Текст книги "Days of the Vipers"

Автор книги: James Swallow

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Текущая страница: 15 (всего у книги 30 страниц)

Kell cleared his throat. “If I may speak,” said the Cardassian. “That conclusion mirrors those drawn by my men.” He nodded at the scientist.

Pa’Dar blinked and took his cue. “It is our deduction that the bomb was placed on board the Lhemorshortly after it tethered at the Cemba commerce platform. All records pertaining to the ship’s departure from Cardassia Prime revealed no discrepancies, no signs of any illegal entry or other suspicious circumstances.”

The jagul grimaced. “The Tzenkethi are well known for their brutal, callous tactics. In my opinion as a soldier of the Union’s fleet, it is well within their character to perpetrate such an act.”

Another rumble of discontent rang around the room, and Lale tapped loudly on the table before him to forestall another outbreak of shouting. “Ministers, we are all aware of the Tzenkethi issue. For some time they have been a thorn in the side of shipping and colonial efforts on the outskirts of our sector.”

“They are territorial,” Keeve Falor spoke up suddenly, his words clipped. “Yes, the Tzenkethi are a dangerous foe, but they’re raiders and pirates.” He glared at Kell. “They don’t plant bombs.”

The Cardassian commander returned Keeve’s glare. “With all due respect, Minister, have you engaged them in battle? I have. I know firsthand what they are capable of.”

“So you have drawn Bajor into your skirmishes with the Coalition, then?” Keeve seized on his words. “Is this a new benefit to our much-lauded trade alliance? Must we now pay in Bajoran lives as well as in our minerals and ores?”

“There were many Cardassians lost in the incident as well as our own people,” said Kubus. “It is insensitive of you to ignore that, Falor.”

“Don’t you mean many Oralians,Oak?” Keeve snapped back.

Kell raised a hand. “I understand Minister Keeve’s anger and his need to lash out. I feel the same. But Cardassia is not your enemy. This is the work of jealous minds, ladies and gentlemen. The Tzenkethi Coalition has preyed upon the borders of the Cardassian Union for many years, envious of our holdings and the many client worlds that we have as our partners.”

“Is it not true that Tzenkethi agents have attempted in the past to sow dissent on your home planet?” Lonnic’s lip curled. Kubus’s question seemed rehearsed, part of a schooled performance.

The jagul nodded. “Correct, Minister Kubus. And now I fear they may have come to your world to do the same, doubtless driven by a desire to disrupt the Bajoran-Cardassian trade alliance.”

“Intensive inquiries are under way as we speak,” said Coldri. “Investigators from all branches of the Guard and the Watch are coordinating efforts to isolate the perpetrators of this act.” Lonnic sensed Darrah stiffen at the general’s mention of the City Watch. Coldri’s severe expression remained impassive as he continued. “Mark me, this atrocity will not go unanswered.”

Kell brought his hands together in front of him. “On behalf of the Central Command and the Detapa Council, I am willing to offer any assistance that I can.”

“He could start by releasing the Lhemorwreckage for forensic analysis,” said Darrah, speaking in low tones that did not carry.

Before Lonnic could answer him, Jas turned to the inspector. “The Cardassians are very strict about their funeral rites. It is a matter of great importance to them that the remains of their dead are not viewed by anyone other than family members.”

“Convenient,” Darrah murmured. “We only need to see the debris, not the corpses.”

“We have to respect their wishes.” Jas said the words, but he didn’t seem convinced of them. Darrah folded his arms and sat back, saying nothing. Lonnic knew he’d come to Ashalla expecting to add something to the debate, but instead he was being given no chance to contribute. He’s here so Jas and Kubus can be seen with him, the hero of the Cemba incident…

“Your gesture is appreciated, Jagul Kell,” Lale was saying.

“Perhaps you could have Mr. Pa’Dar pass his finding on to Major Jaro?”

The Cardassian nodded. “Consider it done. But if I may, First Minister, there is more we can offer.” He tapped the copper sigil on his chest plate and gave a theatrical sigh. “Minister Keeve’s words make me look again at the events of these past days, and I realize that there is more Cardassia could have done to ensure that our associates on Bajor did not find themselves in harm’s way.” Lonnic noticed an air of tension between Kell and the officer at his side, Dukat. “With that in mind, I will make this offer. The Second Order of the Cardassian Union freely offers a support contingent of picket ships for deployment in association with Bajor’s Space Guard, to bolster the security of your system and ensure that a horror of this magnitude will not occur again.”

