Act 4.5 - Council

The two guards outside the chamber doors pulled them open, moving aside to let them pass. Tor’laen noted their gazes, lingering first on him, then on the Crown Daughter. On the dagger she wore at her hip. They said nothing, however, simply pulling the door closed behind the pair.

Seated in a semi-circle on the other side of the room were the five members of Ydani High Command. They were behind a raised counter of dark, polished wood, looking down at the Shield Consort and the Crown Daughter.

Tor’laen hated this room. He subtly glanced around, noting the high, arching windows, and the flags representing each of the Ydani’s five colonized worlds hanging from the ceiling. He was forced to look upward at the members of High Command on their raised seats, while they stared down at him from on high. It made even innocuous interactions with the Ydani’s ruling body feel like one was on trial for a crime.

It had to be even worse for Nalyra, the smaller woman having to crane her neck just to make eye contact with the seated members of Command.

“Captain Tor’laen,” Commander Vael’kor said in Hylec from his place in the middle of the curving desk. The man was likely the most decorated Ydani alive, and served as the ceremonial head of the otherwise equal council. His hair was stark white, and a large, jagged scar ran across his arched nose. His left horn had been shorn off almost at the root by a Cal’raz drone early in the man’s career.

“I have been informed by Lieutenant Kae’rel that you somehow no longer understand Ydanic.” The man frowned, the lines on his face deepening. “I order you to explain how this occurred.”

A pulse of indignation came over their Bridge. Out of the corner of his eye, Tor’laen noted Nalyra frowning down at the tablet she held, the Commander’s words translated to Zakkili text on the screen. He had an idea of what the Crown Daughter would like to say, and was privately thankful that none of the High Command understood Zakkili.

“Yes, Commander.” Tor’laen instinctively gave a salute before answering, his shoulders rigid. “Upon surrendering to the Royal Hand of the Star Citadel, I was taken before the Zakkili’s Queen Matriarch within two days. When I was brought into her presence, the Queen…” He trailed off for a moment, briefly considering how he should phrase his next words. He needed to be careful. “When the Queen came to understand the nature of my translation device and my ignorance of her tongue, she used her psychic powers to…replace my native language with that of her people, to facilitate negotiations.”

Around the desk, the members of High Command reacted with subdued shock at the news, eyes wide, murmuring softly to each other.

“This Queen, these Zakkili…they are able to do such things?” Commander Shae’ra asked, leaning forward slightly over the desk. The woman, nicknamed “The Steel Maiden” back during her days on the battlefield had her grey hair in a severe bun, and a thin mouth that Tor’laen could not once remember seeing in a smile.

“Well, yes and no, Commander,” Tor’laen replied, turning his gaze to her.

“Explain,” the woman ordered.

“As far as I am aware, the Queen Matriarch is uniquely powerful among the Zakkili. I would be surprised if any other member of their race could do such a thing. But make no mistake, the Queen did overwrite my mother tongue in less than a minute,” Tor’laen said evenly, holding her gaze. “However, beyond that, the…” His tongue faltered, the Hylec word for potency slipping away from him. “The strength of Zakkili mental powers varies greatly among their people. Our intel about them was far from complete when I made contact with the Star Citadel.”

“How much variation are we looking at, Captain?” The youngest member of the council, Korr’taen, asked. The man was still significantly older than Tor’laen, but his hair remained mostly light brown, only greying near his temples. He had been an incredible strategist in his heyday, and even now the man tended to look at everything the way one might regard a game of Dominion, a small smirk often on his face.

“The average Zakkili citizen can pull surface-level thoughts from an unguarded mind, or transmit mild emotions mentally,” Tor’laen explained. “Other than that, they can move small objects with their mind, though not in a precise manner.”

“What differentiates the stronger Zakkili from others?” Commander Vel’kira asked sharply, her braided silver hair draped over her shoulder. The oldest member of the council, she was perhaps only a few years from being infirm with age, but Tor’laen knew better than to underestimate the woman. Her mind was still as sharp as a dagger, as was her tongue.

Tor’laen glanced at Nalyra for a breath, and the Crown Daughter gave a slight nod.

