, ready to get back to Irin.

  “A moment, Prime Builder,” Lancer Tal said quietly.

  Shek, she hadn’t moved fast enough. With a rigid spine, she retook her seat and prepared for battle.

  Lancer Tal gestured at the dormant projector. “That went smoothly, don’t you think? We make a good team.”

  Anjuli stared at her in surprise. “It—yes, we did.”

  “I remember a time when we worked together very well. Do you think we can call a truce to whatever war we seem to be fighting and return to those days?”

  For a heartbeat, Anjuli wanted to say yes.

  You are what you do. Not what is done to you, Lhyn had said, and look at what she was doing today. What they were doing today.

  Then she saw Lancer Tal impaling Shantu with her sword, spilling his blood on the Council chamber floor. She had turned her back on him as he lay crumpled in a spreading crimson pool, holding that bloody sword aloft and shouting that Fahla had chosen her champion.

  She is what she has done.

  She had taken Anjuli’s work out from under her and given it away, then used Chief Kameha to strike another blow. Anjuli had been forced to apologize for something that even Lhyn didn’t think was a real issue, and she still hadn’t resolved the situation with Kameha. There hadn’t been time.

  “When you stop taking away the things that matter to me, I might consider it,” she said. “But you can’t seem to help yourself. What possible reason could you have had to drag Kameha into this?”

  “I didn’t say a word to Chief Kameha.”

  She let out a disbelieving huff. “He certainly knew a great deal about the Global Games for someone who wasn’t there and wasn’t told.”

  “He was told. Just not by me.”

  Great Goddess, the woman was intolerable! Sitting there so smugly, deflecting all responsibility. Anjuli’s bracelets jingled as she lifted her hands. “And there we have it. Convenient, wouldn’t you say? You never seem to have your fingerprints on these things! Except for the citizenship; you were proud of that one.”

  “If you were half as intelligent as I thought you were, you’d drop that topic. The only reason I’m trying to make peace now is because you apologized to Lhyn well enough that she’s happy.”

  “For someone claiming friendship, you don’t know her very well. She was happy to be treated like a normal person instead of something fragile. Maybe you should look to your own house before setting fire to mine.”

  Lancer Tal’s light eyes turned as cold as the space outside. “Don’t presume to tell me how to treat my friends.”

  “At least you have them! You killed mine!” Anjuli shoved back her chair and strode for the door. She expected an order to stay, another petty display of power, but heard only silence behind her.

  Lancer Tal didn’t follow her into the passenger cabin for another five ticks.

  Anjuli counted that as a victory.

  9

  Dangerous love

  The cool, rainy days of spring settled in shortly after the fire, making rebuilding a hassle as the settlers strove to keep their materials dry. In an act of defiance, they rebuilt and roofed the deck while they were at it, extending it far enough to house twelve tables, and added planter boxes to the deck’s edge.

  Rax and several other gardeners filled the boxes, reveling in the opportunity to plant for beauty rather than practicality. They planned their designs in advance, pooling their knowledge of the local flora. Rax was partial to the tall grasses with feathery, bright blue seed heads, which they matched with splendid orange flowers and his new favorite, the silver everlasting.

  He spent much of his spare time relaxing on the deck, usually at the table in the southwest corner. It caught more sun, when there was sun, and was closest to the kitchen garden, which—thanks to the starts he had managed to procure—was flourishing despite the wet weather. They had edged the garden with plastipaper glasshouses, and the seeds had sprouted, but Belsara had been right. The little plants inside could not catch up with their larger brethren, having missed the early days of sunshine.

  Today was another stormy one, with occasional cloudbursts so fierce that the water poured off the deck roof in an unbroken sheet. Rax loved these squalls. They made his little corner feel like a private, magical space cut off from the world by the roar and tumble of water on two sides. Adding to the sound level was the spatter of roof water hitting the rock path below, where it drained into a channel that directed it to an underground cistern. Every building in their village used the same water reclamation plan, created by one of their engineers who had grown up on a planet where the dry spells were long and the rains furious.

