At first, Hugh takes Davis and Luis leaving him alone with the cubs as merely another opportunity to indulge them more, but after ten minutes of roughhousing and hugs, the bad conscience grows sharper. Much as he wants to stay, Hugh has things to do here, too. Of course, now that he’s the last one to leave, it’s extra difficult to extricate himself from the mewling masses - the cubs are clearly already all studied up on guilt-tripping him. In the end, firm but gentle statements, repeatedly plucking the cubs off his legs and promising to come back in five seconds get him out of the school in one piece.

Hugh takes a deep breath outside. Alright, game face on.

The circle of chiefs has taken over one of the habs. Hugh doesn’t need to search long - it’s the one with colorful paint and hides strung over its surface. Looks neat, Hugh thinks. Hell of a target for an airstrike, though. He adjusts his uniform and brushes off some dirt, then makes for the front entrance with as much dignity as he can muster. Davis and Swims-the-Black jog up from a hab further up the the base and falls into step next to Hugh. The front door, Hugh finds, immediately leads to a leather curtain behind it; he parts it with his left hand while his right one automatically snatches the cover from his head. Inside, the hab looks even more like a Wherren longhouse. The room is dominated by a long table, covered in yet more leather - Wherren really love to hunt, and Hugh idly wonders what they tan all those hides with - but a glance beneath shows that the table is a Imperial metal matching the hab’s previous style, not one of the exquisitely carved wooden tables Hugh was expecting. As if to make up for that, the chiefs - burly, venerable Wherren all - sit around it in their natural hunched posture, each adorned with intricate decoration that leaves little doubt to their status as tribal leaders. A notable member of the assembled chiefs is Hiigra, who, on top of the beads and decorations his position provides - and his polished steel replacement tusk - is working slowly at a vox holodisplay. He seems to be quite involved with it, though Hugh can’t quite make out what he’s doing with it.

”Greetings,” Hugh says to the assembled chiefs, taking care to make his signs precise - and a little old-fashioned. ”I am Hugh Verrill of Narsai. I am pleased to see you, friend Hiigra.”
Davis bows respectfully to the room. ”I am Garrett Davis, and it’s my pleasure to meet you all as well.”
Swims-the-Black bows as well, his coloration showing the proper amount of respect. ”And I am Swims-the-Black.”
Hiigra looks up through the holodisplay and stands up to properly greet Hugh. ”And greetings to you as well!” Hiigra says, and moves to embrace Hugh, Davis and Swims in turn. ”Relax! They have all heard tales of what you have done for us, how you and your people fought and bled alongside our warriors. Please, sit.”

Once Hugh, Davis and Swims take their seats, they notice the respectful nods from the other chiefs in the room. ”So, what brings you both here?”
Before Davis can speak, Hugh addresses the chiefs. ”We have heard many good things about your work and your cooperation on Narsai. We wanted to see this for ourselves.” Hugh smiles. ”We were not disappointed.”
”It has not all been easy,” a lanky chief says.
”Yes, some tribes have resisted, and bringing them into the fold without causing undue suffering amongst their people has been...difficult,” Hiigra says. ”Your warriors were reluctant to assist at first, preferring to simply force them to surrender or perish, but the female we know as Barnes was very helpful in securing their cooperation.”
”That is what we are here to do,” Davis signs. ”Make sure that you get what you need.”
Hugh thinks for a moment. It would be good to have the Wherren chiefs speak on their behalf, too, but he’s not sure how to break down the actual issue into something he can communicate without feeling like he’s leading the chiefs. Topic shelved for the moment, then. ”How far have you reached out to other villages, Hiigra?”
Hiigra thinks for a moment. “It is hard for me to say, but we have made contact with many of those on our...land, but the seas are proving great barriers to our efforts to spread the news. Your people have expressed in building a village to allow us to fly over the waters and reach those elsewhere on our world. Here, let me show you.” After a bit of effort, Hiigra brings up a map of Whiirr, clearly adapted from the Imperial surveys. Many of the villages on this continent have been circled in blue, as well as some on a more southern continent, separated by a reasonably small strait from your current location. Nearly 200 villages in total are marked on the map, what Hugh and Davis guess to represent almost 50,000 individuals.
”And you’ve visited the blue ones?” Hugh asks to clarify.
”We have opened talks, yes,” Hiigra replies.
”Not all of them have been willing to entirely submit to your people,” one particularly large wherren grunts.
”But most have been open to cooperating with the Narsai’i,” Hiigra finishes.
Swims-the-Black starts to sign when Hugh responds. ”They’re free not to cooperate with us,” Hugh says. ”My concern is that we keep things as peaceful and voluntary as possible. We are here to assist, not to tell you how to live your lives.”
There’s a grim huffing chuckle that runs through the room, and the fur of a few chiefs flashes a clear sign of “bullshit” at that statement.
Hugh tries to glare the room back into silence. Davis and Swims-the-Black again start to speak, but Hugh continues. ”Has anyone among you been forced to sit here? You are here because you want to be, because you think that it is best for your village to work with us. Some other chiefs out there do not think we are the best option they have. They are not at this table, and that is their choice. If they change their mind, we will gladly invite them. Until then, we will not force them to come. I do not see anything wrong with that.”
The large chief returns the glare. ”I am here because with the false Gods gone, my tribe has no other option but to work with yours, or we will perish. Call this what you want, but we have been forced here all the same.”
Hugh does not falter. ”Perish from what, chief?”
”Starvation, war, obsolescence,” he replies, leaning towards Hugh. ”Ever since your kind chased the false Gods away, we have had but one choice. My tribe is grateful for what you have done, but do not pretend that you are ‘offering’ us anything. The choices presented are join or perish, no matter how hard Hiigra tries to phrase otherwise.” Hiigra shakes his head, while a few of the other chiefs nod appreciatively.
”Then it is your situation you must dislike, not us,” Hugh says. ”I’m sorry if we have made you feel that you have no good alternative to working with us, but what can we do about that? We can not make your hunts bountiful beyond nature, your neighbours eternally peaceful, nor all foreign technology disappear. Things are as they are. We are doing what we can to help everyone who will accept it, and we do not ask much in return. Perhaps there are no serious alternatives because that is, from where I stand, an extremely good deal.”
The chief growls and stands up, revealing just how much bigger he is than Hugh. It had seemed odd that the longhouse hab was two stories but only was one big room when Hugh and Davis first entered, but the 7 feet plus that the massive chief stands makes it clear why that was necessary. ”A good deal?” he barks. ”Giving up my tribe’s culture and history and being forced to join into the sameness of your culture, subsuming our identity to that of a people entirely different from our own, a people who have enslaved us for countless generations? Look at where we are now, what is Wherren about our surroundings?”
”You are,” Hugh interrupts. ”Everything you’ve done to make this place your own makes it Wherren.”
The chief barks again, and others stand up with him. ”Decorations! You call skins on a cold metal table Wherren? The trinkets we hang on the walls? Do you think that is what makes up our culture, a collection of shiny objects you can just hang on anything and call it ours, when what is underneath, where it came from and who it belongs to, is clearly yours? Our tales and our customs, that is who we are!”
”Then tell your tales and live your customs!” Hugh fires back. ”Who is keeping you from it? Who is denying them? Your words are battling shadows, chief. You act as if we stomp on what you already have, when we’re offering to give you more.”
”In exchange for who we are! Who our tribes are! You bring us here to show us our future under your control!” Other chiefs start barking at Hugh and Davis at this point, and there’s a lot of orange and red on display. ”Your help comes at the expense of our people’s lives and futures!”

