One Year Prior
Isa loved Baghdad. It was unique, uncontrolled, and rugged. The Fleet headquarters in Melbourne were sterile and reserved. The Recon Corp headquarters in Cape Town was a hole in the wall, a blot on an otherwise beautiful city. The seat of government, the Palatine Building, stuck out in New York, managing to be pretentious in the most pretentious skyline on the planet.
Baghdad didn’t have any of that. It had history, a real air of being able to walk down the same streets as Abbasid Caliphs, Ottoman and British emperors, and American Marines. Local music played in the streets, often a capella or accompanied only by drums or rudimentary stringed instruments, competing for prominence with the sounds of a thriving marketplace, men and women haggling, merchants hawking their wares.
Isa loved Baghdad. It was unique, uncontrolled, and rugged. The Fleet headquarters in Melbourne were sterile and reserved. The Recon Corp headquarters in Cape Town was a hole in the wall, a blot on an otherwise beautiful city. The seat of government, the Palatine Building, stuck out in New York, managing to be pretentious in the most pretentious skyline on the planet.
Baghdad didn’t have any of that. It had history, a real air of being able to walk down the same streets as Abbasid Caliphs, Ottoman and British emperors, and American Marines. Local music played in the streets, often a capella or accompanied only by drums or rudimentary stringed instruments, competing for prominence with the sounds of a thriving marketplace, men and women haggling, merchants hawking their wares.
Isabella felt almost out of place here. She wore her tight uniform jumpsuit, many locals wore dresses, a few even wearing traditional head coverings. In Melbourne, or Cape Town, or New York, she would have been recognized at every street corner as the daughter of the First Citizen. In Baghdad, she had no idea if they did, but no-one cared. People would grab her, try to pull her into their shop, curse at her as they pushed her out of their way, and generally treat her like she saw other people being treated in every other major city in Terran Space.
Isa was in the ‘respectable’ part of the city now, the areas where the criminals wore suits and uniforms instead of street clothes. Everyone was a criminal though, if you looked hard enough—that was the point. If you could pin a crime on anyone, that meant that you owned everyone.
Her comm went off, a pinging sound coming from her belt. “Isa Shishani.” She answered, holding it to her ear.
“Hey baby. I’m sorry, I only got out of the meeting with Riya. I’ll be out in maybe five minutes. We still on to go to dinner at your grandmother’s?”
Isa rolled her eyes. “Dad, I’m an adult. You can stop calling me ‘baby’, you know.”
“Can, but will not.”
“Love you dad. Anyway, yeah, going to grandma’s sounds nice. Is Uncle Vikrat going to be there?”
“And Aunt Anora and her children, yes.”
“Awesome—we haven’t seen Taj and Shudra in what, a year? It was at least last VT Day when we saw them.”
“Something like that, yes.”
“Anyway, I’ll see you in a few. I love you, Dad.”
“Love you baby.”
Isa clipped her comm back onto her belt, then looked back up, around the Naryshkin Building. A massive, imposing, brutalist building at the end of Mutanabbi street, it was the nerve center of Tactical Services.
Isa stepped into the lobby, flashing her ID to a guard. The interior of the Naryshkin Building had been designed by Kynaki experts, built to the same specifications as Spartoi facilities. Isabella had often wondered how she would take this building if she had to. She had eventually decided to stop thinking about it, as the only way always appeared to be to inundate it with soldiers. There were cameras and automated weapons hardpoints across the walls, concrete, fortified alcoves, and clearly marked weapons lockers.
Her father, Julian Shishani, First Citizen of the Terran Republic, stepped into the lobby a moment later, surprisingly alone. It was unusual to see him without at least a few of his personal aides, or at least a Tactical Agent or two—although, in fairness, they were surrounded by Agents.
“Hey dad.” she said, walking over to him by the elevator. “How was the meeting?”
He shook his head. “The amount of resistance I’ve met from various Agents for putting you in charge here is troubling. It’s just yet more proof that Tactical needs a new head.”
Isa frowned. “Who’s heading that?”
“Mostly Agent Czolgosz, the head of East Sector, and Agent Atona, the woman in charge of the Bernan defenses.”
Isa nodded. “They’ll have to go then. It’s a pity about Czolgosz—he dates back to the Xon War, doesn’t he?”
“He was in Assault Group Seven back when we both served under Admiral Case, yes. He’s a good man—and that’s always an issue with Tactical Agents. He’s accusing me of nepotism in appointing you as the Director.”
“That’s unfortunate.”
“The next few weeks are going to be rather hard for you—it took Riya a year to even begin to have half these people listen to her, and she had decades of military service behind her. You’re not going to be running one agency that will listen to every command you issue. You’re going to be a mediator between half a dozen Type-A Personalities who each think they should have your job, and are probably more qualified anyway. Don’t forget that.”
“Then why put me in charge?”
“Because you’re my daughter, Isa. You’re going to be the leader of the Republic someday, and what’s bad for Tactical for a year or two is good for the Republic in twenty.”
“So it is nepotism.” Isa smiled.
“No, I’ve never made a decision because of nepotism in my life. I’ve always made those I thought best for the Terran species.” Julian said, stepping outside.
“Which is why when you founded the Republic, your friends wound up on the Governance Committee.”
Julian shook his head. “No. I didn’t make my friends rulers, I chose my friends to be people who could rule. Who’s on the Committee, Isa?”
“You, Mom, Uncle Killian, Aunt Sarai, and Riya.”
“Right. Julian Shishani, Sheila Hazzard, Killian Hazzard, Sarai Kastori, and Riya Dare. You know all about Mil-Ind/Hazzard Technologies—the Hazzard family went from a crime family in Cairo to running the largest Defense Corporation in Terran space in two generations. Read up on your grandfather sometime, he’s fascinating. But anyway, the family’s driven. They pioneered, or rather, reintroduced, this idea of promoting family members not out of nepotism, but because you could train them from birth for positions of power.”
Isa nodded. “Like you’ve groomed Reed for the Fleet since practically before he could walk.”
“Exactly. None of this could have worked if it wasn’t for the Imperiata though. They provided the impetus for us to be able to keep the Federation militarized after the Xon War was over. The five of us sold ourselves to the public as war heroes after VT Day. Sheila nationalized Hazzard Technology, and Killian, Riya, and I assumed command of the fleet. Sarai was already working with us, but she wasn’t in our core group yet.”
“I’ve read the reports from that era. You’re a genius, dad. Mom built the ships, you convinced people to get in them, Riya put them where they needed to be, and then Uncle Killian would command them once they were there.”
“Which is where your Aunt Sarai came in. I could appear on camera on the bridge of the Aragon all day, but it didn’t convince many to actually get out there and die. Sarai wound up on camera with Killian one day though—they weren’t married yet, but she had been his bodyguard for years—and took a bullet for him from an Imperiata sniper. It was one of those things that captured the public imagination, and recruitment numbers went up locally, so we kept putting her in the news.”
“Dad, I know all this.”
“Sorry. I guess I just miss all our old father-daughter conversations about all things Republic.” Isa’s father smiled wistfully.
She looked up to him. “Did it ever occur to you that maybe you’re not the best source for your own exploits?”
“Oh? Where else would you learn about them?”
“Well you see, there’s a class of people who exist largely to write history books and talk at length about the exploits of people like you...”
Julian raised his eyebrows. “Isa. I write the history books.”
They both laughed.
“We should really grab some food for the family.” Isa noted, glancing to a stall by the roadside. “Aunt Anora will appreciate it.”
“Go ahead. What do you think they’ll want?”