“To speak simply, Commander, it is blood,” he answered. “Long lines of unbroken ancestry or connections to the Royal line greatly influence a Zakkili’s psychic strength. Nobles and those with Royal blood are the ones who can perform the acts we feared.” He gestured to Nalyra, standing at his side. “The Queen’s daughters stand at the apex of their race, not including the Queen herself. The Royal Hand here could easily overpower every one of the minds in this room at the same time, and there would be little we could do to stop her.” He was being blunt, but it needed to be said this way. High Command needed to know exactly how the pieces were arrayed against them on the board.

As expected, the news upset the council, the members holding quick murmured conversations.

“If this woman is as powerful as you say, then how do we know she has not altered your mind further, Captain?” The final member of High Command spoke up, leaning back in his chair. Commander Dei’van. He was the person on the council that Tor’laen knew the least, their newest member. His hair was grey and his face lined, like most of the group, but there was a feeling of power beneath his words.

At Tor’laen’s side, Nalyra’s brow contracted dangerously as she read the translated question, a spike of anger jumping over their Bridge. He tried to push some calm back to her. This was not the time.

“I have no proof I can possibly offer, Commander,” he said simply. “I can only offer you my observations and opinions. I have served under most of you for decades.” He let his gaze travel over the council. “If I do not sound like myself, then do not hesitate to disregard my testimony.”

Dei’van stared at him for a long moment, his eyes narrowed. Finally, he relented.

“Yes, you do seem to be the same Outrunner Captain that has faithfully served Ydan.” He rested an elbow on the desk in front of him. “Disregard my question.” He was clearly not satisfied, but perhaps recognized the same thing Tor’laen had — if Nalyra had done something of the sort, there was no way for any of them to prove it.

“Then let us hear these observations, Captain,” Vael’kor said from his place at the center of the desk. “We have heard much from the emissaries and diplomats of the Star Citadel in these past months, but I would like to hear it from the mouth of one of our own.”

“Yes, Commander.”

For over half a bell, Tor’laen spoke and answered questions. He described what he had seen of Zakkili society, what he had observed aboard the Aegis — the crew and Armswomen, the Under Deck, the command staff. He spoke of the grandeur of Zakkil, and its High Fortress. He spoke of Orphila and Kelran, of the different races living in peace and relative harmony. He spoke of the raids against the separatists on Orphila, and lightly of the raid on Meridian Operation’s compound, careful not to reveal anything that shouldn’t be spoken of.

He did not lighten his experiences, as he described the corruption he had seen, the Noble arrogance he had witnessed, but neither did he downplay the nature of the average Zakkili citizen. Of the friendly, curious, outgoing people he had met both on the Aegis and off it.

Finally, after giving a brief summary of their most recent visit to the Zakkili homeworld, he fell silent, having nothing more to say.

The members of High Command were quiet for nearly a full mark, staring down at him, digesting the information. Some of those stares went to Nalyra, the council now more informed about who she was, what she represented. What she was capable of.

Commander Vel’kira broke the stillness of the room.

“I must ask you this, Captain Tor’laen,” she started, locking eyes with him. “With all you have seen, all you have experienced of the Zakkili and their Monarchy, do you still agree with High Command that joining the Monarchy is the right decision?”

“I do, Commander,” he answered, without hesitation. “There are still many things to fear, and many things that could go wrong with the process. Many things we will have to surrender along with our right to rule ourselves. But I believe we will gain far more than we will lose. Even more than when I first received your orders to make contact with the Monarchy, I now wholeheartedly endorse this integration.”

The council exchanged looks. There was no need to ask what things Tor’laen believed they would gain. He had been thorough in explaining them all.

“Then our course regarding our surrender remains the same, unless any object?” Vael’kor looked to the other members of High Command. None of them raised a hand.

“Regardless of our personal wishes, this has never been a choice,” sighed Dei’van. “Even if the Captain had brought back horrific news of Zakkili brutality, we cannot hope to stop them from possessing our worlds. Consuming our people.”

Tor’laen bit back the urge to argue with the man’s phrasing. It had not been so long ago that he might have made a similar statement.

“Decision noted.” Vael’kor nodded, then looked down at Tor’laen. “Captain, you are not to leave the capital complex until you receive further orders — our intelligence teams must thoroughly question you. A temporary berth will be made available to you within the building. Understood?”