”ENOUGH!” Swims-the-Black roars, already on his feet behind Davis and Hugh. ”What are these glorious futures that you all hold so dear? Stuck hiding here on this planet, in the dirt, while the members of your tribe and their countless descendents that were taken by the Imperium suffer and die? What will your histories say when they look back and see how you decided to reject the offer of the Narsai’i, a chance to grow and become masters of the stars as they are, because you were too petty of the small grudges between your tribes, too mistrusting of those who fought and died to bring you your freedom, and too afraid of the new world that lies beyond your tribe’s territory?”

Swims-the-Black steps up and onto the table between Hugh and Davis, and slowly turns to look at the temporarily silenced assembly of chiefs. ”Yes, things will be different, but Captain Verrill speaks the truth, even if you do not know how to see it. The Narsai’i are not here to destroy your cultures, they are here to elevate us all, bring us to the point where we can join them as equals, not to force us down into the dirt and keep us as pets and slaves. But you are all forgetting what is most important here. You have all had Chosen return to you, those that have escaped from the Imperium’s control. You know that the stories the Narsai’i have told you are not lies, but merely part of the horrors visited upon our people by the Imperium. Your people and their descendants are being tortured and abused, and yet you stand here questioning the wisdom of aiding those who are fighting to stop it. As chiefs, you have no greater duty than fighting to your last breath to save those under your care, and the Narsai’i stand ready to arm us with the knowledge and ability to strike out on our own and do just that. Yes, the order of things will be changed for now, and you will have to deal with your petty differences and struggles with each other. But you must stop looking at yourselves as individual tribes, forced together by the Narsai’i, and realize that they are giving us the opportunity to be many tribes, united as Wherren, and fighting for our own.”

The other chiefs stand tall, but their fur has calmed down significantly now that Swims-the-Black has said his piece. Hiigra addresses the room. ”Swims-the-Black has said what I have been trying to get you all to understand. We cannot stay isolated and opposed to each other anymore. Now that the Narsai’i can ensure that we do not need to fight over food and water, we can focus on what is more important: saving our own people.”
The big chief looks at Swims-the-Black, who returns the glare. ”Hmmm. Your signs speak truth. Perhaps it will be possible to maintain our identity and work together to save our people.”
”There are as many tribes of Narsai’i as there are stars in the sky,” Davis says. ”If we can maintain our identities while working together, surely the Wherren can as well.”
The big chief nods. ”We shall see,” he says, and takes a seat again, as do the other chiefs.

Hiigra nods to Swims-the-Black as he steps off the table. ”Thank you, it has been hard to find the right signs to show the others what I know to be true. You did so very well.”
”I speak from experience, chief,” Swims replies.
Hiigra looks to Hugh and Davis. ”I was told that you wanted to speak to the chiefs about something important, but perhaps after this, it would be wise to wait for a while to let us relax our fur.”
”Wise indeed,” Hugh says. ”Glad it’s out in the open now, though.”
Hiigra takes a deep breath. ”Yes, it certainly is. I will speak to you three later, yes?”
Davis nods. ”Until later, Hiigra.”

----

As Davis, Hugh and Swims-the-Black leave the longhouse, Davis breathes a sigh of relief. “Almost pissed myself a bit back there.”
”It certainly could have gone better, yes,” Swims agrees.
”No, that needed to happen,” Hugh says. ”Better this than leaving anyone with the assumption that we’re the Imperium Mark 2 with a bigger smile. That said - I’m really glad they listened to you, Swims.”
”It was either that, or that big guy would have torn your limbs off, Hugh,” Davis says.
“Eh, I could’ve taken him,” Hugh quips.
”No, that’s actually what he is known for doing,” Swims says. ”He once punched a grawhl to death.”
“I’m smarter than a grawhl, though,” Hugh says. “I think.”

“So, any particular reason why you pushed his buttons, then?” Davis asks.
“Because he had the wrong idea and I’d rather have him in my face than spreading it to his village,” Hugh says. “If one of the chiefs doesn’t get it, we’ll have an entire village that gets a distorted message. I had to know what he was really thinking - and dig it up enough that we could hit it. I - I was really afraid we were just going to paper this over and have it come back to bite us in the ass later. This needs to be right.” He looks at Davis and Swims. “Am I making sense?”
Both Davis and Swims nod. “That’s not quite what I was asking about,” Davis says.
”I agree, it was a topic that needed to be broached,” Swims says. ”But it might have been done a bit more tactfully.”
“Instead of getting all up in his tusks about it,” Davis finishes. “You didn’t push this hard back on Narsai with Congress, what’s up?”
“Because I know I’m a dog with only a couple of tricks and none of them stood a snowball’s chance in hell of swaying DC politicians. I thought with the chiefs who can read how much this means to us from our faces, passion and conviction might play.” Hugh pauses for a moment. “And I wasn’t hitting the Congressional Kindergarten beforehand. You want to know why I care? Because short-sightedness now will cost those kids. You better believe that’s something I can get mad about.”
Davis and Swims-the-Black both give Hugh an interested look. “The cubs?” Davis asks. “That’s what got you so bent out of shape?”
“Yeah,” Hugh says. “You got something better?”
Davis shakes his head. “Nope, it just seems a bit out of character for ‘don’t get too attached’ Hugh Verrill.”
”You did advocate keeping our eyes on Narsai, and were so concerned about the team losing our perspective you felt it was necessary to report so to your leaders,” Swims says. ”It is a bit concerning.”
“A man’s allowed to come to his senses, yeah?” Hugh replies. “We’ve gone over what a great idea my report was. And while we’re officially keeping perspective, yes, that doesn’t mean we can’t care about what happens here. We’re here for a day. I’m using that day to do what I can here. When we’re back in DC, we can go tackle the DC problems. Fair?”
Swims nods. ”Neither of us were attacking you for your report, you were doing what you thought was right, and if you had known that Simmons was going to use it against us, you would never have done it.”
“We’re just allowed to be curious when you suddenly go all native and touchy-feely on us, all right?” Davis says.
“Yes, you’re allowed to be curious,” Hugh says. “Now, gentlemen, if that’s all, I need to go change my underpants.”
Both Davis and Swims smile. “I believe you are allowed to do that, as well.”

Spending time waiting for the chiefs to calm down and process what Swims-the-Black had said - well, shouted at them - Hugh decides to take care of another bit of personal business, and finds Luis and Arketta doing the same thing: trying to find Semo Putupu. A few questions later leads the team to the dome interior, which has been turned into a staging area of sorts for operations on Whiirr.

