Despite the advantage Connie gained for the Vsunans, the rebels’ work was far from finished. Even with the fleet under Vel’s control, all of the ships had to have their Patrol personnel removed and replaced. Although the vessels were largely disabled, many of the Patrol soldiers refused to surrender their ships without a fight.

  On Vel’s order, Kressa joined one of several assault teams assigned to take control of the ships from their reticent crews. Once all of the vessels had been cleared, Vel sent the surviving members of the teams down to Vsuna to join those working to overcome the last dozen or so Patrol strongholds on the planet.

  Through good fortune or skill, or a combination of both, Kressa came through the various skirmishes unscathed, but the days of intense fighting left her exhausted and eager to return to the Conquest and some semblance of normal life. However, when the time came to leave the final battle site, Vel ordered her and the others on her team to Vsatt, the Vsunan capital, to join the clean-up and rescue crews.

  For days, Kressa labored alongside civilian volunteers and rebel soldiers. They searched through the rubble of buildings toppled by ground and space-based attacks, looking for survivors. For each person rescued alive, they found the bodies of dozens of men, women, and children. When her crew finished clearing one area of survivors, they moved to their next assigned location, and heavy machinery came in to clear away what was left.

  The damage was not isolated to Vsatt. Most of Vsuna’s major cities had suffered some degree of damage. More than once while she worked, Kressa remembered her thoughts about the cost to Vsuna’s populace and wondered what they thought of the death and destruction that had been thrust upon their world and into their lives.

  She soon grew numb to the sights, sounds, and smells of the devastation, and her life became an almost surreal cycle of long days of hard work, followed by restless nights in some makeshift shelter. Sometime in the middle of the back-breaking, heartbreaking work, a man her tired mind barely recognized as Lieutenant Commander Hartos came to escort her to a victory rally in downtown Vsatt. There, Hartos instructed her to join a group of men and women gathered around Commander Vel, the so-called “Heroes of the Uprising.”

  Thousands of people attended the celebration, soldiers and civilians alike, and the media were everywhere. They hounded Vel, questioning her about every aspect of the battle and her plans for the future. A party atmosphere reigned.

  Kressa looked on, silent, exhausted, amazed that so many people could be so blind to the cost of Vsuna’s freedom. Or perhaps they had simply put aside the horrors around them for this brief moment of celebration. She wished she could.

  The only evidence she saw of any concern about what had occurred was a brief glance she caught of Vel when the woman did not know anyone was looking. The commander’s haggard expression reflected the same disquiet and exhaustion Kressa felt.

  In the rush and confusion of the celebration, Kressa had no opportunity to speak to Vel, and before she knew it, the rally ended. Still numb despite the spectacle of the victory celebration—or, perhaps, because of it—Kressa rejoined her clean-up crew.

  Several days later, she reported to one of the work coordinators first thing in the morning, only to be told she was no longer needed.

  “After we get everyone to their work site, I’ll find someone to take you wherever you need to go,” the woman told her. “Just have a seat and we’ll get to you.”

  Dazed, Kressa sat and waited. Around midmorning, an aircar arrived for her. At her request, the pilot dropped her off at the entrance to the Tranur commerce port.

  Stunned by everything that had happened and by the sudden unexpected release from her labors, Kressa made her way numbly across the tarmac. Large holes scored the consteel landing surface, their once-molten edges indicating an attack by a ship’s heavy weapons. The significance of the destruction did not register completely until she realized the damage increased as she approached the Conquest’s hangar. A corner of the structure lay open to the sky, blasted apart by one of the shots.

  Kressa endured a sudden fit of trembling, entered the hangar, and made her way up the Conquest’s boarding ramp.

  “Kressa, where have you been?” Connie asked as she entered the ship.

  “Long story.” She dragged herself toward her room.

  “I saw your image on a local broadcast,” Connie said, her voice almost accusing in timbre. “Why didn’t you contact me?”

  “Look, Connie, I’m sorry. I’ve been… busy. All I want to do now is sleep.”

  “Do you know how long it’s been since our last contact?”

  “Not really.” Kressa reached her room and staggered inside.

  “Sixteen days.”

  Was that all? It seemed like twice that long. “Connie, I said I was sorry. We’ll talk about it later, all right?”

  “All right, however—”

  “Later, Connie.”

  With a tired sigh, Kressa collapsed onto her bed and ordered the lights to dim. She expected to be asleep in seconds, but half an hour later, she lay awake, her mind churning.

