Without a Front (4 page)

“Fear, lies, and rewards,” Andira said. “Don't forget the incentive to serve. It sounds like a powerful one.”

“I wonder what percentage of Voloth are citizens.” Parser refilled his cup of shannel. “If the hangers can't own property, can they run a business? How exactly do they fit into the Voloth economy?”

Yaserka held out a hand for the shannel pot. “I must confess I'd like to learn more about that. And that is something I never dreamed I'd say.”

“I never dreamed I'd be in the same room with a Voloth and not want him chained to the wall,” Eroles said. “But I can see some value in his offer.”

“So can I,” Yaserka agreed.

Shantu made a sound of disbelief. “A few sniffles from a prisoner of war and you're already soft? Have you forgotten what he was in the process of doing when Lancer Tal turned him? If he'd had his way, he would have blown up every building in this city.” He turned to Lanaril. “And your temple would have been the first thing he'd have targeted. You heard him.”

“I did hear him. I also felt him. He's a young man who has been taught to never ask any questions, and now he's asking. He's taking his first step on a spiritual journey. And that is more than I ever thought I'd see in a Voloth.”

“Spiritual journey.” Shantu rolled his eyes. “He's only willing to concede we might not be naked savages because he thinks Fahla is one of their Seeders.”

“Maybe she is,” Lanaril said quietly.

That left him flat-footed, and Andira spoke into the silence. “Lead Templar, I appreciate the time you took to be here today. There's no need for you to stay for what I'm guessing will be a protracted discussion. But I asked you to attend because you have an input that the rest of us lack.”

Lanaril folded her hands in front of her. “I'll aid in any way I can.”

“You've been counseling high empaths for war trauma. You know more about their fears and concerns than any of us. If we were to accept this offer, how do you think it would impact them?”

The first thing that came to mind was yesterday's suicide. Though she hadn't known the woman personally—she had lived in Whitesun—Lanaril feared it was only a matter of time before someone she did know was found hanging from a tree. In her counsels, she encouraged veterans to take advantage of the mental healing clinics set up for them, but many told her that wasn't enough. They needed more than help, they said; they needed assurance. An assurance that only a representative of Fahla could give. Every time she heard that, she remembered the first time Andira had come into her study, asking for the exact same thing.

But it wasn't really about assurance, was it? It was about forgiveness.

She thought of the dead silence when Andira and Rax first laid eyes on each other. He had been terrified of her, and she had needed time to control her speech. Yet by the end, they seemed to have come to a tentative understanding. Perhaps it was simply the relief of replacing the unknown with the known.

And perhaps understanding was the beginning of forgiveness.

“I think,” Lanaril said slowly, “that if the mental healers made very careful choices and set up very controlled meetings, having these Voloth here could actually help our veterans heal.”

CHAPTER 3
Hiding

 

The prisoners agreed to the
terms of their asylum.

The Council made its decision in record time, probably driven by the fact that the Voloth personnel ship left orbit two days after Rax Sestak made his plea. Commander Qualon waited only a hantick after receiving the nineteen soldiers who wanted to go back before sending a message to Ambassador Solvassen and vanishing from Alsean space. The ambassador was reluctant to share Qualon's exact wording with the Council, but the media reported the gist as “They're your problem now.” Speculation held that the Voloth government had lost interest in retrieving its remaining sane soldiers once it had learned that they were all hangers, and none of them would fight against Alsea again.

It was difficult to vote for rejecting asylum when returning the prisoners wasn't even an option.

Lanaril heard that the Council had tried a last-ditch attempt to divert the issue elsewhere, asking Ambassador Solvassen if the Protectorate could take them—surely they had other Voloth refugees settled somewhere? But when Rax learned of the possibility, he said they would refuse to go. The empathic force that had turned them against their own people had also tied them to Alsea.

Apparently, the Voloth commander's last message was quite accurate. They really were Alsea's problem now.

As of today, Alsea was home to one hundred and fifty-three former Voloth soldiers who were asking to join their society—in addition to the two hundred and forty-four insane soldiers still being kept under sedation.

