Aftermath (6 page)

Shit. I could’ve killed them all. The idea that my impetuous behavior might have hurt my best friend makes me ill. Big-picture thinking has never been my strong suit, but I’ve never been quite so sick over it before. I still stand by my decision, but I am beginning to believe I didn’t consider it from all angles. Instead, I led with my heart and just jumped, which is my greatest strength and my biggest fault.

Despite my dread, I manage a smile. “You saved their butts, huh?”

“I did.”

“Go on,” Hit prompts.

Yeah, tell us what we need to know. Who survived? Who’s on the
Dauntless
?

“A large number of the Morgut ships were lost in grimspace,” Vel answers. “You timed that gambit well. They had just begun jumps to strike other targets.”

I nod. “Conglomerate losses?”

“Yes.”

I imagined as much, but it’s hard as hell to hear it. “Because of me?”

He declines to reply, which offers its own answer, but I have to know the worst. I persist, “Vel, tell me. How many lost?”

“Three ships.”

“How
many
?” I repeat hoarsely.

“Each carried a full crew, Sirantha. Two hundred souls.”

Dear Mary.
I killed six hundred people. And that’s not counting any private vessels that may have been traveling. The math at how many family members will be grieving because of me becomes impossible, astronomical. If I thought the universe hated me after the
Sargasso
, well, I suspect I haven’t seen anything yet. The public will scream for my blood.

And they’re right. They are
so
right. The tally’s too high. This time, it’s no misunderstanding. I’m not the victim of somebody else’s scheme. It’s all me. I steady myself with some effort, repeating my prior conviction.
Someone had to make the tough call. It’s regrettable, but you saved lives. You did.

While I wrestle with the sickness in my stomach, he goes on, “I arrived with twenty ships, and we aided the
Dauntless
. When only a few Morgut vessels remained, I broke from the battle to head the extraction team.”

“So there are still a few up there?” Hit finally sits down herself.

“Scout ships mostly, but I did not wish to risk your safety further.”

Typical Vel. He’s put in charge of the entire Ithtorian fleet, but when push comes to shove, he’s on the ground looking for me. Nobody ever had a better friend.

A third Ithtorian—this one almost as tall as Vel, honor marks on his carapace—comes down the hall from the cockpit. He holds his claws in what I recognize as a salute. “We have the all clear, General.”

“Then take us up.”

“What’s going on?” Hit asks.

Ah.
I forget not everyone understands Ithtorian.

“We can fly now,” I tell her.

Hit straps in. Even though we’re not jumping, it’s never a bad idea to refrain from splitting your head on a bulkhead thanks to turbulence. The two crewmen secure themselves opposite us, and Vel takes his place next to me, smoothly fastening his harness. Maybe it’s because he’s lived so long, but he exudes the most reassuring aura of unflappable calm.

“I know you have bad news,” I say softly. “I’m ready for it.”

But that’s not true. One is never ready. You just lie and say you are and hope you can take the hit on the chin without going down.

“Is Dina all right?” Hit asks, a catch in her voice.

The ship rumbles, and I feel the pilot working with the thrusters to bring us off the ground. As such liftoffs go, it’s fairly smooth, unlike the chaos exploding inside me.
Not Dina,
I tell myself. Hit takes my hand in a grip that hurts as we wait to hear the best news . . . or the worst.

“She is well enough,” Vel answers. “A few burns.”

He continues, “It would be most efficient if I simply break the news. Doctors Dasad and Solaith are missing.”

I swallow hard. “They’re not, actually. We saw them die.”

Vel asks a number of questions about what we saw. I out-
line the circumstances, and he inclines his head, making some notes on his handheld. “I will file the report, then.”

So that’s it. Official news. I promised Mac on Perlas that I would look out for Evie—that I was saving her by taking her away. Hurt jabs my stomach in shrapnel shards, splinters of failure. Mary, he’ll want to shoot me when he hears, but he’ll have to get in line.

The ship goes up and up while Vel tells us of other losses—Torrance, the scout, and Drake, the medic. So many clansmen followed March into the stars to die, but I didn’t know them well. Their losses feel different; I have some distance from them. No losses hit so close to home as the two scientists.

