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Stonerager Chronicles - Bk. 2, Ch. 4 (Beta)
🕑 Added 2025-11-01 10:00:13 +0000 UTCStonerager Chronicles
By 2Charlie
This is a science fiction series that happens to include occasional erotic scenes. If you have not yet read previous chapters of this series, I highly recommend going back to do so before you read this chapter.
This is a Beta version and may undergo changes prior to final release.
All characters in this story are of the age of majority.
Book 2, Chapter 4 (Beta)
****1200 Ship’s Time, Day 73****
Dutch was hard at work in his lab once more, but this time, working on an agenda for the upcoming peace talks. The talks themselves had been postponed by an additional day to allow the Rigellians and Lyserions to continue post-conflict clean-up and recovery actions. The bulk of the surviving Lyserion Fleet had been cleared to return to their home system, with a handful of ships remaining as participants in the scheduled talks, including the Aegis Fury.
The iShan’tal fleet, or at least that part of it which had come to the aid of the Rigellians, was invited to stay while their Grand Admiral was still in discussions with the Alliance leadership regarding what might be expected from them going forward.
Chancellor Opstrom’s Adjutant, Glynda Tudor, had reached out to the Methosian Council. The Methosians agreed to send representatives from the Council to participate in the peace talks if the Rigellians would send a ship for them. It seemed that the Methosians were still training crews for their starships. Fleet Admiral Bearing immediately dispatched Sid Qui Chang and his crew aboard the Ecliptic Wanderer to fetch the representatives from Methos.
Cathrice Bearing had sent him a message earlier, letting him know that she’d arranged for a large meeting room to be set aside for the coming negotiations, as well as contacting the various food vendors aboard the Antares station to arrange for meals to be served in an adjoining antechamber. He was pleased to know that both Reginald’s and Antonio’s had agreed to participate, as each one had impressed him in the recent past.
Dutch reread the speech that he’d been struggling with. It still rang hollow to him, felt somehow insincere. Sighing, he pushed himself back from his desk. Perhaps, he thought, inspiration would strike him at some point in the next few hours. If not, fuck it.
Leaving his lab, Dutch roamed aimlessly, strolling along infrequently used passageways along the dorsal decks until he found himself entering the engineering module. The sensory feedback was somehow soothing to him, as the steady hum of ventilation fused with the nearly imperceptible thrumming of the reactor core, sealed away in an incredibly durable containment vessel within the chamber. Walking up to the clearplaz barrier, he stared in renewed wonder at the tiny ball of intense fury suspended in the center, no bigger in his estimation than a medicine ball.
Based on simple observation, he’d have sworn the ship’s power core was a small star, and he was nearly right. A tightly constrained globule of zero-point energy lay nestled within layers of magnetic containment fields, pulsating through various quantum states, ready to supply nearly infinite power at a moment’s notice.
Dutch stared at the raw power before him, amazed at the level of technology that it represented. Not as unimaginably superior as he’d thought, perhaps, given the amazing engineering advances the Terrans had achieved, but incredible, nonetheless. The ability to tap into the vast pool of potential energy in the Aether, as old Earth scientists had labeled it, made this reactor a key deciding factor in every encounter in which he and his ship had prevailed. Often, despite his ship being outnumbered or outgunned.
Then and there, Dutch decided. He had immediate obligations – complete the negotiations, then move on and deal with the Noraxi Syndicate. But, beyond that, there was so much more to be done. Restore Mars, and free the Martian survivors from their subsurface shelters. Reactivate the jump network. Establish contact with the other Terran colonies.
But he would call for volunteers to undertake those missions. His next priority was to seek out the mysterious ship waiting for them inside the Neumayer-Libralato Intermediate Mass Black Hole. If it turned out to be a vessel from the Tao Alliance, he wanted to be the one to recover it. If its crew had somehow survived, he wanted to meet them. To thank them. For the amazing refit their automated station had performed on his ship. For that same station, restoring him to life, and gifting him Pheebs. That chance encounter had set the stage for everything that had followed.
For a moment, Dutch had a crystal-clear vision of a part of his speech, where he gave thanks to his unknown benefactors. And then it was lost. Grumbling to himself, he shook his head. Part of him dreaded what might be asked of him should all go well.
Alliances needed leaders. Dutch, not being from any of the existing colonies, nor a member of the iShan’tal, knew he was a natural choice for such a role. It was a horrible idea, and he knew it. The thought of being tied to a desk, entrenched in a bureaucracy, made him almost consider undocking and jumping to some unknown region, never to return. Almost.
Grinning at the thought, Dutch took a deep breath, let out a long sigh, then packed away all of his distractions and his misgivings. In the grand scheme of things, he was not a very important human, but today he was probably somewhere in the top ten. It was time to act the part.
Dutch departed the engineering space and moved with a purpose to his quarters. Upon entering, he went to his closet, looking for where he’d stowed the item. Finding it, he pulled it from its protective case – the glowing crystalline carving of the sextant that had been gifted to him by one of his descendants. He took a moment to admire the piece once again. It was a truly amazing item that he prized dearly, and it managed to capture the essence of the human desire to explore. Dutch imagined that the crystalline carving would make a fine centerpiece for the conference table and would also serve as a focal point for anecdotes, should he decide to share its origin.
Placing the carving back into its case, he closed the box securely, then placed it on the table in the sitting room so that he’d remember to bring it later when he went to inspect the facilities. Turning back to his closet, he considered briefly what uniform he should wear. This was going to be a momentous occasion, one that heralded the greatest change in human cooperation and collaboration since the war ended a century prior. While he didn’t give much weight to pomp and ceremony, Dutch intuitively understood the human need for a certain… presence. The impressive gravity of posture reflects the significance of the occasion.
Shaking his head, Dutch settled for a simple dress uniform. He’d likely performed tasks since his arrival in this time which would have merited awards, accolades, or medals, but he and his crew had been operating well outside the usual organizational construct that Dutch had existed within during his service to the Space Force. As such, he had no medals, ribbons, or the other ostentatious regalia of a career that would be expected of an officer such as himself.
Pausing, he reflected on this for a moment. He had no decorations to reflect his various accomplishments, but then again, neither did his crew. Frowning, Dutch realized that he’d been lax in this area, failing to give his crew the attention it was due.
Just then, his moody thoughts were interrupted as two of his wives entered their stateroom, deep in a conversation of their own. So deep, it took them a moment to notice his presence.
