“You followed her all this way?—”
“Because we have a deal.” A deal she was taking her sweet time fulfilling. Zane clenched his jaw. “Her family destroyed this planet once, and now she’s going to do it again? Would you fight for her?”
“Yes. I’d do anything for Roth.”
“Then you’re an idiot,” Zane spat, jumping to his feet.
Grant’s hands balled into fists, but he stood down as Zane paced across the narrow deck. At least when he was moving, he didn’t feel so powerless.
“A civil war turned Oppalli into a smoking crater. Billions died, and that was one planet. A galactic war… there hasn’t been one in what, seventeen hundred cycles?”
“Since before the Age of Darkness.”
“And we have no records,” Zane said, raking his rain-soaked hair out of his face. “No idea what happened, only that entire planets were destroyed. Civilizations were slaughtered. The end of that war causednine centuriesof anarchy, until the Federation was created. Does no one see that? War is costly, and destructive, and?—”
“You don’t need to tell me how horrible war is.”
Booming thunder nearly drowned out Grant’s voice. A gust of rain swept over them, pelting Zane like shards of ice.
“The Etovians wiped out my mother’s whole family. A few months later, mercenaries butchered her. I’d just turned one. My father went to jail, Hewlett stole my inheritance, and I havenothing.” Grant inhaled deeply, visibly reining himself in. “And Oppalli—I know. It was a living hell. I watched my friends die, day after day, and it was all pointless.”
Zane slouched against the soaked railing. “It’s been twenty cycles, and I’ve never seen my father’s grave.”
“I’ve never seen my mother’s.”
Their eyes met. Zane searched his face for any sign of the unhinged convict everyone claimed Grant was, but all he saw was a man who’d been screwed over by Calida as badly as he had. A man who’d lost as much as him. More, even.
He’d at least had Mom. When she was gone on long deployments, he’d had Nan and Pap.
Grant hadn’t had anyone. Or anything. Yet somehow, he’d survived.
“You got dealt a shitty hand, Grant.”
“Call me Mylis.” He raised his thermos in a parody of a toast. “Here’s to hoping we both get the justice we deserve.”
Dali, Sector 4
Decemmensis-23, 817 cycles A.F.C.
The chronoin Kalie’s solar had just struck nine, and her headache had turned into a migraine.
“It’s imperative that you get your house in order, Duchissa.” President Arrosa’s holoprojection crackled above the table, sending ripples across her dark pink skin and bubblegum hair. With her broad-rimmed pink hat and ruffled rose blouse, the young woman who ruled the planet Britiria was the picture of old-fashioned elegance. “I’ve said for weeks that Britiria stands with you against the Prime Minister, but as Senator Nadar pointed out, a declaration of war from Dali will garner the most public support.”
“You’re the wronged party,” the amphibious Senator Nadar agreed. The crisp syllables of Galstan were gravelly in his throaty Aquisian accent. “People will follow you, if we act swiftly. We understand the transition of power is difficult in the best of times, but?—”
Kalie sighed. “I know. I’m handling it.”
Or rather, Uncle Jerranwas handling it.
With every day her government failed to bless her declaration, the window of opportunity shrunk. General Akron’s brilliant three-pronged attack strategy would only work if the Federation remained unstable.
“If Dali lacks the unity to proceed,” a strident voice said, “these meetings are pointless.”
Sinking back into her overstuffed armchair, Kalie pinched the bridge of her nose.
The Etovian envoy was only parroting what Father would’ve said, but Father could’ve had the decency to say it himself. In the two weeks since she’d returned to Dali, not a word had come from him. Only this holoprojection of his vexing lackey.
She wanted to strangle him.