As the three teammates step through the sliding doors of the dome and into the climate-controlled interior, everyone hears Semo’s voice shouting orders to some poor soldier across the dome. The room is full of tables, coalition soldiers and a few Wherren. “Hey! The habs for 724 are heading out in an hour, so get off your ass and get them skimmered to the pad!” The big Sergeant is in his field uniform and standing next to a table covered in maps and pieces of paper. “Swear to God, these 88H boots they’re sending us spend more time napping than working.”

“Then make ‘em work, Sarge,” Hugh calls, with a shit-eating grin on his face. “Or do you need help motivating them?”
“Holy shit, Captain!” Semo says, and snaps off a crisp salute to his former CO. “How are you doing, Sir?”
“Less getting shot at, more getting shouted at, it balances out,” Hugh says. “You?”
“Mostly missions to make sure the rebel construction crews don’t get a spear in the back, but the new directives from Barnes means we don’t roll as heavy as we used to,” Semo replies. “And Luis! Looking...” Semo searches for the words for a moment as he catches Luis’ new eyes. “Looking pretty good! And Arketta! How are you doing, girl?”
Arketta smiles at Semo, and raises her hand, showing off the scar. “Doing pretty well, Semo. We’re engaged!”
Luis grins and raises his hand as well, displaying the matching scar. “That’d be my doing.”
“Damn! You two move fast, huh?” Semo says, giving an appreciative nod. “Just so you know, we’ve heard what’s going down back on Earth, and for my money it’s a bunch of bullshit. Even though I’m not on the team anymore, you guys know I’ve got your back, yeah?”
“Of course,” Luis says. “Anything happened here that might give them some ammo? How often are you having to roll and how bad is it when you do?”
“Eh, not too often,” Semo says with a shrug. “Mostly it’s chiefs who want to keep their power over their tribes, and it used to be after one charge against our positions they’d surrender, but the chiefs here started making noise about Wherren casualties, so instead we’ve been using Wherren-human teams to make contact and encourage them to surrender. It’s been working, but we’ve been taking more casualties than before.”
“How many casualties?” Hugh asks. “One’s too many, but I thought I should know a number.”
“Three KIA, a dozen wounded, and that’s counting Wherren casualties,” Semo says.
Hugh sums it up: “Shit.”
Semo nods. “Turns out that walking up and asking them to abandon their chiefs is a bit more risky than just setting up a defensive perimeter and letting them charge at you. The Wherren are happy, though. We were having to kill half of the tribe before they surrendered, the old way.”
Luis’ eyes widen. “Jesus!”
“Yeah, no contest, we’re not running a genocide here,” Hugh says. “How about some propaganda drops from your whirlybirds? Leaflets won’t convince anyone by themselves, sure, but I figure it would at least...you know, prepare them a little.”
“Not my department, Cap, but it’s in the works from what I’ve heard,” Semo says. “Most of the guys here think the risk is worth it, too. Lot of sleepless nights after those charges.” He gives a solemn nod before looking back to you. “Still, things are going better now. The chiefs trust us, and we’re making good progress training their warriors into a real fighting force. There’s talk of some kind of big combined op soon.”
Luis looks to Hugh and raises an eyebrow. “First I’ve heard of it, “ he says. “Sounds like a Barnes question.” He turns back to Semo. “What’s scuttlebutt have to say?”
“Just rumors that people are looking at rolling the Wherren into the military for operations,” Semo says. “Not much makes it down to my level, I’m just helping with the construction and recruitment.”
“Right,” Hugh says. “So, how are your Wherren warriors taking to this Army thing now that they’ve had more than a few days of training?”
“Fucking scary, Sir,” Semo says. “They’ve got small-unit tactics down, and if you put them in a situation where they have any amount of concealment, they can practically vanish. Once we’ve got enough of them that have figured out which end of the gun goes bang, they’ll be a lot of help.”
“That’s great news,” Hugh says. “Imagine leading a platoon of those guys into a fight with the Imperium. That’ll put the fear of God into every Turai. And they deserve to be on the team.”
“You got that right, Sir,” Semo says. “Plus, they’re the first people I’ve met who can keep up with me at the bar, instead of you lightweights.” He grins at that, and waves over a Wherren. “Lufta and his team just got back from patrol and a meet-and-greet, if you have questions.”
Lufta nods to you all. ”It is good to see you all again.”
”Hello, Lufta,” Hugh signs. ”How did the meeting go?”
”Like the others usually do,” Lufta replies. ”Confusion, questions, disbelief, a lot of barking about the false Gods and the Narsai’i. They were thinking about maybe attacking us until Sajuuk shot a akwhela out of a tree from 30 meters away.”
”Did you eat the bird?” Hugh asks.
”Akwhela is stringy,” Lufta says. ”We dry the meat.”
”As long as it doesn’t go to waste,” Hugh says. “You got everything you need here, Sarge?”
“More men, more supplies, more training,” Semo replies. “The usual.”
“We’ll do what we can to keep them coming,” Luis says. ”Stay safe out there,” he signs to Lufta.
Lufta nods, and fires off a pretty damn good salute. ”You do the same,” he signs, and walks back to what looks like his team.
Semo turns back to Hugh and Luis. “Well, it’s good to see you, Sir. Any idea what the next move is?”
“Shoot DC a message that pretty much everyone on this side of the gateway thinks that working for the DoD is a really bad idea,” Hugh says. “It’s not even that we’ve got the important bigwigs on record, it looks like everybody’s on our team in a landslide.” Hugh pauses for a moment. “Which is a pretty cool feeling, I have to say.”
“People recognize good leadership when they see it, Sir,” Semo replies. “At least, when they’re out there doing the real work, right?”
“Yes,” Hugh says. “I just hope the grassroots approach helps sway the congressmen - the way I know those paperpushers, they’ll go through with the DoD plan anyway and then they’ll hold a new inquiry in a year when nothing works and you’re getting your shit fucked up.”
“Let’s hope not, Sir,” Semo says. He thinks for a moment, and instead of saluting a goodbye, offers his hand to shake. “Good luck. For all of us.”
“Stay safe, Sarge,” Hugh says, shaking Semo’s hand.

Talking with Semo gave the chiefs time to calm down and digest what Swims-the-Black had shouted at them, and Davis, Hugh, Hiigra and the Shaman from Hiigra's tribe head back into the room and talked with the assembled chiefs. The big chief, leader of the appropriately-named Grawhl Punchers clan, still has many reservations, as do many of the other chiefs - fears about being turned into slaves again, fears about the promised support never appearing, fears about being humanity intruding on Wherren decisions about their future. Hugh, Hiigra and the Shaman provide the broad strokes of the case for trusting GRHDI, while Davis and Swims-the-Black talk with them individually, addressing concerns, and an hour later, they leave with good wishes and good will towards the team and the GRHDI. The chiefs aren't willing to commit to opposing DoD control of the programs on Whiirr, but they did make it clear that their cooperation with Earth is contingent on their continued assistance and that they're perfectly willing to throw in with the rebels and tell Earth to take a flying leap if they renege on their promises of aid.