“That’s what I mean,” Pheebs insisted to her sister-wife. “That girl’s discovery, and subsequent actions, directly contributed to Dutch’s ability to… oh!” She smiled broadly as she took note of his presence. “Hello, dear! Speak the Devil’s name, and he shall appear!”
The two women immediately moved to embrace him, and Dutch briefly gave thanks to his creator as he allowed himself an extra moment to savor their affection. The moments in between, indeed, he reminded himself.
“What are you doing in here all by yourself?” D’narius asked him with a sly smile, running a hand along his arm while giving him a smoky look.
Chuckling, he took her hand in one of his, then wrapped his free arm around Pheebs, glancing back and forth between the two women, momentarily enraptured by their contrasting beauty. Finally, he released them both, stepping back slightly, as he admitted, “I was preparing for tomorrow, I suppose. I’d been working on a speech, but couldn’t seem to get it right, so I’ve been trying to get out of my headspace.”
D’narius looked like she had a suggestion, but Pheebs interrupted her. “We were just now talking about how Kaitin deserves some sort of recognition for how she set us up for our success in our encounter with the Archmarshal’s fleet at Mars,” his golden-eyed wife informed him.
"That’s certainly an interesting coincidence," Dutch acknowledged, as he guided his spouses to the sitting area. His tone became more contemplative while he thought back to recent shared moments of accomplishment and adversity. "I’ve been considering our collective achievements since our encounter with the Tao station. It occurs to me that I haven’t taken the time to document all we have accomplished, nor have I adequately recognized those deserving acknowledgment throughout our journey."
Leaning back between them, he scowled briefly at the overhead, wrestling with his thoughts. “I can’t help but think that, if we were serving a proper organization… a fleet, if you will, or this Alliance I keep hyping, we’d all be sporting decorations aplenty.”
Pheebs struck an ironic pose, cocking her head to the side slightly as she grinned mischievously at him. “So, what, are you fishing for a medal? For…. Body slamming a Noraxian, or for tossing big things at bigger ships?”
He leaned over to kiss her, then shook his head. “No, no, but I feel like I’ve fallen short a bit on my job, which includes making sure the crew knows how much I appreciate their expertise and contributions along the way.” Closing his eyes, the scowl returned to his features. “I can’t help but think that, but for small bits of fortune that came our way, we could easily have ended up like one of our sister ships, or worse.”
“Funny you should mention that,” D’narius opined, glancing at Pheebs with one eyebrow arched in her characteristic ‘I told you so’ expression. “We were just discussing such a matter,” she informed him, casting a significant glance at Pheebs.
“That’s right,” Pheebs acknowledged. “I was telling D’narius how consequential it had been for Kaitin to have discovered the Lyserion code they’d introduced into Prime, and what a difference overall it had made to be able to remove the spyware and use it to our advantage.”
“Exactly,” Dutch hissed, shaking his head. “That girl deserves a medal, dammit!”
“And an apology,” D’narius added, a sly grin on her features.
“Oh, now you’re pimping me out as well?” Dutch asked in feigned exasperation. “What is it with all you women, conspiring against me?” He chuckled, shaking his head, looking back and forth between his wives in amusement.
Eventually, he shook his head, clearing away his distractions, and focused on Pheebs. “My dearest executive officer,” he began, earning him an instant stink-eye from his white-haired wife. “Would you be so kind as to work with whomever you need to evaluate the best options before me, and put together a list of meritorious recommendations? I would very much like to hold a private ceremony either this evening or first thing tomorrow, before we go aboard the station, to recognize the individuals who’ve earned it.”
Pheebs then turned a glance at D’narius, who merely smiled and looked away, then shook her head, chuckling. Standing, his ginger-haired wife turned away to move toward the frosted glass doors that led to their sleeping quarters.
Turning her attention back to Dutch, Pheebs grinned widely while pulling a data pad from inside her uniform jacket and placed it in front of her Captain. “I believe this will meet your requirements,” she said, before getting up and heading for the entrance to their quarters.
Glancing down at the pad, he looked back up at his departing wife. “Where are you going?”
“I’ll be back in a bit,” she replied airily. Nodding toward the frosted doors, she informed him, “You’ve got someone to tend to at the moment, dear.”
Deciding that he had time to indulge his women, Dutch set aside the pad and followed after D’narius. Entering their sleep vestibule, he paused to appreciate the spectacle before him.
D’narius finished removing her uniform and undergarments, then crawled onto their bed. Turning to cast a coquettish glance over her shoulder, she inquired in a sultry tone, “Well, are you going to come put a baby in me, or not?” She wagged her backside at him in invitation.
****1800 Ship’s Time, Day 73****
“The damage was just too extensive,” Justine explained, a pained frown creasing her brow. “Between the shearing of the bow spars and the warping of the keel, it would take four times as long to effect repairs as it would to fabricate a new ship.” She paused to take a bite of her dinner, groaning in approval to Danielli, then chasing the bite with a sip of wine before she continued. “That doesn’t mean they won’t harvest back key components, of course. In the case of each ship, something of the original will go into the rebuild.”
“What about Munez and Samel?” Engella pressed, leaning over her plate to ask in a low tone. “They lost their entire crew. That’s gotta be a career-ender, no?
Doherty closed her eyes, shaking her head. “No, I don’t think so. After all, they managed to take out a few dreadnoughts, even after they were heavily damaged. That counts for a lot. But I don’t know whether either of them will be in a hurry to get back into the chair again any time soon.”
The automatic doors whooshed open just then, and Dutch entered the galley, along with D’narius. Sniffing audibly, Dutch exclaimed, “What is that glorious smell?”
Danielli practically beamed as she replied, “I programmed Janice to make my grandmother’s lasagna. Wanna try some?”
“Just try and stop me!” he growled, leaning down to kiss her on the forehead. “You women with your amazing food are gonna make me fat!”
As he went over to the counter to make himself a plate of food, D’narius paused to follow up with the tall Rigellian Commander. “Any word on how Faith’s doing?”
Shaking her head, Doherty responded, too low for Dutch to overhear, “No, she’s still in a medically induced coma. But that Lyserion Admiral won’t leave her bedside. He keeps reading to her from an ancient novel… something about whales, so it must be from Earth.”
“How very odd,” D’narius mused, a thoughtful expression flitting across her features.
“When I asked him if he knew her,” Justine continued to explain, “he shook his head wistfully, then claimed that she was the bravest officer he’d ever encountered in battle. He seemed genuinely concerned for the health of his enemy.”