Lanaril was watching the breaking news in her office when someone knocked at her door. She glanced at the clock and sighed; only ten ticks until her office hanticks were over. No doubt whoever it was would overstay that time by half a hantick.

She opened the door and stared. “I thought you were in the Council chamber.”

Andira brushed past her. “We've tabled the discussion for now. Tempers are too hot. And I needed a break.”

It was unlike the cool and controlled Lancer Tal to admit that. Lanaril flipped the switch for the sign indicating that her office was now closed and shut her door.

“Would you like a cup of shannel?” She headed for her dispenser.

“Please.” Andira prowled around her office, picking up art pieces and putting them down again without really looking. She was staring out the window when Lanaril arrived with two cups of shannel and a plate of pastries.

Andira murmured her thanks and sat down. Silently, she drank her shannel while the pastry sat forgotten in her other hand.

Lanaril withstood it for three ticks before asking, “Can you tell me what's wrong?”

“Nothing's wrong.”

“You're here in the middle of the day, when you must have twenty things on your to-do list and half a dozen meetings scheduled. You came during my office time, which you normally do when you have business to discuss. But this clearly isn't a business visit, so what's wrong, Andira?”

“Are you trying to counsel me? I'm not a damned battle veteran looking for absolution. I just needed a break.”

Lanaril held out her hand.

Andira looked at it for a long moment before sighing, putting down her pastry, and clasping their hands together.

Everything Lanaril had deduced from her behavior was confirmed in the emotions that came through their physical touch, plus a good deal more that she hadn't expected.

“Is it Rax Sestak?” It had been a nineday since the High Council meeting, but she couldn't get it out of her mind.

Andira let go. “Him, and suicidal veterans, and people calling me a war criminal, and every caste fighting me on the matter printer technology, and two hundred and forty-four sedated Voloth that we can't get rid of, and I don't even know what else.” Her light blue eyes looked through Lanaril, as if she weren't even in the room. “It's…overwhelming. I spent my whole life training to be the Lancer, and until recently I thought it was enough. Now I feel as if I'm juggling six knives and there are people holding knives all around me, waiting to throw them in. And six is all I can handle.”

“Six is about four more than I can handle,” Lanaril said.

“I don't believe that. You're the Lead Templar of Blacksun.”

“And I got here by knowing what I'm good at. I'm not good at spreading my attention. I do best when I can focus on a few things.”

“Like seeing right through a Voloth soldier? That was very well done, by the way. I didn't pick up on that. But you're right, he's angry at his government. He was glad we destroyed his fleet.”

“And you think you should have seen it, don't you? Give yourself a little room to breathe. You had just met one of the soldiers you turned. No one but you has ever faced that.”

Andira glanced out the window. “I wish I could have faced it in a slightly more private setting, without Shantu there looking for any weakness.”

“I noticed that—I mean, that he looks for it. Not just in you, but in Parser, Yaserka, Rax of course…and himself most of all. Shantu seems to be a warrior right down to his boot soles.”

A faint smile appeared. “Stereotyping, Lead Templar? We don't all spend our every waking moment thinking in terms of strength and weakness.”

“Perhaps not, but he does.”

“That's Shantu, not our caste. He follows a different interpretation of the Truth and the Path. Strength above all, and yes, defined rather narrowly. He's an honorable man, but he also tends to see the world in terms of right or wrong, strong or weak, love or hate.”

“And he hates the Voloth. Even when it's a bound and terrified young man who is no longer a threat.”

“I cannot blame him for that. And he's certainly not alone in it. I have my moments.”

“So do I. So does everyone.” Lanaril watched Andira sip her shannel and added, “If it helps, you didn't show any weakness in that meeting. Your front was impeccable.”

“It does help, thank you.” Andira set her cup down. “Rax…wasn't what I expected.”

“I don't think he was what any of us expected. We expected a monster, because only monsters could do what they did.”

“I didn't want a name to go with that face,” she said quietly. “I didn't want to know anything about him. And now I know that his parents are producers and his father lost a leg in an accident, and his mother was too smart to be taken in by their government. I know he closed his eyes to horrors because all he wanted out of life was to be a citizen, and he was too afraid to speak. I know his superiors beat the questions out of him and I did much worse than that, but he still saluted me.”