Isa closed her eyes for a moment, breathing in. “Aunt Anora’s a non-observant Jain. Her husband, Uncle Ammar, is a modernist Muslim. I don’t know what their kids have been raised as, but we should play it safe. Something vegetarian would automatically comply with both sets of restrictions.”
“Very good.” Julian nodded approvingly.
“Tactical Boot Camp teaches some weird stuff. Full-Spectrum Capabilities and all that.”
“If an Agent ever needs to go undercover, it’ll be invaluable for them.” Julian agreed.
“There’s a vendor selling Sa’somi over there.” Isa said, gesturing towards a vendor on the far side of the street.
“Sa’somi?” Her father frowned. “Never heard of it.”
“Oh, it’s delicious. It’s basically a fried vegetable wrap.”
“Fried? I thought we were looking for something vegetarian?”
Isa shook her head. “The Kynaki use mostly vegetable oils in their cooking. On Kynak, they use a lot of genetically modified plants that produce meat-like products for certain dishes, but I don’t know about this random street vendor’s level of authenticity. It’ll probably be good enough.”
Her father smiled. “You remind me of your mother. I remember, we visited Aqaria right after VT Day, and she lectured me for a half hour on how to offend the right people with our seating arrangements.”
Isa nodded. “Yeah. Seat someone you dislike on your left. You pass food counter-clockwise in Aqaran culture, so it’s a slight.”
“Something like that. You’re just like her, you know.”
“Who, mom? Thanks, I guess.”
“I promise, it’s a compliment. The highest I can give.”
Isa rolled her eyes. “Be right back, lemme get some food.”
She darted off through the crowd. There wasn’t anyone at the Sa’somi vendor’s stall at the moment, so she counted herself lucky—and, perhaps, a little afraid about the quality of the food.
She slid a pair of rumpled ten-credit notes across to the vendor. “A dozen Sa’somi. Just gimme a bag.”
“Twenty-five.” The vendor said, eyeing her uniform.
She shook her head, pointing to the sign above the vendor’s stall. “Twenty. Fifteen, and I don’t call the Health Inspector on you.”
The vendor huffed, and handed her a bag, pocketing the two bills. “Have a nice day with your cop-friends.”
Isa touched her forehead with her free hand, in a light hearted salute. “Same to you too, mate.”
“Your mother hates it when you do that, you know.” Her father said once she got back to him. “Security risk and all that.”
She shrugged. “The odds of someone knowing that we’re at this one stall on this one day in this one city are astronomically low. We spoke about our plans over a comm encrypted with a one-time-pad, and didn’t mention where we were going. We could have been recognized by someone, but this is Baghdad. Even with both of us in uniform and talking openly about Republic business, we could be any pair of Republic officer. Plus, the vendor thinks I’m a cop.”
Julian laughed. “And that makes him less likely to try to poison you?”
“Oh, don’t worry. I threatened to call the Health Inspector. And heck, it’s Baghdad. If anything happens, a Tactical team from Headquarters is three minutes away, tops.”
They arrived at Isa’s grandmother’s home within another five minutes. Isa had never understood why her Tata, as she preferred to be called, refused to move to New York. They could have cared for her much better at the Palatine Building, but Tata repeatedly refused.
Glancing back to her father, who nodded at her, Isa rapped on the door.
“Coming!” She heard someone shout, a kid by the sound of it. A moment later, the door opened, revealing a male child of maybe thirteen standing in the doorway.
“Mom! There’s someone in a uniform here! It’s not Agent Kerry!” Kerry was, presumably, the Agent dedicated the Anora’s family’s security at the moment. The family of the First Citizen might insist on living out of the limelight, but that didn’t mean that they were going to be allowed to live entirely unprotected.
Smiling, Isa knelt by the door, pulling her hair back from her face. “Hey, Taj, remember me? Your cousin Isa?”
Taj’s eyes widened. “Mom, it’s Cousin Isa and Uncle Julian! Do I let them in? I’m gonna let them in, okay?”
Smiling, Isa ruffled Taj’s hair as she stepped into the house. “Run this to your mom.” She said, handing Taj the bag of Sa’somi. “It’s for dinner.”
Isa turned back to her father, who was lingering in the doorway. “Memories?” She asked, taking in how his hand was lingering on the wall.
“Yeah. I was born in India, but we moved here when I was three. This was home for a good fifteen years, before I enlisted. It’s funny... Growing up here, the Hazzards were a household name. The shipyards at Blackacre were the largest employer in the region. We’d hear about mad old Jafan Hazzard and his schemes... How he offed his wife... How his kids hated him... It’s funny, on a certain level, I’m like one of those old fairy tales. Poor boy goes to war, saves the world, marries the princess.”
“Except in space. The fairy tales aren’t in space, dad.” Isa smiled, and pulled her father inside. “Come on, we have family to talk to.”
Isa stepped inside the kitchen/living room she remembered from her previous visits. Tata sat on an old armchair in the center of the room, letting Shudra try to do her hair. Taj was cooking, with Aunt Anora pretending to help—the kid was, apparently, quite good. Uncle Vikrat, wore a suit, and sat in a chair by Tata, contrasting sharply with Anora and her children’s street clothes. Uncle Ammar was nowhere to be seen.
Tata looked up to Julian, a smile splitting her face. “Jihan!” She said. “It’s been too long.” She motioned for Julian to approach her, holding her arms out for a hug.”
“Still going to insist on calling me that, aren’t you, mother?” He asked, smiling back.
“I gave you all good, Indian names, and you go and replace it with something else as soon as you sign up in the Fleet? Yes, I will, thank you very much.”
“Uncle Julian, is cousin Isa here?” Shudra asked, dutifully not glancing up from where she was attempting to braid Tata’a thinning hair.
“I said she was here, Shudra—don’t be a dummy!” Taj called from where he stood on a stool, stirring a pot. “Come on!”
Shudra stopped what she was doing, dropping Tata’s hair and running over to hug Isa. Shudra barely came up to her stomach. “Cousin Isa!”
Isa wrapped her arms around Shudra in return. “Your kids are just like you, Aunt Anora, aren’t they? Overenthusiastic and annoying?” She said, sticking her tongue out.
Anora laughed. “Like mother, like daughter.”
“Don’t bring me into this!” Tata snapped. “I raised you all well. It’s a shame you all turned out to be such disappointments!”
“What, even me, mother?” Julian asked, pretending to look taken aback.
“Especially you, deadbeat.” The room collapsed into laughter.
“Oh, I think it’s rather clear that I’m the more successful of the two Shishani brothers.” Vikrat said, moving over to grasp Julian arm-in-arm. “Like you said, my dearest brother is a waste of air.”
“I’m sure. How are you, Vikrant?”
“Never better. You need to funnel more research credits into nanotechnology. Not that there’s anything particularly useful to be found there, you understand, but it’s rather important to me, considering that that’s where my paycheck comes from.”
“You’re all welcome to come to New York any time, you know. It’ll be much easier for you all there.”
“And have to put up with you all day? Not a chance.” Vikrant moved over to Isa, and kissed her on the cheek.
“I could drop you three different ways without even disturbing Shudra here, you know, Uncle.”
“It’s a greeting here. No need to get defensive.”
“Oh, I know. I’ve just learned how to use a lot of violence lately, and I like showing off.” She grinned. “Still no Aunt Vikrant, is there?”
He shook his head. “No, I’m just not the type. What about a Mr. Isabella?”
She laughed. “I don’t think I’m that type either. At least, not yet.”
“Isa, can you help me with this?” Anora asked, standing by the table that folded up onto the wall. “I’d really rather have some help getting this down.”