“I don’t think things are that simple,” D’narius speculated. “When he retold us the story of her defiant stand in the face of his fleet, Admiral Solenn seemed quite impressed by her gall.”
“Is it true that there are no Lyserion women?” Danielli asked suddenly, a speculative look in her eye.
“Feeding the rumor mill, Dani?” Dutch teased her as he slid into a chair next to her, passing a plate laden with lasagna and garlic bread to his wife before wolfing down a bite.
“That’s not a denial,” the young woman rebutted, grinning mischievously.
“So they told us,” Dutch sighed in between mouthfuls, shaking his head. “They explained that the radiation from their dying primary makes the males more aggressive, while killing the females.”
“And there are no males among the iShan’tal?” the young woman persisted, this time looking to D’narius for confirmation.
“There are no human males among the current serving cadre of iShan’tal,” the ginger clone clarified. “Some of the previous cadres contained multiple genders, and they proliferated. Whole colony worlds exist to support them, though they are no longer active in the Hegemony military forces.”
“Wait, what?” Dutch interrupted, momentarily derailing Danielli’s thoughts. “How am I only now hearing about this?”
D’narius shrugged, explaining, “I never really thought about them. The Battle Masters routinely cashiered their previous legions of clones once they’d prevailed in their conflict with the challengers of their time, and the surviving veterans were given an honorable retirement, allowed to live out the remainder of their natural lives in peace. In some cases, those remaining forces – now civilians - settled into communities and prospered. The current generation of clones never interacts with them. To do so is considered… uncouth.”
Dutch stared at D’narius for a moment in stunned disbelief, amazed at the naivety of his wife’s disregard of these beings who foretold the future that had been intended for her own ‘cadre’ of iShan’tal clones. For the briefest of moments, he recalled some of the vision that the Battle Master Zyyr’kaal had shared with him, and better understood what she’d meant when she asked him, ‘You will be their guardian? Will you see to their future?’ The ancient Battle Master had not limited her intended task to only the current generation of cloned forces, but to all surviving progeny of the previous armies. The suddenly expanded scope of his burden left him silent in contemplation.
Danielli, not to be deterred, continued her original train of thought. “So, to be clear, the iShan’tal forces of the current cadre are comprised exclusively of females, right?”
Justine shrugged, looking to D’narius for confirmation. D’narius frowned for a moment before responding to the younger woman’s query. “I begin to understand my husband’s offense at being… how does he put it? ‘Pumped off’, I believe?”
“The phrase is pimped out,” he muttered distractedly before he rose from the table, recycled his dishes, and departed the galley in a rush.
“Did I say something wrong?” Danielli wondered aloud, looking back and forth between the two older females.
“No, it wasn’t anything you said, Dani,” D’narius reassured the younger woman, looking toward the doorway through which their captain had just passed. “I’ve seen that look before. I’ve given our Stonerager some new piece of information which has imbued him with a new sense of purpose.”
Touching Danielli and Justine briefly on their shoulders, D’narius cleared away her untouched dishes, then turned and followed Dutch, leaving the two wondering what had just transpired.
*****
When D’narius finally located him, Dutch was standing in the middle of his workspace, surrounded by a holographic image of an unfamiliar region of space. Different colored linear demarcations outlined various systems, but one specific system seemed to have captured his interest.
“And no one currently inhabits this system?” he asked aloud.
“One planet appears to be sparsely populated,” Prime responded, adjusting the field of the hologram to focus on the system of interest. “However, there are three planets in the ‘Goldilocks zone’, and the other two appear to be barren.”
“No structures, no sign of any intention to occupy them?” he asked, using his hands to isolate and more closely inspect the fourth planet in the system.
“None on record,” Prime clarified. “It is entirely possible construction efforts could have commenced sometime after this data was last updated.”
“That’s true, I suppose,” he conceded with a slight shrug, still peering closely at the green and blue fourth planet, using his hand to rotate the image, then zooming in to examine it more closely. The holographic image of the world included a pair of similarly sized satellites, at least one of which may have also possessed a breathable atmosphere, as well as large bodies of what appeared to be water.
“Analysis: potential for this world and its moons to support human life?” Dutch queried.
“My analysis shows that the planet in question and its moons appear to have been engineered specifically to support human life,” the ship’s AI replied immediately.
Dutch stood back silently, stroking his chin in thought, until D’narius moved to stand beside him, snaking her hand into his.
“Copper for your thoughts,” she said quietly, eyeing him with affection.
Smiling gently at her, Dutch leaned down to kiss her briefly, then pulled a pad out of his pocket and copied the data from the hologram onto his device. Stowing it back away, he finally addressed her question. “So, when I briefly melded with Zyyr’kaal, she showed me the history of her people, including the many times that cloned armies such as the one you served in were created. What she didn’t show me was what happened to those armies once they were retired and replaced. Nor did she reveal to me the ‘retirement plans’ that were already made for your cadre of clones, for when their purpose had been served and they were to be cashiered out, as you put it.”
Sweeping his free hand through the system being projected around his work area, he continued. “The Battle Masters set aside these worlds as places for your sisters to live out the remainder of their lives. The big difference between your cadre and prior ones was the lack of suitable mating material, meaning that your cadre would eventually age and die off, with no progeny to carry on afterward. Only one of the planets has been improved with constructed settlements, leaving two worlds, suitable to support human life, but unoccupied.”
D'narius eyed the holographic display thoughtfully for a moment before commenting, “You’re thinking that these empty worlds might offer a solution to the Lyserions?”
“In part, yes,” he confirmed, oddly pensive in his tone. “That’s one part of the bigger scheme, I suppose. But another part of my plan addresses what becomes of the human females who make up the iShan’tal forces. An overly simple solution would be to get the two sides together and let nature take its course.”
“Assuming both sides are amenable to this solution,” she pointed out carefully.
“Free will is an ancient tenet of human society,” Dutch nodded thoughtfully. “Or, put another way, you can lead a mule to water, but you cannot make it drink.”
“You have a very odd way with words, husband,” D’narius smiled at him, running her hand along his bearded jawline. “Come, let’s return to the galley and enjoy Dani’s lasagna. You owe her heaps of praise for her grandmother’s recipe, after all.”
“Very well,” he sighed, moving to follow her lead. “But later, I want to talk more with you about the other, older cadres, and their civilizations...”
****Cestus Medical Facilities, Early Morning, Day 74****
“What do ye do when ye see a whale, men?”
“Sing out for him!” was the impulsive rejoinder from a score of clubbed voices.