Keeve Falor and his supporters were on their feet immediately. “A support contingent? What exactly does that term mean, Kell?” he spat. “Bajor does not need military aid! Bajor can defend itself!”

“Can it?” Across the room, Kubus Oak shot Coldri and his men a hard look, his words thick with acid sarcasm.

“Recent events would seem to indicate otherwise!”

And once again, the chamber erupted into a storm of shouts and reprisals.

It was dusk by the time Darrah was back in Korto. The flyer’s skids had barely settled on the precinct’s landing pad and he was already out of the pilot’s chair and then out of the hatch in swift steps. Proka was waiting for him, shielding his eyes from the settling dust cloud kicked up by the thrusters. The constable must have seen the thunderous expression his superior was wearing, because he blinked. For Proka Migdal, that was quite a reaction.

“Didn’t expect you back so soon, boss. Did it not go well?”

“Waste of my damned time,” Darrah shot back, advancing across the apron toward the precinct building. “I don’t know what the kosstthey do in that place all day aside from snipe at each other and make life hard for the rest of us.”

“Huh,” Proka nodded. “Politicians, eh?”

Darrah shot him a look. “I saw a crowd outside the building as I came in to touch down. What’s all that about?”

“Fallout from that business in Dahkur. It’s a vigil, or some such. People angry about the Militia using violence to break up the demonstration. They’re holding them in every province.”

Darrah didn’t reply. In all the activity after the Lhemorbombing, it had almost slipped his mind that there had been unrest of a different kind outside the Cardassian Embassy across the continent. There had been injuries, civilians fighting constables. What is happening to us?The question echoed through his head. It seemed like every time Darrah looked up, he saw more signs that his planet was losing its way.

“Remember when all we had to deal with were honest criminals and the odd smuggler here and there?” Proka had picked up on his mood; he was intuitive that way, which was one of the reasons Darrah used him as his second in command. He made a tutting noise under his breath as they entered the building.

Inside, the precinct was an exercise in controlled chaos. The entrance atrium was full of people pushing and shoving. One group was singing a hymn and holding duranjas, the ceremonial lamps lit to honor the newly dead, but the majority of them were calling out for the attention of the duty officers. Some were asking after friends and family who’d been on Cemba, others were just ordinary people frightened by the things they had seen on the newsfeeds.

He saw a familiar face among them, a man threading his way toward the exit and making little headway. “Syjin.”

The pilot turned and pressed through the crowd to them. “Mace, Migdal. Hey.”

“What are you doing here?”

Syjin managed a weak facsimile of his usual broad smile. “The, uh, port authority called me in.” He showed them a datadisk in his hand. “My ship’s been released from impound because of what happened in orbit. Apparently, they rushed through the paperwork and cleared me for flight status.”

“Because of the bombing?” Proka asked.

Syjin nodded. “The Space Guard has called in all available civilian ships on planet, and that includes mine. All qualified captains have been seconded to the emergency management bureau to assist with the cleanup operations. There’s a lot of wreckage drifting around up there, and the military needs all the help they can get making it safe.” He licked his lips. “I should thank you again. If you hadn’t vouched for me, I wouldn’t have a ship at all, wouldn’t be able to help.”

Darrah took it in. He knew that Coldri’s forces were stretched thin, but he hadn’t realized the situation was severe enough to force them to deputize civilian crews. “I thought the station’s core was still intact.”

“Mostly,” Syjin replied. “The explosion knocked it out of position and it’s settled into a decaying orbit. From what I heard from the other crews, it looks like it’ll have to be towed out by tugs and scrapped.” He blinked and looked away. “I knew a lot of good people on Cemba.”

Darrah nodded, his angry mood dissipating in the face of his friend’s simple grief. Bajor’s shuttle crews and freight pilots were a small community and a tight-knit bunch. He had no doubt that tonight a lot of absent friends would be toasted in starport bars across the planet.

For a moment, an uncharacteristic flare of hate crossed the pilot’s face. “You catch those Tzenkethi bastards who did this, Mace.”

“We don’t know for sure it was them,” he said carefully.

Syjin eyed him. “It’s all across the ’feeds. They said they were trying to assassinate the kai.”

Proka’s brow furrowed. “She wasn’t even up there.”