---

With Hugh, Davis and Swims-the-Black still busy with the chiefs and Angel off who-knows-where, it leaves Luis, Arketta and Zaef time to go back and spend some time in the Whiirr late afternoon playing with the orphaned cubs some more. Torega and Muzgash are team captains as they play another round of the ball team-keep-away game they seem to love, while Brag and Othrod are content to sit with Luis and Arketta and work on more math with him. At least, Brag is interested in the math, Othrod is half paying attention to the lesson and half latched onto Luis’s torso. Arketta helps Rhea and Sijet make sure the kids playing don’t hurt themselves, while Zaef is planted on a folding chair by the side of the clearing where the cubs are playing, his buzz augmented by exhaustion from trying to keep up with the cubs, making him more preoccupied with keeping the world from spinning on its side than continuing to play.

After the current game ends, Arketta sits down next to Luis and watches him as he tutors the two cubs, and as he awkwardly tries to move his arm around Othrod so he can both write and so that Othrod can see. She smiles as Othrod digs the side of his muzzle a bit into Luis’ side, and puts a hand on his shoulder.
“So, are you enjoying yourself?” she asks Luis.
Luis looks up, smiling. “Kinda feeling like a Peace Corps brochure, but yeah.”
Arketta looks at the other cubs, now simply wrestling each other in the dirt for the ball. “It makes you think, doesn’t it? Being around them?”
Luis looks around, then back to Arketta. “It’s a nice change from DC,” he says. “What’s on your mind?”
“Well...” Arketta picks at her hair as she looks down and to the left, like she always does when she’s thinking about how to say something. “Thinking about...children of our own.”
Luis’ eyes go wide. “Oh,” he says.
Arketta sees Luis freak out a bit. “Not now!” she says. “No, not now, I mean. But I think we would both like to have children at some point, yes?”
Luis nods. “Yeah, I just wasn’t thinking about it being soon.”
“Err...well, how soon were you thinking about it?” Arketta asks.
Luis shakes his head slowly. “I don’t know exactly. What I do know is that when we do, I want to be able to be there for them, not constantly away on missions. I couldn’t do that to them.” He looks down at Othrod. “It’s gonna be hard enough leaving these guys behind.”
“Davis and Ngawai seem pretty confident in their ability to be there for Naloni,” Arketta points out.
“That may be true for them,” Luis says. “I’m not, not in the middle of a major interstellar war that I’m on the front lines of.”
“A war that might last for decades more,” Arketta says. “I’m not saying I want to shoot down Mantas while six months pregnant -” she smiles and gives Luis a playful shove, “- but there’s a good chance that we’re going to have to balance starting a family with this war at some point.”
“When that time comes,” Luis says, “I’ll start taking desk jobs or something. But I want to be able to be there for my kids at the end of the day, not off on some world lightyears away.”
“I don’t think either of us would be happy with that, at least, I wouldn’t be,” Arketta says. “Being out of the action, while our friends are in the thick of it?” She sighs and shakes her head, then looks back at Luis. “What if things are like they are now? Months of planning on Narsai, then a few weeks of being out on missions?”
“Maybe,” Luis says. “I might be able to make that work.”
She looks down at Othrod. “Maybe we could take him with us. He seems to like you well enough,” Arketta jokingly whispers in his ear.
Luis looks down at Othrod and grins. “Don’t say that too loud,” he whispers back.
“For sure,” Arketta says. She gives Luis a peck on the cheek, siding up against Othrod in the process. The cub is surprised, but then figures out who it is and he settles down. “Think about it, Luis. I want to have a family with you, but I am willing to wait until you’re ready.” She smiles. “For now.”

----

The late afternoon on Whiirr is still decently warm, and that, combined with the half of Narsai’i spirits Zaef’s had so far, is putting him in a serious mood for a nice nap before leaving. However, as he’s drifting off, Zaef feels a tug at the bottom of his pants. When he looks up, he sees Kunang and Temator standing in front of the lounge chair, looking at him with their big bright eyes.

Zaef sits up groggily with a smirk on his face. “If you want me to try and play again, I must remind you that the goofy dance I was making is actually the best I can do at the moment.”
They both stare at him, fur slightly blue, but their eyes are wide open. ”What are you doing?” Kunang asks.

Zaef’s grin merely widens. “Talking to you two - what else do this look like to you?”
”It looks like you’re thinkin’,” Temator says. ”Our father looks and smells like that when he’s thinking. Or having fun, but that’s with the other hunters, not by himself.”
”He gives us a drink sometimes,” Kunang adds.

Zaef turns his head towards his armpit, sniffs, then shrugs. “I was nodding off - having a few drinks makes you sleepy,” he explains.
Temator shoves Kunang, who shoves him back. ”Can you tell us a story?” Kunang asks. ”Father tells us stories when he’s been thinking.”

Zaef smiles and leans back. “Sure. I’d like that.” He tilts his head up, but frowns-the star is still in view, and wouldn’t set for a few hours at least. So he cast around for what stars he knew were there, and the stories they had. “How about the story of the Wanderer’s first trip through the Gateway?”
Both brothers nod excitedly and take a seat in front of Zaef.

“The Wanderer emerged first on a bountiful world- golden grass, green trees with drooping branches full of fruit, blue waters churning with fish aplenty. So different from the Wanderer’s own home, where there were only rocks, nothing to eat or drink. He liked it there immediately, so much so that he named this new world ‘Paradise.’ He stayed there for three days, enjoying the taste of game and the chill of fresh water. It was on morning of the fourth day when trouble came upon Paradise.

“The sky, which until that day had been a light green, was now dark as pitch, and rumbled and roiled, as though it were ill. The wind blew so strongly that the Wanderer was plucked from his feet and he had to cling to a tree for fear that he might never touch the ground again. Flashes of lightning came down near the Wanderer, threatening to fry him then and there.”
The cubs gasp and cover their mouths in suspense.

“Worse, the ground shook just as the sky did, churning and quaking underneath his very feet, so that he could not even stand. He had to crawl to move, when the wind did not try to spirit him away. And so it went, for three days and nights, and the Wanderer counted every second of them, for he could not sleep with the many perils endangering him. On the seventh day, he sat and pondered-he had found Paradise, a bountiful land with much to live on, but it was wracked with powerful storms every few days, such that none would live to reap the harvest. Yet he believed he could find a way to live there-and he found such a way.”

Zaef looks down at the two brothers, smiling as he notes how engaged they are in the story. “Do you know what he did, the way he took to live in Paradise?”
They both slowly shake their heads. Kunang has one of his fingers half in his mouth, wrapped around a tusk.

Zaef grins as he anticipates their reactions. “He went home. You see, his home had one thing, and only thing only, but in abundance-stone. So he took that stone to Paradise, and used it to build a house. When the storms came, the wind blew hard, but the stone stayed still. The lightning struck, but the stone stayed still. The ground shook, but the stone stayed still. And so he sat inside, eating game and fruit and drinking fresh water, as the stone of his home protected him from the elements.”
Both cubs are staring up at Zaef with rapt attention. ”And what did he do with his home and Paradise?” Temator asked. ”Father’s stories always end with a lesson.”
”Shut up, let him tell the story,” Kunang says, shoving his brother.
”No, you shut up,” Temator barks.