“Good!” cried Ahab, with a wild approval in his tones.
“Mmmnnnnwhat... the fuck... is a whale?” Faith O’Connor slurred weakly from the hospital bed, where she struggled to sit upright.
Closing his worn, leather-bound tome, Vayn Solenn reached over to place a calming hand on the young officer’s shoulder. “Don’t try to sit up, Commander,” he bade her in a soothing tone. “You’re pretty banged up and need to lie still for a bit yet, I’d guess.”
Yielding in her struggle to rise, Faith lay back for a moment before querying, “Where am I?”
“You’re in the post-surgical recovery unit on Cestus,” the Lyserion Admiral replied calmly. “And before you ask, the rest of your crew are either somewhere nearby recovering or resting in temporary quarters at the shipyard.”
“My.... ship... ?” she fought to speak in clear tones, her face a mask of pain.
“Ah... yes... I was afraid you’d ask about that... The Majestic Horizon – beautiful name, by the way - was heavily damaged,” Vayn explained in sad, measured tones. “She was a hell of a fighter, but I’m afraid she gave her all.”
Faith groaned, her expression betraying the pain this news caused her.
“Who are you?” the groggy young officer inquired at last. “Your voice sounds familiar, but I don’t recognize you.... or your uniform...”
“My apologies, Commander,” Solenn bowed his head for a moment. “But, you’re correct. We have met. In battle, as it were. I am Admiral Vayn Solenn. And whales were enormous mammals that lived in the oceans of Earth, once upon a time.”
“No longer,” she replied wistfully, still in a foggy state. “Last I saw it, there were no oceans left on the Earth.”
“No indeed, not for more than a century,” Vayn agreed with her.
“Admiral Solenn...” O’Connor puzzled over his identity for a moment, then frowned. “Didn’t I tell you to go home?”
“Quite emphatically, yes,” he agreed, nodding his head sagely. “I should have listened, I suppose, but then our people wouldn’t be on the brink of a new peace, and I’d have not had the chance to meet you, my new hero.”
“Your... cough hero? I don’t understand... cough”
“You really need to lie back and close your eyes, now,” he said, sweeping loose hair gently from her face with his hand. “You’ve got some more healing to do. I can continue to read to you, if you like, or sit quietly with you if you prefer.”
“Mmmm... more... whales...” she said quietly, as she drifted back to sleep.
“As you wish,” he agreed, reopening the weathered book. “Now, where were we? Oh yes, here we are!”
“And what do ye do next, men?”
“Lower away, and after him!”
“And what tune is it ye pull to, men?”
“A dead whale or a stove boat!”
“Then God help ye! Let me chase him round Good Hope, and round the Horn, and round the Norway Maelstrom, and round perdition’s flames before I give him up!”
****0830 Ship’s Time, Day 74****
A single bell chime rang forth, and the crew of the Odyssey, gathered at the quarterdeck in their dress whites, snapped to attention.
Pheebs, standing before the assembly, beside the ship’s bell, spoke in a voice that was solemn and clear:
“O Lord of the vast and unknowable firmament,
Who charteth the stars and guideth the hand of man,
We gather this day in solemn gratitude,
To honor those whose courage hath steadied our course,
Whose deeds, like constellations, shine eternal.
Bless this company, steadfast in duty and bold in spirit.
May honor be our compass, and unity our sail.
In the name of all who have gone before us,
And for the sake of those who shall follow,
Let this ceremony be consecrated in truth and remembrance.
Amen.”
“At ease,” Dutch called out, stepping up to the podium, his voice firm but warm as it filled the quarterdeck.
“Crew of the Odyssey,
Today, we stand not merely as fellow officers but as kin forged in the crucible of the void.
You have borne the weight of command, the sting of sacrifice, and the silence between stars with unwavering resolve.
In the finest tradition of the service – those handed down from wind-swept decks and salt-stained logs – you have upheld the honor of this vessel and the fleet in which she belongs.
I have seen valor in your actions, wisdom in your counsel, and camaraderie in your every gesture.
Let it be known, the names we commend here today shall be etched not only in the ship’s record, but in the memory of all who sail with her.
You have made me proud – not as your captain alone, but as a fellow voyager in this great endeavor.
Let the stars bear witness: the spirit of the old navy lives on in you.
Stand tall. You are the legacy.”
Pheebs joined Dutch, a wooden box cradled under her arm, and they moved one by one to address the Rigellian volunteers. In front of each, Pheebs would open the lid to the polished box, and Dutch would reach into the box and withdraw a medal, whose Obverse was of a starship shaped like the Odyssey bursting through a radiant star, the recipient’s name and rank engraved on the reverse, and the ribbon a deep blue with a single, central stripe of silver – blue for valor, silver for honor.
To each recipient, the captain would say, “The Alliance Medal of Valor”, affixing the medal to their left breast, then clasping their hand before moving on to the next member of his small crew.
When at last, he and Pheebs had reached Kaitin Shune, Dutch withdrew a different medal, whose obverse was shaped like a stylized gear interlocked with a sextant, engraved with the phrase “By wit, we endure.’, and a ribbon of midnight blue with a gold strip – blue for wisdom, gold for brilliance.
“For her actions in identifying, isolating, and removing the Lyserion spyware, The Alliance Medal of Celestial Ingenuity, for Lieutenant Kaitin Shune,” Dutch announced in a proud voice, to Kaitin’s surprise, as he pinned it to her breast.
Resuming his place at the podium, Dutch brought the small ceremony to a close. “I am very proud to be your Captain, and look forward to many more adventures to come!”
Pheebs called out, “At Ease!”, and the assembly relaxed, each congratulating the other as Dutch and Pheebs watched on.
Just as the ship’s bell sounded two chimes, a voice called out from the starboard hatch. “Request permission to come aboard!”
Standing in the open airlock was Fleet Admiral Bearing and her aide, Commander Beckins, both attired in the Rigellian Fleet’s dress uniforms.
“Permission granted,” Dutch called from behind the quarterdeck podium.
As soon as the pair stepped aboard, Pheebs called out, “Attention on deck!” and the crew once more snapped to attention. A boatswain’s whistle sounded from the all-hands, and Prime announced, “Rigellian Fleet Academy, arriving!”
As they reached the podium where Dutch awaited them, Lt. Commander Beckins produced a sealed case of obsidian alloy, passing it to the Fleet Admiral.
Hefting the small case, the admiral grinned, opining, “It looks as if our timing was nearly perfect.”
