Page 17 of Clan and Command

Piras didn’t point out that dlas was hardly any man’s spirit of choice to get roaring drunk. The alcohol content was too low.

She kept fretting. “Are you stressed about the war? You must be. Is that why you’re drinking?”

“Not at all. You’re right in that everyone is stressed, my—”

“What?” She didn’t wait for him to answer again. “Promise you won’t end up a drunk, Piras. I do wish you had an Imdiko to keep an eye on you. You’re surrounded by Nobeks all day, so I don’t worry about protection. But a caregiver would do you so much good.”

She went on, launching into another monologue that went off on every tangent that occurred to her. Piras was free to let his mind wander again, half-listening to Calna’s fears, worries, and gossip.

His mother was right on one thing: he was stressed. The mission Hobato and Kila wanted him to take on upset him. Did they really expect him to serve up fellow loyal Kalquorians to the Basma like sacrifices? It made his stomach churn.

Yet they had a point when it came to making the assignment authentic. The war was horrific, the hope for victory dwindling. If the Basma won, it put all the Earthers living in the Empire in jeopardy. The growing number of halfling children, all younger than ten, would also be at risk. Piras would have liked to think as most did, that Maf wasn’t so bloodthirsty as to kill mere babes. However, the evidence that he was willing to let younglings die in his quest for Kalquorian purity was too blatant to ignore. His forces attacked targets that were civilian if it gained them important territory.

Hobato was right. The fleet needed someone who could get close to the Basma, to get the secret knowledge that would stop his madness. At the very least, they needed to take away his latest toys, the Earther battlecruisers.

Throughout his ruminations, Calna chattered on, hardly taking a breath. Piras responded automatically each time she said she was ending the call and returned to his own thoughts when she remembered something else she had to tell him. It was half an hour beyond the time he usually retired for sleep before they exchanged their final goodbyes.

By then, Piras’s head swam with the gravity of the mission as well as the weight he would bear by taking it on. Despite the late hour, he knew sleep would not come anytime soon.

Sighing over the worries, none of which had come from Calna, Piras poured himself another drink.

It was hard to resist the unopened bottle of bohut, but he stuck with the dlas instead. He had the feeling he’d be facing Kila again, probably first thing in the morning. He did not need a hangover on top of dealing with that damned Nobek.

He was too wound up to sit down and work on the raider model. He ended up aimlessly walking around his home, bought only a year ago though he’d been planetside for a few years.

He’d waited to find the right place, a comfortable oasis where he’d be close to headquarters but far enough away to not have it intrude on his senses when he wanted to relax. The home, high in the reaches of the rainbow-leaved forest a few miles from the coast, was the quiet retreat he’d imagined. His nearest neighbor was half a mile away, so he had all the privacy he could ask for. His fathers and overly-worried mother were a continent away.

Piras had not quite gotten around to furnishing all of his abode. Though the tree home was one of the more modest-sized available, a couple rooms were nearly bare. If not for his models lining shelves throughout the place, only the sleeping room, balcony, and common room would seem occupied by a living being. He’d appreciated the extra space that allowed him to build to his heart’s content.

Piras strolled through the home, seeing it from the viewpoint of others who might come in. People who would want to know why he had turned his back on the Empire. Investigators, digging for clues. Yes, it would look as if he’d gotten rid of many possessions in anticipation of racing to the Basma’s side. He snorted. Possessions he’d never owned because he couldn’t figure out how to fill so much space after almost a lifetime in space.

He hated the mission that had been set before him. He despised the idea he could be responsible for killing those who didn’t deserve it. Yet a part of him rejoiced at how it would end up, if all went well. A nagging bit of his consciousness had often whispered he’d made a mistake accepting the promotion to admiral, taking him off the front lines of duty. That piece of Piras looked forward to the assignment with an almost unsavory glee.

Those months fighting the war against Earth on board Kila’s destroyer had breathed life in what had become a dull existence. True, it was Kila’s ship and Piras was not in command of it. He had been in control of the squadron itself however, plotting and planning and leading his assigned ships to many victories. He’d been the Dramok he naturally was in the arena he felt good about directing. Even though Lidon hadn’t been there, Piras could sometimes imagine his former weapons commander close by. Often the fantasy was a little too real. He had frequently felt surprise when he looked at the weapons command station and saw Mostar there instead of his former lover. He’d missed the stoic Nobek who had been equal parts familiar and irritating.

Not Lidon, his strong, capable companion. Instead, it had been Kila at Piras’s side, different but still reliable. Trustworthy. Strong in his own way. A good warrior who kept his men disciplined and ready to fight. Piras had often compared the Nobek captain to his former lover…in a professional sense only, of course. Nothing more. The painful memory of Lidon had seen to that.

It was a pity Kila had not felt the same way. Even now, having found out what the private Piras was like when duty didn’t bring out his leadership urges, Kila had decided to pursue him.

Piras could handle Kila knowing about his sexual proclivities. He could handle the rejection that would follow when it became clear Piras was submissive to the core in that respect. What he could not handle was Kila or anyone else knowing Lidon had walked away for that same reason. Pity on top of the hurt he already lived with, hurt that refused to lessen after years of seeing his former love happy with another Dramok, was too much for Piras to bear.

And yet the mission would put him face to face with that. Would he have to see the knowledge in Kila’s eyes for weeks or months? To cope with his unwanted solicitousness?

Piras wanted to be back on a ship. But the price…between the deaths he would bring and spending day after day with Kila…it was too high. Much too high. He couldn’t go through with the assignment.

He didn’t want to think about letting Hobato down. He didn’t want to think about facing Kila long enough to reject the mission. He needed a distraction. Piras wandered back into the common room. Still too ramped up to work on his miniature raider ship, he switched the vid system on instead.

As usual, it was set to broadcast the latest news vids. Piras was confronted with the bloody faces of Imperial ground troops, the display showing a mass of Nobek casualties.

“…the latest attempt to liberate the civilian population of Lobam was once again repulsed by Basma fighters. The enemy dug in, hiding in mines, buildings, and bunkers to escape the shockwave attacks by the Imperial fleet. The traitors waited for our ground troops to land before launching a devastating counteroffensive that resulted in an hours-long standoff. The fighting ended when Imperial Commander Bevau ordered loyal troops to return to fleet ships on standby. It’s being counted as a minor victory, however, as more than one hundred Earther Mataras and their Earther and hybrid children were found and evacuated before the retreat—”

Piras cursed and switched off the vid hurriedly. He was too late. Before the vid went blank, he glimpsed bruised, emaciated women and children being rushed into escape shuttles. The momentary images stabbed him in the heart.

“Fuck,” he groaned. He’d been ready to turn his back on the atrocious mission Hobato had offered. Just as he’d been prepared to reject attacking his own people, not to mention confront Kila again, Piras had been reminded of the true innocents in Kalquor’s civil war. He’d seen the faces. Those frightened, desperate faces.

The ground troops of the battling sides were evenly matched. Only the fleet, with its majority on the Empire’s side, had managed to win any substantial battles against the Basma. With Browning Copeland and his Earther cruisers throwing their lots in with Maf, the slight advantage the Empire held would change in a hurry.

The Empire could still defeat Maf. Even if it happened, the costs to Kalquor would be high. They were already too high and climbing.

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