Chapter 13
When he’d been promoted from destroyer captain to Rear Admiral and then stationed at headquarters, Piras had been somewhat chagrined to discover most of his fellow officers held to an open-door policy.
The majority of the higher-ups of the fleet were older men, having given up the rigors of space decades ago.
They’d forgotten the cramped quarters of the ships they’d once flown, as well as the splendid freedom of occasional isolation.
Moreover, the need to keep many operations and decisions classified turned most into inane chatterers, eager to share the latest gossip with anything that possessed a working ear.
A large number in High Command thought nothing of strolling into another man’s office and interrupting whatever he was doing to while away an hour with the latest in rumor and scandal.
Piras had not been planet-side long enough to adjust to the social atmosphere.
Having been raised by the constantly worrying Calna, whose eternal monologues proceeded at breakneck speed, he thought perhaps it would never appeal to him.
Yet he felt the pressure to keep his office open much of the time in keeping with Fleet Command’s culture.
Even so, he was teased about how often his door was kept shut.
This was a major problem at the moment.
Piras had discovered breaking into his fellow officers’ files from his home computer had numerous obstacles compared to accessing the information from headquarters.
In the wake of Banrid’s arrest, he worried that locking himself in his office for hours might be viewed with not just ridicule, but outright suspicion.
Fortunately, he had already put a solution in place.
Piras had an unofficial office elsewhere in headquarters, located in the mostly deserted power section.
It was unofficial, because he hadn’t formally claimed the space.
Nearly a year after being assigned to Fleet Command headquarters, Piras had reached his limit of being disturbed by the more gregarious element.
In a bid to find a place where he could work without interruption and not seem aloof by closing himself off, Piras had explored all but the most restricted areas of the facility.
He’d found a couple of unused offices deep in the bowels of headquarters, allocated to the maintenance and engineering superintendents of the island.
Upon inquiry, Piras had learned that recent upgrades to the power system had reduced the number of superintendents needed.
The offices, outfitted with basic desks, chairs, shelves, and computers, sat empty and useless.
Despite the utilitarian surroundings being far less decorative than his official office, Piras had been delighted to find an oasis of quiet.
Feeling cheerfully antisocial, he’d upgraded the computer in one abandoned office out of his own funds, tied it into his system in the loftier High Command section, and set up a secondary shop.
Piras was prudent enough to not take too great advantage of his ‘secret’ office.
He made sure to spend most hours behind the desk where others expected to find him.
However, if a project needed his full attention, Piras escaped to the second space where few knew to find him.
It had never occurred to him it might be the perfect place to commit espionage as well.
Yet he couldn’t very well see himself hacking into the other admirals’ systems when any one of them might pop in to share the latest drunken Nobek or religious Earther joke.
Having a semi-secret office already set and ready to be worked in was going to be a boon to Piras’s mission for the next few days.
He entered the small, spare room after inputting his access code in the door.
Because he’d tied his files and the system into the computer installed there, it had been necessary to protect it as best he could.
He’d had to get Fleet Security’s clearance to operate in any capacity from the power area.
The officers who’d reviewed the case had looked at him strangely, but they’d signed off on it in the end.
Piras closed and locked the door behind him.
He looked over the space, little more than metallic gray walls, ceiling, and floor.
Piras had not decorated the room with his models or any mementos.
It was simply a place to work hard away from distractions.
He sat in the chair that had come with the office.
It wasn’t as comfortable as his high-end hoverchair in the other office, and the scarred armrests and stained cushions told of many years of use.
Piras didn’t care.
Being off to himself in the busy headquarters was sometimes a relief on its own.
Piras dug into a pouch on his belt and retrieved his sound blocker.
He set it up on the desk and turned it on.
Despite feeling no one would suspect he was up to anything, that they’d even consider looking for him here for any reason at all, he felt the need to be as secretive as possible.
It was funny how easily going into full spy mode had come back to him after such a short stint in that discipline so many years before.
He got to work, clicking the computer on and bringing up the holographic vid monitor.
Getting access into other admirals’ files was tricky.
Discovering their caches of defensive grid codes upped the risk.