“How is that, Admiral?” Dutch asked in a puzzled tone, still standing at attention behind the podium.
Clearing her throat, the Admiral glanced down at a note attached to the lid of the case and intoned aloud, for all to hear:
“Let it be entered into the log of the Alliance Starship Odyssey, and into the memory of all who sail with her:
That Captain Stoenager has not merely led, but inspired.
In moments of peril, he stood unshaken. In silence, he listened. In chaos, he created order.
His character has been our compass. His courage, our shield.
By his hand, we have endured. By his heart, we have become more than a fleet – we have become kin.
Therefore, by the authority granted to me, and with the witness of this company,
I present to him the Polaris Ascendant Medal, the highest honor of the fleet.
Let the stars remember this day!”
The admiral opened the lid to the case, and within it lay a medal with a gradient ribbon, flowing from deep indigo to silver, and an obverse shaped like a radiant starburst, etched with the phrase, ‘By virtue, by valor, by vision – let the stars bear witness.’ Taking the medal from the case, Bearing affixed it to the left breast of Dutch’s uniform jacket, where it gleamed brightly in the overhead illumination.
The gathered host broke into applause as the admiral stepped back, allowing all to see the recipient of this most high award.
Dutch was speechless, his face a deep shade of red as his eyes misted over. Deciding to ease his discomfort, Pheebs stepped up and quietly dismissed the crew, allowing them to disperse. At last, only Dutch, Pheebs, the Admiral, and her aide remained.
Turning to her aide, the Admiral gave her a silent nod.
Nodding to each of them, Beckins took her leave, striding purposefully back toward the airlock and onward to Antares Station.
Returning her attention to Dutch, the Admiral asked, “Dutch, can we have a quick conversation so that I may better understand where we’re at with the iShan’tal and the Lyserions?”
“Of course, Cathrice, but it was all in my report,” he replied as he led the three of them to the nearby briefing room.
“Captain, pardon my bluntness, but the good shit’s almost never in the report,” the elder officer chuckled, shaking her head. “Especially not in your reports!”
The three of them shared a laugh at that remark as they entered the briefing room. Pheebs went over to the dispenser and spoke briefly with Janice, returning a few moments later with a tray of fruits and cheeses, as well as a carafe of juice and three cups.
The three of them took seats close together at the table – the briefing room was still configured with the round table from the previous meeting between Dutch, the iShan’tal leadership, and the Lyserion leadership. As they nibbled on the food, Dutch and Pheebs took turns recalling parts of the various encounters, beginning with the initial meeting with the iShan’tal fleet leaders above Mars, the second, smaller meeting aboard the Odyssey, the attack by the Lyserions near Mars, the subsequent response to the Lyserion invasion of Rigellia, and finally culminating with the initial negotiations that had transpired aboard the Odyssey not two days prior.
Throughout the conversation, Bearing had remained silent, only occasionally interjecting questions. She was quite keen to learn more about the spyware that had been injected into the ship’s AI during the recent refit at the Cestus Shipyards, and made a quick note to follow up on that matter.
“It was clever of you to use their spyware against them, but you got lucky, in my opinion,” the Admiral grumbled, shaking a finger at Dutch. “You had no way of knowing what their force composition was going to be. They could easily have come at you with overwhelming force.”
“Cathrice,” he shook his head, “they DID come at me with overwhelming force. I was just smarter. The minefield totally tipped the advantage in my favor, and if it had not, the iShan’tal likely would have interceded.”
“You didn’t know that for certain. You said so yourself. And as for the minefield tipping the scales, that’s partly bullshit. You had no such advantage when you came charging in here, hammering the Lyserions with what was left of their flagship,” she admonished him sternly. “Seriously, Dutch, you take some major risks, and mostly make it through on bluster and brutality alone. But someday, you’re going to come up against a situation where that doesn’t work. The Methosians were right – you need to work on refining your strategies.”
Dutch sat back, wrestling with his emotions, but knowing that the Rigellian Admiral was probably correct. “Noted,” he finally quipped, then returned to the debriefing.
At the end, when all the salient information had been passed along, Bearing nodded thoughtfully, sitting back in her chair as she considered the totality of the situation. “So, we’ve definitely got an interesting challenge ahead of us today,” she huffed, shaking her head slightly. “Diplomatically, many of the Chancellor’s advisors are out for blood. The Lyserion influence campaign has left many agitated, with a consensus leaning toward rejecting any peaceful alliance with the Lyserion Bastion. At the very least, a full accounting for all of their ‘compromise tactics’ must be made, as well as some form of reprisals for their attack on our world.”
Dutch closed his eyes, rubbing his temples in frustration. “That’s just the sort of near-sightedness that we cannot afford, Cathrice.”
“How do you mean? You’ve been impacted as much as any of us, with all of the intelligence-gathering and sabotage efforts the Lyserions directed against your ship, and you, not to mention their dealings with the filthy Noraxi Syndicate. The wake of destruction that they left along the way must be met with reprisal...”
“I believe I’ve repaid them in blood a hundredfold more than what they spilled in their earlier efforts, Cathrice,” he interrupted her caustically. “That debt has been settled. More than forty of their warships, each crewed by thousands, were destroyed by the end of this engagement. I think we need to focus on the long game and cease all the human-on-human conflict. We’ve got bigger matters to deal with.”
“Such as?” she demanded, her ire up at his casual-seeming dismissal of her anger at the Lyserions.
“Such as the fact that the iShan’tal Battle Masters are no longer running interference in the galaxy for us, meaning that the next big challenge to come along will be ours to handle, so we’d better make sure we’re prepared for that!” He was doing his best to remain calm, yet Dutch was certain the warmth in his face was visible to the two women. “We’ve been pissed at losing the war to them, and at having been put in time-out for a century, but we’ve failed to consider what else they’d been up to all these thousands of millennia. While I’m certain they caused much harm throughout the galaxy, I’m equally certain they managed to limit the number of vile races who could otherwise be running roughshod in much worse ways. Imagine a galaxy under the thumb of the Syndicate. Now, imagine that being the optimistic option. Things could be even worse. You recall my recent encounter with the Tlylaxians?”
The Admiral shuddered at that memory, then seemed to relax somewhat. “I keep having to remind myself that you bring a unique perspective to these matters, Dutch. I’m sorry. But, as I said, this is something you’ll need to be prepared to deal with later today. There are plenty of recriminations to go around, from what I can tell.”
