Page 4 of Defiant

“A meeting,” he said. “To discuss our options, and to plan our strategy.”

“Today?” I asked. “You just got promoted. Shouldn’t there be, I don’t know, a party or something?”

I knew him well enough to predict his response. In fact, I could have mouthed along.

“We can party once our people are safe,” he said. “I’d like you there, Spin. Your perspective is essential to our strategy.”

A dozen excuses popped into my head. They were all stupid. He was right; I was needed. Doomslug, sensing my emotions, let out a soft fluting sound of sympathy.

“When?” I asked.

“Fifteen minutes?”

“I’ll be there.”

For an expanded summary of this illustration, go to this page.

2

The meeting took place on Platform Prime, our center of operations inside Detritus’s shell. This space station flew over the surface of the planet, but was well protected behind many outer layers of other platforms, flying gun emplacements, and shields.

At least Jorgen knew to pick the room with the best seats. I swiveled in my bucket-style chair, which was tight and curved, with high sides, almost like a little cockpit.

I forced myself to listen to what Ironsides was saying. The former DDF leader—now bearing the rank of admiral emeritus—had been dredged up from forced retirement because…well, we needed everyone we had. And Ironsides, for all her faults, had an eye for tactics.

“In a way, you could say we’re lucky,” the silver-haired woman said, gesturing at a star map on the wall that highlighted a wedge of space on the edge of the Milky Way. Our region of the galaxy, territory controlled by the Superiority. We were smack-dab in the middle of it.

“Lucky how?” Jorgen asked from his seat at the head of the long conference table. It was filled with a number of admirals, engineers, and foreign dignitaries, including Cuna, the sole senior dione on ourside. A blue-skinned politician who had become a friend of mine during my days hiding as Alanik on Starsight.

“Here, let me explain,” Ironsides said, shuffling through some papers.

Jorgen waited, sitting primly on the edge of his chair. How could he look so uncomfortable? These chairs were comfy and you could even swivel them with your toe. Though you did have to lounge back a little to fit them properly, to melt into the form. That wasn’t a particularly Jorgenesque way of doing things.

I studied him, enjoying the cut of his chin, the intensity of his gaze, the determination of his posture. Yeah, this new job was a good choice for him. It fit Jorgen like a glove—albeit a new one he hadn’t quite broken in yet.

While Ironsides shuffled papers, the back door to the conference room opened and Cobb slipped in. He’d been the DDF head before Jorgen. Cobb had been my mentor, and was one of the wisest people I knew.

He looked like he’d aged twenty years since I’d left seven weeks ago. He leaned heavily on his cane, and his skin seemed to droop on his body. He’d nearly been killed by the bomb that had destroyed the National Assembly, but my grandmother had saved him—hyperjumping them both away. Their time in the strange trap that had held the kitsen cytonics for so long had not been kind to him.

I glanced toward Gran-Gran, sitting at the side of the room. Seeing my aged grandmother at these conferences had surprised me when I’d first returned. I mean, I knew she was a military genius and the oldest living Defiant—having lived on the starship that originally brought us to Detritus when she’d been a girl—but I never thought anyone else would appreciate that.

Jorgen did. And so she came to the meetings. Gran-Gran noticed my attention cytonically, and I sent her a question, something that was easy for me now that I’d fused with Chet.

Is he going to be all right?I asked.

Cobb, you mean?she asked.He’s the one who just came in?

Her cytonic senses had helped her adjust to losing her sight in some ways, but like all cytonics, her powers were duller when applied to regular people.

Yes,I said.He looks so old, Gran-Gran.

I’ll try not to be offended by the sorrow in that thought,Gran-Gran said.Being old isn’t that bad. Except for your body, your eyesight, your sense of balance, and waking up each morning feeling like you’ve been nailed in place.She smiled in my direction, then the expression faded.I don’t know how long it will take Cobb to recover. He didn’t respond to our excursion as well as I did.

Jorgen stood out of respect, which made the rest of us do likewise. Then Jorgen stepped over and conversed softly with Cobb, likely thanking him for coming. Cobb nodded, but looked exhausted by the walk from the infirmary, as Jorgen helped him to a seat reserved for him at the side of the room.

I knew Jorgen wished that Cobb was still in command, though Cobb had made it clear that was impossible in his current state. And so, with the weight of those bars on his shoulders, Jorgen settled back into his seat. I wished I’d been there to see him sweat when he’d finally taken command. He was cute when he went through deep personal crises balancing his belief in the rule of law with the practical need to get things done.

“Should we proceed?” Cuna asked. The dione sat with their palms pressed together, forearms on the tabletop, watching with an air of dignity and…well, a smidge of condescension. That wasn’t entirely Cuna’s fault though. They tried very hard, but had spent their entire life seeing themself as someone who needed to protect and guide the species of “lesser intelligence” in the Superiority. Changing such an entrenched worldview took time.

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