As he was about to answer, he noticed Nalyra’s eyes narrow dangerously as she read the translation on her tablet.

“Consort,” she started, her Crown Daughter voice ringing slightly in the chamber. It was the first word she had spoken since entering the room. “I would like you to translate a message for me.”

“Nalyra—” he began to reply, but she stopped him with a raised hand.

“I am a Crown Daughter, and I will be heard here.” She glanced up at him, her purple eyes flashing.

Tor’laen hesitated for a breath, then nodded. In a low voice, Nalyra told him what she wanted him to say in Hylec. After a few moments she finished, folding her arms, her imperious gaze sweeping over the members of High Command.

“Nalyra, are you certain that you want to—” Tor’laen tried to say.

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“I am, Consort.”

“I do not mind staying—”

“I do.” Her brow was furrowed. “It is improper, and a serious offense.” Her gaze found his once more. “They were the ones who ordered you to seek out the Queen and begin this process. I believe they need a reminder of just what doors they have thrown open with their own hands. Translate it as closely as you can.”

Tor’laen checked a sigh, and looked up to the council once more. Surprise, and perhaps a little suspicion, crossed their faces at hearing his flawless Zakkili firsthand.

“I have a message from the Royal Hand,” he began, switching back to Hylec. “Crown Daughter Nalyra would like to remind the Ydani High Command that Shield Consort Tor’laen, formerly Captain Tor’laen, no longer reports to them. He is under the direct authority of the Crown Daughter, by Royal Decree of the Queen Matriarch herself.” He paused for a moment, then forced himself to relay the rest of the message. “The Royal Hand wishes to inform you that attempting to issue orders to or take custody of her consort is a grave insult to her and the Monarchy, and will not be tolerated under Crown authority. The Royal Hand acknowledges that High Command is still uninformed of the laws and customs of the Monarchy, and therefore she will overlook this transgression. However, she warns you not to overstep again.”

He finished delivering the message, trying not to wince as the last words left his mouth.

Stunned silence filled the room, as the members of High Command looked between the consort and Crown Daughter with wide eyes.

“This is preposterous,” Shae’ra sputtered, standing from her seat. “You cannot possibly believe you can—”

Nalyra took a single pace forward, and folded her arms, drawing herself up.

“Yes, I can.”

She said the words in Zakkili, but Tor’laen imagined all present could figure out their meaning.

The Crown Daughter’s gaze slowly traveled over the council, meeting each gaze as they stared down at her. It was as if every ounce of Royal authority she had was pouring off her. Half the size of her mother, but in that moment no less intimidating than Azora herself.

Another silence filled the room, this one far heavier.

A peal of laughter broke it after a few breaths, as Korr’taen leaned back in his seat.

“Well played, Royal Hand. I believe this match is lost to us.” He chuckled. “Outmaneuvered at the doorstep of our own homeworld.” He stood, giving the Crown Daughter a salute. “I’d wager she’d make a fine opponent for a match of Dominion.”

Tor’laen gave a rueful grin in spite of himself.

“The Royal Hand does not play, Commander,” he explained. “But I imagine you’d enjoy a match against her second-in-command.”

“Ahah, you’ve been sharing a little of our culture with the Zakkili, I take it then?” The man was wearing a wide grin now.

“The game spread like a grass fire across the Royal Hand’s Citadel. It’s quite the popular pastime throughout the ship,” Tor’laen admitted.

“Ah, excellent.” The Commander rubbed his palms together, almost gleefully. “I would quite enjoy a tour of the Royal Hand’s ship, if such a thing is possible. Finally, a form of communication I can take part in.”

“I will make an inquiry, Commander.”

“Yes, if you are quite finished, Korr’taen,” Vael’kor cut in, a weary look on his face. The other members of the council wore similar looks of exasperation. “High Command must acknowledge the Royal Hand’s authority and…warning.” His eyes narrowed slightly. “Captain Tor’laen is free to leave as he wishes. I declare this council adjourned.”

Tor’laen gave another automatic salute, and Nalyra nodded at the commanders before spinning on her heel and making for the exit. Tor’laen followed, not looking back at High Command as he left the room.