They say funerals are not for the dead but for the living. Those rites are what permit you to move on, so if you don’t deal with the remains, you can never deal with the memories. That might be true; we may have walked in their dust down on Venice Minor, but it’s not the same as a proper good-bye.

“How many survivors down there?” Hit asks.

“Less than thirty percent,” he answers. “It took us too long to destroy their flagship.”

That would be the enormous ship we saw as we came back, leading the Morgut vanguard. Right now, I should feel elated and grateful, but the losses are just too profound; this doesn’t feel like victory. I can only summon a weary numbness. I try to tell myself that it worked out for the best, but I’m not a military officer at heart. No amount of innocent blood spilled feels acceptable.

“Thank you for coming for us.”

“I would leave it to no one else,” Vel says.

March is still fighting, I have no doubt, still chasing the stragglers and obliterating the last of the scout ships. He won’t sleep until they’re all erased from this part of the galaxy; that’s his particular curse. He can’t be the first to lay his weapons down, and he doesn’t know how to walk away from a fight.

Hit sits back and closes her eyes, head tilted against the back of her seat. Her whole body relaxes visibly. Since she knows Dina is all right, and Vel has answered most of our questions, she seems content to let me do the talking.

“How long before we reach the ship?”

“Half an hour.”

I have the unmistakable feeling there’s something he’s not telling me, and my foreboding mounts. “Okay, out with it.”

“Admirable though your intentions were, the cost to your standing was . . . considerable.” He pauses, as if he doesn’t want to continue.

This so isn’t like Vel that I’m starting to worry; I didn’t think about the consequences beforehand because, honestly, I didn’t imagine I’d be around to face them. Then, afterward, I realized I had to come back to warn everyone—that my farewell message to March wasn’t specific enough to explain the danger.

So here I am. It sucks when your blaze of glory turns into a small sputter.

Hit cracks an eye open, her muscles coiled with the lovely danger she can bring with the flick of a fingernail. Literally. “If we hadn’t gone, they’d be counting their casualties in planets instead of ships.”

“I am aware,” he says to Hit, then addresses me. “But your reputation precedes you, Sirantha.”

“I don’t like the sound of that.” A sigh escapes me.

“Since you made this decision on your own, it has been determined you must account for these lost lives.”

The hub seems too small, not enough air, and the foreign design only amplifies my sense of alienation. I’d known when I chose to act on my own that it might come to this. I swallow, my throat tight. Seems like I’m right back where I started, only this time it’s my fault. I did it. I made the choice, and soldiers died. There are no excuses that can whitewash the truth, though there is merit in what Hit said. Sometimes, though, they need someone to shoulder the blame. For obvious reasons, the families who lost sons and daughters want to know why—this is the worst disaster to occur in grimspace in more than a hundred turns. It’s supposed to be a safe way to travel now; we’re a century beyond the terrible mishaps that marked our interstellar learning curve.

I take a deep breath to steady myself against the sudden fear I’ll die, not in grimspace, but in a prison cell, and this time, there can be no daring rescue, no righteous flight against the oppressive authorities. “So I’ll be taken into custody when we reach the
Dauntless
. What are the charges?”

“Dereliction of duty, desertion, mass murder, and high treason.”

That hits me like a brick in the head. My vision goes spotty, and I lean forward in the harness, battling nausea. Hit touches me lightly on the shoulder, but she doesn’t try to reassure me. I’m in deep trouble, and there may not be any dodging this shot. Furthermore, I’m not sure I deserve to be exonerated. It occurs to me that this could be construed as capture on Vel’s part—the second time he’s hunted and caught me—and not a rescue at all. This time, though, I won’t try to elude him.

“Will there be a trial?” Hit asks.

“Certainly. Commander March has instructions to deliver Jax to New Terra, so formal hearings can begin.”

“Do they realize they need me to train the jumpers on the new beacons?” At least that means they shouldn’t execute me on the spot. In fact, I have to deliver myself for criminal proceedings to begin, if I want to move forward in teaching the rest of the navigators how to interpret what I did to the beacons.