Isa nodded. “Yeah, no problem.”
“You’re just going to ignore the two fine, strapping young men over here?” Vikrant asked. “In favor of the little girl?”
Julian elbowed his brother in the ribs. “That little girl, as has been noted, and is only fitting and proper for my daughter, can dish out unholy amounts of violence upon those who mildly annoy her—the real reason there is not, and never will be, a Mr. Isabella, as you put it.”
“You know, you could all shut up and help get dinner on the table, you know.” Anora said. “Move, Taj, let me get that pot.”
“No, mom, it needs more-.” Taj got cut off as his mother picked him up and moved him off his stool, grabbed a pair of oven mitts, and then walked the pot over to the table. “Hot thing, coming through!”
“Mom, it needs more-.” Taj tried to say again, but Tata cut him off.
“Food’s ready. Julian, say grace.” It was a command, not a request. Julian Shishani may have been the most powerful man in the universe, but his mother, apparently, could still pull rank.
“This offering, this oblation is God. By God it is offered into his fires, it is that which is to be attained by him who sees God in all.”
Isa looked up, surprised. It wasn’t an Ecumenical prayer—but of course, their family wasn’t Ecumenical. Tata and Vikrant were Hindu, and Anora had converted to Jainism in a fit of teenaged rebellion decades ago, apparently. Isa’s father had always paid lip-service to the Ecumenical Church and the Faeder, but never anything more than that.
“Everyone, I have an announcement to make!” Taj said, standing up on his chair. “The soup is going to need some more-.”
“Sit down, boy!” Tata hissed. Taj meekly complied.
Tasting her own bowl of soup though, Isa did admit that it tasted slightly... Off. “I have to actually agree with Taj, the soup needs some more-.” She deliberately left her sentence unfinished, winking at him.
“Yes, definitely some more-. That’s definitely what it needs.” Vikrant said, putting his bowl down, a comically exaggerated look of confusion on his face.
“Yes, that’s what I’ve been saying! It needs some more-.” Shudra slapped her hand over Taj’s mouth.
Anora rolled her eyes, batting her daughter’s hand away. “It’s salt. He’s going to say it needs more salt.”
Taj began to protest, then stopped. “Yeah.” He said meekly, looking down. “I did probably mean salt, didn’t I?”
With that table dissolved into laughter.
David Ben-Nun: A Biography was assigned reading over VT Day vacation, and Reed hated every inch of the damn book. He understood the importance of Fleet Officers understanding basic tactics, but that didn’t mean he had to like it. It wasn’t that Ben-Nun’s life—or, well, Brennan’s life, to use the commonization of his name—wasn’t interesting, but just that the book they had been assigned was, in the style of most textbooks, horribly boring.
Reed actually rather wanted to light the book on fire—something that he had heard was actually rather doable with paper. That was another thing—the book was so old that it was actually printed on a piece of dead tree, a thought that made Reed smile every so often.
He glanced out the window of the shuttle he rode in, estimating that, if he procrastinated for another few minutes, he could probably get off the shuttle without actually having to touch the book. Instead, he grabbed his copy of Sometimes the Good Ones Even Live, a tell-all about the end of the Republic-Imperiata War that Reed actually thought would be useful in his upcoming assignment.
Honestly, he wondered the point of having him even pretend to attend Advanced Fleet School—everyone in the Fleet hierarchy already knew that he was about to be made the head of Fleet Intelligence in a few days at the VT Day celebrations. It was a meaningless position, the head of an agency that only existed so that Fleet commanders could delude themselves into thinking that Tactical wasn’t the only intelligence agency that mattered.
The shuttle began the descent spiral, circling the entrance to the Palatine Building, the seat of government of the United Terran Republic, a Command and Control center for the United Terran Fleet, and main offices for Military Industries—in other words, the head of the three tools that Uncle Julian used to keep his personal empire in line, all equally disposable. The building was a massive skyscraper, over two thousand feet tall, and several hundred wide. It was surrounded by several smaller pyramids, which acted as Ansible Sinks to help keep the Palatine Building upright, in addition to providing additional space for the complex. The entire complex was surrounded for several miles by other buildings, which were in turn surrounded by the single most sophisticated defense network in Terran Space.
The Palatine Building itself was more an amalgam of three separate spires, braided together, with various bridges connecting them. At the very top flew a Republic flag several hundred feet across-made entirely of carbon nanofibers, no wind could lift it, but it was wired up to several Ansible Sinks, each of which pulled on a random segment of the flag at a random time, creating the illusion that it was swaying in the breeze. It was still large enough to create its own air currents, leading to some slight turbulence as Reed’s shuttle passed under it, on its way to his Uncle’s suite.
The shuttle slid up to the small dock that was provided for visitors to the First Citizen’s private home, being guided in by an automated system for the final few moments. Reed felt the click of the docking electromagnets, and stood, leaving both books behind in the shuttle’s cabin.
He let himself out of the shuttle, not waiting for the pilot—they would dock the ship somewhere in the Palatine’s hangers. A figure in deep blue stood at the entrance to the apartment, where its balcony met the dock.
Reed grinned. He hadn’t seen Isa in far too long. As they walked towards each other, he took in the changes that the past few years had brought about in his cousin, Isabella Shishani. She had been eighteen last time they had met, Reed fifteen. Three years later, though he felt as immature as he had been, Isa had gained the bearing of the woman who would rule the Republic.
“Greetings, First Citizen.” He said. There were no formal demands for one addressing the First Citizen—or his family, who were also entitled to that honorific—but there were customs.
Isa rolled her eyes. “I believe that I told you to stop calling me that the last time we spoke?” She asked, smiling.
“Perhaps. It’s been far too long though.” He answered, hugging her. They had grown up best friends, despite their age differences. Of course, for the first few years of their lives, they had literally never left the core of the Palatine Building, due to fear of an Imperiata attack on the complex.
“I’ve missed you.” She whispered, and Reed knew that, under the more mature bearing, this was still the woman he had grown up as a brother to.
“Me too.” He replied, before they broke off the hug a moment later. “How’s Uncle Julian?”
“Dad’s fine, although he’s stressed about getting the VT Day Celebrations up to snuff. Thirtieth anniversary and all. Not that he has any reason to worry, but, well... You know my dad.”
Reed nodded. “Most definitely, without a shadow of a doubt not paranoid in the slightest, and why would you even suggest such a thing?”
They both laughed. The doors to the penthouse slid open, allowing Isa and Reed entry. The interior was, apparently, highly luxurious and expensive—but, after eighteen years in these environs, Reed had grown used to these sorts of surroundings.
“Do you have a bag?” Isa asked, glancing at him.
He shook his head. “Not with me, no. My pilot will have it sent up.”
“So you are staying the night?”
“If you’ll have me.”
“Need your own room or do you want to crash with me?”
“If it’s alright with you, I’ll crash with you. I miss childhood all-nighters and ghost stories.”
“You were always horrible at ghost stories, Reed.” Isa said flatly.
He shrugged. “At least I could pull an all-nighter without drinking my weight in caffeine.”
“You’re not wrong. Having said that, if you pick anyone up over the weekend, that offer is one hundred percent rescinded.”
Reed blushed. “Please—there’s no danger of that happening.”
Isa elbowed him. “Come on, Reed, why not? You’re the son of two Governance Committee Members, which should probably make up for the fact that your face is somewhere barely north of a two.” She stuck her tongue out at him.
It’s precisely because of said parents that I don’t abuse people like you do, Isa. Reed thought, barely biting it back.
