“That's—I don't—what are you talking about?” I stammered. “Surely the Wyvern's just meant to be the vanguard of this raid, not the whole thing?”
Ranel put his heavy claw on my shoulder, looking into my eyes intently. “Dashel, do you know why I was assigned as your second on this mission?”
“Certainly. You're the logical choice, given our history together. Plus, you're more seasoned, you have more combat experience...”
“You're talking around yourself in circles,” Ranel rumbled impatiently. “The Hielsrane fleet is stretched so thin that I should have my own command right now. The reason I don't is that for all intents and purposes, this is the command they gave me. The admirals are in no way convinced that you're up to the task. They believe you'll choke, and they've installed me so that when you do, the transition will be smooth when I take over. They felt that when it came down to it, you'd put up less of a fight if it was me relieving you of command instead of someone else. But they won't be sending any other ships to back us up – not until we've entrenched ourselves so thoroughly that we can expect the Pax Alliance to send reinforcements to re-take the planet. And by then, it'll be too late for them to remove us. Now do you understand?”
I couldn't help but feel hurt by this. Still, given my recent personal issues, I supposed I shouldn't have been too surprised that the admirals would cover their bases this way. It was just a shock to hear it confirmed aloud. “Ranel, you've told me how they feel...what about you? Do you believe I'm ready for this mission?”
“Honestly?” Ranel considered this for a moment. “I'm not entirely certain that I would be ready for it, if I'd been through what you have. But the needs of our people can't wait for your readiness. This needs to be done, you've been selected to do it for better or worse, and that's all there is to it. You have a stout heart, and even if you've got a somewhat softer temperament than most Hielsrane,” he said diplomatically, “you're a damn good warrior when it counts. I've seen that firsthand. All I can do is be there for you in any way I can. And be prepared to assume your duties, if it comes to that.”
“Well, let's hope it doesn't.” I drew myself up to my full height, trying to pretend his uncertainty didn't affect me. “Have we received authorization to disembark and begin our mission?”
“At your discretion, captain.” He lifted his claw jauntily, giving me a mocking salute.
“Then I suppose you'd better assemble the crew and make sure they're ready to depart in fifteen cleks, commander,” I teased back. “And be quick about it, or I'll order you blown out of the first airlock I can find. I'll even push the button myself.”
“This ship is so old and decrepit, I'll be surprised if the airlocks aren't crank-operated, not to mention rusted shut. I'll meet you on the command deck.”
Ranel went to gather the rest of our crewmen, and I walked the perimeter of the observation ring, never taking my eyes off the Wyvern until I reached the docking bridge. As I crossed it, I thought about what Ranel had said about my so-called “temperament.”
He was right, of course. It wasn't the first time I'd heard it, or even the hundredth. Ever since I was a hatchling, my peers had chastised me for being more soft-spoken and introspective than others of my race. Most Hielsrane barked and growled and challenged each other for dominance – we were an aggressively warlike species, after all. It was how we'd survived for so long in the harsh and dangerous conditions of space.
Qumarah hadn't thought of me as “soft,” though. She'd admired my quieter and more gentle nature, even as others sneered at it. She appreciated the fact that I'd been able to let my guard down around her, instead of constantly snarling and posturing.
Oh, but it still hurt to think about Qumarah.
After she died, I tried so hard to keep a tight grip on all the wonderful things about her – her beauty, her love for me, the way her smile would brighten any room she was in. I desperately wanted to cling to the happy memories we had together. When I was alone in my quarters, I'd shut my eyes as tight as I could, wishing, wishing, wishing I could conjure recollections of her warmth in my arms, her breath against my neck as she slept, the sound of her laughter.
My curse was that such memories were always just out of reach. In their place, I found nothing but nightmarish images of how she was at the very end – her once-lovely scales sloughing off to reveal the scabby tissue underneath, her gorgeous green eyes dull and unfocused, unable to take on the full dragon form that once gave her such a feeling of freedom. She had writhed in agony in her medical cot, shrieking, babbling, begging the healers to end her suffering. And worst of all, there was nothing I could do for her. I'd been in the cot next to hers, ailing from the same terrifying illness that had her in its grip.
The dreaded Giliu Syndrome had been all but eradicated on Thirren. A vaccine had been developed several generations ago – one which, unfortunately, Qumarah and I were not eligible for, due to rare conditions from birth which lowered our bodies' abilities to process it. When we first met, we both laughed at the coincidence...one of many things we'd had in common.
But when the disease hit – me first, then my beloved Qumarah – we didn't joke about it anymore. We lived each moment in pain and terror, wondering which of us