“These are the latest polling results for the civilian population,” Avena said, sliding her tablet across the table for Nalyra to see. “I wouldn’t trust them completely, as only those willing to talk with my people answered, of course, so it skews far more pro-Monarchy than it should. Still, the responses are useful from a motivation standpoint — it tells you why some of the Ydani are in favor of this.”

“Interesting,” Nalyra muttered, already starting to swipe through the data. “Much of this reflects your conjectures, Consort.”

“Mmmm.” Tor’laen gave a small noise of affirmation, reading the data over Nalyra’s shoulder from where he stood behind her.

The pair had returned to the small memorial hall after their audience with High Command, to find Emissary Avena waiting for them. After the Crown Daughter had settled in, the emissary had launched straight into an in-depth explanation of the current political and social climate. Much of it was what Tor’laen had expected, but there were a few surprises here or there.

“I had not expected so many Ydani to value cultural exchange and tourism as reasons to support the Monarchy,” he said quietly, his brow furrowed.

“The known empyrean is being opened up before them.” Nalyra glanced up at him with a grin. “It seems only natural to want to see more of it, does it not?”

“Fair point.” He scratched at his chin. “Too often I forget how restricted travel is for the average civilian.”

“There are five settled worlds in this system, Shield Consort.” Avena looked up at him, curiosity plain on her face. “Are you saying that citizens cannot easily travel between them?”

“If one has reasonable grounds to do so, then traveling between planets is fairly simple.” He shrugged. “But that kind of justification is not readily accessible for the average Ydani. It is generally seen as an unnecessary use of government resources.”

“A somewhat concerning viewpoint, but not entirely unexpected, I would think.” Avena’s fingers danced over her second tablet, taking note of the information.

Nalyra pursed her lips as she continued to scan the data in front of her.

“Emissary, have the Ydani been informed of Monarchy prosthetics and medical care? I see little to no mention of it here.”

“It is an…ongoing process, Highness,” Avena responded, tapping a delicate finger on the table. “We have had a few Ydani volunteer to be fitted with limb replacements, and those operations proceeded without issue, but…” She frowned. “We have not had much success with presenting those results to the public. The Ydani continue to be a very private people when it comes to certain issues, and on top of that the recent skepticism has all but dried up our pool of potential volunteers.”

“We must consider some kind of outreach program, I would think,” Nalyra said pensively. “It is one of the greatest comforts we can offer at the present stage of integration. Has Royal Hand Jalari made any plans regarding this?”

“I believe she has delegated it to Royal Hand Zikara,” Avena replied. “I think you’ll agree that your sister has a much more suitable…temperament for that kind of task.”

A grin danced around Nalyra’s mouth as a surge of Tor’laen’s amusement reached her.

“Perhaps that is for the best,” she said after a moment. “I shall speak with her upon my return to—”

Nalyra’s sentence was interrupted as the door to the room burst open. Tor’laen spun, already moving to cover his wife when Jalari stormed into the room. The Ydani gave a small sigh of relief as Kae’rel followed the Royal Hand inside, his expression slightly sheepish.

“Maker’s fucking ire!” she swore, throwing herself angrily onto one of the benches, her arms tightly folded.

“What is it, Jalari?” Nalyra asked sharply, immediately moving to stand.

“I told them they needed to assign more fucking security to my people. Actual Ydani soldiers, not fucking civilian escorts. But nooooo. And now look where we are,” the woman huffed, her voice full of fury and disdain. She waved a hand at Kae’rel without looking up. “Go ahead. Tell them.”

The Lieutenant nodded, stepping forward as Jalari turned to glare out the window.

“There has been…incident in residential district eighteen,” he said in Zakkili, shaking his head. “Roughly forty-five marks ago, there was…was…” Frustration filled his face, and he quietly swore in Ydanic.

Tor’laen was somewhat surprised that he understood the curse.

“A group of Citadel officers and crew were abducted off of the street, and their Ydani escorts along with them,” Kae’rel continued, switching to Hylec as he looked at Tor’laen. The Shield Consort noticed Nalyra turning on the translator tablet out of the corner of his vision. “The group that grabbed them was armed. Military hardware. Possibly reservists. They are holding both the Zakkili and Ydani hostages at gunpoint, and have barricaded themselves in a nearby civic office.”