Isa must have noticed his silence, because she said something unusual for her. “I’m sorry, Reed. I didn’t mean to bring that up.”
He shook his head. “It’s nothing. There’s just a reason I don’t do things like that.”
“And I respect that, Reed, I really do. I believe that I’ve said before that you’re a far better person than myself?”
“Oh, I know I am.” He said, and then clapped a hand over his mouth, feigning surprise. “Oh, did I just say that out loud?”
The next morning, Reed awoke, still in the uniform he had worn the day before, on a cot in Isa’s room. It was built out over the two-thousand foot drop to the ground below, with half the floor and the outside wall made entirely of gently sloping glass, treated to be allow light through from only one side. Isa was already up, sitting in her own bed, reading something on her tablet, and, apparently, she had taken the time to change into nightclothes at some point after Reed had fallen asleep. The sun was just peeking out over the skyline, indicating that it was, in fact, an ungodly hour of the morning, but, unfortunately, Reed actually had things to do today.
Probably noticing him stirring, Isa asked “Are you awake?”
“No.” Reed said, burying his head under his pillow. “Go. Away.”
Reed heard a sigh, then the sound of footsteps—and though they were growing fainter, he doubted that his cousin was actually leaving.
He heard a cabinet open and shut, then Isa approached again.
“I’m about to hate you a lot, aren’t I?” He asked, resigned to whatever horrible thing she was about to do to him.
“Hell yeah.” She said, before—Reed presumed—pulling the trigger on an airhorn.
Six inches away from his face.
He rolled away, off the cot, onto the glass floor. It hurt, but not as much as the airhorn. “You just have an airhorn lying around, Isa?”
“Yes. You could swear a little. It gives me satisfaction to tick people off.”
“You’re a sociopath, Isa.”
“Yeah. What else is new?”
“That being a sociopath is bad, Isa.”
“I’m fairly sure that’s not new.”
“And yet I notice that you don’t dispute that it’s bad, just that it’s new.”
“I don’t see fit to dignify that statement with a response.”
“So, it’s VT Day today. Tanks and soldiers in the streets. Yay.”
“You don’t sound particularly excited.”
“I’m not. You can nuke it all from orbit, can’t you?”
“This is true. Honestly, I’m mostly here for the food.”
She laughed. “It’ll be good. I’ve been trying to get my father to try some Sa’somi for the past week. It’s been a non-starter every time.”
Reed shrugged. “He doesn’t know what he’s missing.”
“Exactly. He’s an uncultured fool, after all.”
“I should report you to Tactical.”
“And I promise, I will prosecute myself to the fullest extent of the law.” They both laughed. “Seriously though, my father’s got a formal breakfast planned, with some of the top brass of the Republic. Dress uniforms and all that. I think he wants to show us off.”
“What, the pair of delinquents who’ve stumbled their ways into the Tactical and FLINT directorates?”
Isa grimaced. “Stop calling it that. FLINT. It’s ‘Fleet Intelligence’, and there’s no way to get ‘FLINT’ out of that.”
“No, you just take the first few letters of each word, and—.”
“Zip it. I’m the director of a real intelligence agency, don’t tell me what to do.”
Reed put a hand over his heart, feigning offence. “You’ve wounded me deeply, oh cousin dear.”
“Good. I meant to. Go get changed.”
Ten minutes later, they were in an elevator down Spire Two of the Palatine Building, towards one of the state ballrooms used for occasions such as this one.
Reed and Isa stepped off the elevator—Isa’s presence prevented it from stopping at other floors, a feature that had always annoyed Reed with its shallow cruelty in such a situation—into the massive, arched room. There were maybe two dozen people in the room, including all five members of the Governance Committee.
Reed closed his eyes, and breathed deeply. “My mother’s here, isn’t she?” He asked, staring at Riya Dare from across the room. “That sick little...”
Isa put her arm on Reed. “Calm down. Your actual mom’s here too. I made sure that Aunt Sarai would be here, just for you. Remember, it’s your actual family that counts, not your biological ones.”
“I know. I don’t give a damn about her. Riya Dare can go to hell for all I care.”
“Let’s go.” Reed felt Isa’s tug on his arm, and stepped forward, letting her guide him into the room.
Isa pulled him to a table with her parents, and two others that Reed didn’t recognize.
“Good morning, First Citizens.” Reed said, bowing slightly.
Aunt Sheila smiled. “Sit down, Reed. And please, use names. You sound out of place when you insist on formalities. You’re the second in line to ascend the governance of the Republic. You shouldn’t be belittling yourself like that, it’s unbecoming.”
“Apologies, Aunt Sheila. I may say that, I assume?”
“Of course. Zachary, Miss Shan, these two young people are my nephew, Reed, and my daughter, Isabella. Reed, Isabella, this is my son, Zachary, and our guest, Kimberly.”
“Hey, Isa.” The young boy by Sheila’s side said. “Nice to meet you.”
Isa walked over to the boy, Zachary, and ruffled his hair. “Long time no see, squirt.”
Reed watched as the girl’s eyes flickered back between himself and Isabella, appraising them. “Good morning.” She said, before turning back to her meal.
“Good morning, Miss...” Reed remembered her name, but deliberately trailed off. It was meant to force her to engage in conversation—something it really didn’t look like she wanted to do.
“Shan. Kimberly Shan.” She said, glancing up towards him.
“Pardon me, I have to go attend to something.” Julian said, standing, kissing Sheila on the forehead. “A Glorious Victory on Terra Day to you all.”
“Glorious Victory Terra Day.” They replied. Reed had always disliked that greeting. He understood that the Republic had actually had nothing to do with its adoption, but it stunk of the sort of dictatorship that they tried hard to not be perceived as. Of course, there were very few people who didn’t know that the Republic was a dictatorship, but that didn’t mean that it was that kind of dictatorship.
Reed’s ears perked up. He thought he had heard Kimberly mumble something, and would have sworn that her lips had moved. “I’m sorry, what was that?” He asked.
“Nothing.” She said, shaking her head.
“No, what was that? Come on, now you’ve got my interest piqued.” Reed asked again.
She hesitated. “I was just saying that there’s over a dozen better outcomes to the VT Day simulations that could be achieved with less, the same, or even marginally more effort.”
“Kimberly here’s a prodigy, you see.” Sheila said, placing an arm protectively around the younger woman’s shoulders. “She’s the most qualified graduate from Fleet School since it’s inception.
“I wouldn’t say that.” Kimberly said, turning back to her food. “I just see some possibilities or make connections that everyone else doesn’t. That’s it.” Her hair fell forward, and she brushed it back over her shoulder.
“That’s what counts though. Those are exactly the traits we look for in Officers.” Reed said, making eye contact with her.
“I suppose. Mostly I’m fairly certain that the simulations at Fleet School are easier than the real world was. The First Citizen, Admiral Hazzard, and Admiral Dare executed their defense as best as they could in the heat of the moment.”
Isa pursed her lips. “Shan, I’m about to give you some advice, so listen here. You’re at this table right now, that means that my father thinks you’re important, or useful, or something. You’re in this room on your own merit, not because of the people you know. That means we want you in the Fleet, and expect you to be useful. Speak your mind. Be respectful and all, but don’t be afraid to tick someone important off. If you haven’t done that, you’re not going to go anywhere, and from what I’ve already seen of you, that would be a very bad thing for the Republic.”
Sheila nodded approvingly. “You’d do well to heed my daughter’s words, Miss Shan.”
They ate in silence after that, Reed trying and failing to catch her eye a few more times. Sheila and Zachary left after finishing their meal, and Isa followed soon after. Shan wasn’t done yet though, so Reed decided not to be either.