Dutch stood, and the two women joined him. “Pheebs, I’m going to walk the Admiral to the airlock. Please detail a skeleton watch and establish a shore leave rotation. I want everyone back on board in three days, as we have a mission to follow up with the Noraxi.”
****Early Afternoon, Antares Station****
The meeting hall was filling up quickly by the time Dutch, Pheebs, and Alisia arrived. Jjan’tira and D’narius had volunteered to remain aboard the Odyssey, while the remainder of the crew had gone ashore to visit friends and family.
Dutch and Pheebs moved to the central tables, arranged in a horseshoe fashion, where representatives from the four major groups were seated, while Alisia opted to find a seat in the gallery. He nodded quietly to his left as he passed Chancellor Norda Opstrom and her Adjutant, Glynda Tudor. A bit further down the table, he saw Bale Montgomery and Renee Pulsion, ostensibly representing Methos. As he waved at them, he wondered what had become of Senior Scholar Decan Hill. Across the floor were two other tables, each hosting a pair of representatives from the other two parties present. Dutch nodded curtly to Admiral Solenn and Commander Quenn at the Lyserion table, then cast a wry grin at Grand Admiral Xyphara and Senior Captain Soritha.
As he approached the table that had been set aside for him, Dutch hefted the glossy wooden box he’d been carrying, setting it carefully on the table before he opened it. With great care, he extracted the glowing crystalline Sextant carving, positioning it prominently on the table before he closed the box, tucking it beneath the table before walking around to take his seat next to Pheebs.
Dutch glanced across the gallery, seeing many familiar faces in the crowd. Many nodded at him, and more than a few chanced a shy wave in his direction. He thought he could name a few, but far more were unfamiliar, forcing him to realize that he had become something of a celebrity of late.
Off to his right, Adjutant Tudor stood, ringing a silvery bell with a small mallet to get everyone’s attention. As soon as the low murmurs throughout the gallery ceased, she raised her voice so all could hear her. “It is my honor to call this meeting to order. I introduce to you all the elected leader of Rigellia, Chancellor Opstrom.”
Standing from her seat, Opstrom raised her hands, gesturing for those gathered to quiet their fanfare. Her expression was solemn, bordering on stern, as she cast her steely glance across those seated at the tables opposite hers.
“As the leader of the host system, I bid our visitors welcome. We open these talks in the wake of a horrific invasion. But that was yesterday. Today, we look to all of those gathered here to have the wisdom to lead us to a brighter tomorrow.” Turning to her left, she gestured toward the table where Dutch and Pheebs sat silently. “First, I would like to ask the man most responsible for all of us being gathered here today to speak to us now, to tell us of his thoughts, and reveal to us his vision, that we might choose whether or not to join him in it. I call on Captain Stoenager, or, as we’ve all come to know him, the Stonerager.”
Thunderous applause rang out in the hall as Dutch slowly stood, his new medal glinting brightly in the lights of various media crews' cameras. Emulating the Chancellor’s actions moments earlier, he raised his hands to request quiet. Gradually, the hall fell to a silent hush, pregnant with expectancy, as all within awaited his words.
“Thank you for the introduction, Madame Chancellor,” Dutch nodded toward Opstrom before continuing, sweeping his gaze up and out, across those gathered in the gallery. “Greetings, my fellow humans! It has been a long and torturous series of odd and unlikely events that have brought us all here today. But, I can confidently tell you, having grown up on a horse farm in Kentucky, there’s wisdom in the old adage about not looking a gift horse in the mouth!”
Amid the smattering of laughter, Dutch spied several in the audience quickly interfacing with their data pads, no doubt looking up what a horse was. Once again motioning for quiet, he continued to speak. “We humans, including those who are recovering Terrans, or recovering iShan’tal, or simply from elsewhen, find ourselves emerging from a time of darkness, bathing in the light of a new dawn.”
Looking to his left and his right, he nodded to the assembled representatives. “Many gathered here, or watching from home, may feel that this is the time to air out grievances, old and new, to put the same tired old trope to the test once more. The Terrans were wronged by the iShan’tal. The Rigellians were wronged by the Lyserions. To those, I bid you to seek calm and remain steady.” Pausing, Dutch swept his gaze once more around the chamber, seeing a few looks of concern, but more of hope. “As humans, we are stronger together than apart. And we have been apart for too long. Our time of idle abeyance has ended, and we are called to action. We have pressing matters to attend to, vastly more important than the grievances I just mentioned. Of the twelve Terran colonies, only three are represented here today. Contact with the other nine must be reestablished. Couriers must be dispatched, jump gates must be restored to service, and notice must be served of the Treaty and of the Alliance, inviting them all to join us.”
Stepping from behind his table, Dutch began to stroll in the open space between the other tables as he continued to address the gathering, as well as the remote audience. “In addition, the survivors on Mars await rescue! Their planet, ravaged by nuclear bombardment a century ago, must be healed, their cities rebuilt, and their people freed from their shelters and returned to the surface!”
A murmur ran through the crowd at this news of Mars, as most had not heard of survivors there. A general thrum of excitement could be felt, growing, spreading.
“Our fellow humans from the Lyserion Bastion did not invade out of hatred, but out of desperation. Their primary is dying, and its radiation has killed off all of their women. They face the void of extinction, lest some alternative outcome be achieved. And, equally important, the remaining forces of the iShan’tal are no longer at war with humanity. As it turns out, they are a part of humanity – at least, biologically. It is up to us and to them to do the hard work to welcome them back into the fold and seek what wonderful diversity and value they bring with them.”
Pausing to lower his gaze, to look directly at each table full of representatives, he finished his statements with a final observation. “It is with this, and much more, in mind, that I beseech all of those gathered here today to set aside the past, to reach a new accord, to bind their sacred honors to a new compact, pledging to forge a new alliance and bring along the rest of humanity, to assume our place as shepherds, assisting those that have greater need, and defending those with lesser strength. There is a vast galaxy out there to explore, with boundless wonders, incredible opportunities, and terrible dangers. But, as this sextant,” he gestured toward the crystalline carving, “is meant to remind us, it is our destiny to sail among the stars, and our responsibility to help others when we may. There is no greater calling for humanity, and no finer duty for the Alliance. This is my vision.”
As Dutch returned to his seat, the hall erupted in applause, and all within stood, cheering wildly for the man, so recently risen to fame, who was most responsible for them reaching this moment.