“And replacing the codes on the unmanned stations with my own will be the most dicey of the whole plot,”
Piras muttered under his breath. Each step was fraught with danger, begging someone to catch him in the act. If his activities were discovered, he’d be charged with treason. A guilty verdict brought execution unless he was able to cut a deal by offering up other supposed traitors. That would mean potentially exposing Kila and his crew, and then the fleet would lose valuable operatives in their spy network.
Piras knew the stakes for himself and everyone else involved. They were deadly.
As he progressed in his work breaching obstacle after obstacle, however, he began to relax. His codebreaking skills remained sharp. He fancied he was as good as he ever was, almost as good as the man who’d taught him. The hours slipped past, and he made headway.
After finding the second of the six codes he needed to seize control over the unmanned defense stations, Piras grinned. By the time he’d uncovered the third, he was chuckling to himself. He still had it, all right. If the Basma wanted a piece of the Bi’isil border, he couldn’t have asked for a better spy to get it for him.
And all the people he’d capture and sell to Bi’is would be on Piras’s conscience. Not to mention those who would die on Laro Station.
The smile fell off the Dramok’s face. He stopped working for a moment, his heart going cold at the thought of what his success would mean. He had no right to feel pride or glory in his accomplishments, not when it meant the blood of those who remained faithful to the Empire.
Piras allowed the sensation of weakness to own him for a couple of minutes. He couldn’t move at all during that time. No matter how he worked it, he was opening the doors to invite death and misery into the lives of others. For those long minutes he faltered, unable to continue with the project.
Slowly, practicality reasserted itself. If the mission worked, if he could gain Maf’s confidence and lead a campaign of sabotage against the revolt, if he could split the enemy fleet, more lives would be saved than destroyed.
You care for the innocents caught in the middle of the Basma and government’s pissing contest. Yet you’re hard enough that once you’re committed, you’ll see this thing through.
Kila’s words brought Piras’s strength back. Indeed, he could see it through. He was that Dramok who would not waver in the face of the unpleasant.
“For the Empire. For the civilians. For the innocent. For the women and children,”
he vowed. With grim purpose uppermost in his mind, Piras got back to work.
It was an hour later than his usual departure from headquarters when Piras left his secret office. He walked slowly, taking his time as he navigated back to his official office where he would pick up a few items before leaving. He went the most roundabout route, hoping to redirect black thoughts from his activities. Though he’d again come to terms with turning on the Empire for the Empire’s sake, it still weighed on him.
As he moved about the well-lit corridors, entering areas more frequented by other members of the staff, he tried to capture a sense of excitement due to his upcoming visit with Kila. He did his best to wonder at what the Nobek might have planned for him that night. Yet he kept thinking about the stolen station codes and his plans to supplant them with his own once the Basma signaled he was ready to act.
And Laro. As he walked Fleet Command’s corridors, his mind’s eye kept overlaying them with the halls of Laro Station.
He’d been so hopeful about his future then. Everything had seemed possible, bright and shining and new. How many other young fleet officers, who were just as eager about their expectations, was he about to destroy?
How many were out there, meeting potential clanmates, falling in love with those who shared their commitment to the fleet and Kalquor? A vision of a young and fierce Lidon buying him a drink flashed in Piras’s brain.
He was surprised to find that he’d gotten to the command wing, not far from his office. He turned a corner and stopped short.
As if springing from the last thought he’d had, Lidon stood in the hall outside Tranis’s closed office door.
It felt as if a fist had been driven into Piras’s gut. He even bent slightly as a cramp seized his midsection.
He’d not seen Lidon in months. It was impossible to completely avoid the man, as he was Tranis’s clanmate. Occasional functions brought Piras in close proximity with his former lover, though he did his damnedest to avoid a face-to-face encounter.
He wanted to turn and hurry back the way he’d come. Yet his feet remained rooted to the floor, refusing to move as his hungry gaze took in what he’d lost.
Lidon looked as enthralling as ever. His countenance had taken on more of the calm assuredness he’d fought for after the brutal injury that had left him nearly crippled. He looked as serene as a Nobek could manage, though Piras could still detect a sense of restrained violence in his bearing.
