Act 4.4 - Check In

The two Royal Hands sat across from each other in the shuttle, each next to their respective Ydani. Jalari had a tablet in her hands, the woman flicking through the information on it at an almost alarming pace. Kae’rel sat beside her, clearly trying not to look like he was studying Tor’laen, and failing. Tor’laen couldn’t fault the man. He was aware of the sight he must have made — a Ydani wearing the officer uniform of a Star Citadel.

At Tor’laen’s side was Nalyra, their Bridge unusually still. Her mind felt pensive, like a current swirling beneath the calm surface of a lake.

“Lieutenant,” he said quietly in Hylec, breaking the silence. Kae’rel met his gaze. “May I ask you a few questions?”

“Of course, Captain,” he said solemnly, replying in the same language. “What do you need?”

“How do the people feel about the Zakkili and the Monarchy? Not just who supports the integration — what are people saying?”

The other Ydani paused for a long moment, clearly gathering his thoughts.

“There is much talk of what is coming and what it will mean for us,” Kae’rel said slowly. “Some are afraid, others are merely wary. Some whisper that this is all deception, a trick to lower our guard.” He paused for a breath. “And yet, Zakkili music plays in some establishments and shops in the capital. Zakkili art and translated literature are the top accessed materials on our citizen information network. Many restaurants report that Zakkili dishes are among their most popular orders.”

“And the people accept that?”

“Some do, some do not.” Kae’rel gave a slight shrug. “But it continues to spread. Even after these…” He hesitated for a moment, seemingly looking for the right word. If Tor’laen remembered correctly, Hylec had no direct equivalent for propaganda. “…these information sheets about you, the interest in alien culture remains surprisingly high.”

“I see.” His gaze went down to the Crown Daughter at his side, and she subtly pressed her leg against his. “And what of you, personally, Lieutenant? What is your…” Tor’laen trailed off, unable to recall the word for perspective. Perhaps his Hylec was rustier than he had thought. “…what is your view of this? I have not known any but my own lately, and I worry that it may have…twisted, somehow.”

“My view…” the other Ydani said thoughtfully. “My feelings remain mixed, Captain, but I cannot disagree with the idea on the whole.”

Tor’laen gave the man a nod, prompting him to continue.

“The Royal Hand and I have discussed the issue at length.”

Kae’rel smiled at the Zakkili sitting next to him, and put a hand on her shoulder. A small grin touched Jalari’s face, and she shifted slightly closer to him, her focus on her tablet completely unbroken.

“Her tongue is too sharp, and I find her a bit too proud of her Monarchy, and far too dismissive of our culture. And yet, when she calls our society archaic and backward, I find I cannot deny it.” He was silent for a few seconds, his gaze distant. “I have seen it firsthand. I am the second child of my parents. My older sister was always the smarter of us, better than me at almost everything.” His face darkened slightly. “But she did poorly on the Academy aptitude tests. Now I am a Lieutenant in the navy, and she has been working at the same sewage treatment plant for the past fifteen years. If that is not what one can call backward, then I know not what is.” He gave a small sigh, a rueful smile on his face. “That is why I work with the Royal Hand — to give people like my sister a future that cannot be sealed by a single poor result on a test taken barely out of childhood.”

Jalari glanced up at Kae’rel, finally tearing her gaze from the tablet, and raised an eyebrow at the man. She obviously hadn’t understood a word of their conversation, but her aide’s passion about the subject likely came through clearly.

“Discussing social climate, Jalari,” Kae’rel said, switching back to Zakkili.

“Is that so?” Her gaze found Tor’laen, her expression shrewd.

“Yes. The Lieutenant has given me much to think about.”

“Mmmm.” The Royal Hand made a noncommittal sound, her eyes going back to her tablet.

It was true. Though Tor’laen was quite pleased to hear that his people were slowly discovering Zakkili culture, the thing that gave him pause for thought was the story of Kae’rel’s sister. It was something Tor’laen hadn’t had much cause to consider before.

His entire family — he and his younger sister, both of their parents — had been placed in the military track. It hadn’t even been a question. He came from generations of soldiers and marines, going all the way back to the start of the war with the Cal’raz. Tor’laen had taken the aptitude tests with full confidence that he would be placed in the Ydani military.

And yet, here was a direct tale about a capable, intelligent woman, stuck for the rest of her life in a minor position at a sewage treatment plant.

Logically, he knew such things must happen. There was no way to avoid it, really. Not when applied to an entire society. But to hear it directly from a member of her family, from a younger brother who did make it into the military track, struck a strange chord within Tor’laen.

The freedom to become what you wish to become. Another thing the Ydani had surrendered to survival. Another thing they might reclaim with this integration.