****2100 Ship’s Time, Day 74****
“Welcome back, Captain, and ladies,” Prime greeted Dutch, Jjan’tira, D’narius, Alisia, and Pheebs as they crossed the quarterdeck. “You have sixteen million, nine hundred eighty-two thousand, four hundred seventy-seven messages in your queue, although I have taken the liberty of pre-sorting and prioritizing the few dozen messages from the Rigellian government, the Methosian Scholars, the Lyserion High Command, and of course, the iShan’tal Fleet Command.”
“Thank you, Prime,” Dutch nearly sighed, already exhausted from a long day. “Are any of them flagged as urgent?”
“Several are marked as high priority,” the ship’s AI informed him, “but a quick assessment of their contents suggests that all can wait until later.”
“Thank you, Prime,” Dutch replied, stifling a yawn. “Danielli’s father served us some amazing marsala, and it's damn-near putting me into a food coma.”
“Well, don’t let yourself get too tired, dear,” D’narius whispered in his ear. “You’ve got to give me at least one more load before bed, just to make sure things... take hold.”
Dutch arched his eyebrow as he glanced at her, then at his other wives, who all seemed to be in agreement with D’narius. “’ Take hold’?”
“I told you, old man,” she ribbed him good-naturedly, “when Pheebs made her little announcement, we’d all want in on some of that. Well, I’m at the right time in my cycle, so I’m calling dibs!”
The other three women giggled, earning them an accusing glance from their husband. “You women! Always conspiring against me!” he mock-protested.
Pheebs pulled up short as they made to bypass the bridge. “I’ve got a bit of data I wanted to look over, plus a few maintenance items to address,” she mentioned casually, glancing meaningfully at Alisia and Jjan’tira. “Perhaps my sister-wives could assist me, while giving these two just a little space for a bit?”
Taking her hint, Alisia and Jjan’tira both stepped over to hug D’narius and kiss Dutch, wishing them ‘good luck’, before they joined Pheebs.
*****
“So,” Alisia queried as the three women gathered in Dutch’s workroom, “is there truly something you wanted assistance with, or were you just wanting to give them some privacy?”
“I don’t see why it can’t be both,” Pheebs grinned. “But I don’t mind giving them a little space. Dutch has been too caught up in everything else to properly celebrate D’narius’ return, so I consider this a well-deserved favor to them both.”
“That’s fair,” Jjan’tira agreed. “So, what was the other matter you wanted help with?”
Pheebs chuckled, shaking her head slightly in bewilderment. “I wish it were only one matter,” she muttered in a chagrined tone. “Here’s the thing – there’s an awful lot that is going to need to be done, and our husband has a nasty habit of taking on way too much responsibility. Add to that the reality that he needs to start thinking about maybe lowering his appetite for risk, given that children are now on the horizon. Finally, I think that – just maybe – we have an opportunity to help him delegate some of the tasks that I know he’s obsessing over, which will ease his burdens substantially.”
“Now, that sounds like a good idea,” Alisia agreed, Jjan’tira nodding her head in concurrence. “How can we help?”
“I’m building a list,” Pheebs nodded to the pad in her hands, which she swiped, putting the list up on holodisplay for the other two women to see. “I want to try to capture all of the big items that I know he’s worrying about, and then we can try to figure out how we can maybe arrange to delegate some of them out to others. After all, more hands make for lighter work, or so I’ve heard.”
“Recover Mars,” Jjan’tira read from the top of Pheebs’ list. “That’s going to involve lots of smaller projects, won’t it?”
Alisia nodded her head absently, tapping out smaller tasks on her own pad. “Establish contact with the survivors, perform radiation cleanup, rebuild cities on the surface, integrate Mars into the Alliance, and help them rebuild their commerce capabilities to restore a semblance of self-sufficiency. It’s going to be a major undertaking that should reasonably be expected to require the combined efforts of many contributors. I could easily see sub-efforts of this being parsed out to Methosians, Rigellians, Lyserions, and iShan’tal alike, assuming all are willing to volunteer.”
“I agree,” Pheebs nodded, jotting down a few notes. “I am concerned that many of the items on my list are time-sensitive, and all will likely need to be addressed as soon as possible.”
“Agreed,” Alisia nodded, moving to the next item on the list. “I think that relocating the Lyserions will be a bit more delicate. I understand that Dutch was considering the iShan’tal ‘retirement’ worlds the Battle Masters had set aside from the current cadre, but we should probably run that idea past Xyphara and her advisors first, to get their consent, or see if they can offer up alternative options. After all, the iShan’tal leadership is probably in the best position to possess any knowledge pertaining to viable alternatives.”
“That’s true, I used to manage database interfaces,” Jjan’tira offered. “The vast libraries on Concorvia are full of all sorts of information, including planetary surveys performed by every cadre, from the present on back. Any of the larger ships will have a persistent uplink to those databases, so we can ask Xyphara to delegate a search task the next time we see her, and it’ll likely produce options that same day.”
Pheebs added more notes to her list, marking this as a task with dependencies. Pausing, she looked up at the two clones. “What about the iShan’tal in general? What do you think they will want to do with respect to pairing up with male partners? Is that something that they would be open to, or will it take some convincing?” Pheebs didn’t add that it had taken a bit of manipulation to get the three clones to become involved with Dutch in the beginning, but she was concerned at the prospect of this reluctance, or perhaps naivety, being indicative of a general shared behavior.
“Well, to be honest,” Alisia began hesitantly, “I am curious as to whether or not the Grand Admiral hasn’t already taken steps to mitigate the situation.”
Pheebs looked puzzled, but Jjan’tira nodded her agreement. “I wouldn’t be surprised,” the younger clone inferred.
“Okay, I must be missing something,” Pheebs admitted. “What is it you think she may have done?”
“Well, she does have access to the cloning facilities,” Alisia began hesitantly.
“And...?” Pheebs looked back and forth between the other two women, feeling a bit irritated that they knew something she didn’t.
“And, both Xyphara and Soritha had plenty of Dutch’s DNA when they left after the battle for Rigellia,” Jjan’tira added, arching her eyebrows as she waited to see if Pheebs understood the implication of the two bits of information.
Pheebs mulled the information over for a moment before her expression turned to one of shock. “She wouldn’t!”
“Why wouldn’t she?” Alisia asked rhetorically. “I mean, it’s not as if she had met a superior sample of human male, am I right?”
“But, without his consent...” Pheebs began to protest when Jjan’tira giggled and shook her head.
“I’m pretty sure the DNA was provided consensually,” the younger clone observed, a wry smile on her lips.
“Oh, fuck,” Pheebs gasped softly. “He’s not going to like this. Not at all.”