  An abrupt dimming of light alerted Rax to another squall coming in. He looked up from his reader card to see a cloud system laden with enough water to turn it black. As it swallowed the last sliver of open sky, a bolt of lightning stabbed deep into the roiling clouds. The following thunder took less than five pipticks to arrive.

  About a length and a half away, then.

  He set down his reader card, picked up his steaming cup of shannel, and watched the show. The next lightning was followed by thunder in three pipticks, and the trees at the back of the garden swayed in a sudden wind.

  With a hiss of water against leaves, the first raindrops arrived and swiftly turned into a downpour. Half a tick later, sheets of water began falling from the deck roof.

  The warm cup felt good in his hands as the temperature plummeted and droplets sprayed inward from the temporary waterfall. A flash lit every corner of the deck, followed instantly by a deafening crack of thunder that rolled on and on, making his chest throb.

  With a wide grin, he took another sip and almost jumped out of his skin as a body appeared next to him.

  Vagron pulled out a chair on the other side of the table. “Weather like this makes it easy ta sneak up on a man,” he shouted.

  They were separated by an arm’s length, but Rax still had to lean over the table to hear him. “Makes it easy to think, too,” he called back. “No distractions.”

  “What ya thinking about?”

  “Gardens. How fast the Alseans are building that space elevator. The news about the Bondlancer.”

  Vagron’s brows rose. “What news?”

  Rax held up his reader card, which showed an image of Bondlancer Opah in formal dress, walking through a crowd of producers in a park setting. Her jacket was off and draped over one shoulder, hiding her arm, but Rax’s practiced eye saw the fingers splayed against her stomach. Her arm must have been in a sling. “She was giving her first official speech in Pollonius and some warrior attacked her. The whole producer caste house was evacuated.”

  “Shit on a brick, you’re pulling my thumb. Let me see.” Vagron took the reader card and read through the story. “Minor injuries; she walked out of there on her own two legs. Look at that. Every producer in town must have been there. She looks like a White Citizen going through a crowd of hangers.”

  “Except a White Citizen wouldn’t even be walking. She’d be carried so her precious feet didn’t touch the ground us hangers were dirtying with our presence.”

  In the tiered structure of the Voloth Empire, not only were slaves and hangers far beneath citizens, but even citizens had varying levels of superiority. At the top of the heap were White Citizens, who held unthinkable power and wealth. For hangers like Rax and Vagron, seeing one was exciting and terrifying in equal measure. They glittered and sparkled, a rare treat for the senses, but a hanger never wanted to attract their attention. Rax knew of a hanger who was sentenced to slavery for the crime of getting dust on a White Citizen’s shoes.

  Vagron handed back the reader card. “I wonder how long they’ll make that warrior suffer before they kill her.”

  “They don’t execute people for that here.”

  “That we’re told.”

  “They didn’t execute us.”

  The reminder sobered both of them. Rax stared out through the curtain of falling water, remembering the day when Alsean healers euthanized two hundred and forty-four Voloth soldiers.

  The victims of the first wave of mind-rape, the ones who were broken by terror rather than turned by love, were put into artificial comas as an act of mercy. He had seen some of those soldiers at the end of the battle. They were shattered, suffering so horrifically that he thought the murders he had committed were a blessing by comparison. He would not have wished such agony on his enemies, much less his friends and comrades. They were better off dead.

  It took considerable time and worldwide debate for the Alseans to come to the same conclusion, but they eventually got there. In a single day, all of the comatose Voloth were released to death by a painless sedative overdose. Rax had watched the live coverage, with its numbers going from single to double to triple digits. He had not grieved. Those soldiers had died ten moons earlier; this was a welcome end to it.