“That blowhard from Qui’al was on the broadcast. Kubus. He practically blamed the Guard for not stopping it.”

“You saw it?” Darrah asked.

Syjin shook his head. “No, Karys told me. She saw—”

“Karys?” Darrah was brought up short by the mention of his wife. “You talked to her?”

The pilot pointed in the direction of the offices. “Sure. She was here, with another constable, the dark-haired girl. She was pretty upset, looked like she had been crying.”

Darrah broke away and pushed his way back into the precinct.

He found her on the upper level, in an interview room. Light from the fading day filtered in through the window blinds. Constable Myda was with her, working a tricorder. Karys was pale, her face streaked with tear tracks. She clutched a tissue between her fingers. There was an untouched cup of dekatea on the table in front of her. Both women looked up as Mace slid open the door.

“Karys?” The tone of his voice was enough to communicate what he was afraid of.

She shook her head. “Bajin and Nell are fine, they’re at services.”

A strange mixture of fear and elation shot through him. He was so pleased that his children were safe, and yet the look on his wife’s face was enough to tell him that something was very wrong. He caught a glimpse of himself in the mirrored window of the observation room next door. He saw the same cold terror there that he had witnessed every time he had been forced to give someone bad news. Your son has been killed. Your wife is missing. We’re doing all we can. I’m sorry.

He blinked, snapping himself out of the moment. “What happened?”

Karys stifled a sniff. “Mace, wait. Just let me do this.” She nodded to Myda. “I’m ready.”

“All right,” said the constable, giving her commander a quick glance. Myda aimed the tricorder at the table and thumbed a control, and abruptly Darrah realized what was going on.

The small holographic playback emitter inside the device cast a fan of orange-hued light across the table, and the shape of a dead man’s torso and head appeared, rendered in a ghostly laser glow. Karys made a choking sound deep in her throat and nodded once. Myda tapped the control again and the image disappeared.

“The likeness data was sent from the emergency bureau facility in Ilvia, sir,” she told him quietly. “I’m sorry, Inspector. Your office should have been informed automatically.”

“I was in Ashalla,” he replied. “I wouldn’t have gotten the message.” Mercifully, the face of the dead man had been free of any serious injury. He’d handled many of these identifications himself in his days as a street officer, and he knew the signs, the visible mismatching where the medical computers had made a virtual reconstruction of a countenance instead of the real thing. At least Karys had been spared that.

“It’s him,” said his wife. “That’s my cousin, Jarel.”

“Identity confirmed by next of kin,” Myda said into the tricorder. The device gave an answering beep.

“What was he doing on Cemba?” asked Mace. “I never knew he was there…”

“He was…he was supervising the transport of some materials. Mistwood from Rigel, for a piece he was working on.” She sniffed again. “That’s Jarel. He obsesses over the details.”

Mace hadn’t known the man well; he remembered him vaguely from family gatherings, a gangly fellow with a braying laugh. Mace had always been an outsider at those things.

“You should have contacted me,” he told Karys. “I would have done this for you.”

“You were in Ashalla,” she repeated, a razor under her words.

He felt each one hit him, guilt striking like ice in his gut. Mace shot Myda a look. “Can you give us some privacy, Constable?”

Myda nodded. “I’m done, sir. There were no personal effects. Your wife’s free to leave.”

When the door closed he went to her and held her, but Karys was rigid. “Talk to me,” he said finally.

“This is too much,” she told him. “After the explosion and then I thought you were gone, but you were safe and…” Karys choked off a sob. “And now Jarel. It’s made me realize something, Mace. Something I’ve been hiding from, denying to myself.”

“Tell me.”

She pushed away from him. “I’m afraid,Mace! I’m afraid all the time now, for myself, for the children, for my family, for you…I see those aliens everywhere I go, and if not them then people who are angry about them being here, or angry with the government and the Watch…I don’t know this place anymore!” Fresh tears crossed her cheeks. “I think we should go.”

“Go? You mean, leave Korto?”

“I mean leave Bajor!”she shot back.

He was incredulous. “Karys, how can you say that? This is our world. This is our home.”

She went to the exterior window and snapped open the blinds. Mace saw the people outside the precinct, tired and angry faces lit by lamps. “But for how much longer?” Karys’s question hung in the air, and Mace found he had no answer for her.