Lanaril cursed silently when her vidcom chimed and Andira's expression closed off. “Excuse me.” She rose from her chair to get whoever this was off her line immediately, but even then it would probably be too late to recover this rare moment of openness.

At her desk, she read the ID and reached out to accept the call. “It's Chief Counselor Aldirk. He must be calling for you.”

“Wait!”

She turned in surprise.

“I don't want to talk to him. He shouldn't even know I'm here. Dammit, Micah's having me followed even in the State Park.”

Lanaril abandoned the vidcom and retook her seat. “Colonel Micah is having you followed? Why?”

“Nothing I want to talk about. Lanaril…I just need a few ticks in a quiet place where no one is throwing more knives at me. Can you give me that?”

“Of course I can.” Lanaril picked up her shannel cup and took a sip. “Do you want total quiet, or can I tell you about something that made me laugh this morning?”

“People still laugh in the State Park?” Andira shook her head. “I hardly remember how.”

“Then let me tell you a story, and we'll see if it comes back to you.”

CHAPTER 4
The Lancer is lost

 

Chief Counselor Sunsa Aldirk sighed
as he terminated the call. “I'm sorry,” he told his guest. “She's not there either. Lead Templar Satran says she hasn't seen her since the Voloth asylum vote two ninedays ago.”

“This is intolerable.” Colonel Micah's stubby gray hair seemed to bristle even more than usual and his forehead ridges were red with annoyance. “It's impossible for me to protect her when the information I am given is incorrect. This is the ninth time this moon. And it was six times last moon. It's getting worse!” His chair gave an alarming groan as he abruptly stood.

Aldirk held his breath; that chair was six generations old. Like most warriors, Colonel Micah did not understand the value of such things, and Aldirk was always on edge until the man left his office. He was like a beast of the field, a little too big for any room.

Micah loomed over the desk, resting his knuckles on it. “For two moons your schedule has been remarkably inconsistent with the Lancer's activities. How am I supposed to do my duty when you're not doing yours?”

“I assure you that my schedule concurs with Lancer Tal's,” Aldirk said evenly. “It has never been my intention to mislead you.”

“So you're saying it's her intention to mislead me?”

“That's not for either of us to say. But I would caution you to consider your words and your emotions a little more carefully.” He paused. “And perhaps consider the fact that she's not wearing her wristcom.”

Micah's eyes narrowed. “I'm well aware she's not wearing her wristcom. If I could speak with her directly, do you think I'd be here asking you to call her? I do not crave your company that badly. What I do want is information. What is going on? Your schedule is incorrect, Tal drops out of contact, and I'm reduced to posting my warriors around the base and the State Park like Fahla-damned enforcement officers, trying to catch her when she leaves. And still she manages to get through!”

“Then perhaps your warriors should be better trained,” Aldirk said before he could stop himself.

“My warriors are perfectly well trained. And if you would allocate another hundred or so to my detail, I'm certain I could catch the Lancer no matter where or when she crosses the border. But twenty warriors aren't enough to guard the entire perimeter, nor should they be required to do so.” He pushed off the desk, his heavy ring making a scraping sound. “I am not a babysitter! And neither are my Guards.”

Aldirk tried not to cringe at the scratch that he was sure had just been gouged into his desk, which was even older than the chair.

“I give you precisely what I am given,” he said. “If that is insufficient for you to do your duty, then perhaps you should resign in favor of someone who can do the job.”

“If anyone should resign, it's you for your pitiful performance. You're the gatekeeper to the Lancer, and you don't even know where she is.”

“Neither do you!” Aldirk regretted his loss of control almost before the words were out of his mouth, but it was too late.

Micah smiled. “Ah, but I can find her,” he said smugly. “Even though that is not my job.”

“Fine. If you find her, perhaps you might remind her that she has an appointment with Chief Kameha at mid-two.”

“Certainly, Counselor. I'm always happy to do your job for you.” Colonel Micah walked out with a heavy step and banged the door behind him.