Tor’laen muttered a few curses in Zakkili, before switching back to Hylec.

“Have there been any demands? Any statements?”

The Lieutenant shook his head.

“They are well-equipped, but seemingly not as well-organized. No contact has been made with them so far. The building is surrounded, but teams are hesitant to enter. They have no training for a situation like this.”

“Yes, the Cal’raz never did take prisoners,” Tor’laen muttered darkly.

“Why now?” Nalyra asked, frowning down at the tablet in front of her. “This feels like quite the escalation.”

“Isn’t it obvious?” Jalari scoffed. “You all arrived. A third Citadel now sits in orbit. We’ve really struck the fucking senrik’s nest, and now they’re starting to swarm.”

“What of High Command?” Tor’laen looked back to the other Ydani. “They have been informed, yes? Have they issued any orders?”

“They have been informed, yes.” Kae’rel nodded. “However, they are…hesitant to act, when Star Citadel personnel are at risk.”

Tor’laen drummed his fingers along his bicep, his arms folded, his mind racing. There stood only one path in front of them.

“Let them know we will handle it,” he said shortly, before turning to the two Royal Hands. “Nalyra, I am going to request Mikka send my squad and equipment down. Kae’rel, I need four…no, three good soldiers. And make sure they are fluent in Hylec.”

The Lieutenant simply saluted, but Nalyra’s eyes narrowed dangerously.

“Tor’laen, you are not planning to lead this team yourself, are you?”

“I have no choice, Crown Daughter,” he said quietly.

“What? Why?” his wife demanded.

“Listen, Nalyra.” He caught her gaze and held it. “This is our only option. This incident is the spark that could set the whole field ablaze if not handled properly. It has to be me.” He emphasized each word. “If Ydan sees a team of Ydani take care of the situation, it screams that we do not need the Zakkili, that they are weak and cowardly. If they see a team of only Zakkili, it shows your people using force, and subjugating Ydani without question. It must be a mixed team of the two races, and I am likely the only one alive who has the experience, rank, and ability to communicate with our two peoples that is necessary for this operation.”

She stared up at him, her eyes wide.

“Tor’laen, let me send Vessa with you,” she started. “These extremists, they will have no mental defenses. She can Still each and every—”

“Absolutely not.” Tor’laen shook his head. “The public will see it as psychic trickery. It will validate many of their fears when they learn of the act, and it will come out in testimony during their tribunal.” He glanced at Kae’rel. “We have weapons and tools to perform non-lethal takedowns. These Ydani must be apprehended in a way that my people can understand. They will see Ydani and Zakkili fighting side-by-side. We can turn this into a victory.”

“Tor’laen, you are injured!” Nalyra drew herself up.

“I’ll survive,” he returned grimly.

“What of Kae’rel?” Nalyra gestured to the other Ydani. “He speaks both Zakkili and Ydanic.”

“Well enough to issue commands in a firefight?” Tor’laen asked, glancing again at the Lieutenant. Kae’rel shook his head, his mouth tight. “And he does not have experience commanding Zakkili Armswomen. This will be a delicate operation, to say the least, and we do not have room for even the slightest failure.”

Nalyra simply stared at her husband, apparently having no more arguments against the idea.

“Your consort is right, Nalyra,” Jalari said, leaning forward, her fingers steepled. “This is the only way I can see out of this hole we find ourselves in.”

“Fine.” Nalyra folded her arms. “Fine. I see that there is no other choice.” She nearly growled the words, as her worries and concern for him crawled over their Bridge. “But you will be back in the Aegis’s infirmary the moment this crisis is resolved. I don’t care if I have to drag you there by your horns.”

“Understood, Crown Daughter.” Tor’laen gave her a small grin, and received a smoldering glare in return.

Nalyra stalked over to the window and stood, staring angrily out at the city.

Checking a rueful sigh, Tor’laen pulled the communicator from his belt, as Kae’rel saluted him and exited the room.

Tor’laen tapped on Mikka’s contact, and sent a brief message.

We have a situation. I need my gear. And have Grace squad get ready to deploy.

Her response came immediately.

Sure thing. What’s going on, man?

Hostages.