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  “Tell me,” Sax says to Avan as the latter raises his head to next gateway’s scanners. “How many Sevora are on this ship?”

  “Thousands,” Avan replies, not turning away from the black nub. The green lights blink and the gateway shunts open. “Enough to rotate crews around continuously. Those behind us are enjoying their time off.”

  “Even in the middle of a battle?”

  “We have been at war constantly for cycles. If we hadn’t found a way to find joy in the midst of all the fighting, we would be a sad species indeed,” Avan wraps his long mouth into a smile. “Although I suppose you Oratus don’t quite understand that.”

  “The battle is our joy,” Gar says.

  “Yes. Of course it is.” Avan waves them through.

  This section feels more like a labyrinth, with narrow corridors between tall walls that stretch from floor to ceiling. Circular windows dot those walls, and, going by the large doors appearing every so often with keypads, Sax assumes these are the homes for Sevora living on the ship. Capsules for sleeping and little more.

  On the sides of the structures, spidering out over the pathways, are perches on black metal poles. Slivers land on them, wrapping their bodies around the bars for rest. Yellow lamps hang from these perches like fruit from trees, spreading soft light across the cold metal floor. Every so often they walk through small plots of plants in cutouts between buildings, a brief concession to beauty in an otherwise efficient design.

  The entertainment section held swarms of Sevora shifting around. Mobs of them cackling with laughter or sharing meals. Here, though, what Sevora they see - in the usual assortment of Flaum, Teven, and Whelk hosts - travel by themselves or in pairs. Rushing, always. As if being caught outside here would result in something terrible. Avan, who doesn’t say anything as they walk through the district, seems to sense Sax’s impending question and looks back at him.

  “This section is currently under resting orders,” Avan said. “Species are only to be moving through here in emergencies, which is why you’re seeing worried looks. As you might imagine, keeping our workforce healthy is of paramount importance.”

  He points a claw towards one of the windows up above. “From the outside, these are designed to only cast light frequencies that promote sleep. On the inside, there are screens showing images that promote relaxation. A variety of substances are also available to help Sevora find the rest they require.”

  “You drug your own people?” Bas says. Sax flashes to the Stim he took at the start of this mission, but keeps quiet.

  Avan turns fully around as they reach a point between buildings, where a single arch plant, its many pink curling vines twisting up and over each other, provides decoration. “To think that a species as oblivious as yours is besting us in this war... yes. We do. Neither Flaum nor Teven are natives to space, and they, being quick to mature and easy to dominate, make up the majority of our forces. In order to ensure the hosts get the required rest in an environment not conducive to such things, we use various means.”

  “Not only are you taking their bodies, but you are ruining them as well?” Lan says. “And you hope the rest of the galaxy will let you live?”

  The rest of them hiss agreement - Sax too. Avan must be under the influence of his own drugs to think the Oratus would agree to share the galaxy with a species like this.

  “You say that as if we Sevora can control who, what we are,” Avan replies, taking Lan’s provocation in stride. He spreads his four arms wide, expanding the claws. “We need hosts to survive. Few Sevora ever reach full maturation and the capability to breed - to do so requires space and protection, which we haven’t seen for cycles. As such, we... copy ourselves. Grow new Sevora in tubes and pools. Yet still, we number far less than the ubiquitous Flaum, who pollute the galaxy with their trillions.”

  Pollute the galaxy. An interesting phrase, if not entirely wrong. Sax has seen more than his share of Flaum on Vincere ships, and they tend to be the first to come and rebuild worlds rescued from the Sevora grip. Flaum produce litters numbering close to a dozen or more. Enough so that pairs of Flaum could repopulate cities on their own in little time. If the species possessed the intelligence or strength to make their own attempt at ruling the galaxy, the Flaum would have little trouble achieving dominance through sheer numbers alone.

  “You need to find the benefits,” Sax says as Avan recommences their march. “Why should we let the Sevora continue to exist? What good do you provide?”