12

The light winds across the plains ruffled the white domes of the enclave’s pavilions, the smartplastic pergolas snapping and clicking against their duranium supports. The Bajorans would have considered the day to be hot, with a close and unfocused heat radiating down from a sky shrouded in thin cloud, but by Cardassian standards it was cool and temperate. Pasir crossed through the open alleys between the prefabricated buildings, his head down, with the hood of his robes up and his hands lost inside the folds of the sleeves.

The majority of the thermoconcrete blockhouses were outwardly identical, with only various two-digit reference numbers laser-burned into the lintels to differentiate one from another. Any locals who passed through this part of the enclave would be struck by the bland similarity and walk on. They would have had to stay for several hours to notice that certain groups of Cardassians never ventured inside certain buildings. It had been made clear to the Oralians with discreet but steady menace that any blockhouse with a code number above three was off-limits to them; and there were lots of three buildings and four buildings, even a larger five and a six under construction beneath another of the massive sunshades. And then there were the devices attached to the dome-tents that looked like thermal regulators but were actually something quite different. The surfaces of the pavilions were clever constructions, a sandwich of energy-conductive layers that, if correctly programmed, could give the impression of heat sources and metallic objects moving beneath it—or make the same appear invisible. Even the most naïve of the Oralians knew that the Bajoran Space Guard had surveillance satellites observing every enclave on the planet.

Pasir smiled a greeting at a couple of pilgrims passing in the other direction, and he came to the open space in the dead center of the enclave compound. There was a small fountain there, and it drew the attention of every Cardassian who passed it; the sight of water being used for something so frivolous as a decoration was fascinating to them. A natural spring was a closely guarded resource on a world like Cardassia Prime, where even the energy cost to replicate something as simple as potable water was rationed by the government inspectorate. Here, on Bajor, water was disposable.

Of course, the construction of the fountain was not something that had happened by chance; the Union had the practice of architectural psychology down to a fine art. Just as the capital cities of Cardassia had looming watch-towers and intimidating statuary to reinforce the state’s symbolic power over the individual, so the fountain had been built here to reinforce certain emotions in the minds of those who lived in the enclave. Pasir sat on the lip of it and cupped a hand in the clear water, taking a sip.

“Excuse me.” It was a woman’s voice. “How long is it until sunset?”

The priest glanced up and found a somber-faced female backlit by the afternoon sky. “Oh, please forgive me. I’m afraid I left my chronometer in the refectory.”

“Ah,” she nodded. “It is difficult to reckon the hours here, don’t you find?”

“Quite.” He returned her nod. His next words were in the same light tone of voice. “You have something for me.”

Rhan Ico shook her head, matching the flat, conversational speech level. “Not at the moment. But we’re going to move soon. I’m in the last stages of preparing the process for your insertion. It’s not your first experience of this?”

Pasir’s narrow face remained fixed in a pleasant smile. “I’m sure you’ve read enough about me to know the depth of my experience. I’m quite ready.”

She nodded. “I understand it can be painful.” When he didn’t answer, she spoke again. “Congratulations are in order, by the way. Your work aboard the Lhemor…The effect has been exactly as we hoped. Better, even.”

He looked away, watching for any observers. The gesture seemed casual. “I admit that I was forced to improvise in the aftermath. Fortunately, I was not placed in a position where I had to compromise my legend.” Pasir smiled briefly. “I underestimated the resourcefulness of Bennek and the Bajoran law enforcer.” He spread his hands. “Oralius protects,as they say.”

Ico gave him a level stare. “Or so they hope.” She sighed. “I’ve grown weary of hearing their dogma every day, but Kell has ensured that I remain posted here instead of at the embassy in Dahkur.”

“He suspects?”

“Of course. He’s not a fool. But he knows little.” She gestured around. “This is his small way of attempting to spite me.”

“Ah.” Pasir’s head bobbed. “A petty man, then. But you have made good use of your posting on Bajor. The intelligence you’ve accumulated is quite compelling.” He paused, thinking. “But Dukat…He appears to be a serious concern.”

“Leave Dukat to me,” said Ico. “He’s young and ambitious, and a staunch patriot. Despite his loathing for us, I think I can use that to make him work to our agenda.”

The priest took another sip of water. “Tread carefully, Rhan. He is the random factor here.”

“I know.”

“Should I be aware of anything else?”

She frowned slightly. “One of my subordinates—from my legend, you understand?—a man named Pa’Dar. He’s exhibiting some rather independent behavior, sniffing around in areas outside his responsibility.”