A soft, questioning tendril of thought wound its way across their Bridge, and Tor’laen realized he must have been bleeding some odd emotions over it. He touched Nalyra’s knee for a brief moment, letting her know he was fine.

The Ydani could feel Kae’rel’s eyes on him as he did, but he didn’t imagine there was any judgement there. Even Tor’laen could tell that the Lieutenant’s relationship with the Royal Hand was not so different from his and Nalyra’s. There was a kind of unspoken understanding between them, he felt.

The shuttle started to shudder slightly as it entered Ydan’s atmosphere, and Tor’laen returned his thoughts to the situation at hand, already starting to plan out how he might shape the board if given the chance.

Nalyra stood in front of the large, squat building, trying to keep a frown off of her face. For a planetary capital complex, it was quite…unsightly. Almost ridiculously utilitarian.

It was a good match for the city that surrounded them, however. No building was taller than perhaps half a dozen floors, all of them heavily reinforced. It was a city hardened against orbital bombardment — Nalyra did not even need Vessa or Mikka to confirm it. The Ydani were a people who still lived with the assumption that their world was likely to be besieged once more.

Tor’laen paused beside Nalyra, looking down at her.

“Is something amiss, Crown Daughter?”

“No, Consort.” She shook her head. “Just…observing Ydani architecture.”

“The fortifications, you mean,” he said wryly. “Our precautions for the future.”

“...yes,” she admitted. Nalyra paused for a moment, hesitating. “I…saw glimpses of it, when I first Delved into your mind. The day we first met. But this…” She looked around at the city once again. “To see it firsthand is something else entirely.”

A tiny part of her quivered, hoping that her admission wouldn’t be met with her husband’s ire.

“You saw my memories of Ydan?” he asked, a note of mild surprise in his voice.

“Small flashes of them. And other recollections as well.”

“I hadn’t realized.” His tone was thoughtful, rather than angry. Nalyra breathed slightly easier. “I still have much to learn about Zakkili mental powers, I suppose.”

Jalari turned to look back at the pair, from farther up the concrete stairs. Nalyra hurried to catch up, Tor’laen easily matching her pace. The group reached the entrance of the complex, where a pair of Ydani guards were stationed, their posture rigid. Rifles hung across their backs, and each had a pistol at their hip.

Kae’rel stepped forward to talk with one of the guards, speaking Ydanic, Nalyra assumed. The Crown Daughter’s gaze drifted to the other guard. With a small jolt, she noticed the Ydani was staring at Tor’laen. She watched as the guard’s stare moved from her consort’s eye covering, to his uniform, then down to Nalyra’s own waist, where her husband’s dagger sat. The Ydani’s eyes narrowed.

Tor’laen spoke a low sentence in one of his remaining languages, moving slightly in front of the Crown Daughter. The Ydani responded in kind, and Nalyra was startled to learn that this Ydani was a woman, at least judging by the pitch of her voice. The Crown Daughter hadn’t been able to tell, at least from their appearance.

The guard said a few quick sentences back, and Nalyra could feel her shoulders tense at the woman’s tone. Tor’laen clearly did not like what he was hearing, almost growling a few words back at her. A sneer crawled across the guard’s face, and she gave a quick answer, disdain dripping from her voice. Nalyra fought the urge to clutch the dagger at her side. No need to add more fuel to whatever fire was burning here.

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The Crown Daughter jumped slightly as Kae’rel barked out a short command in Ydanic, the guard immediately snapping back to attention, her gaze straight in front of her. The Lieutenant got right in the woman’s face, jabbing a finger at her and uttering a few sentences, his tone full of iron.

Finally, the guard answered him, her voice strained. Kae’rel nearly spat a few final words at the woman, then gestured to the group, escorting the two Royal Hands and Tor’laen into the building.

The doors closed behind them, and Nalyra found herself in a large entrance hall, the room notably better looking than the building’s exterior. It was not grand, by any means, but the floor was cleanly tiled, and the walls were some kind of smoothly cut stone. Banners with the symbol of Ydan’s government hung from the walls, and there were functional chairs spaced throughout the room. A small reception desk sat across the room from them, with a Ydani sitting behind it. Even the receptionist was in uniform, though they lacked the weapons and gear the guards outside had. It was a woman, Nalyra guessed, able to pick out the modest curves of her chest without body armor or a rig in the way.

“Come,” Kae’rel said simply, switching back to Zakkili.

“What was that about, Kae?” Jalari asked, moving alongside him.

“Lack of discipline,” he growled. The Lieutenant nodded to the receptionist, who waved the group past, though her gaze was glued to Tor’laen as they walked by. “And lack of respect.”