Eventually, though, she did get up.
Dammit, Reed, just do it.
He stood, and walked over to her. “Excuse me, Miss Shan.” He said. “May I have a word with you for a moment?”
She frowned. “Yes.”
“If I may make a strictly non-professional request of you, Miss Shan, would you care to join me during today’s celebrations?”
She blushed, though it was hard to notice on her dark skin. “I... Yes, I think that would be nice, Mister...” He recognized the same tone as from the first comment he had made to her, at the beginning of the meal. It was clear from how she had said it that that was deliberate, too.
He hesitated, wanting to dodge the question, but knowing that that was the wrong choice. “Hazzard. Reed Hazzard.” He replied.
“Thank you, Mister Hazzard.” She said, smiling.
This was going to be a very interesting day.
Isa was in the ‘respectable’ part of the city now, the areas where the criminals wore suits and uniforms instead of street clothes. Everyone was a criminal though, if you looked hard enough—that was the point. If you could pin a crime on anyone, that meant that you owned everyone.
Her comm went off, a pinging sound coming from her belt. “Isa Shishani.” She answered, holding it to her ear.
“Hey baby. I’m sorry, I only got out of the meeting with Riya. I’ll be out in maybe five minutes. We still on to go to dinner at your grandmother’s?”
Isa rolled her eyes. “Dad, I’m an adult. You can stop calling me ‘baby’, you know.”
“Can, but will not.”
“Love you dad. Anyway, yeah, going to grandma’s sounds nice. Is Uncle Vikrat going to be there?”
“And Aunt Anora and her children, yes.”
“Awesome—we haven’t seen Taj and Shudra in what, a year? It was at least last VT Day when we saw them.”
“Something like that, yes.”
“Anyway, I’ll see you in a few. I love you, Dad.”
“Love you baby.”
Isa clipped her comm back onto her belt, then looked back up, around the Naryshkin Building. A massive, imposing, brutalist building at the end of Mutanabbi street, it was the nerve center of Tactical Services.
Isa stepped into the lobby, flashing her ID to a guard. The interior of the Naryshkin Building had been designed by Kynaki experts, built to the same specifications as Spartoi facilities. Isabella had often wondered how she would take this building if she had to. She had eventually decided to stop thinking about it, as the only way always appeared to be to inundate it with soldiers. There were cameras and automated weapons hardpoints across the walls, concrete, fortified alcoves, and clearly marked weapons lockers.
Her father, Julian Shishani, First Citizen of the Terran Republic, stepped into the lobby a moment later, surprisingly alone. It was unusual to see him without at least a few of his personal aides, or at least a Tactical Agent or two—although, in fairness, they were surrounded by Agents.
“Hey dad.” she said, walking over to him by the elevator. “How was the meeting?”
He shook his head. “The amount of resistance I’ve met from various Agents for putting you in charge here is troubling. It’s just yet more proof that Tactical needs a new head.”
Isa frowned. “Who’s heading that?”
“Mostly Agent Czolgosz, the head of East Sector, and Agent Atona, the woman in charge of the Bernan defenses.”
Isa nodded. “They’ll have to go then. It’s a pity about Czolgosz—he dates back to the Xon War, doesn’t he?”
“He was in Assault Group Seven back when we both served under Admiral Case, yes. He’s a good man—and that’s always an issue with Tactical Agents. He’s accusing me of nepotism in appointing you as the Director.”
“That’s unfortunate.”
“The next few weeks are going to be rather hard for you—it took Riya a year to even begin to have half these people listen to her, and she had decades of military service behind her. You’re not going to be running one agency that will listen to every command you issue. You’re going to be a mediator between half a dozen Type-A Personalities who each think they should have your job, and are probably more qualified anyway. Don’t forget that.”
“Then why put me in charge?”
“Because you’re my daughter, Isa. You’re going to be the leader of the Republic someday, and what’s bad for Tactical for a year or two is good for the Republic in twenty.”
“So it is nepotism.” Isa smiled.
“No, I’ve never made a decision because of nepotism in my life. I’ve always made those I thought best for the Terran species.” Julian said, stepping outside.
“Which is why when you founded the Republic, your friends wound up on the Governance Committee.”
Julian shook his head. “No. I didn’t make my friends rulers, I chose my friends to be people who could rule. Who’s on the Committee, Isa?”
“You, Mom, Uncle Killian, Aunt Sarai, and Riya.”
“Right. Julian Shishani, Sheila Hazzard, Killian Hazzard, Sarai Kastori, and Riya Dare. You know all about Mil-Ind/Hazzard Technologies—the Hazzard family went from a crime family in Cairo to running the largest Defense Corporation in Terran space in two generations. Read up on your grandfather sometime, he’s fascinating. But anyway, the family’s driven. They pioneered, or rather, reintroduced, this idea of promoting family members not out of nepotism, but because you could train them from birth for positions of power.”
Isa nodded. “Like you’ve groomed Reed for the Fleet since practically before he could walk.”
“Exactly. None of this could have worked if it wasn’t for the Imperiata though. They provided the impetus for us to be able to keep the Federation militarized after the Xon War was over. The five of us sold ourselves to the public as war heroes after VT Day. Sheila nationalized Hazzard Technology, and Killian, Riya, and I assumed command of the fleet. Sarai was already working with us, but she wasn’t in our core group yet.”
“I’ve read the reports from that era. You’re a genius, dad. Mom built the ships, you convinced people to get in them, Riya put them where they needed to be, and then Uncle Killian would command them once they were there.”
“Which is where your Aunt Sarai came in. I could appear on camera on the bridge of the Aragon all day, but it didn’t convince many to actually get out there and die. Sarai wound up on camera with Killian one day though—they weren’t married yet, but she had been his bodyguard for years—and took a bullet for him from an Imperiata sniper. It was one of those things that captured the public imagination, and recruitment numbers went up locally, so we kept putting her in the news.”
“Dad, I know all this.”
“Sorry. I guess I just miss all our old father-daughter conversations about all things Republic.” Isa’s father smiled wistfully.
She looked up to him. “Did it ever occur to you that maybe you’re not the best source for your own exploits?”
“Oh? Where else would you learn about them?”
“Well you see, there’s a class of people who exist largely to write history books and talk at length about the exploits of people like you...”
Julian raised his eyebrows. “Isa. I write the history books.”
They both laughed.
“We should really grab some food for the family.” Isa noted, glancing to a stall by the roadside. “Aunt Anora will appreciate it.”
“Go ahead. What do you think they’ll want?”
Isa closed her eyes for a moment, breathing in. “Aunt Anora’s a non-observant Jain. Her husband, Uncle Ammar, is a modernist Muslim. I don’t know what their kids have been raised as, but we should play it safe. Something vegetarian would automatically comply with both sets of restrictions.”
“Very good.” Julian nodded approvingly.
“Tactical Boot Camp teaches some weird stuff. Full-Spectrum Capabilities and all that.”
“If an Agent ever needs to go undercover, it’ll be invaluable for them.” Julian agreed.
“There’s a vendor selling Sa’somi over there.” Isa said, gesturing towards a vendor on the far side of the street.
“Sa’somi?” Her father frowned. “Never heard of it.”
“Oh, it’s delicious. It’s basically a fried vegetable wrap.”
“Fried? I thought we were looking for something vegetarian?”
Isa shook her head. “The Kynaki use mostly vegetable oils in their cooking. On Kynak, they use a lot of genetically modified plants that produce meat-like products for certain dishes, but I don’t know about this random street vendor’s level of authenticity. It’ll probably be good enough.”