“Chancellor Tarn made it clear you are not to be harmed,” Vel says.

I fall quiet then, weighing what kind of greeting I’ll receive from March. Those thoughts carry me through the atmosphere and out into the stars; they expand endlessly around us. Docking procedure doesn’t take long, and Vel leads us back down the corridor toward the hatch. The Ithtorian skiff is small enough to fit inside the
Dauntless
, though it’s larger than a shuttle, and I emerge in the cargo area.

It’s cold in here in contrast to the tropical climate of Venice Minor. The Ithtorians form up around Hit and me like a squadron of guards. They don’t know me at all if they think I’ll run. Not from something I did. While it might be a nightmare of a choice and have left me in the worst mess of my life, I did what I thought best.
Too bad I survived it.
Dead women get monuments; live ones get trials.

But I couldn’t choose the easy road when that would’ve meant even more collateral damage. March taught me the importance of doing the right thing, even when it lands me neck deep in hot water. Sometimes I miss the old me.

Inside the ship, a number of Lachion crewmen have assembled. As one, they salute me. They don’t blame me for what I did; but then, the clansmen have long defied authority and marched to their own drummer, so they understand better than anyone else in the galaxy. Others will find my decision inexplicable and inexcusable. Good soldiers follow orders; they don’t make their own judgments.

Frag it. I guess it’s obvious I’m not a good soldier.

Argus steps forward to clasp my shoulder with comforting warmth. I’m happier to see him than I expected . . . mostly because he can carry on for me, if the worst comes to pass. In fact, maybe I can train him on the way to New Terra. He can start teaching the others while I’m incarcerated, assuming they’re willing to trust my protégé, the only jumper from outside a Farwan academy since before the Axis Wars.

Under watchful Ithtorian eyes, Argus gives me a quick hug. “Lachion’s behind you, all the way.”

The guard behind me nudges me forward, past the well- wishers, and toward what used to be my cabin. Long after we turn the corner, I can still hear them cheering me on. I must seem like the ultimate authority in self-determination, but that’s not always a good thing. I wanted to save lives—and I did—but there were consequences, too. The prosecution will talk about how with prior notification and coordination, these losses could’ve been avoided entirely. But I didn’t plan this in advance, and the clock was ticking. At the time, it felt like my only option. Overall, I’m just glad they’re not leading me away in shackles.

At the first intersection, Hit says, “I’ll see you soon, Jax.”

I wave as she goes; I know she’s eager to see Dina and hold her in her arms. For me, such reunions have to wait on March’s discretion and desire. He may not want to see me right now, as I did the one thing I’d promised him not to—go over his head and disrespect his command. Added to that will be his sense of devastation and abandonment—I grasp the gravity of my actions and what they may cost me.

They escort me to my room, and I go inside, weary to the bone. There’s a tray waiting since these quarters lack a kitchen-mate. Apparently I won’t be permitted to visit the dining hall, understandable under the circumstances. They can’t take the chance that I intend to break out, steal a ship, and run. Let’s face it—it wouldn’t be the first time. But on this occasion, March is my captor, not my liberator.

Vel comes in with me, but his officers remain outside the doors. I just want to get cleaned up, and sleep, but I know he won’t leave me alone, just as I put the AI on watch for Doc. Vel’s the best friend I’ve ever had, bar none. So without protesting his presence, I locate a clean uniform and try not to think about what the future holds.

“Give me a few,” I say, and he inclines his head.

In the bathroom, I lean my head against the wall, fighting tears. If this is victory, why do I feel as if I’ve lost everything? After several moments, I strip out of my muddy clothes, but nothing can scrub away what I’ve done. I’d like to wreck the place, but it’s a utilitarian space, nothing I can break or throw. So, denied that, I clean up quickly and join Vel. After I pull my damp hair back, I step back in my cabin, marginally more prepared for bad news, if there’s more of it. Mary, how could there be? I sit down and go to work on my food while Vel watches me, his head canted in concern.