Kae’rel said no more, leading the group down a few hallways before stopping at an ornate, at least by Ydani standards, wooden door. A note of mild surprise from her consort made its way across the Bridge.

“Captain.” He saluted Tor’laen. “High Command is being assembled. Please wait this room. Someone will come for you when ready.”

“Understood. My thanks, Lieutenant.” Tor’laen nodded at the man.

Jalari caught Nalyra’s gaze.

“We have a contingent of officials and emissaries working here in the capital building. I’ll send one to meet with you and share any news.”

“I look forward to it,” Nalyra replied. “Thank you for the consideration.”

The other Royal Hand merely nodded before striding away. Kae’rel gave one more salute, then hurried after her.

“Come, Crown Daughter.”

Tor’laen opened the door for her and gently guided Nalyra inside, his hand on her shoulder.

She stepped into some kind of cross between a memorial hall and waiting room. There were a series of wooden benches put into neat rows, all currently empty, and several low tables placed against the walls. Well, low tables for Tor’laen, maybe. They nearly reached the Crown Daughter’s chest. A large window on the opposite wall offered a view of the surrounding city, buildings and the streets that ran between them.

The most interesting part of the room, however, was what was mounted on the walls. They were nearly covered with framed pictures. Real ones, not holograms or projections. Hundreds of Ydani stared back at her from their places on the wall, all in uniform, many saluting. There were images from what looked like award ceremonies, funerals, memorials, and even what looked to be some kind of graduations.

“I didn’t imagine they would have us wait here,” Tor’laen mused, his voice quiet. “A coincidence? Or perhaps a statement…”

Nalyra started to slowly walk around the room, her consort trailing after her, her eyes wandering over the various framed images.

“Tor’laen,” she said softly, continuing her course. “What did that guard say out there?”

“Nothing worth repeating in polite company,” he sighed. “She strongly implied that I was a traitor, you were an…enemy, and then called you my handler.”

Nalyra paused, looking down at her waist.

“I should not have worn this,” she muttered.

“No.” The firm tone of her husband’s voice made her glance back at him. “It was freely given. And if we had been joined here on Ydan, by my people, it would be yours by right regardless.” He drew closer to her, putting a hand on her shoulder again. “It may inflame a few malcontents, but it will likely dissuade many more. It is a visible symbol that a high-ranking Ydani officer is sworn to you.”

Nalyra reached a hand up and placed it over Tor’laen’s, letting a feeling of gratitude tumble over their Bridge.

She continued her trip around the room, looking over the pictures on the wall once more.

“By the First Light, to think that they would still have this hanging here,” Tor’laen said ruefully, causing Nalyra to glance back at him.

“What is it, Consort?”

He was staring at a picture on the wall, and Nalyra looked at it as well. A group of Ydani, their chests covered in medals and insignias, were standing on either side of a single, saluting Ydani soldier. With a jolt, Nalyra realized she was looking at a younger version of Tor’laen. Both his eyes were undamaged, and his hair was cropped short, but Nalyra recognized the face of her husband. The shape of his horns, the line of his jaw.

“It’s…you,” she breathed.

“It is.” Tor’laen sounded almost sheepish. “This was around fifty years ago, by your calendar.” His gaze was distant. “I was the youngest Ydani to make Captain in history, back during the war. After this was taken, there was a small, formal celebration, then a ceremony aboard the ship I was assigned to.” He chuckled, his tone wry. “I hardly think this deserves a place on the wall…”

Nalyra didn’t respond immediately, staring at the younger image of her consort. His uniform was immaculate, and his jaw firmly set. There was something almost…unfamiliar about his gaze in the picture. She couldn’t quite wrap a crownthread around what it was, though.

“I would have liked to meet you, I think,” she said quietly. “The you in this photograph.”

“...no, I doubt that you would have enjoyed that.”

Nalyra glanced back up at her consort, surprised.

“No?”

He was silent for a few breaths, his hands clasped behind him.

“Back then…I was so certain I had everything figured out,” he started, his voice quiet. “Every problem, every obstacle could be answered with duty, and honor. There was nothing else outside of my orders, my oaths, and my people’s survival.”

He turned away from the photograph, moving to stare out the window instead. Gazing out at the city.

“You know, I almost never laughed aloud, back then. It was too undignified. Unbecoming of an officer. The only leisure I allowed myself was the occasional game of Dominion, and even those were more about sharpening my mind, perfecting my tactics. Nothing else was permissible. After all, leisure did not contribute to my people’s survival.”

He gave a self-deprecating chuckle.