“Keep fighting, kids, and I won’t tell you what happens next.”
They both instantly stop quarreling. ”Tell us, please,” Temator says, his colors quiet and obedient.

“That’s better. The point of the story is, even the things you love the most can have negative effects, just as the things you hate the most can have positive effects. You must learn if you should build a house in Paradise, and you must learn when you need to suck it up and go home for stone.”

Kunang and Temator both smile and nod happily. ”Thanks for the story, Mister...U-taa-i!” Temator says, his voice tripping over the Imperial word.

Zaef tries not to frown. “You’re welcome...as long as you call me ‘Zaef’ from now on. None of that ‘mister’ stuff.”
They both nod. ”Thank you, Za-ef!” they both bark, and then run off back to wrestle for the ball some more.

Zaef waves at them as they run off, then wiggles into a more comfortable position in the chair and closes his eyes. Dammit, being called ‘Mister’ makes me feel so fucking old.

----

Hugh, Davis and Swims-the-Black walk up next to Rhea and Sijet, as the two females watch the cubs wrestle for the ball from a picnic bench outside their hab, barking and laughing at each other in the process. Rhea looks behind her at the three men. ”How was your talks?”
”Good,” Hugh replies curtly. ”What exactly are they playing?”
”Right now, they are playing ‘fight over the ball’ more than anything else,” Sijet replies. ”It is almost time for them to go inside, I think. Are you going to be here much longer?”
”Actually, we’re on our way home,” Hugh says. ”We’re here to say goodbye.”

”Ah, well then,” Rhea says, and stands up. ”Cubs! Come here and say goodbye to Hugh, Garrett and Swims-the-Black.”
Torega looks up and grabs the ball away from one of the others. ”Stop it! Time to say goodbye, you guys!” she barks, and the others disentangle themselves while she runs up to Hugh and gives him a hug around his thighs. ”Goodbye, Hugh.”
Hugh can’t help but smile widely as he pats her on the head. ”Goodbye, Torega. You play nice now, okay?”
”I will,” she says, her fur turning a deep green, with a little bit of yellow that Hugh recognizes as deep affection. She gives his legs another squeeze and lets go while Dush takes her place.
Hugh ruffles Dush’s “fur” just a little and smiles down on him. ”We’ll be back,” Hugh promises.
”I know,” Dush says.

Davis takes a knee and gives each cub a hug in turn as well. ”Keep out of trouble, okay?” he tells them with a smile.
They all nod and smile back while Swims-the-Black takes a knee next to Davis. The cubs all stare up at him expectantly with their bright eyes. A bit of confusion washes over Swims’ fur while he thinks of what to say.He eventually settles on saying, ”I’m going to miss all of you.” The cubs all hug Swims-the-Black at once, climbing on the big Wherren. His fur turns to alarm for a moment, and Davis laughs.
”It’s a hug, buddy, you’re just supposed to take it.”
”That’s easy for you to say,” Swims replies. The cubs climb off of him, and they both stand back up as the cubs walk over to Rhea and Sijet.
”Come on, let’s get back to the Gateway before we both die of diabetes,” Davis cracks, and both he and Swims turn to walk towards the dome.

This just leaves Hugh standing there. He watches Rhea and Sijet lead their charges back into the hab, but notices Torega standing in the grass a few feet away, looking up at him.

”What are you waiting for, Torega?” Hugh says, his heart suddenly feeling like it weighs a few tons. ”Go play with your friends.”
Her fur quickly turns blue, like she didn’t expect that Hugh could still see her looking at him. ”I - I wanna...” She’s too bashful to sign it all at once. ”How do I grow up to be like you?”

Cynicism rises in Hugh. Fuck around in college. Join the military to piss off everyone who still cares about you. Find something you like and get good enough at it to fuck it up. And keep wading through the shit that is your life because fighting’s the only thing you’re good at.

”You must be kind,” Hugh tries to explain. ”Love yourself, but serve something greater than yourself. Use all your power to make this universe a better place. And always - always - remember that there are people who love you very much and who will be at your side no matter what you do.”
Torega nods. Hugh can kinda tell that she didn’t really understand most of what he just said, but the way her eyes are looking up at him and the colors on her fur say that she got the message loud and clear. She sprints across the grass and jumps up on him for another embrace, and nuzzles herself against his neck, giving Hugh a peck on the cheek (and a bit of a poke with one of her tusks). ”I’ll miss you.”
Hugh hugs Torega tight to his chest. ”I’ll miss you, too,” he says, and then gently sets her down. ”Now, go. Your friends are waiting.”
She nods, and runs back towards the hab. Rhea is waiting for Torega in the door, and holds the curtain aside for her as she scampers inside.
Hugh nods to Rhea, then turns to head towards the gateway. A few steps in, he lets out a deep sigh, and his shoulders slump a little. It isn’t the first time he’s missed having a family of his own, but it is certainly the toughest hit so far. But in a way, it also gives him hope. If he can let himself feel like that, if he can genuinely try to make a little girl’s day bright and her future brighter - then maybe there is a decent guy underneath the violence and the womanizing, after all.

After spending what is quite possibly too much time saying goodbye to the orphaned Wherren cubs, the team walks - rather than rides - back through the Gate to Diego Garcia. On the other side to greet them are two people: Ngawai, who walks up and puts her arm around Davis' shoulder while using her other hand to send him a data packet with the most recent updates from Washington, and Gorlan, who stands patiently by and greets each of the team as they exit the gateway. He motions to Angel, who joins him off to the side.

Even before you get clear of the Gateport, Barnes mass-voxes the rest of the team. "How was the Whiirr mission?" she asks. "If you've got anything we can use, we need it. There's a situation back at Washington."

---

When Angel walks past him, Gorlan motions for Angel to step to the side and join him. "May I have a moment, Angel?" His expression is a decidedly anxious and conflicted one.

A small, adoring ball of tusks and fuzz was a decent way to improve one’s mood. Angel meanders down the platform, expecting a characteristically cold greeting from the still distant Gorlan. The two men had reached...an understanding, even if it was an unspoken one. Which is why what came next was genuinely unexpected, and Gorlan got a sight of the 815 scout’s rarely spotted ‘surprised face’.

“Of course...” The scout hops off the edge of the platform, coming up next to the ex-Imperial. “What’s on your mind?”

"Well, my time on Narsai is about up," Gorlan starts. "I have seen and learned a lot here, and what's more, I would say the several days that have passed are more than long enough to establish a sufficient alibi. However, I would require a degree of protection and assistance aboard my ship on the return to Hedion, and I'm wondering...err...I would ask that you -" He stops and starts again. "If it would not be too much trouble if you would accompany me back to Hedion and help make sure that everything is as it should be back home. I might need to make a speedy escape, and if not, someone needs to go with the first shipment of products for evaluation back here." He stares at Angel, both waiting for a response and thinking something else.