His body filled out the armored black Global Security uniform in such a way that Piras was sure he’d increased his strength training regimen. Lidon looked bigger and badder than ever, making the Dramok’s mouth go dry. He knew Lidon had endured additional surgeries since joining Clan Tranis, healing most of the problems with his injured leg. He’d apparently taken advantage of his newfound mobility to get fitter than he’d been even in his younger days.
Alert to his surroundings, Lidon’s head began to turn in his direction. Piras made himself stand up straight and start again to his office That meant walking by the Nobek. He hoped his expression didn’t reveal the tsunami of emotions brought on from seeing Lidon.
He was so intent on betraying nothing that he offered Lidon the curtest of nods as he neared. His former lover’s brow rose. A look of surprise flitted over the proud face. Piras belatedly realized his cold greeting disclosed how uncomfortable Lidon’s presence made him. He forced himself to halt and adopt a pleasanter attitude. “Hello, Lidon.”
“Good evening, Piras. You look…tired.”
The raised brow drew down, and the Nobek was frank in his inspection of Piras’s face.
“We’re at war. I’m sure you’ve noticed.”
Piras was impressed with his ability to joke.
“War, you say? Come to think of it, things have been a bit tense as of late.”
Lidon almost smiled. Almost. He’d never been much of a smiler around Piras. Unlike Kila. Kila wore a mocking smile most of the time.
It was impossible not to compare the two men. Both fierce warriors. Both honorably scarred from the battles they’d fought. Both with the greatest of integrity. Were those shared traits why Piras found Kila compelling? Why he’d tied himself up in knots over not hearing from Kila for two nights? And would it mean Kila walking away from Piras as Lidon had?
Piras made himself stop guessing. I’m letting Kila’s notions that I haven’t gotten over Lidon fuck with my head. What does it matter anyway?
It did matter though. It mattered too damned much. All at once, Piras wanted to run away from Lidon, to get away from him as fast as possible. He didn’t want to face such questions.
Lidon was studying him again, with that same quizzical-concerned expression. Piras realized he’d been standing there staring for several seconds as he fought his internal battle.
He shook himself with a weak laugh. “Sorry. I’ve got a lot on my plate. How are things with Global Security?”
Lidon’s tone was light, but his piercing stare never wavered. “Demanding, but probably less so than with the fleet. I heard about Admiral Banrid. It must have been shocking to discover he was a traitor.”
Piras thought of the day’s activities. His own espionage was on behalf of the Empire, but when it came out, Lidon would believe it was the real thing. And for Piras to act against the place where they’d met? What would Lidon think of that?
“Piras?”
The Dramok came back to the present moment. He silently cursed himself to see outright disquiet filling Lidon’s face.
Damn it, focus! You’re doing a shitty job of this spy thing, getting lost in a simple conversation. Wake up, dumbass!
It was a berating he might have given an underling, although he would have delivered it at the top of his lungs and maybe with a decent smack to the head.
He rubbed his eyes, playing up his very real mental exhaustion. “The whole damned war is shocking. I’d like to meet the man who can wrap his head around this madness and not go a little crazy.”
Lidon took a step closer, close enough that Piras could feel the heat from his body. The Nobek’s alarmed face filled his vision. “This is not like you. Are you all right, Piras?”
The overt worry shook the Dramok. Maybe Lidon didn’t love him anymore. Maybe he never had. Yet it was clear that whatever had gone wrong between them, Lidon still cared. Fierce protector that he was, he looked ready to come to Piras’s rescue.
Hurt welled in his chest, bubbling up to his throat, ready to be voiced. Piras wasn’t certain what words would erupt from that thick ball of pain, but it was coming out. He couldn’t stop it.
“Sorry to take so long, my Nobek.”
Tranis emerged from his office and stopped short to see them standing close to each other. His stare turned hard. “Admiral Piras. Were you waiting to speak to me?”
Piras wasn’t sure if he was disappointed or relieved at the timely interruption. The tormented cry in his throat retreated, a barbed piece to lodge in his heart once more.