Her father smiled. “You remind me of your mother. I remember, we visited Aqaria right after VT Day, and she lectured me for a half hour on how to offend the right people with our seating arrangements.”
Isa nodded. “Yeah. Seat someone you dislike on your left. You pass food counter-clockwise in Aqaran culture, so it’s a slight.”
“Something like that. You’re just like her, you know.”
“Who, mom? Thanks, I guess.”
“I promise, it’s a compliment. The highest I can give.”
Isa rolled her eyes. “Be right back, lemme get some food.”
She darted off through the crowd. There wasn’t anyone at the Sa’somi vendor’s stall at the moment, so she counted herself lucky—and, perhaps, a little afraid about the quality of the food.
She slid a pair of rumpled ten-credit notes across to the vendor. “A dozen Sa’somi. Just gimme a bag.”
“Twenty-five.” The vendor said, eyeing her uniform.
She shook her head, pointing to the sign above the vendor’s stall. “Twenty. Fifteen, and I don’t call the Health Inspector on you.”
The vendor huffed, and handed her a bag, pocketing the two bills. “Have a nice day with your cop-friends.”
Isa touched her forehead with her free hand, in a light hearted salute. “Same to you too, mate.”
“Your mother hates it when you do that, you know.” Her father said once she got back to him. “Security risk and all that.”
She shrugged. “The odds of someone knowing that we’re at this one stall on this one day in this one city are astronomically low. We spoke about our plans over a comm encrypted with a one-time-pad, and didn’t mention where we were going. We could have been recognized by someone, but this is Baghdad. Even with both of us in uniform and talking openly about Republic business, we could be any pair of Republic officer. Plus, the vendor thinks I’m a cop.”
Julian laughed. “And that makes him less likely to try to poison you?”
“Oh, don’t worry. I threatened to call the Health Inspector. And heck, it’s Baghdad. If anything happens, a Tactical team from Headquarters is three minutes away, tops.”
They arrived at Isa’s grandmother’s home within another five minutes. Isa had never understood why her Tata, as she preferred to be called, refused to move to New York. They could have cared for her much better at the Palatine Building, but Tata repeatedly refused.
Glancing back to her father, who nodded at her, Isa rapped on the door.
“Coming!” She heard someone shout, a kid by the sound of it. A moment later, the door opened, revealing a male child of maybe thirteen standing in the doorway.
“Mom! There’s someone in a uniform here! It’s not Agent Kerry!” Kerry was, presumably, the Agent dedicated the Anora’s family’s security at the moment. The family of the First Citizen might insist on living out of the limelight, but that didn’t mean that they were going to be allowed to live entirely unprotected.
Smiling, Isa knelt by the door, pulling her hair back from her face. “Hey, Taj, remember me? Your cousin Isa?”
Taj’s eyes widened. “Mom, it’s Cousin Isa and Uncle Julian! Do I let them in? I’m gonna let them in, okay?”
Smiling, Isa ruffled Taj’s hair as she stepped into the house. “Run this to your mom.” She said, handing Taj the bag of Sa’somi. “It’s for dinner.”
Isa turned back to her father, who was lingering in the doorway. “Memories?” She asked, taking in how his hand was lingering on the wall.
“Yeah. I was born in India, but we moved here when I was three. This was home for a good fifteen years, before I enlisted. It’s funny... Growing up here, the Hazzards were a household name. The shipyards at Blackacre were the largest employer in the region. We’d hear about mad old Jafan Hazzard and his schemes... How he offed his wife... How his kids hated him... It’s funny, on a certain level, I’m like one of those old fairy tales. Poor boy goes to war, saves the world, marries the princess.”
“Except in space. The fairy tales aren’t in space, dad.” Isa smiled, and pulled her father inside. “Come on, we have family to talk to.”
Isa stepped inside the kitchen/living room she remembered from her previous visits. Tata sat on an old armchair in the center of the room, letting Shudra try to do her hair. Taj was cooking, with Aunt Anora pretending to help—the kid was, apparently, quite good. Uncle Vikrat, wore a suit, and sat in a chair by Tata, contrasting sharply with Anora and her children’s street clothes. Uncle Ammar was nowhere to be seen.
Tata looked up to Julian, a smile splitting her face. “Jihan!” She said. “It’s been too long.” She motioned for Julian to approach her, holding her arms out for a hug.”
“Still going to insist on calling me that, aren’t you, mother?” He asked, smiling back.
“I gave you all good, Indian names, and you go and replace it with something else as soon as you sign up in the Fleet? Yes, I will, thank you very much.”
“Uncle Julian, is cousin Isa here?” Shudra asked, dutifully not glancing up from where she was attempting to braid Tata’a thinning hair.
“I said she was here, Shudra—don’t be a dummy!” Taj called from where he stood on a stool, stirring a pot. “Come on!”
Shudra stopped what she was doing, dropping Tata’s hair and running over to hug Isa. Shudra barely came up to her stomach. “Cousin Isa!”
Isa wrapped her arms around Shudra in return. “Your kids are just like you, Aunt Anora, aren’t they? Overenthusiastic and annoying?” She said, sticking her tongue out.
Anora laughed. “Like mother, like daughter.”
“Don’t bring me into this!” Tata snapped. “I raised you all well. It’s a shame you all turned out to be such disappointments!”
“What, even me, mother?” Julian asked, pretending to look taken aback.
“Especially you, deadbeat.” The room collapsed into laughter.
“Oh, I think it’s rather clear that I’m the more successful of the two Shishani brothers.” Vikrat said, moving over to grasp Julian arm-in-arm. “Like you said, my dearest brother is a waste of air.”
“I’m sure. How are you, Vikrant?”
“Never better. You need to funnel more research credits into nanotechnology. Not that there’s anything particularly useful to be found there, you understand, but it’s rather important to me, considering that that’s where my paycheck comes from.”
“You’re all welcome to come to New York any time, you know. It’ll be much easier for you all there.”
“And have to put up with you all day? Not a chance.” Vikrant moved over to Isa, and kissed her on the cheek.
“I could drop you three different ways without even disturbing Shudra here, you know, Uncle.”
“It’s a greeting here. No need to get defensive.”
“Oh, I know. I’ve just learned how to use a lot of violence lately, and I like showing off.” She grinned. “Still no Aunt Vikrant, is there?”
He shook his head. “No, I’m just not the type. What about a Mr. Isabella?”
She laughed. “I don’t think I’m that type either. At least, not yet.”
“Isa, can you help me with this?” Anora asked, standing by the table that folded up onto the wall. “I’d really rather have some help getting this down.”
Isa nodded. “Yeah, no problem.”
“You’re just going to ignore the two fine, strapping young men over here?” Vikrant asked. “In favor of the little girl?”
Julian elbowed his brother in the ribs. “That little girl, as has been noted, and is only fitting and proper for my daughter, can dish out unholy amounts of violence upon those who mildly annoy her—the real reason there is not, and never will be, a Mr. Isabella, as you put it.”
“You know, you could all shut up and help get dinner on the table, you know.” Anora said. “Move, Taj, let me get that pot.”
“No, mom, it needs more-.” Taj got cut off as his mother picked him up and moved him off his stool, grabbed a pair of oven mitts, and then walked the pot over to the table. “Hot thing, coming through!”
“Mom, it needs more-.” Taj tried to say again, but Tata cut him off.
“Food’s ready. Julian, say grace.” It was a command, not a request. Julian Shishani may have been the most powerful man in the universe, but his mother, apparently, could still pull rank.
“This offering, this oblation is God. By God it is offered into his fires, it is that which is to be attained by him who sees God in all.”