Twice in one day Gorlan gets the face. Angel’s eyebrow arches slightly. “You want me to come back to Hedion with you as a bodyguard?”
"Yes, if that wouldn't be too much trouble," Gorlan says. "The trip should take no more than a day or so. There's a lot to be done on Hedion, I have to set the rest of my family's affairs in order, I have to assume my new position as lead Faxom-Io representative on Hedion, and there's the matter of the aftermath of our escape to dodge." Gorlan stops again. The usually graceful and composed man looks downright twitchy at the moment. "So, would that be acceptable?"

Angel was half positive if he made a sudden noise Gorlan would simply bolt. Instead, he nods slightly. “Of course - I’d be honored. Anything to get away from,” he waves his hand expansively toward what could be collectively regarded as ‘this Earth clusterfuck’, “this for a day or two would be nice.”
"Excellent!" Gorlan says. "I have already cleared it with Miss Barnes, and Captain Verrill -" Gorlan still can't handle English words with any degree of grace "- will be notified soon. I have suitable clothes for you in my ship, so no additional packing is needed. The Gateway opens in ten minutes, is there anything else you wish to do before we leave?"

Quick turnaround. “If Barnes has cleared it, then no, there’s not really anything I need to take care of.”
"Perfect," Gorlan says, noticeably relaxing by at least half. He then notices that Angel smells like he spent the last ten hours in the jungle, hanging out with and in some cases rolling around in the dirt with Wherren. His nose wrinkles a bit. "And you can shower on my ship, if you want."
Angel sniffs himself and chuckles slightly. “Probably not a terrible idea.”

"Whiirr was great, but what's going on in DC?" Davis asks.
"The fight is ratcheting up," Barnes says. "Fox News is running a three-part story on the GRHDI. The first part was basically a smear job on our Bashakra'i workers on Earth and us, and tonight's previews seem to be focused on Task Force 815. Plus, I've been called to testify in front of Congress as to the extent of our 'involvement with off-worlders'. They're warming up faster than we thought, and we need something to make Congress think twice about acting now, before we're ready to make our case."

"So I assume you're locking me away far from anyone with a camera and a microphone, then?" Hugh asks half-jokingly, well aware of his mixed record in getting people to side with him.

Luis steps back through the Gate to Earth, feeling the strange but familiar sensation of gravity, air pressure, temperature, humidity, and everything else changing as he steps across the invisible boundary between Earth and Whirr. He casts a look back through the Gate as it shuts down, taking with it the view back to Whirr and leaving the concrete surface of the Gate-blocking piston. Back to work, he thinks. As if on cue, his vox rings.

"I don't think keeping our heads down will do the trick this time, Hugh," Luis says with a grin. His face grows thoughtful as he continues. "That means we need to do something to make them wait and listen." He pauses and shakes his head. "I don't know. It'd be better to get ahead of their story if we could, but that'd involve either heading off their case or taking it a new direction. Do we have anything for that?"

Arketta smiles when Luis speaks up about taking the fight to them. "I like this plan," she says.
"So do I," Barnes says. "We've got the evidence you recovered from the New Horizon Group offices, letters of support from Colonels Owenby and Easom as well as most of the science team at Mesas Negras, and the Sheen's scans of Luis' implants, for whatever that's worth. They're nice things to put in front of a committee, but we're getting painted as Fifth Columnists here, guys."

"And what we have from Whiirr is more of the same," Davis says. "I'm with Luis, we need to hit back, show that not only are we loyal, but that the people behind this smear campaign are the real bad guys here. We know who the lower rungs of this thing are, but we never checked out the Chief of Staff of the Army, Commandant of the Navy, and the aides of the National Security Advisor and Director of National Intelligence. These are the next rungs on the ladder, and getting the dirt on these four people is a good first step to pushing back, I think." Davis looks at the others. "Anything I missed?"

"So, how do we get them?" Hugh asks. "Break into their offices, hack their computers and dig out compromising emails to conservative think tanks with vaguely ominous names?"

He looks at Zaef. "I'm no Angel, but I can tread softly when I have to."

"Given I've known corpses to make more noise than Angel does, it'd surprise me more if you were as good as him. But, regardless of how good either of us are at sneaking, the device starts sounding like a couple of mating taranteks when it gets plugged into a machine with any real protection on it."

Zaef takes two empty glass bottles from his sack and tosses them into the nearest recycling bin. "Coincidentally, that'd be exactly where I'd look first for any actual dirt."

"Are you suggesting dumpster diving, then?" Hugh asks. "You know I instantly give every analog idea five bonus points, but how much printed, non-shredded evidence do you honestly think we can find there?"

Luis nods at Hugh's point. "Yeah, anything really key isn't likely to end up in the normal trash. But then what options do we have? Just walk up and ask them?" He looks to Davis. "You got any brilliant ideas?"

"Dumpster diving's always a good start," Davis says. "Sometimes you get lucky and find what you need to go deeper, but you always find something useful. After that, I think it's time we meet our new friends." Davis slaps Hugh on the back. "You've got a knack for bringing the raging xenophobe out of people, so maybe we'll get lucky and get something on tape. Beyond that, we need to take what we have so far to Congress. If they're as close to a vote as they seem to be, then we need to at least show up and petition for them to hold off while we gather more information. If we just focus on the cloak-and-dagger bullshit, the DoD might just walk straight through the door."

"That's true," Luis says. "It might also be worth doing somethings to throw a bit of confusion into their organization." He pauses for a moment, putting thoughts into order. "Beat the bushes, see what comes out. Rile them up. If we can get them suspicious of each other, that'd be even better. They'd either have to run around like ants getting things worked out or turtle up until they think they've cleared their house."

"Oh, I get to piss them off on purpose now?" Hugh says with a grin. "But yeah, I think that's good. If I march up to them in my Class As, it not only shows them that they're on our scope, it also makes them wonder if maybe one of them hasn't made a deal with us. Powerful people, powerful egos, there's got to be a fault line or two we can find and exploit."

"Yeah, something like that," Luis says. "Actually, anything we can do to put pressure on them would be good, particularly if we can make the methods point at a leak or a sell-out. Taking down their private servers or stuff like that where we can challenge them in ways hard to respond to officially should really step up the pressure on them."

"Then let's go put some fire under that pot," Hugh says. "Davis, find out when that Congress vote is happening. I don't want to be stuck in an office getting yelled at by important people while our representatives vote to fuck us."

“I’ll do better than that, I’ll put together a packet for the committee of all the votes of support we’ve got and ask Barnes to run over copies to them before we’re on the ground,” Davis says. “After all, I’m going to need something to do on the flight back, considering we’re flying C-130 back now with the normal grunts.”
Ngawai groans. “Oh, Garrett, remember the medicae’s advice?” She suddenly hangs on Davis’ shoulder, blatantly playing at the “helpless pregnant woman” role. “No unshielded air travel after thirty-six Narsai weeks. And since we’re just entering week thirty-five...”
Davis rolls his eyes and shoves Ngawai off his shoulder with a smile on his face. “Yes, for your and Naloni’s health, you can stay here.”
Ngawai returns the smile. “I’ll be on vox if you need anything back here.”