  Avan doesn’t have an answer ready. No eloquent argument or sharp comeback. After walking in silence, after they leave the capsules behind and come to the next gateway, only then does Avan stop short of the scanner and glance at Sax, his eyes burning.

  “Who are you to play as gods, and decide what species live or die?”

  43 Desperate Remedies

  It’s not long after the meeting with the Emperor when, back at the Vaos, two guards come in looking for me. They’re wearing bear skins, and when Jakkan asks why they’re here, they point to me. “We have information for the high priestess.”

  “High priestess?” Jakkan says, and while I pick up the surprise, Jakkan doesn’t flinch.

  “As the Emperor has decreed she is to be addressed,” one guard says. I try to look at Jakkan, to say I have nothing to do with this, but the high priest doesn’t look at me.

  “Then address her.” Jakkan turns back to towards a scroll he’s reading.

  “What is it?” I ask.

  “We’ve captured a Lunare,” the guard begins. “Hiding in the city. Apparently, she had made threats to a family, secured a room in their house. But she has since fallen ill, and now she begs for your help.”

  “Viera,” I say, and I catch Jakkan’s ears perk up at the name. “Where is she?”

  “We have her chained at the foot of the temple,” the warrior replies. “We are ready to prepare her for sacrifice. It does not look as though she will live much longer, so we should hurry.”

  “Bring her in,” I order. It feels strange to do that. To command someone.

  You are powerful now. It is only right that you use what you’ve gained. And that what you’ve gained will change who you are.

  “In?” the guard seems confused.

  “In here. In this chamber. I made a promise to the woman, and Ignos will not see it broken.”

  At the mention of the god, the two guards stamp their spears and vanish.

  “So your friend has returned.” Jakkan’s voice is heavy with warnings. “I would advise you to be careful. The Lunare are not well-liked in the city, as you can well imagine. Being seen helping one will not do you any favors.”

  “I can only hope that the miracles Ignos has given will buy me enough respect to help Viera,” I reply, then, after thinking for a moment. “My tribe did not try to fight every one that came through our territory. There is a chance that the Lunare don’t have to be your enemy. They could be valuable traders. Partners even. We just have to convince our people.”

  “Kaishi, it is not us you have to convince,” Jakkan says. “It’s the Lunare and their band of marauders. If they wish to trade and return to their mountains, we would gladly barter with them. What they want, however, cannot be traded. Only taken.”

  Before I can reply, the guards bring in their captive. It is Viera, though far paler, sweating, and unconscious. The problem isn’t hard to spot: the wounds I cauterized, those white marks scarring her chest and arms, are red and inflamed around the edges. Rashes span across the front of her body.

  Infection.

  There are ways to cure this. Though none that you currently possess.

  I implore Ignos to tell me more. I’d made a promise to Viera. Also, given Jakkan’s increasingly askance looks, and the Emperor’s other-worldly standing, I have few friends in the city. If there is any way to keep Viera alive, I want to use it.

  Then here’s what you must gather.

  Ignos rattles off a series of ingredients. Instructions for how to blend and cook them together. To make a small pile of powder, stuff that I would need to keep on making until the infection subsides. I tell Jakkan, and I can see his reluctance to help me gradually gives in to the desire to see another miracle in action.

  We dispatch the guards to find herbalists and glass workers, while Jakkan and I stoke a large fire. In the hours between the guards departing and returning, I lay Viera down, and use a cool cloth to wet her forehead. To try and calm the fever raging inside her.

  Viera utters words in her own language, twisting and turning on the floor. Sweat drenches her, and her pallor grows. It’s obvious that she won’t live long.

  “A sacrifice will not break your promise,” Jakkan says at one point while I’m matting the cloth on Viera’s forehead. “You made that vow to a living, healthy woman. Now, she’s dying. You have the opportunity to honor her. You have the chance to have her depart this earth and go to the home she so obviously wishes to return to. Give her to Ignos, Kaishi. Gain the people’s everlasting love.”

  Jakkan speaks wisdom. Get what you can from those you can use. Don’t spend your influence on a lost cause.

  I can’t.