  When the numbers reached two hundred and forty-four, the coverage changed to show the major city temples. Every one of them tolled their great bells, one strike of the bell for each Voloth death. After an entire day of watching his people die and feeling nothing, Rax broke down and wept at the sound of those bells. Back home, his life and the lives of his family and friends were worth little. They would certainly never be mourned by any citizens. But the Alseans mourned them. They revered life so much that they mourned the deaths of their enemies.

  In that moment, Rax turned his back on his former life. Everything he had been taught about “primitives” on other planets was a lie. Everything he was supposed to strive for was a misdirection. He and his comrades had been beaten into weapons and used to expand the Empire, all in the service of earning a reward that boiled down to nothing more than protection. Earning citizenship meant protection from the dangers of being a hanger, but Rax had never stopped to think about what he needed protection from.

  His own government. His own people.

  Here on Alsea, he lived more freely than he would have even as a citizen of the Voloth Empire. Some thrown food and an act of arson notwithstanding, he did not fear Alseans or the Alsean government. They had not enslaved him or sentenced him to hard labor, as he had expected. They had given him tools and supplies and a patch of land.

  “Why aren’t we happy with that?” he asked aloud.

  Lost in thought, he hadn’t noticed the storm moving away, or the fact that a normal tone of voice could now be heard.

  “Happy with what?” Vagron asked.

  “This.” Rax swept his hand outward, indicating the deck, the garden, the village. “We fought and killed and a lot of us died for the promise of rights like these. We’re living a life my parents could only dream of. We’re not afraid. But none of us are happy.”

  Vagron shrugged. “Rights don’t mean as much when ya don’t have anyone ta share them with. They hate us. I’d choose being hated over being afraid any day, but . . .” He shrugged again. “Gets stale.”

  The sheets of water had shrunk to individual streams, and even those were thinning to trickles. Rax gazed at the garden, freshly washed and gleaming in the brilliant sunshine that spilled through the clouds. “Do you ever envy the ones who lost their hearts?” he asked.

  “Are your brains boiled? I like my mind intact, thanks. I may never see my lady again, but at least I still love her.”

  A small blue-and-yellow bird flitted into the garden and began hunting. “Bring your friends,” Rax told it. “We have too many leafsuckers.” He turned to Vagron. “I can’t help thinking that they have something we don’t. They have someone who doesn’t hate them.”

  Mind-rape, it turned out, did not limit its devastation to the victims. The Alsean high empaths who used such horrifying force had broken their highest, most ancient law to do it. They had acted against their morals and cultural training. Rax hadn’t understood how much they suffered as a result until he heard about the suicides.

  In an effort to help their veterans, mental healers had set up supervised counseling sessions in which Alseans met individually with the Voloth they turned. The Voloth victims were thrilled. They were finally getting to see the Alseans they loved. Even Rax, who had not been turned in such a way, could understand it. He still remembered his burning desire to please Lancer Tal. That faint smile had set his entire world right; he would give anything to feel such pleasure and fulfillment again. How much more powerful must it be for the ones whose hearts were taken?

  “We’re still better off,” Vagron said. “Whatever those high empaths feel for the ones they turned, it isn’t anything I’d want. Pity? Guilt? Na thanks. If it comes ta that, I’d rather be hated.”

  “I suppose.” Rax planted his elbow on the table and rested the side of his head against his fist. “I don’t think Belsara and Galor hate me anymore. When I picked up the fertilizer yesterday, they asked about the garden. I showed them images, and they were almost friendly.”

  “What a life,” Vagron said. “When ‘almost friendly’ is something ta be proud of.”

  They sat quietly, watching the last drops fall from the roof and listening to the slowly fading gurgle of the drainage channel. The squall was off to the southeast, still unloading water in such quantities that it looked as if the clouds themselves were sifting to the ground in streamers.

  Gradually, Rax became aware of a new sound: excited voices. He sat up straight and met Vagron’s equally puzzled expression. “What . . . ?”