----

The time spent resting and repacking on the base includes a reintroduction to the news from Earth at large, and that news is, on the whole, not good. All of the team’s voxes are filled with the Republican hawks decrying the “Imperial influence” that Task Force 815 represents while paying lip service to the victories and advances that they are responsible for. News reports, some curious, others inflammatory, are reporting on “leaked” documents reporting the makeup and history of Task Force 815. They’re not digging too deeply into the piles of blackmail, but they are hitting back hard: Davis is being portrayed as easily swayed by pretty foreign women and smitten with a rogue Imperial bounty hunter with questionable loyalties, Luis has obviously picked which culture he’s going to throw in with, Hugh’s personnel file hardly paints a picture of an exemplary officer, while Angel has been compromised by an officer of the enemy. The attacks on Zaef, Swims-the-Black and Arketta are as predictable as they are distasteful, focusing on their Imperial birth and Swims not being human, as if either of those facts somehow made them willing to watch Earth burn to save their own skins, or even secretly in collusion with the Imperium by default. Notable for their glaring absences are the relationship between Luis and Arketta, the details of Arketta’s past service with the Turai and Swims-the-Black’s former Alef-ka status, and Zaef’s personal history - absences that feel more like pointed statements of what’s to come if 815 and the GRHDI don’t roll over and go quietly. Nothing that the press are talking about is enough to get the team jailed or exiled - yet.

There are those who are defending the team on the media - Barnes seems to be almost everywhere, as does her deputy at GRHDI and members of the State Department and the more galactic culture-positive members of Congress and the political consultant community. However, there is a conspicuous lack of military talking heads defending the team, something that lends credence to the theory that the conspiracy against Task Force 815 and the GRHDI goes to the highest levels. The defenders focus on what 815 and the GRHDI have achieved - the establishment of relations with the Bashakra’i, the Sheen and the Wherren, the raid on Napai and Hugh and Semo’s heroism on Boranai, and with the Sheen’s help, capturing Whiirr almost entirely unsupported and gaining the support of the Wherren homeworld, while hammering the opponents to 815 with charges of racism and bias. However, Davis’ marriage to Ngawai, Luis’ augmentations and Angel’s affair with Tora are proving harder to overcome.

As for the public, well, you shove an issue in someone’s face and shout about it for three days straight, anyone’s going to develop an opinion. That opinion might not be particularly well-informed, but people are certainly developing them none the less. Judging by the news stories that Barnes pushed to all of your voxes, the public is pretty evenly split. Polls show that one-third of the nation thinks that 815 are enemy agents in disguise and that the GRHDI is the center of a pollution of Earth’s culture and a breeding ground for spies against Earth, one-third thinks that 815 are heroes and that you and the GRHDI are the best hope we have for ending the war and bringing Earth into a new age, and the remaining 40% either don’t care, think both sides are wrong, or are simply waiting on the fence to see who comes out on top.

----

Hugh and Zaef, seated by one of the windows in the C-130, are the first ones to see Barnes, standing in front of the fleet of SUVs by the side of their destination hangar at Andrews with her assistant and protective detail standing nearby. On the approach, Davis and Arketta spotted the likely reason for the large escort: a crowd of media vans situated at the base entrance, no doubt waiting for a chance to get the team on camera.

With the engines spinning down and the rear hatch opened, the team quickly hustles out of the hangar to meet up with Barnes.
“I saw the welcome wagon out front,” Davis says. “Do you think we need to exit another way?”
“No, trying to sneak out the back would just give them more fodder,” Barnes says. “You’ve got more secure quarters this time around, and I received your itinerary, any amendments to that you want to make? It’s probably best that you avoid talking to the press right now, but I don’t think you’ll get turned away from many offices at this moment.”
”More secure quarters?” Swims asks. ”Do we need to be concerned about attempts on our lives?”
Barnes nods. “Definitely more now than before, so I’m not taking any chances.”

Angel spent the hour or so on Atea waiting for Gorlan's ship to finish crossing the distance from the orbital on the far side of the solar system grabbing a SCAR and a Turai undersuit from his gear stash at the team's planning room in the Bashakra'i worldship, wolfing down a quick bite to eat at the closest mess room to the docks, and then getting in a quick nap on a bench at the airlock. Gorlan mostly just stuck close to Angel, the frosty looks from some of the rebels on the worldship putting the rich industrium representative on edge.

Gorlan tapped on Angel's knee when his ship entered visual range of the docking level, giving him a chance to see what kind of ship being as wealthy as the Kesh clan is can afford. The answer: a really, really nice one. Sleek and angular, the luxury runabout is 200 feet of shiny metal emblazoned with the two-tone black and orange Kesh clan colors. The excitingly unsquare angles of the engine nacelles articulate and move, vectoring thrust through a constantly shifting set of panels that spread apart to create cracks for exhaust, instead of using anything as dreary as attitude thrusters. The center crew section of the ship isn't as chunky as the Akamu was, instead substituting luxury and more design features for cargo space and practicality. It looks ridiculously expensive and opulent, a flying piece of the Kesh estate.

The ship - Gorlan's Soul - docked uneventfully and was off towards the orbital Gateway in no time at all. Inside, it is just as luxurious as it seemed on the outside. Soft carpets, crash couches swathed in supple leather, white metal walls curved to create the illusion of space, and, as Angel found out when he went to shower in the main guest quarters, every wall and ceiling is capable of being turned into a visually-perfect image of the void beyond it, creating the illusion of standing on a deep carpet with a stunningly comfortable bed and tasteful table-sofa-loveseat set, while floating in the vacuum of space.

So this is what inconceivable wealth buys you. No wonder he had insisted - or pulled enough strings - for the jet. The ships they had been on so far paled in comparison, regardless of how sophisticated they were. He showered, shutting off the stunning visuals of the room, the endless void of space possibly the exact opposite of the kind of environment he was comfortable with.

Cleaned of the lingering dust of Whiirr, he finds a nearly flawlessly tailored suit in the Imperial style - black with orange highlights, of course - waiting for him, heading back on deck to find Gorlan, sidearm tucked beneath his coat, seated in the captain's chair on the bridge of the ship. Like the rest of the ship, the bridge is far and away more sophisticated and comfortable than anything Angel has seen so far. The bridge reminds Angel of that on the Akamu, all viewscreen showing space around the ship and the displays and readouts for the ship's status, but with a thousand times more fidelity, and also lacking in metal grating on the floor. Instead, something new, even for Angel: transparent carpet. It feels to his feet to be soft and thick, but he can see right through it.
"I hope the suit fits," Gorlan says. "I didn't have enough time to have one expressly tailored for you, so I had to make do with what I had on hand. I thought it would look good enough on you." It looks perfect on Angel, of course, with the details of the cuts, seams and folds of the fabric seemingly made to match him. "How are your quarters?"