Isa looked up, surprised. It wasn’t an Ecumenical prayer—but of course, their family wasn’t Ecumenical. Tata and Vikrant were Hindu, and Anora had converted to Jainism in a fit of teenaged rebellion decades ago, apparently. Isa’s father had always paid lip-service to the Ecumenical Church and the Faeder, but never anything more than that.
“Everyone, I have an announcement to make!” Taj said, standing up on his chair. “The soup is going to need some more-.”
“Sit down, boy!” Tata hissed. Taj meekly complied.
Tasting her own bowl of soup though, Isa did admit that it tasted slightly... Off. “I have to actually agree with Taj, the soup needs some more-.” She deliberately left her sentence unfinished, winking at him.
“Yes, definitely some more-. That’s definitely what it needs.” Vikrant said, putting his bowl down, a comically exaggerated look of confusion on his face.
“Yes, that’s what I’ve been saying! It needs some more-.” Shudra slapped her hand over Taj’s mouth.
Anora rolled her eyes, batting her daughter’s hand away. “It’s salt. He’s going to say it needs more salt.”
Taj began to protest, then stopped. “Yeah.” He said meekly, looking down. “I did probably mean salt, didn’t I?”
With that table dissolved into laughter.
David Ben-Nun: A Biography was assigned reading over VT Day vacation, and Reed hated every inch of the damn book. He understood the importance of Fleet Officers understanding basic tactics, but that didn’t mean he had to like it. It wasn’t that Ben-Nun’s life—or, well, Brennan’s life, to use the commonization of his name—wasn’t interesting, but just that the book they had been assigned was, in the style of most textbooks, horribly boring.
Reed actually rather wanted to light the book on fire—something that he had heard was actually rather doable with paper. That was another thing—the book was so old that it was actually printed on a piece of dead tree, a thought that made Reed smile every so often.
He glanced out the window of the shuttle he rode in, estimating that, if he procrastinated for another few minutes, he could probably get off the shuttle without actually having to touch the book. Instead, he grabbed his copy of Sometimes the Good Ones Even Live, a tell-all about the end of the Republic-Imperiata War that Reed actually thought would be useful in his upcoming assignment.
Honestly, he wondered the point of having him even pretend to attend Advanced Fleet School—everyone in the Fleet hierarchy already knew that he was about to be made the head of Fleet Intelligence in a few days at the VT Day celebrations. It was a meaningless position, the head of an agency that only existed so that Fleet commanders could delude themselves into thinking that Tactical wasn’t the only intelligence agency that mattered.
The shuttle began the descent spiral, circling the entrance to the Palatine Building, the seat of government of the United Terran Republic, a Command and Control center for the United Terran Fleet, and main offices for Military Industries—in other words, the head of the three tools that Uncle Julian used to keep his personal empire in line, all equally disposable. The building was a massive skyscraper, over two thousand feet tall, and several hundred wide. It was surrounded by several smaller pyramids, which acted as Ansible Sinks to help keep the Palatine Building upright, in addition to providing additional space for the complex. The entire complex was surrounded for several miles by other buildings, which were in turn surrounded by the single most sophisticated defense network in Terran Space.
The Palatine Building itself was more an amalgam of three separate spires, braided together, with various bridges connecting them. At the very top flew a Republic flag several hundred feet across-made entirely of carbon nanofibers, no wind could lift it, but it was wired up to several Ansible Sinks, each of which pulled on a random segment of the flag at a random time, creating the illusion that it was swaying in the breeze. It was still large enough to create its own air currents, leading to some slight turbulence as Reed’s shuttle passed under it, on its way to his Uncle’s suite.
The shuttle slid up to the small dock that was provided for visitors to the First Citizen’s private home, being guided in by an automated system for the final few moments. Reed felt the click of the docking electromagnets, and stood, leaving both books behind in the shuttle’s cabin.
He let himself out of the shuttle, not waiting for the pilot—they would dock the ship somewhere in the Palatine’s hangers. A figure in deep blue stood at the entrance to the apartment, where its balcony met the dock.
Reed grinned. He hadn’t seen Isa in far too long. As they walked towards each other, he took in the changes that the past few years had brought about in his cousin, Isabella Shishani. She had been eighteen last time they had met, Reed fifteen. Three years later, though he felt as immature as he had been, Isa had gained the bearing of the woman who would rule the Republic.
“Greetings, First Citizen.” He said. There were no formal demands for one addressing the First Citizen—or his family, who were also entitled to that honorific—but there were customs.
Isa rolled her eyes. “I believe that I told you to stop calling me that the last time we spoke?” She asked, smiling.
“Perhaps. It’s been far too long though.” He answered, hugging her. They had grown up best friends, despite their age differences. Of course, for the first few years of their lives, they had literally never left the core of the Palatine Building, due to fear of an Imperiata attack on the complex.
“I’ve missed you.” She whispered, and Reed knew that, under the more mature bearing, this was still the woman he had grown up as a brother to.
“Me too.” He replied, before they broke off the hug a moment later. “How’s Uncle Julian?”
“Dad’s fine, although he’s stressed about getting the VT Day Celebrations up to snuff. Thirtieth anniversary and all. Not that he has any reason to worry, but, well... You know my dad.”
Reed nodded. “Most definitely, without a shadow of a doubt not paranoid in the slightest, and why would you even suggest such a thing?”
They both laughed. The doors to the penthouse slid open, allowing Isa and Reed entry. The interior was, apparently, highly luxurious and expensive—but, after eighteen years in these environs, Reed had grown used to these sorts of surroundings.
“Do you have a bag?” Isa asked, glancing at him.
He shook his head. “Not with me, no. My pilot will have it sent up.”
“So you are staying the night?”
“If you’ll have me.”
“Need your own room or do you want to crash with me?”
“If it’s alright with you, I’ll crash with you. I miss childhood all-nighters and ghost stories.”
“You were always horrible at ghost stories, Reed.” Isa said flatly.
He shrugged. “At least I could pull an all-nighter without drinking my weight in caffeine.”
“You’re not wrong. Having said that, if you pick anyone up over the weekend, that offer is one hundred percent rescinded.”
Reed blushed. “Please—there’s no danger of that happening.”
Isa elbowed him. “Come on, Reed, why not? You’re the son of two Governance Committee Members, which should probably make up for the fact that your face is somewhere barely north of a two.” She stuck her tongue out at him.
It’s precisely because of said parents that I don’t abuse people like you do, Isa. Reed thought, barely biting it back.
Isa must have noticed his silence, because she said something unusual for her. “I’m sorry, Reed. I didn’t mean to bring that up.”
He shook his head. “It’s nothing. There’s just a reason I don’t do things like that.”
“And I respect that, Reed, I really do. I believe that I’ve said before that you’re a far better person than myself?”
“Oh, I know I am.” He said, and then clapped a hand over his mouth, feigning surprise. “Oh, did I just say that out loud?”
The next morning, Reed awoke, still in the uniform he had worn the day before, on a cot in Isa’s room. It was built out over the two-thousand foot drop to the ground below, with half the floor and the outside wall made entirely of gently sloping glass, treated to be allow light through from only one side. Isa was already up, sitting in her own bed, reading something on her tablet, and, apparently, she had taken the time to change into nightclothes at some point after Reed had fallen asleep. The sun was just peeking out over the skyline, indicating that it was, in fact, an ungodly hour of the morning, but, unfortunately, Reed actually had things to do today.
Probably noticing him stirring, Isa asked “Are you awake?”
“No.” Reed said, burying his head under his pillow. “Go. Away.”