Despite the pain, he thought he managed to sound normal as he turned from Lidon’s still-apprehensive stare. “Not at all, Admiral Tranis. Your Nobek and I were exchanging pleasantries as I passed by. Good night, Admiral Tranis. Nobek Lidon.”
He executed a stiff bow to the pair and walked off. He felt lightheaded as he went, barely able to feel his feet on the floor. He felt disconnected from everything, except for the piercing sensation in his chest.
He didn’t want to know his former lover still felt a measure of compassion for him. Sympathy from Lidon was more of a curse than indifference or even hatred would ever be. It made what Piras had felt for him trivial. Pathetic. That what he had regarded as a great if doomed love affair had only been a pitiful chapter to the Nobek, one best forgotten.
He made it to his office. Piras ordered the door closed and locked. He walked over to his desk. Then he punched the hard surface over and over. He punched it until his knuckles bled. He punched it until the pain of his abused fist overrode the re-opened wounds in his heart.
With physical pain came the return of Piras’s other senses. He could feel the floor under his feet. His head was a solid weight once more. He no longer felt disconnected.
He felt angry as hell, though. Mostly at himself for having lost his composure so thoroughly in Lidon’s presence. Not to mention the hideous sense of worthlessness that had come over him in the face of the Nobek’s overt concern.
He decided he was mad at everything else too. At the Basma and his shitty war. At High Command, which was sending him out to do the unthinkable to win that same shitty war. At Kila, who would eventually decide Piras wasn’t worth the effort. Who would no doubt pity Piras in the end just as Lidon did.
“I’m going home,”
he announced to his office. “Not to his destroyer. If Kila wants to fuck anything, he can go fuck himself. I’m not hanging around, begging him to care, wasting years of my life only to be left for someone he thinks is a real Dramok.”
Piras stalked to his shuttle in its bay. He flew home. He did not com Kila to tell him their rendezvous was off.
The first thing Piras did when he stepped into his house was stomp to the common room and grab a bottle of bohut and a glass from the bar. He went out to the balcony, thinking that the serene atmosphere out among the high branches might calm the churn of hurt and fury. Yet he didn’t see the stars and moons in the sapphire-toned evening sky or the sheltering canopy of broad leaves overhead.
Instead, he saw ships firing on Laro Station. Broken bodies of brave men dying. The horror on Lidon’s expression when he discovered what Piras had done. The look on his mother’s face –
By the ancestors, he’d never even thought of how his espionage would affect Calna and his fathers. The shock and shame of it would be devastating to his parent clan.
“Damn it,”
he moaned. “I already gave Kila the plans. He’ll have shared them with the Basma by now. It’s too late to call it off.”
He looked at the sky and screamed. The sound was wild with despair and rage.
Piras stumbled back and forth across the balcony. He’d messed it all up. His life was well and truly fucked.
Throbbing pain made Piras look down at his hand. Bloodied still from being pounded against his desk, it clutched the bottle of bohut he had yet to open. He looked at the alcohol and the glass he held. With a curse, he flung the glass away. It smashed into shards against a railing.
Piras opened the bottle and took a huge mouthful. It burned going down. It set his lacerated knuckles on fire as it sloshed over his fingers.
“Stupid, fucking – everything! Fuck! Fuck!”
he yelled at the pain in his hand, his throat, his heart.
Continuing to mutter agonized profanities, bemoaning all the things he’d done wrong, Piras kept drinking. Ideas, most borne of grief and desperation, pinged around in his skull. He considered quitting the fleet. He thought about booking passage on a transport and leaving Kalquor without telling anyone. Maybe he’d assume a new identity. Disappear from existence entirely. Start over from scratch.
The bottle was only a quarter full when his door announce buzzed for attention. Piras’s pacing had become an awkward stagger by then. He’d tripped over the seating cushions twice before chucking them over the railing to fall to the ground far below. The night sky was black, the pinpoints of stars bleary. The moons were smeared. The announce buzzed again.
“I’m not here. Fuck off,”
he muttered, taking another swig. “Admiral Piras has resigned from life and cannot answer you anymore.”
