randomly around. All in all, not exactly my first choice for a vacation spot.”
“Well, that’s your fault for going sightseeing on an Erigion planet,” said Laslo. “You knew what you were getting yourself into.” He looked down his nose at Drogni, and his tone turned serious. “So, what’s so important that you had to sneak all the way to the Coalition capital? Not to admire the scenery, I expect.”
Time was of the essence, and there was nothing to be gained from dancing around the truth. So instead Drogni said simply, “It’s Telmar.”
“Telmar?” Laslo raised an eyebrow. “You mean Malik Telmar? The figurehead the Coalition is rallying around?”
“Yeah, him,” said Drogni. “Only he’s not just some puppet leader—he’s the one pulling the strings, every one of ‘em. And his real name isn’t Telmar.” Drogni took a deep breath, and looked Laslo straight in the eyes. “It’s Sellas.”
Laslo’s reaction was immediate. He looked like he’d just taken a punch to the gut; his eyes widened, and his jaw sagged. “No. That’s impossible. He died—”
“Yeah, that’s what I thought. Hell, I was there , remember?” Images of that night in the control tower on Proth fifteen years ago flashed in Drogni’s memory. He felt that raw, blinding rage coursing through him. He smelled sweat and blood and burning flesh. He saw a man with eyes like violet fire standing beside a shattered window, proclaiming the end of all things. “I was the one who saw him fall. That’s the kind of fall nobody walks away from. But it’s true. I’ve seen him with my own eyes. He’s alive, Jon. Believe it.”
Laslo was silent. Drogni could see his fellow admiral going through the same range of emotions that he had when he had first learned that Rokan Sellas was alive. First came shock, then disbelief—then that raw, consuming anger. Laslo had the same connection to Rokan Sellas as Drogni. He had been on the bridge of the TF Vanguard at Denlar fifteen years ago. He had watched as over one hundred thousand lives had been extinguished by the treachery of one man.
Drogni heard all of those warring emotions in Laslo’s taut, quiet reply. “But…but how ?”
Oh, Jon, you have no idea how impossible that question is. Drogni wanted to tell Laslo the truth. The full truth—about the Fireblade and the Chalas Peruvas, about the things he had seen on Hilthak. The horrors that mere days ago he would have considered something out of myth but which he now knew were all too real. He knew that his fellow Admiral would believe him, no matter how farfetched his tale sounded. But he also knew that mere words could not do the matter justice; it was something that needed to be seen to be understood. So instead he said, “I can’t get into that right now. Ask me some other time, and I’ll do my best, but we don’t have the time for it now. You’ll just have to trust me on that. Besides, it doesn’t really matter, does it? He’s alive, and he’s running the show over on Leva.”
Laslo took another moment to process that. Then understanding dawned on his face. “So that’s what you were up to on Leva. You and that strike team you put together. You were trying to take him out.”
Drogni nodded. “That’s right.”
Laslo’s expression went grim. “Based on the fact that we haven’t heard anything from the Coalition about an assassination—or even an assassination attempt—I’m guessing it didn’t go well.”
The image of five soldiers bleeding out their life essence leapt up again in Drogni’s mind, and he banished it angrily. His voice was level, controlled. “You might say that.”
“I see.” Laslo eyed Drogni carefully. “And the rest of the team?”
Drogni opened his mouth to reply, but there were no words to describe what he had seen. Everything that came to mind seemed hopelessly inadequate. Instead he simply shook his head.
Laslo swore under his breath. “Damn. Damn.” He seemed about to say
“Well, that’s your fault for going sightseeing on an Erigion planet,” said Laslo. “You knew what you were getting yourself into.” He looked down his nose at Drogni, and his tone turned serious. “So, what’s so important that you had to sneak all the way to the Coalition capital? Not to admire the scenery, I expect.”
Time was of the essence, and there was nothing to be gained from dancing around the truth. So instead Drogni said simply, “It’s Telmar.”
“Telmar?” Laslo raised an eyebrow. “You mean Malik Telmar? The figurehead the Coalition is rallying around?”
“Yeah, him,” said Drogni. “Only he’s not just some puppet leader—he’s the one pulling the strings, every one of ‘em. And his real name isn’t Telmar.” Drogni took a deep breath, and looked Laslo straight in the eyes. “It’s Sellas.”
Laslo’s reaction was immediate. He looked like he’d just taken a punch to the gut; his eyes widened, and his jaw sagged. “No. That’s impossible. He died—”
“Yeah, that’s what I thought. Hell, I was there , remember?” Images of that night in the control tower on Proth fifteen years ago flashed in Drogni’s memory. He felt that raw, blinding rage coursing through him. He smelled sweat and blood and burning flesh. He saw a man with eyes like violet fire standing beside a shattered window, proclaiming the end of all things. “I was the one who saw him fall. That’s the kind of fall nobody walks away from. But it’s true. I’ve seen him with my own eyes. He’s alive, Jon. Believe it.”
Laslo was silent. Drogni could see his fellow admiral going through the same range of emotions that he had when he had first learned that Rokan Sellas was alive. First came shock, then disbelief—then that raw, consuming anger. Laslo had the same connection to Rokan Sellas as Drogni. He had been on the bridge of the TF Vanguard at Denlar fifteen years ago. He had watched as over one hundred thousand lives had been extinguished by the treachery of one man.
Drogni heard all of those warring emotions in Laslo’s taut, quiet reply. “But…but how ?”
Oh, Jon, you have no idea how impossible that question is. Drogni wanted to tell Laslo the truth. The full truth—about the Fireblade and the Chalas Peruvas, about the things he had seen on Hilthak. The horrors that mere days ago he would have considered something out of myth but which he now knew were all too real. He knew that his fellow Admiral would believe him, no matter how farfetched his tale sounded. But he also knew that mere words could not do the matter justice; it was something that needed to be seen to be understood. So instead he said, “I can’t get into that right now. Ask me some other time, and I’ll do my best, but we don’t have the time for it now. You’ll just have to trust me on that. Besides, it doesn’t really matter, does it? He’s alive, and he’s running the show over on Leva.”
Laslo took another moment to process that. Then understanding dawned on his face. “So that’s what you were up to on Leva. You and that strike team you put together. You were trying to take him out.”
Drogni nodded. “That’s right.”
Laslo’s expression went grim. “Based on the fact that we haven’t heard anything from the Coalition about an assassination—or even an assassination attempt—I’m guessing it didn’t go well.”
The image of five soldiers bleeding out their life essence leapt up again in Drogni’s mind, and he banished it angrily. His voice was level, controlled. “You might say that.”
“I see.” Laslo eyed Drogni carefully. “And the rest of the team?”
Drogni opened his mouth to reply, but there were no words to describe what he had seen. Everything that came to mind seemed hopelessly inadequate. Instead he simply shook his head.
Laslo swore under his breath. “Damn. Damn.” He seemed about to say
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