  There simply isn’t a part of me that can accept carving into Viera’s chest and pulling out her heart. Not after I’d worked so hard to keep her alive. Not after she’d helped me from the juar pit.

  No.

  I will save her, or she will die in the attempt.

  Using the Cache, I walk the herbalists through the process. The steps to turn these ordinary ingredients into medicine that will give Viera a chance. Metal, herbal leaves, the fermented alcohol that would otherwise be used to make honeyed wine, all of these and more are boiled together until they form a strange milky substance.

  Then, I spread it on the infection.

  We repeat the same process for three days. Each time I whisper to Viera that she will get better. That she will soon be up and running again. It helps me believe, if nothing else.

  Caring for Viera does not, of course, take all of my time. I still work with Damantum’s artisans, checking and advising them on their progress. Testing what they develop. Learning from their expertise and coupling it with the secrets the Cache provides.

  Until the Emperor himself appears at the Vaos.

  I’ve been turning away his messengers every morning, declaring that I cannot leave yet. It’s one thing to tell a meek servant that I’m too busy working miracles to depart the city. It’s another thing to see the Emperor in full regalia stride up and into the chamber, to see Jakkan fall to his knees and bow. I follow suite, if only because the Emperor’s expression tells me my life depends, now, on subservience.

  “I’m told the march to save my people waits on one woman,” the Emperor’s voice, in the close confines of these chambers, echoes off the walls. “I’m told that my priestess, the one that promised salvation for the Charre, lets the Lunare gather their strength, lets them draw closer...”

  The Emperor strides, as he trails off, between Jakkan and I, over to where Viera lays on her mat, still unconscious, if not quite so pale as before.

  “For this one. A Lunare herself—“

  “A friend,” I say, standing and ignoring Jakkan’s muted gasp. “A friend who saved me when none of your own would. Who protected me as I now protect her.”

  The Emperor reaches to his waistband, pulls out a black-glass knife from a loop. His face is blank as he holds the knife out to me.

  The implication is clear.

  I refuse it.

  The Emperor pulls the knife back slow. Gives me plenty of time to reconsider, but I stand firm. As Ignos says, I am powerful now. I have the weight of miracles on my side. And I choose to use that weight for what I believe is right.

  “If you will not sacrifice this one,” the Emperor says, and I’m relieved when he slips the knife back into his loop. “Then we will take her with us. The Lunare are at Tutio, and we have no more time to wait.”

  “Take her with us?” I’m too surprised by the statement to watch my own words.

  “I have had a cart prepared. It waits at the steps, along with several priests to care for her.” The Emperor looks at Viera.

  “Then you planned for this from the start?”

  “One Lunare is not worth risking my high priestess’s support,” the Emperor replies, but when I start to thank him, he talks over me. “Do not make me regret this. Prepare her to move, and let us save my people.”

  44 Secrets Kept

  Ships of all sizes spread out across the docking bay, visible from the gateway as Sax and the others go through behind Avan. Rather than only a magnetic shield, as with the seeds, here a large, sliding set of metal plates act as an additional layer of protection. Each plate interlocks with the ones next to it through sliding latches. Even now, Sax sees one of the plates slide back and a pair of Sevora space fighters - dart-shaped things with a single, cylindrical energy cannon on the nose - jet out into the dark.

  Sax estimates another dozen or more fighters sitting behind those two, though pilots didn’t seem to be lining up to fly. The seed ship is in the middle of a pitched fight, where it has been boarded by an enemy force, and it hasn’t launched all of its defenses?

  “Why?” Sax asks Avan. “What are all of these ships still doing here?”

  Avan keeps moving, heading down onto the vast flat section. Sax notices the Sevora has clenched his claws.

  “There are not enough pilots,” Avan says. “The war has decimated our numbers. Whereas you can simply train another Flaum, we must first have a Sevora ready to take a host. Then, only after the Sevora has established control, can we begin training.”

  Avan leads them to a larger shuttle, an ovoid craft with no visible cannons on the outside. No weapons at all, in fact. Its sleek exterior, painted in the greens and whites of a peaceful ship, confirms the craft’s purpose. That it sits ready, with a a set of four armed Flaum soldiers at the foot of the shuttle’s metal legs tells Sax that their arrival here isn’t unexpected.

