“Your eyesight back yet?” Thierry’s voice rings in Maxtin’s ears.
“They still don’t design these things for comfort.”
“Work’s not supposed to be comfortable, Admiral,” Thierry says.
“You hold onto the more traditional Zayar values.”
“It’s all we have left,” Thierry says.
Maxtin raises one of his bushy eyebrows. “The Osirians would disagree. They cushion every chair.”
“I saw part of a report where the Zayar economical council calculated the billions they saved on vehicle production if they made everything one inch shorter or smaller.”
“An acceptable fact.”
“Their efficiency still scares even the Mokarran.”
“The Bannis Root isn’t for food,” Maxtin observes.
“You’re as intelligent as they say.”
“Maybe I just guess well.”
“You haven’t asked about the mercenaries you hired or your eyesight.”
“I haven’t asked why I’m secured to a chair, either.”
“I was warned you have mastered mental manipulation without actually controlling another’s thoughts.”
“If you want to tell me what this is all about.”
“The mercenaries escaped as well. They’ll follow your plan and hire your army. I agreed to help you meet them because of the Bannis Root.”
Now we’re getting to the heart of the deception, Maxtin realizes. “I know I’m not popular among our people.”
“Where do I begin? You are despised for falling in with the ranks of the Osirian.”
“So, you’re returning me to Zayar to face trial for my offense?” Maxtin asks.
“I’m returning you to Zayar against all orders I have not to involve you.”
If you keep people talking long enough, eventually the truth shines through. “Then you commit a crime.”
Maxtin strikes a nerve.
“The only crime is with our people.”
Maxtin’s eyes twinge as the ship’s internal gravity shifts to that of the planet’s natural gravitational pull.
“We’re lifting off. You got clearance to leave, even after such an explosion? The Mokarran would shut down space ports until they are sure it wasn’t an act of terrorism to prevent the perpetrators from escaping.”
“The ISN reported the explosions were due to refugees tampering with a sealed fuel line to access cooking apparatuses. If they detain me they would have to admit to being in pursuit of a Zayar or they had another terror attack. I know why you asked for my assistance.”
“My planetary exile is not as self-imposed as most believe. The Mokarran would shoot you down if they knew I was aboard.”
“Shooting us down would be an action against Zayar itself. I’m not part of your Confederation, and we’re the lone planet to stand against the Mokarran and strike fear into them.”
“After the Battle of the Twin Suns the Mokarran purged many worlds they felt were threats, but the Zayar home world fleet repelled them.” Maxtin makes out groups of flashes within the growing field of white light.
“I took your eyesight, and you remain calm. Were you this calm when they forbade you to return to Zayar after you accepted the post of vice-presidential admiral?”
Maxtin admits, in a moment of truth, “I was too preoccupied with building a new government from the ashes of the Osirian Coalition. I thought little of my home planet.”
“That was painful. A Zayar with feelings of regret.”
“No matter what you may believe, everything I did, I did to protect my home world.” Maxtin’s certain Thierry’s lack of accusatory disbelief means he wants reasons. “I raised a new alliance to stand against the Mokarran, who, if left unchecked, would scourge across the galaxy one solar system at a time until their rule was finite. The Zayar fleet may have held against them, but not forever. The Mokarran had to be stopped before Zayar was alone to stand against them. And then it would be too late.”
“It’s too late now.”
Thierry’s face materializes as an outlined blur in Maxtin’s vision. If he could gaze into the man’s eyes he’d have better understanding of his statement. He’s not yet sure how to proceed. Thierry was more than willing to meet with him and the mercenaries, but clearly for some agenda Maxtin did not factor. Thierry visits Summersun on regular intervals to purchase the Bannis Root. The question—why? Bannis Root takes on the properties of the soil it grows in. What kind of soil do the Summersun agriculturalists use? He changes the subject. “You’re sure the mercs made it out safely?”
“Their merc uniforms are armored.”
Maxtin detects a note of distaste in uniforms.
“They had no ill effects. Nor did you. I injected you with a sleep serum, to have an excuse to evacuate you.”
Maxtin recognizes Thierry’s motivations. Now to understand them.
Something about the mercs’ uniforms bothered him? “Did the sigil on the one they called Wolfman offend you? It looked Zayar-like.”
“I care little for Osirians or the disrespect they give to all other sentient life.”
“The Osirians try desperately to hold onto a culture from a planet they were forcibly removed from a thousand years ago. Most of them don’t understand the significance of the symbols they wear. They just know it means home.”
“Then why display them?”
“Everyone needs a sense of identity. They just don’t know what theirs is.” The blurry shapes move closer into focus for the Admiral.
“Don’t they study their own history?”
“They do, but they don’t know their own story. They know a millennium ago the Iphigenian Civil War brought a battle fleet to their insignificant unknown world in the outer spiral arm of the galaxy. After a one-sided battle, the Osirians were enslaved and conscripted as soldiers to replace those lost during the Iphigenian Civil War. After the defeat of the Halcary traitors, the Osirians were released from servitude and left to scatter among the planetary systems. Most were soldiers and had been for generations. They knew nothing of their old way of life. They banded together mostly as mercenaries, and took a tradition from their home world of successful pilots of earning a nickname as a badge of respect. Those names came from garbled versions of their history. The Monster Squad, which we just met, were all mythical creatures used as entertainment.”
“What possibly could entertain someone with a