  She had spent most of her life fighting for the freedom to live as she wanted, battling alongside people who made the conscious decision to take on the struggle with her. Over the years, she had witnessed the deaths of many of her fellow fighters. The losses hurt, but life went on. It had taken the deaths of thousands of innocent strangers here on Vsuna to make her acknowledge the finite scope of her existence. For the first time in her twenty-six years of life, Kressa was forced to acknowledge the truth of her own mortality.

  She accepted the revelation with surprising ease, but she could not so easily accept where her life was going, or where it had been.

  Rarely in the past had she thought much about the path her life was taking. Ever since she ran away from the Academy, things had always seemed to work out, giving her something to do without her having to make any sort of choice. All of those things had ignored her individuality and treated her as a small part of a larger whole: a member of a gang, part of a ship’s crew, a soldier in the Guard. Never had she done anything strictly for herself. Maybe it was selfish, she mused, but she felt the need to change that, to find something she wanted to do. But what did she want? Now that she had the opportunity to make the choice she had always left to fate, she found herself unsure.

  She remembered what she’d said to Halav when he told her she no longer had to accept Guard assignments. What else am I going to do to keep sticking it to the Pattys?

  As flippant as that comment had been, it held some truth. She could not imagine doing anything with her life that did not, at least in some small way, continue the fight for freedom she’d begun the day she snuck out of the Academy. She needed to find something that would cover both requirements: something she wanted to do for herself that would also allow her to continue her opposition to the United Galaxy.

  More likely, she told herself, what I really need is to sleep.

  * * *

  A call from Connie awoke Kressa, and she rolled over with a groan. “What is it, Con?”

  You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

  “There’s a call from Commander Vel.”

  “Put it through.”

  “Hey, kiddo, mind if I come by to see you?”

  “Uh… no, come on over. When should I expect you?”

  “Half an hour all right?”

  “Yeah, fine. I’ll see you then.” The comm clicked off, and Kressa sat up. “Connie, how long did I sleep?”

  “Almost eighteen hours.”

  “Damn.”

  Kressa had just enough time to get cleaned up and grab a bite to eat before three aircars—one with Vel, plus two security escorts—landed outside the hangar. Kressa reached the airlock in time to watch the commander, dressed in civilian clothing, enter the hangar alone. Vel studied the Conquest as she approached.

  “Welcome aboard, Commander,” Kressa said as Vel stepped into the ship.

  “Hey, Bryant. Please, call me Dani. I’m not actually on duty right now.” She plucked at her civilian attire to underscore her point.

  “Then you’ll have to call me Kressa.” She motioned Vel into the lounge that adjoined the main airlock. “What brings you here, Com—Dani?”

  Vel entered the room and glanced around with an appreciative nod. “I wanted to thank you for your help, you and your computer.”

  “You can thank Connie yourself. Con, say hello to our visitor.”

  “Greetings, Commander Vel. Congratulations on your victory.”

  “Uh… hello, Connie,” Vel said, clearly uncertain how seriously to take the greeting. “Thanks. And thanks for your help with the fleet.”

  “It was my pleasure.”

  Kressa offered Vel a seat on one of the room’s couches.

  “Are you sure this isn’t a yacht?” Vel asked as she settled onto the plush cushions. “From the outside, it looks an awful lot like a freighter. But from here…” She surveyed the room again.

  “The guy who built her wanted to travel incognito,” Kressa explained. “He figured a freighter was a lot less memorable than a yacht, so he basically built a yacht inside a freighter.”

  Vel smiled and shook her head in amazement. “Dahl was right. This really is a remarkable ship.”

  Dahl! With all that had been going on, Kressa had not thought of him since she left the Cheops.

  “How is Dahl?” she asked. “Is he—?”

  Vel’s smile disappeared, and she met Kressa’s eyes. “I’m sorry, Kressa, I thought you knew. He didn’t make it.”

  Kressa collapsed into a chair facing Vel. The Darsan. Laszlo. Dahl. Bad news comes in threes. She tried to feel something through the numbness that suddenly enveloped her, but found only a vast, cold emptiness.

  “He regained consciousness once,” Vel said. “I was able to speak with him briefly, let him know we won.”

  In response to Vel’s words, something flashed to life inside the empty space within Kressa. Days of pent-up emotion exploded, sweeping away her numbness. She lurched to her feet and glared down at Vel.

