‘We know,’ Kris interrupted him. ‘Idris, we know.’ She put a hand on his arm, anchoring him. She looked into his eyes, creating that intimacy that Colonials could always manage between them, no matter how many people were about. ‘You are one seriously stupid man. You were out. You always told me how glad you were, that you were really out.’
‘Stupid, I know,’ Idris agreed. He hugged her and stepped back, leaving Solace next in the line of fire.
But Olli was already puppeteering the Scorpion back into the ship, the mech drone gathering up her tools. ‘You let anything happen to him, I’ll be back for you,’ she warned, glowering back at the Partheni.
‘I’ll do everything I can,’ Solace started, then changed her mind. ‘You know I’ll look out for him. So stuff it up your ass, Refugenik. He’ll be safer in my shadow than anywhere.’
Olli crooked an eyebrow. ‘Now you’re talking like one of the crew.’
Idris
When Idris and Solace reached the Heaven’s Sword’s bridge, Trine was there already. The Hiver had welded a makeshift framework to the deck, which patently offended all sorts of Partheni sensibilities but looked absolutely like home to a Colonial spacer. Between its bars, the Originator regalia floated, revolving gently in their invisible field.
‘You cracked it?’ Solace exclaimed, then Idris saw her glance guiltily at Exemplar Hope and the other officers. The sort of free speech she’d grown used to aboard a spacer ship clearly didn’t mix well with Parthenon military discipline.
‘Ah well, as to that . . .’ Trine started with their usual self-importance, before setting their face to crestfallen. ‘Can I duplicate the peculiar standing wave that is enveloping those relics, my comrade-in-arms? That I cannot. Can I maintain the field, once present? Apparently the answer is a resounding yes. So rejoice, therefore.’
‘Intermediary Telemmier,’ Hope addressed him, her Colvul strongly accented and awkward. ‘It is an honour having you on board.’
Idris goggled at her. Not least because he’d been on board for some time, and nobody had felt moved to say anything of the sort. Apparently his return to active military service, even if just this once, had changed his status in Partheni eyes.
‘I am knowing you served aboard our name ship in this system,’ Hope continued. ‘I’d say, let us hope of similar victory, but I shall settle for fewer casualties.’
‘Likewise, ah, Mother.’ This seemed to be the appropriate form of address for a Partheni officer, from her curt nod.
A trio of other civilians were marched in at that point, and at their head was Saint Xavienne. Idris blinked at her. ‘Seriously? They’ve risking you on this? And I said I’d do this alone.’
Xavienne’s lips quirked slightly. ‘It’s amazing what they’ll agree to, with Berlenhof under the hammer. Idris . . . How strong are you feeling?’
‘How strong are you?’ spoken with concern, not as a taunt. Close to being of an age, but she seemed so frail, and she’d not been on the front lines during the war. Whereas he had fought but hadn’t aged, as though some part of him was still trapped in those years. ‘Who are these?’
Behind her were a man and a woman, both with close-cropped hair. He was short, lopsided, his cheeks and scalp marked with jagged rayed tattoos. Gang markings, Idris guessed. The woman was taller, gaunt-faced as any famine-bred spacer. Ugly crooked lines of surgical scars stood out about her skull. He answered his own question, seeing that. ‘Ints, from the Liaison Board.’
‘The most promising of the current class,’ Xavienne confirmed, and her tone warned him to keep his opinions on the Board to himself. After all, it wasn’t these Ints’ fault that they’d ended up in the Program, and they’d be standing by his side when the fight came.
‘Davisson Morlay,’ the man said, without offering his hand and keeping a definite space around himself. He had a trace of an on-planet accent.
‘Andecka Tal Mar,’ said the woman, introducing herself in turn. ‘I’ve read a lot about you, Menheer Telemmier.’
‘That so?’ He didn’t know what to make of that. ‘I didn’t realize I was . . . on the curriculum.’
‘Before the Board,’ she said. ‘I studied history.’
I’m history. He didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. ‘What the hell did you do to end up on the Program, Andecka?’
‘I volunteered,’ she told him. In the resulting staggered silence she added, ‘I knew this would happen – that they’d come back. And we’d need more Ints.’