  Perhaps Avan would be making this trip even if Sax and the others hadn’t gone along.

  The shuttle loads through an elevator, rather than a more usual ramp. The platform sinks down from the middle of the shuttle on four thin poles which set themselves on the ground. The craft has three struts; one in front and two thick legs at the aft, and its engines point towards the bay door. Avan singles out Bas and Lan with his claws and tells them to get on the platform, which is too small to hold all of them at once. Bas catches Sax’s eye, and he blinks twice at her. Affirmative.

  They will go along with Avan’s plan. For now.

  A pair of Flaum, each holding a primed, heavy miner nearly as large as themselves, join Bas and Lan on the platform. Sax knows these weapons - a trigger, a big battery pack, and a wide nozzle. Capable of blasting hot energy in close quarters and guaranteed not to miss anything in front of you. If Bas or Lan want to attack, they’ll have to kill or disarm the Flaum immediately, or be melted into char.

  Once they settle, the platform shoots up into the belly of the shuttle with the whistling shunt of hydraulics. Moments later it descends again, empty. Avan waves Gar on, and two other Flaum join him. Sax starts to board the platform, but Avan holds up a claw. “Not yet. I need to make sure your friends won’t get any ideas. Tear apart my soldiers and leave me down here.”

  Sax would have made the same choice had he been in Avan’s place. The four Oratus, left alone with the Flaum, might have gone for an attack like that. Commandeer the shuttle. Though, Sax thinks, it would have been a short hijacking. Without a way to open the docking bay doors, Avan could have had other guards blow up the shuttle where it sits.

  Which means Avan has a different reason for keeping Sax down here.

  “Why now?” Sax hisses, turning to Avan. “We have the clear advantage. There is no reason for us to meet with you. To save your species.”

  “Sax, your friends would see me dead in a moment. That one, Gar, is particularly violent. You do not seem quite so bloodthirsty. Why is that?”

  “I am disgusted by you,” Sax answers as the shuttle’s platform descends again, empty. “But you are not the objective. We won’t risk our mission for one Sevora.”

  “Then, perhaps, you can see what so many of your species cannot. What I hope your commanders will be able to understand.”

  “And that is?”

  “A vital piece of information,” Avan says. “One that the Sevora learned by accident. From an unexpected host. Knowledge that, if broadcast widely, would be dismissed as slander. Propaganda. But if allowed to grow quietly, it could change everything. Reset the galaxy, and our places in it.”

  “A bold statement, Sevora.” Sax follows Avan onto the platform. “Given your imminent defeat, I’d think you would say anything to save yourself.”

  “I thought the same when I heard it,” Avan replies as the platform rises. “Even in our dire need, we aren’t ones to leap at false hopes. Except, Sax, I now believe it is true. The Sevora have sought confirmation, and have found enough evidence to make our claim more likely than not. And if it is true, Sax, then all of our species would be fools not to act on it.”

  The inside of the shuttle is a luxury that Sax has never known: lounging couches, with straps for any sort of acceleration, splay around a wide area bordered with shifting works of art. Images from other worlds, vistas of orange mountains and green oceans, captivate the other Oratus.

  Their Flaum guards seem similarly fascinated, the miners hanging loose at their sides. Whatever this ship’s purpose today, at one point it had served as the finest pleasure currency could buy.

  “A jewel,” Avan says of the shuttle as they rise into it. “Designed for different times, but now called to a mission far more important than its original owners ever envisioned.”

  As Sax looks around the shuttle, he feels the engines begin to rumble. The vibration churns through the ship, and everyone finds their seats. Sax winds up on the end, with Avan conspicuously choosing a spot next to him. Sitting on cushions like these, with a tail, requires contorting his body, and Sax winds his tail around his own waist to keep from sitting on it. The other Oratus do the same, though Avan’s tail leaks out to his side, flopping off the edge of the couch towards the floor.