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Authors: T. C. Metivier
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more, but then he suddenly turned away, reaching out one arm to steady himself against Drogni’s desk. His other hand was balled into a fist, and his head was turned down. When he looked back, his face was tight with anger. “They went down fighting, though?”
“That they did,” Drogni said softly.
The two men stood there for a moment without speaking, silently honoring their fallen brothers and sisters. Then Laslo blew out a deep breath. His voice was crisp, with no sign of the anger that surely was still coursing through him. “So Rokan Sellas is back from the dead, with a hundred fleets at his fingertips and the whole damn Coalition in his thrall. All we’re missing is the rivers of blood and a couple of exploding stars for this to be a good old-fashioned apocalypse. Who else knows?”
“Only a few of us.” Drogni ticked off the names on his fingers. “The King and the Vizier. Two Federation Ambassadors. And the Black General—he was the only other one of ours to make it off Hilthak in one piece.”
Laslo raised an eyebrow. “Hilthak?” he asked, his voice quiet but pointed.
“Yeah.” Again, Drogni wanted to tell Laslo the full truth, but knew that he wasn’t up to the task. He had already relived it once with the Vizier earlier today, and saw the gruesome aftermath of Rokan Sellas’s sorcery every time he closed his eyes. “It’s…kind of a long story. No time for it now.”
“I see.” Laslo’s expression softened at the edges, and Drogni got the feeling that his fellow Admiral could guess the reason behind Drogni’s silence. “I look forward to hearing it someday. If you’ve got the time.”
Drogni forced a smile. “Appreciate it, Jonny. I’ll hold you to it.”
“Don’t mention it.” Laslo thought for a moment. “We need to get the word out about Telmar. Tell Mina, have her bring it up in front of the Senate. Let the Coalition know what kind of monster they’re allied with—”
Drogni brought up a hand, and Laslo fell silent immediately. “Wouldn’t help,” Drogni said, his voice heavy with bitterness. “We’d never be able to prove it. He looks different now than he did fifteen years ago—hell, even I didn’t recognize him when the Coalition first started throwing his picture up on the holonewscasts. But that’s just the start. If he’s smart—and he is, damn him—he’ll have done a full biometric overhaul. Fingerprints, retinas, you name it—it’ll all be different. If we bring a full investigation against him, and by some miracle the Coalition agrees to let their Supreme Leader be treated like a common criminal, the only thing we’ll prove is that he can’t be Rokan Sellas, because his scans don’t match what we’ve got in our records. We’ll look like fools, and have nothing to show for it.”
Anger clouded Laslo’s expression, but by the time Drogni finished he was nodding along. “You’re right. Damn, but you’re right.”
“And that’s not the worst of it.” The words tasted like ash in Drogni’s mouth, but he forced himself to say them. “There’s one more possibility we need to consider.”
“Yeah,” said Laslo, his voice quiet. “That the Coalition knows he’s Rokan Sellas…and they don’t care.”
That was a sobering thought. It was one thing if the Coalition was ignorant of Rokan Sellas’s past. It was quite another if the other Coalition leaders knew who he was and what he was capable of. If they thought nothing of handing the reins of their movement over to a man who had let a hundred and twenty thousand fellow soldiers die for the sake of his own greed, then surely they would not balk at igniting a galactic civil war that would kill billions.
Drogni could think of nothing to say in response. The ominous silence stretched for several moments, becoming an almost tangible entity squeezing the air around them. Then Laslo coughed, the sound sharp as breaking glass. “Well, this conversation just got very depressing,” he said.
“That they did,” Drogni said softly.
The two men stood there for a moment without speaking, silently honoring their fallen brothers and sisters. Then Laslo blew out a deep breath. His voice was crisp, with no sign of the anger that surely was still coursing through him. “So Rokan Sellas is back from the dead, with a hundred fleets at his fingertips and the whole damn Coalition in his thrall. All we’re missing is the rivers of blood and a couple of exploding stars for this to be a good old-fashioned apocalypse. Who else knows?”
“Only a few of us.” Drogni ticked off the names on his fingers. “The King and the Vizier. Two Federation Ambassadors. And the Black General—he was the only other one of ours to make it off Hilthak in one piece.”
Laslo raised an eyebrow. “Hilthak?” he asked, his voice quiet but pointed.
“Yeah.” Again, Drogni wanted to tell Laslo the full truth, but knew that he wasn’t up to the task. He had already relived it once with the Vizier earlier today, and saw the gruesome aftermath of Rokan Sellas’s sorcery every time he closed his eyes. “It’s…kind of a long story. No time for it now.”
“I see.” Laslo’s expression softened at the edges, and Drogni got the feeling that his fellow Admiral could guess the reason behind Drogni’s silence. “I look forward to hearing it someday. If you’ve got the time.”
Drogni forced a smile. “Appreciate it, Jonny. I’ll hold you to it.”
“Don’t mention it.” Laslo thought for a moment. “We need to get the word out about Telmar. Tell Mina, have her bring it up in front of the Senate. Let the Coalition know what kind of monster they’re allied with—”
Drogni brought up a hand, and Laslo fell silent immediately. “Wouldn’t help,” Drogni said, his voice heavy with bitterness. “We’d never be able to prove it. He looks different now than he did fifteen years ago—hell, even I didn’t recognize him when the Coalition first started throwing his picture up on the holonewscasts. But that’s just the start. If he’s smart—and he is, damn him—he’ll have done a full biometric overhaul. Fingerprints, retinas, you name it—it’ll all be different. If we bring a full investigation against him, and by some miracle the Coalition agrees to let their Supreme Leader be treated like a common criminal, the only thing we’ll prove is that he can’t be Rokan Sellas, because his scans don’t match what we’ve got in our records. We’ll look like fools, and have nothing to show for it.”
Anger clouded Laslo’s expression, but by the time Drogni finished he was nodding along. “You’re right. Damn, but you’re right.”
“And that’s not the worst of it.” The words tasted like ash in Drogni’s mouth, but he forced himself to say them. “There’s one more possibility we need to consider.”
“Yeah,” said Laslo, his voice quiet. “That the Coalition knows he’s Rokan Sellas…and they don’t care.”
That was a sobering thought. It was one thing if the Coalition was ignorant of Rokan Sellas’s past. It was quite another if the other Coalition leaders knew who he was and what he was capable of. If they thought nothing of handing the reins of their movement over to a man who had let a hundred and twenty thousand fellow soldiers die for the sake of his own greed, then surely they would not balk at igniting a galactic civil war that would kill billions.
Drogni could think of nothing to say in response. The ominous silence stretched for several moments, becoming an almost tangible entity squeezing the air around them. Then Laslo coughed, the sound sharp as breaking glass. “Well, this conversation just got very depressing,” he said.
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