Pasir made an affirmative noise. “Removal, then?”

Ico shook her head. “No, that would be too problematic at this stage. Pa’Dar’s family is well connected with the Detapa Council. His death would raise too many questions. Just be aware.”

“I always am,” said the priest. He paused and glanced down at his hands. “Regarding the…insertion. I’m concerned there may not be enough time for a full—”

She shook her head. “We are working on an accelerated timetable in that area, yes. But everything is in hand. As I told you, the moment is being prepared for. In the interim, we’ll begin some of the less visible corrections.”

“As you wish.” The hollow sound of a gong rang through the clearing, and Pasir got to his feet.

“What is that?” asked the woman.

“The call to vespers,” he explained. “I’m assisting Bennek in the recitation tonight, and I must prepare. He wants to make some sort of speech at the funeral service tomorrow.”

Ico’s lip curled. “Thank you for reminding me. I must find a convincing reason not to attend. I do find theological rituals so offensive.”

“Ah, pity them, Rhan.” Pasir’s tone was lightly mocking. “The Oralians have so little left now. They’re almost extinct.”

“Yes,” she agreed. “When the time comes, we will have to work harder to expunge the Bajoran faith. It will not be so easy with the aliens.”

Pasir walked away. “One step at a time,” he said, without looking back.

The voices of the assembled hundreds in the grounds of the Naghai Keep pealed off the walls of the ancient castle, swelling the verses of old High Bajoran as the death chant neared its conclusion. As tradition had it, the families of each of the D’jarras would speak a few lines, then pause as others picked up where they left off, but there were many who felt so strongly that they spoke the entirety of the chant, tears on their faces and throats cracking with emotion. There had been some suggestions that morning of policing the approach roads to the keep, to try to hold the numbers at the remembrance ceremony down to a minimum. Darrah Mace looked over the sloping ornamental gardens, at the throng gathered there, and realized that he had made the right choice ordering Proka to put away the barricades. Korto was united in grief, just like every city on Bajor. The ritual would give the people the closure they needed to bring the Cemba incident into sharp relief. Those who had lost someone they cared for would know that the Prophets were watching over them, and those who were afraid would have, at least for today, the unity of their neighbors around them.

Karys was holding hands with the children, their heads bowed. She’d hardly spoken to him since their conversation in the precinct, spending time on the comm trying to gather together the remnants of Jarel’s diffuse life. Her cousin had no partner, no parents or siblings of his own left to mourn him, and Karys’s mother, ever insensitive, was not sorry to see him gone. It fell to Mace’s wife to arrange his burial, but she had refused point-blank any offer of assistance. Bajin caught his eye and nodded solemnly; his son had stepped in to help Karys without any request on her part, and the boy’s quiet support made his father proud. Nell remained morose. She was still finding it hard to process, that some alien beings from light-years distant would come to Bajor to kill her uncle. Mace hated the fact that he had no explanation to offer her.

The lawman felt a heavy sense of dread pressing down upon him. In a blink of memory, he thought back to the Eledaceremony and the deaths that had brought that to pass. Changes had been wrought that day, and now the same was happening here again. The road to the future was being marked out in the blood of Bajoran men and women. The horrific image made him shudder, and with a sudden, terrible certainty, Darrah Mace knew that what was happening today would not be an end to it. He saw himself standing in the same place, his face lined with stress, and blood there on the streets, the funeral chant repeated over and over into infinity. A million deaths, and a million more, more and more and more—

The ringing of the Bell of Souls shattered his moment of dark insight, and Darrah blinked, feeling cold sweat on his neck. He forced away the images in his mind and swallowed hard. Some distance away, on the podium set up among the ornamental gardens, Kai Meressa was being helped down from the dais by Gar and Tima. She had stood for the entirety of the chant, despite her fragility. Darrah watched her descend the steps. The kai seemed unreal, like a thin papery sketch of the woman he had first seen in the flesh five years ago. It was hard to reconcile the sight of her with the vital, passionate preacher of the past. That she held on steadfastly to life was a testament to her strength of will, and even the most dissenting of voices in the Vedek Assembly did not dare to speak openly of inviting Meressa to give up her rank and retire. Truth be told, there was not a man or woman among her subordinates who had so captured the hearts of the Bajoran people as Meressa had; when she finally left them, he had no doubt it would throw the church into disarray. Darrah forced himself to look away, the specter of death pressing in on his thoughts all over again.

