Page 85 of Warrior’s Mate

They lay together on the inadequate couch, half dressed because neither had the luxury of forgetting where they were. Maelis rested her head against his shoulder and listened to the relief station moving beyond the door. The war was still there. So were the missing names, the damaged roads, and the unanswered messages. The bond had not solved any of it. It had simply given them one more true thing to carry into whatever came next.

"We're leaving at first light," she said.

"Yes."

"And we don't know where the detachment will be sent."

"No."

"And the communications network is unreliable."

"Yes."

She traced the seam of his uniform with one finger. "Then let's make one rule now."

"Only one?"

"For tonight."

"I'm listening."

"We don't promise that nothing bad will happen."

Kaiven's arm tightened around her.

"Agreed."

"We promise that neither of us will turn fear into authority over the other."

He was quiet for several seconds.

"Agreed," he said.

Maelis lifted her head. "That one hurt."

"A little."

"Good. Rules should cost something."

He smiled. "You would have made a terrifying officer."

"I prefer useful work."

Chapter 17 — First Light

First light was less than two hours away when they reached the departure field.

The three-vessel detachment looked almost insultingly small against the activity surrounding it. The patrol escort sat at the edge of the field with weapons crews working beneath portable lamps. The support ship had three maintenance panels open and a line of technicians carrying replacement components aboard. The civilian transport—the vessel assigned to Kaiven and Maelis—had been built to move seasonal labor crews between agricultural worlds, not to evacuate hundreds of traumatized people during an invasion.

Its passenger deck had been stripped and reconfigured with temporary berths. Cargo netting held crates of medical supplies beside sacks of seed stock, water purifiers, field generators, and whatever else relief coordinators had decided might matter more than comfort.

Maelis approved of the priorities. She disapproved of the manifest.

"This is unusable."

The transport master, a broad Uatu woman with a voice worn raw from shouting over engines, looked at the tablet in Maelis's hand. "It is a manifest."

"It is a collection of names with inconsistent family identifiers, duplicate children, and six people listed only as 'medical dependent.'"