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“I won’t bore you by relating the other concerns I’ve had, especially since there’s nothing you can do about it…at present.” Oiteil’s voice had lowered, his glance sweeping once more toward the Royal Guards following at a respectful distance.
Yuder turned his head minutely in Oiteil’s direction, his brows lowering. What did the councilman mean by “at present”?
His companion caught the questioning look. “A few of us have been talking. It’s presently a small number, you understand? We’ve spoken at length of how those we once counted on to keep the empire safe are no longer available. The Royal Council hasn’t yet fully recovered from the revolt. Though it’s a blessing the traitorous garbage took itself out, we’ve been gutted of valuable leadership. Losing your expertise, along with Councilman Rajhir and Haven’s governor Ospar, was a crippling blow.”
A twinge of yearning pulled at Yuder, but he knew better than to consider it. “The lifetime ban is absolute on all accounts.”
“Kalquor’s Royal Council cleared you of all charges. The ban makes no sense in the face of its decision.”
“It was a condition of my release from the Galactic Council’s prison colony. As for our Royal Council’s pardon, you personally voted against clearing me, Oiteil.” Rightly so, Yuder believed. He’d been appalled when the council had overturned the High Court’s ruling convicting him.
“I had no choice. We were on the brink of civil war. Upholding your conviction gave us the chance to head it off and cripple the rebellion.” Oiteil sighed. “I regret it. It was a bitter pill to swallow.”
“But correct. It had been our last chance to fend off war.”
“That was then. This is now. A lifetime ban from public service is a flawed outcome.” Oiteil’s voice remained quiet, but it was firm in its conviction. “I think it can be changed.”
“The condition forbidding me from public service in order to shorten my sentence came from the Galactic Council,” Yuder repeated. He kept bitterness from his tone as he added, “The Imperial Clan, Royal Council, and people of Kalquor agreed to the terms.”
“Your redemption and return to a leadership role might also become the will of our people if they recognize the need.” His tone lowered further, so Yuder had to strain to hear him. “Would you refuse if your empire begged you to serve?”
Yuder knew he should stay silent. He should tell the councilman the conversation was over. He’d never be restored to any role allowing him to have a say in Kalquor’s governance. Honor demanded he accept the Galactic Council’s terms.
But the years stretching before him, an endless future of meditation and walks on the beach…of pointless, worthless existence…how could he bear it?
Oiteil wouldn’t find the votes. Yuder was certain his dishonor, his crime, assured it.
Was it so wrong to consider the possibilities? To allow the slender hope someday his people would recognize his good intentions, poorly executed as they had been?
“If…ifthe people ask it, I’d have no choice but to answer their call.”
Oiteil nodded, his expression satisfied. “They will. I have no doubt of it.”
* * * *
Kalquorian Empire space, near the border of the Bi’is kingdom
Dramok Nako, captain of the marauder-class vessel he’d been given command of a mere week before, felt guilty.
He absolutely loved his new ship.
The marauder was faster than his old decommissioned raider-class craft had been. A hell of a lot more dangerous too, thanks to its expanded weapons array. The arrowhead-shaped vessel was the deadliest piece of flying destruction he’d had the pleasure of commanding. The sheer mayhem such a vessel could visit on an enemy was enough to keep him aroused like a teenager. It had done so, as a matter of fact, as his Matara clanmate Piper would attest.
The marauder was a dark mistress, its possibilities exciting him despite the fact he’d be using it to guard a lifeless moon slated for terraforming. His fantasies of using his ship to rip Tragooms to shreds were unlikely to happen.
Nevertheless, he could dream.
His insides squirmed to think of his former ship. Nako’s raider had seen its share of battles and served him well over its many years. Now it sat in a salvage yard, waiting to be disassembled, it parts melted and reformed as something else. The old warhorse had done its duty, but Nako hated the notion he’d abandoned it.
“Maybe RD-1202’s metal will become the hull of a marauder or destroyer,” Piper had said, trying to cheer him up when she’d caught him looking at a vid of his former ship. “It could be it’ll fly and battle again as another class.”
He was grateful for her understanding of his unusual lapse into sentimentality. More grateful she’d kept the knowledge to herself. Nako was categorized as a Dramok, and he certainly possessed the leadership trait in spades, but the Nobek half of his personality would have died of shame to be caught romanticizing a hunk of fighting metal.
What a hunk RD-1202 had been, though.
Sappiness paled when it came to the new ship winning his fierce heart. The marauder was so advanced beyond the raider, Nako suspected it could possibly fly itself. The programming was damned near intuitive, and the weapons systems almost as lethal as a destroyer. The ability to phase and ambush an enemy might have struck Nako as a bit cowardly, but the idea of coming out of nowhere in the midst of an enemy squadron and evening the odds before they knew what hit them?
Heat filled his groin. He barely managed to keep from lustful growling as he stood on his ship’s bridge.
