Act 4.13 - Address

Tor’laen sat in the lobby, waiting to hear back from High Command. Aril and Saia stood on either side of him, both women wearing their full kits, helmets on, weapons in their hands. The three Star Citadels had already departed, though not before Nalyra had insisted on giving Tor’laen a Zakkili security detail. Remembering the glare she had given High Command when they balked at the idea of it still brought a smile to his face. They had wisely backed down.

The trio was not alone in the small lobby. Sarrek and Raela were both present, waiting for their fleets to be refueled and resupplied before they set off to secure their designated world. Raela was sitting quietly in the corner, reading through what appeared to be an intelligence briefing, while Sarrek stood across the room from Tor’laen. He had settled for merely giving the two Armswomen dirty looks and scowls, apparently wise enough to not mouth off to women holding SMGs and wearing body armor.

The absence of Nalyra at the edge of Tor’laen’s thoughts was an unpleasant sensation for the Ydani. He had grown accustomed to the constant flickers of her presence over their Bridge, and the small bursts of amusement or affection that brushed his mind at times. Now there was only silence. He knew she was safe aboard the Aegis, but the knowledge did little to make the absence more comfortable.

“Shield Consort!” High Matron Avena came hurrying down the corridor, a set of tablets clutched in her arms as always. Saia and Aril saluted as the woman drew close. “You requested my help?”

“I did indeed, Emissary,” he replied. “It seems as if I am to give a public speech on my views about the integration effort. It is to be broadcast across the planet, then the entire system afterward.”

“A speech?” The woman’s eyes widened. “It seems a somewhat…risky approach. Please forgive me, Shield Consort, but you do not seem to be the type for public speaking.”

“In that, we are in agreement,” Tor’laen chuckled.

Across the room, Sarrek made a small noise of disdain, apparently at the sight of Tor’laen getting along with the Zakkili woman. Avena glanced back at him.

“That is…?”

“Captain Sarrek,” Tor’laen said quietly. “He leads one of the Outrunner Fleets in orbit. As you perhaps can tell, he does not think fondly of your people.”

Avena closed her eyes for a long moment and took a deep breath, maybe gathering her thoughts.

“He seems the epitome of what we must overcome to make this integration successful,” she said, opening her eyes and glancing at the man once more.

Perhaps Sarrek could sense they were talking about him, and the man gave a low growl, before turning and stalking away.

“He has his orders,” Tor’laen said, watching him depart. He was vaguely aware of Raela’s eyes on him, but the woman said nothing. “And I have a speech to give, apparently.”

“Yes.” Avena gave him a sheepish grin. “Let us see if we cannot pull something from behind our ears and make this a success.”

Tor’laen mounted the steps of the stage, aware of the myriad of eyes fixed upon him. The entire setup — the stage, its podium, and the large displays on either side — had been hastily erected while he had been finalizing his speech. In addition, Ydani honor guards stood at each corner of the stage, stiffly at attention. All told, the preparations had been completed in only around a bell since the departure of the Citadels. Ydani military efficiency at its finest, he supposed.

The Shield Consort could feel his pulse rising as he approached the podium, flanked by Saia and Aril. He was far too experienced to let his nerves show outwardly, but his stomach currently felt like it was tying itself into a knot. However, he was ready.

He and Avena had gone over his speech several times, the High Matron helping him organize what he would say. The words still came from his heart, but she had been instrumental in smoothing them out.

The biggest sticking point had been the language. Avena had proposed giving his speech in Zakkili, his strongest tongue now, and letting the translation software do its work, but Tor’laen refused. He would give the address in one of the languages of his people, on that he would not budge. It had taken some time and effort to fill the few gaps in his Hylec, but he felt confident after his preparations. His words would still be translated in Ydanic on the screens, though, for those in the audience not as fluent in Hylec.

Tor’laen stepped up to the podium. He looked out over the vast crowd of his people. A small part of him had hoped he would be speaking in front of a smaller crowd, that the abruptness of the announcement would limit the number of Ydani able to attend. No such luck. He shouldn’t be surprised, looking back — he was the face of the integration, as High Command had said.

Though most of the crowd’s gazes were fixed upon him, he noted more than a few straying to the Armswomen on either side of him. Both women were standing in parade rest, their weapons hanging from their shoulders by their slings.

His eye traveled over the crowd. It was time. The massive displays on either side of the stage switched on, each one of them being fed by a camera trained on him.

“And yet, light shall always shine once more,” Tor’laen started in Tali’nev, opening with the common prayer. Murmurs of the same phrase floated back to him, as some of the crowd repeated the words.

“Soldiers, citizens. People of Ydan and all its worlds,” he began, switching to Hylec. A ripple of surprise passed through the crowd, but Tor’laen pushed ahead. “Many of you know who I am. My name is Tor’laen, and I am the former Captain of an Outrunner Fleet.” A surge of whispered conversations reached his ears.

Tor’laen gave the crowd a moment to absorb the information, then continued.

“As you can tell, I am speaking to you in Hylec on this day. Some of you may have heard rumors, but I am here to tell you directly: I can no longer speak nor understand Ydanic.” He could almost feel the shock and disbelief surge through the crowd.