Vedek Arin said some words. The platitudes seemed to work on the mourners, but to Darrah they fell on stony ground. He heard the echo of Meressa’s voice in them, and wondered how much of the kai’s prose the bland little priest had sifted through to gather material for his own speech; but it was with surprise that he looked again at the podium and saw the Oralian cleric Bennek step up and draw back his hood.

The alien’s face was streaked with dark tears, and the simple power of the emotional display silenced all the Bajorans ranged around him. Cardassians were gray and dour, they were cold and passionless—that was the commonplace, trite perception of their race. The raw grief that flooded from Bennek was real and potent; it was shocking, in its own way.

He spoke, his voice crossing the gardens. “I am moved beyond my capacity to describe,” began the cleric, his gaze seeking out faces in the crowd at random. “You, our brothers and sisters of Bajor, have taken the hand of friendship from my people, and this horror has been your reward. I am filled with such depthless sorrow as I have never known. Like many of you, people who were important to me were taken, swept away in fire, and it is for them that I join you in prayer today. The souls of all those lost on Cemba Station, aboard the Lhemorand the other vessels, they were stolen from us by vengeful hearts and heartless, callous killers…” Bennek choked back a sob, and despite himself Darrah felt a prickling in his eyes as his heart tightened in empathy; but the cleric’s next words stopped the breath in his throat. “I see a path unfolding before our worlds. As Oralius blesses me and your Prophets do the same, I see it. It is a road watered by bloodshed and fear, forced upon us by those who seed darkness upon the light.” He raised his hands. “All of us, Bajoran and Cardassian…we stand upon the threshold of this path, and we must choose wisely or else we doom ourselves to the darkest of futures. We must not embrace hate and fear, even in the face of such terrible consequences. Avarice and greed will poison us. We must look to tomorrow with our eyes open and clarity in our hearts, we must listen to the powers that watch over us. I will strive to be better than I am, and I know you will do the same in the name of the Prophets.” Bennek brought his hands together. “Only in accord can we turn away from the dark road. Only in unity can Bajor and Cardassia find the way.” And with that, Bennek’s shoulders slumped, as if all the energy in the man had been spent in the flood of his outburst. “I…I weep with you,” he husked, and stepped away from the podium. Darrah saw Tima at the foot of the platform; like many of the people in the crowd, she had been profoundly moved by the cleric’s sincerity.

There were no problems as the crowd dispersed. Darrah watched with one eye, afraid that someone, some bereaved person angry at the world for their loss, would lash out; there was none. Instead, a somber stream of mourners threaded out of the gardens in clusters, supporting each other through their grief.

As they joined the departing groups, he spotted a gathering of figures and heard the snap of a raised voice. Karys shot him a sideways look, a warning, but he chose to ignore it and drifted closer. Mace saw the drifting shape of a camera drone and a news crew, and abruptly he knew who they were crowding around.

“But can we stand here and do nothing?” said Kubus Oak to the correspondent, his jaw set. “Are we to be a reactive people? Will our only reply to this atrocity be to weep and bury our dead?” Some of the people gathered around the minister made angry noises and shook their heads. “We cannot let this go unanswered! It was our failure that allowed these good people to perish. When the Prophets talk of judgment for the honest and the willing, we must hear that and ask ourselves, how would we be judged if we did nothing to bring justice to the ones who ended these innocent lives?”

Darrah grimaced. “The man has no shame,” he said quietly. “This is a funerary ceremony, not a podium in the Chamber of Ministers.”

“He’s a politician,” Karys replied. “It’s what they do.”

Mace was disgusted at Kubus’s opportunism, turning the day to his own ends, using the service as a platform for his agenda. Grim-faced, he led his family past.

“There must be a reprisal,” Kubus was saying, “and with the people’s support I have convinced the First Minister and the government for exactly that—” He caught sight of Darrah and changed tack. “It is because of men like Inspector Darrah Mace that many more lives were saved…”

The camera pod turned in midair and trained a lens on Mace and his family. The controlled anger on his face flashed across newsfeeds planetwide, and for one long second he wavered on the cusp of decrying the politician for his callous grandstanding; but then he turned away. “I’m taking my family home,” he said simply, and left Kubus and his circus behind. He heard the politician take his brush-off and say something about “grief” and “stress.” Nell’s hand touched his, and he glanced down at his daughter.