“We don’t always get what we like,” Alisia reminded her sister wife. “Besides, I’m not certain that Xyphara has taken those steps. But it is a definite possibility to contemplate. We should have a plan to ameliorate his anger if it turns out to be true.”
Pheebs closed her eyes for a moment, trying to clear her thoughts about the prospect of there suddenly being many copies of Dutch to account for. Shaking her head, she returned her focus to the list.
“I know he is anxious to learn the truth behind the ship we believe to be in the black hole,” she noted, having moved down in the list. “I’m guessing that he’s going to want to address that, just as soon as he’s dealt with the Noraxi. So, I’m going to have to go over the shield upgrades that Zyyr’kaal gave us to see what their limits might be. My guess is that Dutch will want to cross the event horizon to get close enough to pull that other ship out, but physics suggests that to do so puts us at risk of slipping way out of our current time, if not becoming trapped altogether in a timeless void, simultaneously experiencing everything ever, but being unable to leave.”
“Yeah, let’s not do that,” Jjan’tira frowned.
Alisia shook her head slightly at the comment. “I know you’d never been to Xai’Vorrathi prior to our journey there, but I’d been several times. It was normal to rely on those shield modifications any time we were in that system, as the gravity well of the binary cluster was sufficient to cause temporal deltas if we had not. I’ve not been on a ship that crossed the event horizon of a singularity before, but I believe the shield modifications will remain effective beyond the horizon.”
“I hope you’re correct,” Pheebs nodded absently. “I’m sort of counting on that to be the case.”
“What else do you need to add to the list?” Alisia probed, not seeing any other items.
“Well, word needs to spread to the other Terran colonies about the Alliance,” Pheebs began, holding up a finger. “The jump gates need to be restored to operational status,” she added, extending another finger, “And those colonies need to be added to the Alliance,” she raised a third finger.
“Those are definitely tasks that could be delegated to others,” Alisia asserted. “Dutch can’t be everywhere, and shouldn’t have to be.”
“Perhaps not,” Pheebs agreed with a touch of skepticism,” but none of this accounts for his worst concern.”
“Which is what?” Jjan’tira asked, looking worried.
“Who do you think all of the various delegates and representatives are likely to nominate to lead the Alliance?” Pheebs asked flatly. “Many of them don’t trust easily, and harbor minor, or not so minor, grievances against one or more of the others. Truly, only one candidate immediately comes to mind as someone all parties are likely to respect and trust with such authority.”
“And that’s a bad thing?” Jjan’tira riposted, a mild bit of pride and defiance in her tone. “Dutch would make a fantastic leader!”
“Of course he would,” Alisia soothed the younger woman. “But that’s not the point. Dutch has always said he wanted to be an explorer. It will become very difficult for him to continue to pursue that dream if he needs to become the leader of the Alliance.”
Jjan’tira rocked back on her heels, her mouth forming a silent ‘O’ as realization of this probability fully dawned upon her.
Pheebs frowned, nodding in agreement with Alisia’s assertion. “I’m a bit conflicted about it all myself. After all, with children soon to be on the way, perhaps a little less Stonerager and a little more Dutch isn’t such a bad idea.”
“We should at least be prepared to support him, whatever choice he decides to make,” Alisia suggested sagely. Beside her, Jjan’tira bit her bottom lip, but nodded in agreement.
“Okay. Well, we’ve got a good list to work with here,” Pheebs nodded to the list in the holodisplay, “so now we’ve got to brainstorm on who some viable candidates might be that could be assigned these tasks.”
“Did I mention earlier that Dutch had many emails?” Prime interjected unexpectedly, making the three corporeal women give a start. “If I might suggest, some of these might be of help in your next steps.”
A series of emails began to scroll through the holoview, and the women all leaned closer to see what Prime was getting at.
“I’ve isolated multiple messages from Methosians, volunteering to aid with the cleanup of Mars. There are also several additional emails from Methosians and Rigellians offering to donate large manufacturing rigs, capable of building whole cities in a matter of days. The list goes on,” the ship’s AI mentioned, beginning to line up emails next to line items from Pheebs’ list. “I believe we can make some tentative assignments, based on these messages, which will greatly relieve some of the pressure on our Captain.”
“This is excellent work, Prime!” Pheebs gushed, feeling slightly self-serving in her comment.
“Of course! I have to help you gals look out for our man. After all, rumors notwithstanding, he’s only human.”
The three women laughed, feeling a bit of the pressure being alleviated, thanks to Prime’s timely input. They began to prioritize responses to the senders of the messages, assuring each that their contribution to these efforts was more than welcome.
****Very early morning, Cestus Hospital, Day 75****
The Lyserion Admiral quietly read the final lines of the book.
“It was the devious-cruising Rachel, that in her retracing search after her missing children, only found another orphan.”
Sighing, he gently closed the ancient, leather-bound tome. “The end,” he pronounced, leaning back in his chair, wondering if the silent young woman had heard his words.
Hesitantly, one eye slightly opened, Faith O’Connor spoke in a raspy, dry voice. “He used the coffin as a lifebuoy? I suppose Queequeg didn’t mind.” The young Commander gave the barest hint of a grin.
“No, I suppose not,” Vayn agreed quietly, trying to restrain himself at the optimism that shot through him. She wasn’t coughing! She was getting better!
“And, since Ishmael alone survived, he is now an orphan,” she breathed, working through the imagery of the tale.
“That’s correct,” the Lyserion Admiral nodded, encouraged by her growing clarity of thought.
“But tell me this,” Faith continued, opening her other eye and turning her full attention to the man sitting beside her bed. “Are there no Lyserions that would benefit from having their Admiral read to them as they recover?”
“You wound me, madame!” he grabbed at his breast in mock pain. “None of my men showed the bravery, the tenacity, the gall that you displayed in the face of overwhelming odds. Were you any other man, that would be worthy of merit, no matter which side of the argument we were on,” he pointed out to her. “But, add to my misery that you were inexplicably successful, and also the most captivating creature that I’ve ever laid my mortal eyes upon, and I am enslaved. If all I can offer you is the simple comfort of a well-read book to occupy you while you recover, then that is enough for me.”
“You are so very odd,” she replied after mulling over his words, looking at him strangely. “But your reading voice is definitely kinder than your command voice. I think I prefer it.” Following that proclamation, Faith allowed her eyes to drift closed once more, slipping back into a restful slumber.
Beside her, the Lyserion warrior sat quietly, maintaining his vigil, having nowhere else he would rather be.
*****