  The voices crested as a group of at least thirty settlers swept around the corner of the dining hall and began trotting up the wooden steps to the deck. “There he is!” someone cried in High Alsean. “Knew he’d be there!”

  “Rax!” another voice shouted.

  That one he recognized, just before Geelish separated himself from the crowd. He was tugging a woman along by the hand.

  An Alsean woman.

  Rax and Vagron had time to exchange horrified looks before the pair stopped in front of their table, still holding hands. Geelish was a head taller and at least ten years younger than the Alsean, but they both acted like teenagers wanting permission to stay out late.

  “Rax,” Geelish said, his voice still too loud. “Meet Siatra. She wants to live with us.”

  Siatra shyly held up a palm. “Well met, Governor.”

  Rax climbed to his feet and met her palm touch. “Well met, Siatra. I’m, uh . . . I’m sorry, live with us?”

  She stepped back and retook Geelish’s hand. “I know. It must sound strange to you, but if I could explain?” She glanced around. “Without an audience?”

  “Right, ya lunkers, move off.” Vagron made a shooing motion. “Give the lady some space.”

  Slowly and with a great deal of grumbling, the settlers shifted across the deck. They clustered around three tables and spoke in low, excited tones with many a glance back.

  “Please, take a seat,” Rax said.

  Geelish nearly broke his ankle jumping to pull out a chair for Siatra. She sat gracefully, giving him a smile, and he beamed with the light of twenty suns.

  When the four of them had settled, Siatra folded her hands atop the table and addressed Rax. “I’m sure you’ve guessed that I’m the one who turned Geelish.”

  “Yes. That was obvious.”

  She cleared her throat. “I was bonded with another scholar, but he’s a mid empath and couldn’t fight in the battle. He never forgave me for fighting. He said it was a moral issue, that I shouldn’t have broken Fahla’s covenant, but I’ve come to realize it wasn’t about that. Not truly. It was about me doing something he couldn’t.”

  “He was jealous,” Geelish interjected. “She’s special and he knew he didn’t deserve her.”

  Rax thought he might sprain his eyeballs trying not to roll them. Geelish was not their brightest star, but surely even he could see what was happening here?

  But then he thought of Lancer Tal’s smile, and the limitless pleasure it had given him. It didn’t matter how smart or stupid Geelish was; the man could not help viewing Siatra as the sum of all happiness.

  “Are you still bonded?” he asked Siatra.

  She shook her head. “I severed the bond two moons ago. I’m only sorry it took me that long. He made me miserable. I have Geelish to thank for helping me see clearly.”

  Geelish’s joy was palpable. “I treat her the way she deserves. Even if she hadn’t come to me, I’d have been happier knowing she realized what she’s worth. She needed to be free of that man.”

  “I know how this must look,” Siatra said. “Our counselor talked to us for five sessions in a row about consent and whether Geelish can truly give it. Whether I’m seeking love or merely running toward the easier path.”

  “Your counselor approved this?” Rax couldn’t believe he hadn’t been informed.

  They looked at each other.

  “Not . . . exactly,” Siatra said.

  “But we’re done waiting.” Geelish wrapped a long arm around her shoulders. “They can’t stop us from being together.”

  “But you can.” Siatra fixed Rax with a look of such understanding that he knew she was reading his emotions. “I’m told we need your permission. So I’ve come to ask it. And I’ll tell you the same thing I told my counselor. I don’t think it matters whether Geelish can truly give consent. What matters is how we feel. He loves me. I’ve never felt a love like that. Do you have any idea what it’s like to be surrounded, bathed in adoration? I tried to stand against it, because it couldn’t be right, but I can’t stop him from feeling that way. I turned him. It’s done. I can’t change it back. And I love him.” She reached up to her shoulder to cover Geelish’s hand. “He taught me to never accept less than I deserve. He makes me happy. We make each other happy. If we can’t change what happened, why shouldn’t we take what happiness we can from it?”