It seemed his caller might have heard him, because the announce fell silent. Piras drained the last of the bohut and looked sadly at the empty container.
“A lot of songs in that bottle, as my grandfather used to say,”
he remarked. “Or there would have been if I wasn’t tone deaf.”
A low chuckle sounded from the door leading into his house. “Did you drink the entire thing just now?”
Piras peered at the dark silhouette. His night vision was hazy, and it took a couple of seconds to focus on Kila’s face. The Nobek wore not his casual smirk, but the more dangerous version of his grin. The one that said big trouble was on the horizon.
For a moment, it had a terrifying effect. Every hair on Piras’s body stood at attention to be caught in the glare of that threatening leer. Then he thought of how Kila would react if he knew of Piras’s encounter with Lidon. If he knew how much Piras still suffered over the broken relationship.
How smug he would be. Piras could almost hear the captain’s rough voice, filled with haughty conceit saying, I knew it all the time.
It brought back the rage that had become Piras’s one assured shelter. He straightened to his full, if wavering, height and sneered, “So now you’re breaking and entering? Dumb move, Nobek.”
Kila snorted. “You gave me access, remember? I guess you forgot to remove me from the system.”
Piras blinked at him. His head had gone fuzzy with drink, and it took a moment to realize the Nobek was right. It increased his fury. “You’re still an asshole. Go away.”
“By the ancestors. You’re tanked, aren’t you?”
Kila shook his head. “And disobedient. I believe I told you to present yourself on my ship for the pleasure of my cocks.”
“I believe you can take about ten steps in that direction and dive.”
Piras pointed to the side of the balcony he’d pitched the seating cushions from.
“I’d rather not. May I offer an observation based on many years of experience?”
“What the fuck would that be?”
“Getting drunk while you’re emotional equals doing stupid things.”
“Who said I was emotional? I’m fine. Never better. Go away.”
“The last thing you need is to be unsupervised. You’ve already made a mess out of your hand. What did you do, punch a Tragoom?”
Piras lifted his arms to see what Kila was talking about. He was right; the hand clutching the empty bottle was covered in dried blood and swollen twice the size of his other hand. It had stopped hurting, thanks to the awesome power of inebriation. “No Tragooms. My official desk. In my official office, next to my official computer. Not the secret one.”
Kila sighed and came over to him. “Let’s get this tended to. Maybe you’ll tell me what made you mad enough to attack a poor, defenseless desk in such a manner.”
Piras backed away. “I don’t want to talk to you. I want you to go.”
“Not going to happen, Piras. Get back here.”
Piras was no longer angry. He was tired and depressed. All he wanted was to keep drinking in the hope he’d pass out before the sadness drowned him. He needed Kila to leave.
He swung the empty bottle at the Nobek, thinking maybe that would make it plain to his unwanted visitor that he should go. Kila moved in a blur, blocking the swing and snatching it from Piras’s hand. A heavy blow landed below the Dramok’s knees, sweeping his feet from under him. He landed on his back with a thud and a grunt. The next instant, Kila was on top of him, pinning him down.
Either he had taken Piras down carefully, or the bohut had made him too numb to feel the pain of the fall. Either way, he laid helpless on his balcony and beyond caring with Kila scowling down at him.
“That’s enough, boy,”
Kila said, his tone firm.
Boy. It was what Kila called him when they had sex. And he was on top of Piras. The Dramok felt warmth fill his groin. Damn it, this wasn’t supposed to happen. Piras wasn’t sure what was supposed to happen, but he was pretty sure fucking wasn’t it.
“Asshole. Let me up. I’m not done drinking yet, and you weren’t invited to the party.”
“You most certainly are done drinking for the night. You are quite done with many things, my pretty, temperamental Piras. We’re doing something about that hand, and then we’re doing something about all the rest of this bullshit.”
With that, Kila stood up. In one smooth motion, he pulled Piras up with him and slung him over a beefy shoulder. The quick movements disoriented Piras, making his already rocking vision pitch violently. He closed his eyes and waited for the world to steady as Kila carried him into the house.