“Several months ago, at the order of High Command, I made contact with the Zakkili, and surrendered myself into their custody, with the goal of facilitating negotiations between our peoples. During that process, I was brought before the leader of their Monarchy, and their Queen used her mental powers to replace my native tongue with that of the Zakkili.”

That got a reaction. More than a few cries of fear and outrage broke through the expected discipline of a Ydani crowd. Tor’laen held up a hand, waiting until the crowd calmed.

“I know that many of you hate or fear the Zakkili, and even those who do not remain wary. I am not here today to tell you that you are foolish or unreasonable for doing so. But I do ask that you not let those feelings blind you. Over the past months, I have met numerous friendly, trustworthy men and women among the Zakkili. Many of whom I would be proud to call my brothers and sisters-in-arms.” Tor’laen felt the words surging through him, his earlier nerves nearly forgotten. “Recently, an operation that I led was broadcast throughout the system. I am sure that many here saw it. Zakkili soldiers, fighting side by side with our marines. Risking life and limb to save innocent lives, both Ydani and Zakkili, with nary a single thanks promised in return. And yet they did so. The two women standing behind me now were with me then, and I was proud to fight by their sides.”

Tor’laen paused for a few breaths, letting the crowd digest his words once more. Many gazes were on Saia and Aril now. Gazes of interest, or curiosity, he hoped.

“And that brings me to the question which, I suspect, weighs most heavily upon many of you. The question of our surrender.” Another ripple ran through the crowd at the word. “I will not stand here and feed you fanciful tales of a utopian egalitarian partnership. We Ydani know well the need for control and command. We understand that we must follow orders, that we must serve when called upon. However, whether that is High Command issuing decrees to our worlds, or another power above them doing so, does that determine who we are as a people?” he asked, scanning the crowd, as if looking at each and every Ydani present.

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“I know that many fear enslavement, or worse, at the hands of the Monarchy. I ask you, has such a thing begun? For over a month, a warship of overwhelming power has sat in orbit of Ydan, and recently it was joined by two more of its brethren. Even with all our ships together we would be unable to match them in battle. Have they descended upon our cities, our worlds, to conquer and enslave us? Again, I am not asking you to forget your fears and blindly embrace the Monarchy, but to simply judge them on the actions they have taken, and continue to do so.”

Tor’laen tightened his grip on the podium, taking a deep breath.

“For nearly two hundred years, our High Command has guided our people down a necessary path. And yet, I must put the question to you: is that path still our only option? We defeated the Cal’raz, we claimed peace with the courage and sacrifice of our men and women, and for what? To be endlessly preparing for the next enemy? Our soldiers training constantly for a foe they might never fight? Our citizens spending their whole lives to provide for a war machine with no war to wage? Can we not consider another way?”

An almost pensive mood had settled over the crowd, and Tor’laen steeled himself. The last part of the speech would be the most difficult for him to give.

“And finally,” he started, his voice low. “There remains the question of myself. I know what some whisper about me. Traitor. Puppet. Servant of the enemy. I know how I must look.” He brushed the crest embroidered over his breast with his fingers. “And yet, I offer you another way to consider these circumstances. When I surrendered to the Zakkili, I was effectively stripped of my rank and position. For the first time in fifty years, I was not Captain Tor’laen, but merely Citizen Tor’laen.” He let a wry smile touch his face. “I thought that would be my fate for the rest of my days. Quietly wasting away without the chance to ever use the skills and experience I had spent a lifetime cultivating. A political prisoner.” He waited for a moment, trying to build a little tension in his audience.

“And yet, it was not to be. The Zakkili learned of my service, my history. They offered me a place to fight alongside them. Across the Monarchy, I fought side by side with Zakkili soldiers, against terrorists and kidnappers. Against mercenaries and drones. And they saw my skills, my value. Before long I was once again given troops to lead, given authority to give orders in battle.” He slammed a fist on the podium. “So that, my fellow soldiers, is not something you should fear! You will not be disarmed, forced to give up the military life that has shaped you thus far! You will fight alongside the best of the Monarchy, should you wish. Your new duties will take you across its breadth, to new planets and sights, helping keep the peace and defend the innocent.”

He paused once more, before softening his voice.

“And to those who are not soldiers, the Monarchy has much to offer you, as well. The freedom to travel, the freedom to explore just who and what you want to be, not only what you are told to be. The freedom to choose. To try. To fail. To learn and succeed.”

“Over the past few months, I have seen sights, eaten food, talked to other races that I would have never dreamed possible. Our citizenship will extend to something far greater than our home system. The void will have its gates opened before you.”

“That is the reward you will reap. That is what this surrender shall buy for you. That is why I personally believe, by all the Light within, this is what is best for our people.”

Tor’laen fell silent, dropping his gaze, making it obvious that his speech was finished. There was no burst of applause, no cheers or cries of anger. Only hundreds of eyes fixed on him. Hundreds of minds likely contemplating what he had just said.

Perhaps that was all he could hope for, for now.