“I did not even bother trying to understand those under my command. I knew their strengths, their capabilities, their skills. That was enough. Giving orders, making use of my men and women, did not require more.” He glanced back at Nalyra. “I do not believe you would enjoy meeting my younger self, Nalyra. He was far more unpleasant than you might think.”

She moved to stand next to him. To be near him.

“Then, what changed?” the Crown Daughter asked, looking up at him.

“The end of the war was the beginning of it, I think,” Tor’laen said, still gazing out the window. “For the first time in my life, things did not seem so dire, so urgent. I would not say I relaxed, but I felt I could breathe freely for once. After that I was promoted to Outrunner Captain, and that further changed me.”

He chuckled once more, shaking his head.

“You can captain a ship during wartime on duty and orders alone. Not so for a fleet operating deep in the empyrean for extended periods. It was the first time that I realized knowing someone’s capabilities was not the same as understanding them. Men and women who were exemplary soldiers in the war…some became wound even tighter with the sudden increase in free time, while others loosened until they were nearly unrecognizable. Some even seemed utterly lost, directionless without a conflict to shape them. Without an enemy to fight. A uniform approach was…unwise, I found.”

Nalyra simply gazed at him, waiting for him to continue.

“Well, I think you can imagine the rest. Twenty years I commanded that fleet, and now I am the man you see before you.”

The Crown Daughter was silent for a moment, turning over the information in her head.

“Then, I am glad that I found the Tor’laen I have now,” she said softly, leaning against him. “The empyrean has more than enough brash, young fools. So I will be sure to cherish the fact that the Maker saw fit to deliver you to me.”

“I believe it was a Ydani Punch Drive that delivered me to you, actually.” He grinned down at her. “But I would think the sentiment remains the same.”

Nalyra gave her husband a psychic flick, causing his grin to widen.

“You are simply intolerable sometimes, my consort.”

They stood there for a long moment, before a knock at the door caught their attention. Tor’laen immediately placed himself between Nalyra and the doorway, his shoulders tensing the slightest bit. The Crown Daughter took a breath to check her appearance, smoothing the fabric of her dress-like uniform.

Tor’laen said a single word in Hylec, and a moment later, the door opened. A Zakkili woman slipped inside. A Zakkili woman Nalyra knew.

“High Matron Avena!” Nalyra stepped forward to greet the woman. “I did not expect to see you here. I was not aware that the High Fortress called for your House.”

“Greetings, Crown Daughter.” The woman gave her a wry smile and a curtsy. “However, at the moment I am simply Emissary Avena, working on behalf of the Crown.”

The woman was thin, almost dainty even. Her long, copper-colored hair was elegantly done up, and her clothing was stylish, yet functional — a light purple dress with bronze trimmings that matched her hair. She was what many Zakkili considered a “classical beauty,” well-known throughout the Noble Houses of the Core.

“It gladdens me to hear that.” Nalyra glanced up at her consort. “Tor’laen, this is High Matron Avena of High House Belistera, though at the moment she is here as Crown Emissary Avena.” The Emissary gave Tor’laen a curtsy as well. “Her family has long served as emissaries during the process of vassalization. Many of the peoples welcomed into the Monarchy have High House Belistera to thank, in large part, for a smooth transition.”

Nalyra laid a hand on Tor’laen’s arm.

“Avena, this is my Shield Consort, Tor’laen.”

The woman gave one more curtsy, looking the Ydani over.

“I have heard much and more about you, Shield Consort,” she said. “It is a pleasure to finally meet you in person.”

“Well met, Emissary.” He nodded at the woman.

“I suppose you are the contact that Royal Hand Jalari promised to send?”

“I am, Highness,” Avena answered. “The Royal Hand has been overseeing the integration from her Citadel, while I am working as her eyes and ears on the ground, so to speak.” She produced a tablet from the satchel she was carrying. “I have the latest information here, along with my team’s personal observations. Would you like me to begin?”

Before Nalyra could answer, another knock sounded at the door, and a few words of what she assumed was Hylec came through. Tor’laen gave an answer, then glanced down at Nalyra.

“High Command is ready to see us.”

“Ah, then this briefing can wait.” Avena was digging another tablet out of her bag. “Here, Crown Daughter. Our training program for citizen translators hasn’t quite been making the progress we’d like, so we’re relying on temporary measures at the moment. This will translate Ydanic, Hylec, and Tali’nev to Zakkili in real time, and the reverse as well. It should prove useful if you have any questions during the meeting. I shall wait here for your return.”

“Excellent. I greatly appreciate the assistance, Avena.” Nalyra gave the woman a grateful smile.

“My pleasure, Highness.” The emissary gave a final curtsy.

“Shall we, Consort?” The Crown Daughter glanced up at her husband.

“Yes. Let us see what High Command has to say about the situation.”