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units responsible for the most and the best operations against the rebels. Their names
were rarely mentioned, but insiders knew those 13 young men were involved in every successful operation.
A galactic announcement was made one day that most of the troops would be returning home. The rebellion was determined to
have been put down and the security forces were thinned to a tenth of their highest numbers. The dispersal point, like the
starting point, was Kantara. The fighters had one or two weeks of recuperation in vacation-like conditions, and then each
returned to his planet.
***
Rettoul arrived at Kantara emotionally drained. The only thing sustaining him during the previous year were Benaya’s letters.
She didn’t write about her yearning or speak of his longing to return home—she reminded him of forgotten events from his childhood.
She also didn’t mention a word about what he might do with the rest of his life.
He wanted to return home immediately, without the recuperative delay. The pools, the movies, the good food—everything paled
beside the memories of the aromas of home. Rapid galactic shuttles left Kantara every day, and he meant to be on the first one possible.
Rettoul didn’t want to go home in uniform, but his quest for a hasty departure made him realize that he didn’t have any suitable
clothes. Nothing but uniforms decorated with badges for achievement and participation in bitter battles were in his wardrobe. He packed his backpack with them anyway—the same one that left his
home on Falcon six years previously. He cut a ridiculous figure on his way to the galactic shuttle: an imposing man wearing
a bright dress uniform carrying a ragged school backpack.
Too early for the shuttle to Falcon, he sat on a bench and dropped the backpack at his feet. Someone next to him kicked it
intentionally. “Haven’t you got rid of that bag yet?”
The sound of Mattoui’s voice flooded him with relief. “All I wanted was that you would stay alive and someday stand in front
of me on your own two legs.” Rettoul smiled at his best friend.
“Hey, show me your chest. Do you have a record of your heroic action against Dot?” Mattoui placed a warm hand on his friend’s
shoulder. “They say Dot waited to be killed by one of us. I’m glad it was you.”
Mattoui embraced Rettoul. “I missed you! Whenever I was identified, someone asked about you. I felt a bit awkward telling
them that my best friend was so busy he didn’t even talk to me.”
“Come on! Someone would think you were busy!”
“Every day I thought about what you once said to me: ‘But first, let’s get through today.’ ” A broad smile spread over Rettoul’s
face. “You still owe me Sinta,” Mattoui said just as the departure of the shuttle to Bucha was announced.
“I’ll come and visit you just for that.” Rettoul embraced his friend and said good-bye again. This time he felt some of his
soul remained with Mattoui, but he was sure they would meet again to repay what they owed each other.
Chapter 6: The Takeover
C ool autumn breezes had already forced the Kantarans to don their warmer clothing, with the planet’s flag waving firmly and
elegantly above the mostly-deserted base. The wind caressed the cloth and gently sent waves along its length until its symbols
were clearly exposed—two skulls, drawn slashing Rolls, a jet fighter, and silhouettes of two beasts of prey. Kantara was no
longer an active and vibrant training base. The rebels’ bases fell one after the other, their leaders were captured, killed,
or disappeared, and no one was certain of their location. Everyone assumed they’d been killed in battle or escaped.
The daily announcements regarding the rebels and the battles against them had been replaced by less-frequent ones that mainly
described the ongoing operations of the planets and the quality of life on them. From time to time, the rebellion was mentioned,
were rarely mentioned, but insiders knew those 13 young men were involved in every successful operation.
A galactic announcement was made one day that most of the troops would be returning home. The rebellion was determined to
have been put down and the security forces were thinned to a tenth of their highest numbers. The dispersal point, like the
starting point, was Kantara. The fighters had one or two weeks of recuperation in vacation-like conditions, and then each
returned to his planet.
***
Rettoul arrived at Kantara emotionally drained. The only thing sustaining him during the previous year were Benaya’s letters.
She didn’t write about her yearning or speak of his longing to return home—she reminded him of forgotten events from his childhood.
She also didn’t mention a word about what he might do with the rest of his life.
He wanted to return home immediately, without the recuperative delay. The pools, the movies, the good food—everything paled
beside the memories of the aromas of home. Rapid galactic shuttles left Kantara every day, and he meant to be on the first one possible.
Rettoul didn’t want to go home in uniform, but his quest for a hasty departure made him realize that he didn’t have any suitable
clothes. Nothing but uniforms decorated with badges for achievement and participation in bitter battles were in his wardrobe. He packed his backpack with them anyway—the same one that left his
home on Falcon six years previously. He cut a ridiculous figure on his way to the galactic shuttle: an imposing man wearing
a bright dress uniform carrying a ragged school backpack.
Too early for the shuttle to Falcon, he sat on a bench and dropped the backpack at his feet. Someone next to him kicked it
intentionally. “Haven’t you got rid of that bag yet?”
The sound of Mattoui’s voice flooded him with relief. “All I wanted was that you would stay alive and someday stand in front
of me on your own two legs.” Rettoul smiled at his best friend.
“Hey, show me your chest. Do you have a record of your heroic action against Dot?” Mattoui placed a warm hand on his friend’s
shoulder. “They say Dot waited to be killed by one of us. I’m glad it was you.”
Mattoui embraced Rettoul. “I missed you! Whenever I was identified, someone asked about you. I felt a bit awkward telling
them that my best friend was so busy he didn’t even talk to me.”
“Come on! Someone would think you were busy!”
“Every day I thought about what you once said to me: ‘But first, let’s get through today.’ ” A broad smile spread over Rettoul’s
face. “You still owe me Sinta,” Mattoui said just as the departure of the shuttle to Bucha was announced.
“I’ll come and visit you just for that.” Rettoul embraced his friend and said good-bye again. This time he felt some of his
soul remained with Mattoui, but he was sure they would meet again to repay what they owed each other.
Chapter 6: The Takeover
C ool autumn breezes had already forced the Kantarans to don their warmer clothing, with the planet’s flag waving firmly and
elegantly above the mostly-deserted base. The wind caressed the cloth and gently sent waves along its length until its symbols
were clearly exposed—two skulls, drawn slashing Rolls, a jet fighter, and silhouettes of two beasts of prey. Kantara was no
longer an active and vibrant training base. The rebels’ bases fell one after the other, their leaders were captured, killed,
or disappeared, and no one was certain of their location. Everyone assumed they’d been killed in battle or escaped.
The daily announcements regarding the rebels and the battles against them had been replaced by less-frequent ones that mainly
described the ongoing operations of the planets and the quality of life on them. From time to time, the rebellion was mentioned,
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