Tor’laen slowly walked the halls of the capital complex, Saia and Aril trailing in his wake. The Shield Consort felt strangely restless. Unmoored, perhaps. After completing his speech, he had been ushered back into the secure section of the building, but then given no new orders. He had simply sat in the waiting lobby for half a bell, before the lack of purpose and direction had become too much. And so, he wandered the halls he had once known so well, occasionally nodding a greeting to passing officers or staff.

“You doing okay there, Tor’laen?” Saia finally asked, after they had completed their third circuit of the main building.

He half-turned, glancing back at the Armswoman.

“I…am not sure, Saia.” The Ydani shook his head. “I do not like this waiting, this inactivity.”

“Yeah, I get it,” Aril put in from his other side. “The Aegis is out there, maybe even engaging the enemy, and we’re here doing…nothing. It makes my mindthreads itchy.”

“An astute way to word it.” Tor’laen managed a chuckle.

“At least you managed to give your big speech, right?” Saia gave him a thumbs up.

“Yes…I suppose I did.”

Perhaps that was another reason for his discomfort. He had stood before his people and spoken with absolute conviction, even when some of his reassurances rested more upon hope than certainty. He believed in integration, truly believed his people needed it. But there were still too many questions about the Monarchy, too many things he simply could not promise. Either way, it was already too late to turn back. All he could do is trust in his wife, and that she would do everything in her power to help his people.

The three walked for another mark before a voice called out to them.

“Tor’laen, son, there you are!” Korr’taen hurried toward the trio, the usual grin still on his face. “How was the speech? It went well?”

“I honestly do not know, Commander,” Tor’laen replied, saluting the man as he drew close. “I was able to say what I believe and present the arguments I wanted. How the people take it remains to be seen.”

“Such is the life of a politician,” the commander gave a self-deprecating chuckle. “So much time spent trying to phrase things perfectly, and then you’re left with no idea of their effect. Not even close to the satisfaction from executing a successful stratagem, yeah?”

“I cannot disagree,” Tor’laen said, allowing himself a small smile.

“Come on, son.” Korr’taen clapped the Shield Consort on the back, and steered him in the direction of the war room. “Let’s at least be among the first to hear back from our Zakkili friends on the safety of our worlds.”

Tor’laen had nothing better to do, so he let himself be guided, his Armswomen escort following the pair.

The group moved past the pair of guards stationed at the entrance to the room, Korr’taen waving off the Ydani security. Tor’laen didn’t miss the concerned glances the guards exchanged at the sight of the Armswomen, but the men said nothing.

The war room was fully manned by officers and other personnel, but it felt strangely quiet to Tor’laen. There was little conversation between the communications officers, most keeping their heads down, buried in their work. Maybe the situation was simply making everyone tense, more so than usual.

Korr’taen moved to speak quietly with a pair of lieutenants by the holotable at the center of the room, leaving Tor’laen to do as he’d like. The Shield Consort took a slow lap around the room. He had never spent much time here in the past, generally receiving briefings and orders aboard his ship rather than descending to the surface of Ydan. Simply more efficient to do it that way.

Tor’laen passed a table with a series of tablets on it. Eyeing one, he could see it was currently displaying one of the recent intelligence reports, likely from the current crisis. A part of him balked at the flagrant disregard for operational security. Then again, Korr’taen had personally brought him into the war room, and no one seemed particularly concerned by his presence. Perhaps the old commander still regarded him as someone who could be trusted with such information.

Mildly interested, Tor’laen picked up the tablet, tapping a few commands to change the language into Hylec, the Ydanic script resolving into readable text. His eye roved over the intelligence report, his face settling into a frown. It was a record of the failed communications with one of the renegade Outrunner Fleets. True to what Tor’laen had heard, there were increasingly urgent orders for the fleet to return communications, and not a single response received in return. An odd chill settled over the Shield Consort. Something was not right here, his instincts were screaming at him. These were similar transmissions as the ones he had received thousands of times during his years commanding his fleet, and yet...

Perhaps it was just seeing the once familiar words in Hylec that was throwing him off.

He was setting the tablet down, prepared to write off the feeling as just paranoia, when his gaze went to the top of the device's screen. Tor’laen could only stare, not believing what he was seeing. He quickly grabbed another tablet from the table, switching it to Hylec and finding more failed communications, this time with the other missing fleet. He glanced at the top of the screen.

“What…what is this?” The words escaped him, louder than he intended.

It caught Korr’taen’s attention, and the commander moved to his side, his face quizzical.

“Is something the matter, Captain?”

“These…these authentication codes. For the missing Outrunner Fleets. They are incorrect.”

“Incorrect?”

“Yes. I’ve used the codes for interfleet communication countless times. I could recite them in my sleep. And these are not the right codes.”

Korr’taen’s brow furrowed, his expression turning serious, his eyes full of confusion.

“And just…what does that mean, Captain?”

Tor’laen slowly set the tablet down, his hand trembling the slightest bit.

“It means that the missing fleets never received any of these orders. Without the proper codes, their computers would have purged them automatically.” He glanced at the commander, his eye wide. “They might not be renegades at all.”