  “What do you mean, we won? I didn’t win anything. Dahl sure as hell didn’t win anything. And what about all the people who died during your little uprising? Or before it? Do you realize what the Patrol’s been doing on other worlds in reaction to what’s been going on here?”

  Vel studied Kressa, her expression filled with concern rather than the indignation Kressa expected after her angry indictment.

  “I know exactly what they’ve been doing,” Vel said. “I also know that allowing their actions to influence ours would give them even more power over us than they already have. Or is that what you think we should do—we who want to live free from that kind of control—give them even more power because we’re frightened of the consequences of our own actions?”

  Kressa met her eyes, then she lowered her gaze and returned to her seat, her brief flare of anger extinguished. “I don’t— I mean… No, of course not.” She stared at the floor. The numbness returned, and she let her thoughts sift through everything that had happened: Tempo and the crew of the Darsan. General Laszlo and the others killed in the “accident.” Dahl. The thousands who died on Vsuna. What did it all mean? Why did so many have to die? Why was she, of all people, still alive?

  “If you’re trying to find meaning behind what’s happened,” Vel said, “you might as well give up now. Philosophers have been wrestling with that question for millennia, and they’re no closer to an answer now than when it was first asked.”

  Kressa looked up, amazed by Vel’s perception.

  She gave Kressa a gentle smile. “We’re not so different, Kressa. We both know what we want, what we believe in, and we fight for it. But sometimes the cost of that fight is high.”

  “I’m tired of fighting,” Kressa said quietly. “Tired of paying the cost and watching others do the same. And I’m no longer sure what I want.”

  “Because of what happened here?”

  She nodded. “That, and…” She thought of Halav and their impossible relationship. The Darsan, the end of a chapter. “…other things.”

  Vel studied her for a long time. “I don’t think you’re ready to quit. I think you just need a new way to carry on the fight.”

  Kressa recalled the thoughts she’d been pondering before she drifted off to sleep. A new way to carry on the fight. She looked at Vel hopefully. “How?”

  Vel shrugged. “That’s a decision you’re going to have to make for yourself. We all have to find our own Esora.”

  Esora. Something worth dying for.

  “Dahl said the uprising was his,” Kressa said.

  Vel nodded and rose to her feet. “I’m sure you’ll find yours. Which reminds me.” She dipped her hand into a pocket. “Nait and Telsin wanted me to give you something.”

  “Is Telsin all right?”

  “He’s good. If Nait can get him to sit still, he might even finish healing. They want you to have this.” She held out her hand. A small silver disk and length of chain rested on her palm.

  A Gendzet amulet.

  Kressa stared at it. “Isn’t it illegal to own one of those?”

  “Not on Vsuna,” Vel said. “Not anymore. That was one of the things we were fighting for.”

  Kressa took the amulet from Vel’s hand—and nearly dropped it as something stirred inside her mind. Surprised, she let the pendant fall to the end of its chain and held it up in front of her. A small purple crystal was affixed to one side with stylized rays radiating from it. A primitive-looking spiral motif graced the reverse side, surrounded by some sort of symbols or writing. Even held at the end of the chain, Kressa could feel the amulet plucking at her awareness.

  “Who are these people?” she asked, astonished by the amulet’s effect.

  “The Gendzets?”

  Kressa nodded.

  “From what Nait’s told me, they date back to an ancient teaching order on Ilek.”

  “They taught psi abilities?” Kressa asked.

  “Taught and still teach, despite the United Galaxy’s continuing attempts to stop them.” Vel touched the amulet, setting it swinging gently on the end of its chain. The purple crystal winked in the light. “Supposedly each of these pendants contains a relic of the Gendzet founder. They’re supposed to carry his essence or spirit or something like that.”

  “Do you believe that?” Kressa asked, watching the amulet spin and sway gently before her.

  “The Gendzets do,” Vel said. “I suppose that’s what counts.”

  “Did Nait or Telsin tell you why they wanted me to have this?”

  “They said you’d understand.”

  Kressa looked at the amulet again. Clearly, they had sensed her potential on board the Cheops and were giving her the opportunity to follow up on it, despite the danger.

  “Tell Nait I have to go to Arecia to tie up a few loose ends,” Kressa said. “But I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

  Smiling, she closed her hand around the amulet, ready for its effect this time. She had found her Esora.

  Esora. I hope you enjoyed it. If so, please leave a comment or review, or even give it a favorite.

  Volume 3: A Fine Line will start soon with regular uploads.