Reed heard a sigh, then the sound of footsteps—and though they were growing fainter, he doubted that his cousin was actually leaving.
He heard a cabinet open and shut, then Isa approached again.
“I’m about to hate you a lot, aren’t I?” He asked, resigned to whatever horrible thing she was about to do to him.
“Hell yeah.” She said, before—Reed presumed—pulling the trigger on an airhorn.
Six inches away from his face.
He rolled away, off the cot, onto the glass floor. It hurt, but not as much as the airhorn. “You just have an airhorn lying around, Isa?”
“Yes. You could swear a little. It gives me satisfaction to tick people off.”
“You’re a sociopath, Isa.”
“Yeah. What else is new?”
“That being a sociopath is bad, Isa.”
“I’m fairly sure that’s not new.”
“And yet I notice that you don’t dispute that it’s bad, just that it’s new.”
“I don’t see fit to dignify that statement with a response.”
“So, it’s VT Day today. Tanks and soldiers in the streets. Yay.”
“You don’t sound particularly excited.”
“I’m not. You can nuke it all from orbit, can’t you?”
“This is true. Honestly, I’m mostly here for the food.”
She laughed. “It’ll be good. I’ve been trying to get my father to try some Sa’somi for the past week. It’s been a non-starter every time.”
Reed shrugged. “He doesn’t know what he’s missing.”
“Exactly. He’s an uncultured fool, after all.”
“I should report you to Tactical.”
“And I promise, I will prosecute myself to the fullest extent of the law.” They both laughed. “Seriously though, my father’s got a formal breakfast planned, with some of the top brass of the Republic. Dress uniforms and all that. I think he wants to show us off.”
“What, the pair of delinquents who’ve stumbled their ways into the Tactical and FLINT directorates?”
Isa grimaced. “Stop calling it that. FLINT. It’s ‘Fleet Intelligence’, and there’s no way to get ‘FLINT’ out of that.”
“No, you just take the first few letters of each word, and—.”
“Zip it. I’m the director of a real intelligence agency, don’t tell me what to do.”
Reed put a hand over his heart, feigning offence. “You’ve wounded me deeply, oh cousin dear.”
“Good. I meant to. Go get changed.”
Ten minutes later, they were in an elevator down Spire Two of the Palatine Building, towards one of the state ballrooms used for occasions such as this one.
Reed and Isa stepped off the elevator—Isa’s presence prevented it from stopping at other floors, a feature that had always annoyed Reed with its shallow cruelty in such a situation—into the massive, arched room. There were maybe two dozen people in the room, including all five members of the Governance Committee.
Reed closed his eyes, and breathed deeply. “My mother’s here, isn’t she?” He asked, staring at Riya Dare from across the room. “That sick little...”
Isa put her arm on Reed. “Calm down. Your actual mom’s here too. I made sure that Aunt Sarai would be here, just for you. Remember, it’s your actual family that counts, not your biological ones.”
“I know. I don’t give a damn about her. Riya Dare can go to hell for all I care.”
“Let’s go.” Reed felt Isa’s tug on his arm, and stepped forward, letting her guide him into the room.
Isa pulled him to a table with her parents, and two others that Reed didn’t recognize.
“Good morning, First Citizens.” Reed said, bowing slightly.
Aunt Sheila smiled. “Sit down, Reed. And please, use names. You sound out of place when you insist on formalities. You’re the second in line to ascend the governance of the Republic. You shouldn’t be belittling yourself like that, it’s unbecoming.”
“Apologies, Aunt Sheila. I may say that, I assume?”
“Of course. Zachary, Miss Shan, these two young people are my nephew, Reed, and my daughter, Isabella. Reed, Isabella, this is my son, Zachary, and our guest, Kimberly.”
“Hey, Isa.” The young boy by Sheila’s side said. “Nice to meet you.”
Isa walked over to the boy, Zachary, and ruffled his hair. “Long time no see, squirt.”
Reed watched as the girl’s eyes flickered back between himself and Isabella, appraising them. “Good morning.” She said, before turning back to her meal.
“Good morning, Miss...” Reed remembered her name, but deliberately trailed off. It was meant to force her to engage in conversation—something it really didn’t look like she wanted to do.
“Shan. Kimberly Shan.” She said, glancing up towards him.
“Pardon me, I have to go attend to something.” Julian said, standing, kissing Sheila on the forehead. “A Glorious Victory on Terra Day to you all.”
“Glorious Victory Terra Day.” They replied. Reed had always disliked that greeting. He understood that the Republic had actually had nothing to do with its adoption, but it stunk of the sort of dictatorship that they tried hard to not be perceived as. Of course, there were very few people who didn’t know that the Republic was a dictatorship, but that didn’t mean that it was that kind of dictatorship.
Reed’s ears perked up. He thought he had heard Kimberly mumble something, and would have sworn that her lips had moved. “I’m sorry, what was that?” He asked.
“Nothing.” She said, shaking her head.
“No, what was that? Come on, now you’ve got my interest piqued.” Reed asked again.
She hesitated. “I was just saying that there’s over a dozen better outcomes to the VT Day simulations that could be achieved with less, the same, or even marginally more effort.”
“Kimberly here’s a prodigy, you see.” Sheila said, placing an arm protectively around the younger woman’s shoulders. “She’s the most qualified graduate from Fleet School since it’s inception.
“I wouldn’t say that.” Kimberly said, turning back to her food. “I just see some possibilities or make connections that everyone else doesn’t. That’s it.” Her hair fell forward, and she brushed it back over her shoulder.
“That’s what counts though. Those are exactly the traits we look for in Officers.” Reed said, making eye contact with her.
“I suppose. Mostly I’m fairly certain that the simulations at Fleet School are easier than the real world was. The First Citizen, Admiral Hazzard, and Admiral Dare executed their defense as best as they could in the heat of the moment.”
Isa pursed her lips. “Shan, I’m about to give you some advice, so listen here. You’re at this table right now, that means that my father thinks you’re important, or useful, or something. You’re in this room on your own merit, not because of the people you know. That means we want you in the Fleet, and expect you to be useful. Speak your mind. Be respectful and all, but don’t be afraid to tick someone important off. If you haven’t done that, you’re not going to go anywhere, and from what I’ve already seen of you, that would be a very bad thing for the Republic.”
Sheila nodded approvingly. “You’d do well to heed my daughter’s words, Miss Shan.”
They ate in silence after that, Reed trying and failing to catch her eye a few more times. Sheila and Zachary left after finishing their meal, and Isa followed soon after. Shan wasn’t done yet though, so Reed decided not to be either.
Eventually, though, she did get up.
Dammit, Reed, just do it.
He stood, and walked over to her. “Excuse me, Miss Shan.” He said. “May I have a word with you for a moment?”
She frowned. “Yes.”
“If I may make a strictly non-professional request of you, Miss Shan, would you care to join me during today’s celebrations?”
She blushed, though it was hard to notice on her dark skin. “I... Yes, I think that would be nice, Mister...” He recognized the same tone as from the first comment he had made to her, at the beginning of the meal. It was clear from how she had said it that that was deliberate, too.
He hesitated, wanting to dodge the question, but knowing that that was the wrong choice. “Hazzard. Reed Hazzard.” He replied.
“Thank you, Mister Hazzard.” She said, smiling.
This was going to be a very interesting day.
Note: In the writing of this Episode, all care has been taken to ensure a light touch with sensitive topics such as religion, but nonetheless this episode deals with some slightly more heady topics than Warbler usually does. If any individual has a concern, they are by all means encouraged to either comment, or contact the author at [email protected].