Gal stares up at Iral unblinkingly. He’s shaking—subtly, but the tremors are on the rise. I nudge his foot, and he stills for a moment. That’s it, I think. Calm down, asshole, before you blow our cover.
Iral continues, unaware. “We waged those guerilla wars in the borderworlds for two years, trying to reclaim even the smallest foothold in the name of Archon. But Umber’s grasp on the interior was too strong, and we could never muster the resources to match them, especially not once they started stripping the belts for their ships. We’d lost before we began. And as enemies of the Umber Crown, there would be no quiet escape for me or my brother. There was only one gambit that would distract the imperials enough that the rest of our forces could escape to Corinth.”
General Iral’s eyes glimmer faintly against the bare bulb. Gal’s, too, but I can tell that gears are shifting in his head, fear giving way to something closer to wrath. The wrath I’ve been afraid of ever since I saw what he did to that Cutter woman. I press my toes over his, trying to bring him back.
“It was Omat’s plan,” Iral says. His tone goes hollow. “He was always braver and smarter. He gave himself and a significant portion of our forces over, let them think they’d caught the great General Iral, and the rest of us slipped into the black. Thanks to his sacrifice, I stand before you today, with a proud army rising from those who took shelter here. So now that I’ve told you my story, how about you go ahead and tell me yours?”
The question catches Gal off-guard, cracking his composure. His lips curl and his brows lower—I can all but see the mind-numbing anger he grapples. “We’re…uh.”
I blink. Gal never uses filler words.
“Deserters,” he blurts. “Umber deserters—well, I’m Umber, but he’s not. He was born in Archon, and he got swept into service but he found it unconscionable, and we ran away together. And this is Wen, and she’s helping us, and—”
I grab him by the shoulder, digging my fingers into his bones before he has a chance to float us even worse. Gal clamps his jaw shut and slumps back in his chair.
“What he means to say,” I start, and Gal tenses under my hand, “is that we’re former cadets of the Umber Imperial Academy on Rana, which provides the heart of the Archon territories’ defense. And yes, I was pressed into service as an orphan of the Umber conquest, but my true loyalty lies with the Archon Empire.”
I shake Gal, and if there were a way for resentment to melt human bones, I think I’d be feeling it now.
“I couldn’t have made it out if it wasn’t for Gal here.” It’s not exactly false. “And he never would have let me leave alone. But escaping drew more attention than we anticipated, and now we’re wanted across the systems. We’re afraid that we won’t be able to make it home safely on our own.”
Iral lifts an eyebrow. “Why return at all?”
“My family,” Gal mutters, his act restored. “My family’s in the Umber interior. I just want to get back to them.” He bares his heart in those words, splits himself open raw for the general to see.
And the general’s been primed for the sight. He’s recounted the death of his brother, and if that wound has scarred over, it’s torn anew now. His steely gaze drops to the ground, and he heaves a deep breath. I tighten my fingers on Gal’s shoulder, and he allows a faint smile while Iral isn’t looking.
“My heart goes out to you boys,” Iral says. “And I’m grateful beyond measure that you’ve found your way to us.”
I brace for the turn.
“But we can’t send you to the Umber interior. Our fight isn’t there—it’s with our people in the former empire. It’s not within our means to allocate resources like that.”
I nearly blurt something rash, but Gal’s eyes cut to me, and I catch the words before they leave my mouth. My hand slides off his shoulder, and I do my best to look disappointed rather than furious. All of this effort—we came all this way, we ditched the mob, we tried to save Wen—and for what?
“You told the soldiers outside that you wanted to help us,” Iral says, his eyes narrowing in a way that worries me. I don’t want to disappoint this man. After Iva emp-Umber crushed my fantasies of knighthood, I decided it was him I wanted to be like when I grew up—not a lone warrior, but a great leader, a common man who rose to fight for the empire when it needed him most. I forgot that ambition. It hung on a crucifix when I thought he did. But it’s difficult not to get swept up in it now.
“We can,” I blurt, though internally I’m reeling for something, anything to back up that statement. We didn’t come all this way for this to be a dead end. We just need time—time and a decent bargaining chip.
“I was an aide to the academy head,” Gal announces shakily, covering up my floundering. “I don’t know how what I know can fit in with the intelligence you already have, but that’s worth something, right?”
Iral’s head tilts as the thought takes hold. My brain should be scrambling for our next escape route, trying to figure out what we do if the resistance throws us back out on the streets, but my focus hitches on the tautness in his lips and stays fixed there. For a moment, I’m not in front of my childhood hero—instead, I’m yanked back to the long moments I spent sitting stiffly before frowning authority figures choosing my future, from settling and resettling me in foster homes to admitting me to the Umber Academy itself. I’ve been on this knife’s edge before, and as ever, it feels like eternity.
“I can put together a meeting with some of my staff tomorrow,” he says at last. “I’ll give you the night to draw up the intelligence you think would be helpful. In the meantime, we’ll set up a dorm room to accommodate you and figure out your clearances.” General Iral pulls himself up to his full height, his chest swelling with a momentous breath. “Hope rides on the shoulders of contributions like this. With enough of it, victory might be within our grasp.”
“Victory?” Gal asks. My heart hammers in my chest.
“Victory. The chance that someday we might retake Rana and build the Archon Empire anew.”
* * *
—
There are no constants in flight. Your mind has to be athletic, your spatial awareness unrelenting. Lose your landmarks and you lose any hope of staying oriented. The only thing that’ll save you is bringing your ship to stillness, giving your head time to catch up with the way the galaxy spins around you.
But there’s no stillness in Henrietta Base’s intake office. Soldiers and secretaries rush back and forth, sticking out datapads for me to print, then wrenching them away before I can read half of the information. I’m at the eye of a bureaucratic maelstrom, and nothing about it gives me room to process what’s happened.