Chapter Fourteen
“Destroyed? All of it?” Tina repeated nonsense words as she stood in the middle of the sitting room.
Tukui held her hands. “Not all, but a lot. Many cities, including where your family lived.”
“Why?” They’d told her civilians would be safe. That they planned to occupy Earth, not erase it. She’d trusted them.
“The portal was rigged by Earth with a detonation command. When our attack fleet went through, it triggered massive explosions beneath a number of major cities. Your leaders didn’t want your people taken alive.” Osopa’s dark skin had a gray pallor. His expression said he might throw up at any second.
Their naked anguish told her they were horrified by what had transpired. They hadn’t realized how the attack would end. Whether Kalquor’s leaders had knowingly carried out genocide or it had been out of their control, Tukui and Osopa hadn’t anticipated what was coming.
A dim memory of a transmission she’d seen months before fought through her numbed shock. The Holy Leader had made a speech, fiery with righteous fury at the Kalquorian Empire. He’d declared war on the profane aliens who’d dared to blaspheme God’s greatest creation by mating with humans. He was certain of victory, but if Kalquor should by some chance prevail, all men should save their wives, mothers, and daughters from being forced into breeding by the mercy of killing them.
Most of that was lost in her current shock. She repeated her earlier question, trying to come to grips with the enormity of the situation. “All of Washington? But they lived in the suburbs. You’re sure they were affected?”
“My Matara, I’m sorry.” Tukui tried to say more, but his mouth moved silently. After a couple of attempts, he gave up.
After all, what could he say? What could he possibly say to fix things?
“They’re gone.” The idea began to get traction in her dazed state.
“Unless they weren’t home,” Osopa suggested, but his bleak expression said he recognized the unlikelihood of that.
Tina would never heal the rift with her father. She’d never meet her younger siblings. Reconnecting with her family, that sweet dream of reconciliation, was forever out of reach.
The first sob broke loose. Yorso reached for her. She shoved him away.
Grief announced itself with a scream. “Why did you have to come? Why couldn’t you have stayed away from us? Why?”
They stood around her helplessly, as if they weren’t big and strong enough to crush her. The three men cringed before her agony, lost and scared as little boys. Even Osopa flinched.
She yelled with an anger that boiled from her core. She shrieked in sorrow, mourning her family and what she’d been cheated of. She shouted at the injustice of a father who’d rejected her no matter how hard she’d tried. She bellowed curses at Earth’s and Kalquor’s leaders, who’d murdered the family she’d been denied.
Most of all, she screamed at the universe itself, for simply being the cold, uncaring thing that it was.
“Why? Why? Why?”
Tina had accepted the sedative the medical staff had offered to all the Mataras that night. Osopa was relieved. Devastated by her accusations, unable to do anything to help her, he’d never felt less like a Nobek in his life.
She slept, her cheeks still bearing the tracks of her tears. She’d at least consented to one of them holding her as she found comfort in unconsciousness. Yorso curled against her in the tiny bed, though he didn’t sleep himself. It was doubtful any of them would sleep that night.
Tukui sat on the lounger-like sofa, scrolling through available positions on noncombat vessels. He’d been at it for an hour already, noting potential captains to research in order to find the right fit. Osopa feared he’d soon take a break, giving him an opportunity to discuss what the Nobek’s future held.
Giving up all he’d worked for. Surrendering the future he’d planned. How could he not, when Tina needed him more than ever? Yet everything in his being screamed at the mere idea.
It wasn’t just a profession. The promise of success in the fleet had consoled Osopa when he’d felt invisible to family and peers. Gaining admittance into the fleet’s junior program had kept him sane when his fathers died and his mother was left incapacitated. Rising through the ranks had kept him from sinking into the bitter atmosphere that surrounded his sister.
In the aftermath of the day’s tragedies, the question of how he’d leave his foundation behind was too much to answer. Without a word to his clanmates, Osopa slunk out of the quarters.
He roamed the corridors, refusing to think for fear he’d start screaming and pounding on the walls. The more he attempted to clear his mind, the louder the thoughts clamored. There was no escaping them.
Half an hour later, he noted with little surprise that he approached Clan Tranis’ quarters. He stopped before the door. After several seconds, he remembered the Earther vessel possessed no automatic visitor announcing system. He knocked.
Barely a second later, Lidon stood before him. Osopa did his best to stand up straight, to present himself as the strong man he should be. He wasn’t sure he succeeded. At least he sounded in control. “I apologize for disturbing you, Commander.”
“Is there a problem?”
“One of a personal nature. If you can spare a moment?”
The weapons commander glanced back into his semi-dark quarters. Low voices and sniffles drifted to the corridor. Of course. Icy-haired Cassidy was mourning too.
“I shouldn’t have bothered you. I’ll speak with you another time, Commander.”
“Wait.” Lidon stepped out, and the door shut behind him, cutting off the sounds of grief. He gazed at Osopa for several seconds before speaking. “Warriors have no weapons at such a moment.”
“They—they have lost a tremendous amount. Our Mataras, I mean.”
“I have little I can offer you in the way of advice, if that’s what you were hoping for. ‘Patience and a shoulder to lean on’ is what the Book of Life says when it comes to consoling others. A compassionate Imdiko is even better, in my opinion.”
Osopa nodded his agreement. “It’s not beneath a warrior to admit we rely heavily on that breed in times such as these.”
“Not at all.”
“Commander, is your Matara proud of your rank? Is she glad to see you doing the work that you’ve built your life on, even though it means months of separation?”
Lidon regarded him with no outward show of surprise, save how long it took him to respond. At last, he answered, “If I were to continue as a ship’s weapons commander, I doubt she’d care about my occupation, except that it would keep me from her. That’s not an issue, however. My lifebringer needs me close, so that’s what she’ll have.”
“You’re resigning?” Osopa didn’t bother to hide his disbelief.
“I plan to transfer to a position on Kalquor, as does my Dramok, so our clan can remain together.”
Captain Tranis and the weapons commander were leaving spyship duty, and not for a destroyer post? When they had attained the status most men dreamed of? That Osopa had dreamed of?
The pair were near legends in the fleet. Particularly Tranis, whose rise in the ranks had been nothing less than meteoric. Yet Lidon spoke of leaving it behind as if he hadn’t accorded the matter a second thought. Osopa tried to understand, but couldn’t.