Angel nods. “It will do. And the quarters are...luxurious. This is a fine ship you have here. Is she armed at all?”
"Just enough to make outsystem pirates think twice," Gorlan says. He waves away the navigation interface, and the virtual helm vanishes, leaving you both alone in the void of space. "We won't be challenging any Needleships in her."

“No, but something I learned in...a couple fronts. You’re only as safe as your vehicles are. Enough to make outsystem pirates think twice is enough to make a casual assassination attempt in space less likely.”
Gorlan thinks for a moment. "That is an excellent point." An uncomfortable silence settles into the room.

Angel gives Gorlan a speculative look. “Can I ask you a question. Why me?”
"Well, you were an excellent fake bodyguard," Gorlan quickly says. "But...I want to ask you some questions, as well." He twiddles some invisible control, and the captain's chair turns to face Angel. "I have some questions about Tora."

“Ah.” He nods. “Well, fake body guarding aside, ask what you need to ask. Whenever you’re ready to ask it.”
Gorlan works up to his question for a second. "What was she like?" he asks.

Angel gives the Imperial industrialist a thoughtful look. The Kesh clan...hadn’t been close. Gorlan hadn’t even really entered the picture for awhile. He guessed he couldn’t blame the man for being curious about his sister, at her end.

“Amazing. And I mean that sincerely. I’ve met a lot of people, from a lot of places and your sister was special. Quick - she sliced apart one of Davis’ cover stories pretty fast, and in a way that didn’t end in panic or shooting. And she wanted something better. Not some idiot revolutionary who wants to knock it all down because anarchy and rubble means they ‘free’. But she wanted to see change. Maybe to have people like her - or you - live up to their names, and their responsibilities.”

Gorlan nods. “The Tora I knew...she was missing that spark. The Tora I knew had dreams and ideas, but I never saw what you saw from her, that fire. I talked with her almost every day since she left for Expansion, but I never was privy to that fire.” He sighs, a stuttering sound accompanying it. “I should have, though. She was my sister. She should have felt safe sharing this with me.”

Angel pauses for a moment, thinking. “Gorlan...she did. She made a mistake, in going to the wrong brother first, but she wanted to share that with you. I think...before we showed up, there wasn’t any reason for that fire to be there. She had to have something to focus it on, and we...provide a convenient way to do that, as you’ve probably noticed. But the first thing she asked about was bringing you along.”
“I know, I heard it in the messages,” Gorlan says. He collapses back into a chair. “She wanted to keep me out of it. She demanded I be kept separate.” Gorlan looks up at Angel. Tears are in the corners of his eyes. “She thought that I wasn’t ready, or able, or willing to support her. And she was right. She was right, Angel. I was blinded, by my fear of making waves, of upsetting the order that we depended on to keep our positions in society. That was my betrayal of her. She was right not to trust me. I was not ready to hear what she had to say.”

Gorlan slouches back into the chair. “I was a coward.”

“Change is hard Gorlan, and you’re a man whose built your life around something. You’re no coward - a coward wouldn’t be out here, with me, doing what you’re doing. A coward...would have had another man kill her to keep his fortune safe. Or stopped when his family’s name was cleansed. You did neither.”
Gorlan scoffs. “Attempting to make up for what I did does not absolve me of my cowardice - although it is kind of you to say so. I was not there for my sister when she needed me most. You were. That is all that I need to know, and why I asked you to accompany me to Hedion. You saw more of who Tora really was in three days than I did in an entire lifetime with her. I want to - I need to know who my sister really was. And since she is gone, time with you, the man she fell so deeply and quickly in love with, is the best that I can do.”

Gorlan looks back up at Angel. “Please. Tell me about the real Tora.”
Angel’s tone grows a bit dark for a moment. “I wasn’t there either Gorlan.” The scout looks out the expansive windows, dwelling on a dead woman’s memory for a moment. “She’d probably be annoyed at both of us for having this conversation. She was alive...more intellectually curious than anyone I’ve met in a long time. And she wanted to see Earth.” Angel shakes his head. “She’d be proud of what you’re doing Gorlan. She wanted to see the Imperium, all its power and people and technology, turned toward something better.”
Gorlan reaches forward and takes Angel’s hand, clasping it in both of his. “Then let us do that for her. It is the least we can do.”

----

The time spent flying from system to system to obscure the Gateway address of Atea goes by much quicker this time around, partially because spending a half-day in inordinate splendor beats the shit out of spending it in a modified shipping container, and partially because Gorlan’s ship seems considerably faster than almost anything Angel has seen, save Swims-the-Black’s old ship. Once the ship finally enters the Hedion system, the walls in the cockpit immediately light up with queries and warnings from the several Interceptors flying orbits around the orbital Gateway, and moments later a message comes on screen from one of two Needleships in orbit above the planet.

“*Gorlan’s Soul, this is Wandering Gallows, identify your business in-system immediately.*” The dispatch manages to be both disinterested and threatening at the same time.
Gorlan’s sweating, but he keeps it together. “Wandering Gallows, this is Gorlan Kesh, and I am returning from hiding after repeated attempts on my life on Hedion. Figured that lying low would be the best thing for me to do, and judging by what went on, I’d say that was the right decision.”
There’s a pause while an Interceptor wing does a close inspection flyby. “*We show two life-forms on board your ship, Mr. Kesh,*” the dispatch says, having dropped a lot of the threating tone.
“The other is my bodyguard,” Gorlan replies. He pretends to sound impatient past the beads of sweat on his face. “Now, I have a responsibility to Faxom-Io to see to, are you going to delay me any longer?”
“*No, Mr. Kesh,*” the dispatch replies. “*Proceed to Akis pad 07-01. Wandering Gallows out.*”
“Thank you, Wandering Gallows, Gorlan’s Soul out.” Gorlan waves off the communications panel and indicates that Angel can step out of the shadows now.

Angel can see that Gorlan was sweating bullets the entire time. “That certainly was a little too exciting, I think.”
Angel nods. “Good to know the stakes of the game you’re playing though. ‘Wandering Gallows’...do you all ever name things with a little more of an...upbeat tone?”
“The Wandering Gallows is the punitive counterpart to the Ethics Gradient,” Gorlan says. “The Gradient pulls them in for time on the grids and Truthseekers, and the Gallows delivers the Imperium’s judgment, individually or...collectively.”

“Just saying, you guys have a...PR thing you might want to look at. Not sure whose worse, you or the killbots. ‘Enterprise’, ‘Independence’, ‘Intrepid’...closest we’ve got to the ‘Wandering Gallows’ is the U.S.S. Ronald Reagan.”
Gorlan gives a grim chuckle at that. “In the Imperium, public relations are handled two ways. The ravilars, and the Turai. By the time the Gradient or the Gallows arrive? They are not interested in putting on a kind and caring face.”

"Just make sure they get my good side," Hugh says. "So, I was thinking I climb into my Class As again and then I'll visit the good general at the Pentagon. Is that going to be enough lead time for you, Luis?"