The Shape of Surrender

“Those smooth-tongued, rot-minded, honorless snakes!” Nalyra hissed, jabbing a finger into the panel of her cabin’s door. As soon as the door slid open, she stormed inside, fists clenched at her sides. Tor’laen followed her in, closing the door behind him with a touch.

“They are lucky I still have the decency to allow them to preserve their worthless pride and arrogance! The fools should thank the Maker that I do not simply petition the High Fortress to void every last one of their petty contracts. Let us see how High their House would be if they could not even afford to pay their servants a decent wage! Then let us see them maintain this trivial defiance.”

Tor’laen sat down on his cot, watching as Nalyra angrily paced the length of the cabin. Even through her wall, her rage and frustration lapped at his mind, the emotions hot but not scalding, at least not when they weren’t directed at him.

It turned out that these Houses could indeed stonewall a pair of Crown Daughters.

After leaving the planet’s capital complex, they visited the local branch of High House Freika, where the House coordinated shipments and payment with the shipyards. The reception there had been…less than ideal, in Tor’laen’s eyes, and that was probably putting it far too lightly.

Oh yes, the Freika representatives had been very polite and very deferential, but that had been about it. Smooth-tongued was an apt description, in his opinion. Getting a straight answer from them seemed like trying to grasp sunlight with one’s bare hand. When Nalyra had finally brought the conversation around to the newest round of surcharges and tariffs, the senior representative had launched into a very long-winded explanation of steel and tungsten market volatility, her delivery flawless. And that was just the beginning of their deflections.

Convenient interruptions, smooth changes of topic, questions dodged with the thinnest layer of justification…yes, the representatives had been quite skilled at social maneuvering. That’s not to say that the Crown Daughter wasn’t, but in this case, Freika had the much firmer position, despite the power that Nalyra carried.

The entire visit had been an exercise in frustration, which was clearly reflected in the Crown Daughter’s current mood. To make matters worse, it seemed Zikara hadn’t had much more luck with House Tekelli, judging by the message Tor’laen had received from Queni’la.

Nalyra had lapsed into angry muttering by now, still pacing the room, shoulders rigid with fury. He had to admire her control. On the shuttle ride back from the planet’s surface, she had been the perfect picture of royal control. He doubted a single Armswoman with them had noticed anything awry. That left Tor’laen, sitting next to the Crown Daughter, able to feel the molten heat of her fury through their Bridge, boiling far below the surface.

“Nalyra,” he dared to call her name, his voice soft. He wasn’t sure how she might react — he had never seen her this furious before.

At the sound of his call, Nalyra spun on her heel, marching right over to him. Outwardly calm, Tor’laen internally braced himself, not sure if he was about to be lectured, scolded, yelled at, or perhaps some combination of the three.

His surprise was complete when she simply heaved herself up onto his cot, and sat next to him, only a few inches separating them. The Crown Daughter folded her arms tightly, now glaring at the opposite wall.

“Uh—” he started, not quite sure what the proper move was with this board state.

“Tor’laen. Silence.” She commanded it without looking up at him. Her arm was now lightly brushing his.

Fighting the urge to shrug, the Ydani simply sat there, joining his partner in staring down the other side of the cabin.

The situation felt oddly familiar.

His mind went back, far back to the days when he still lived in his family’s home. His sister had been a capricious child, and it had often fallen to him to calm her down when she was throwing a tantrum. The vague memory of how he had done so seemed to bubble up from within.

Almost without realizing he was doing so, Tor’laen lifted a hand, and gently started to rub Nalyra’s back. The velvet-like material of her clothing let his fingers smoothly slide up and down the line of the smaller woman’s spine.

The Crown Daughter stiffened, and for a breath Tor’laen thought she would snap at him, but the Crown Daughter simply leaned back into his hand, her rigid shoulders loosening.

The Ydani didn’t speak, not wanting to break the spell. Soon, Nalyra’s eyes were closed, her breathing more steady. The molten rage that had been brushing against him gradually ebbed away.

“This was an…unfortunate setback,” Nalyra said slowly, her eyes still closed. “I had not expected Freika to be so well-prepared.”

“They were certainly unpleasant,” mumbled Tor’laen, as he continued to rub her back.

“And confident. It tells me that they have done their research on the situation,” the Crown Daughter sighed. “This will not be an easy egg to crack.”

Nalyra pulled slightly away from his hand, letting him know that she had regained her poise. He let his hand slide down onto the cot.

“What are our next steps?”

“We must approach this from another angle, I would think,” Nalyra said, her face thoughtful.

“Flank them, rather than slam our horns directly into their defenses,” Tor’laen offered, the idiom seeming to amuse the Crown Daughter.

“Something of that nature, yes.”

For a few breaths, Nalyra rested a hand on the Ydani’s thigh, her touch soft and light. A feeling of quiet gratitude wound its way into his mind, the emotion cool and soothing after the heat of her earlier rage.

Before he could respond, a soft chime alerted the pair that someone was at the door.

“Nalyra. I request permission to enter,” Vessa’s voice came from the door’s speaker.

“Granted. Come in, Vess.” Nalyra slid off of the cot, moving toward the entrance of the room, Tor’laen following behind her.

The door slid open, revealing the Admiral, still in her uniform, her arms full. The woman stepped through, and Nalyra closed the door behind her.

“My apologies, Nalyra. I’m afraid tonight I must, as Mikka would say, talk shop.” Vessa gave a rueful grin. “However, I did bring a peace offering.” She raised her right hand, displaying a bottle of wine.

The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

Nalyra’s gaze, though, went to the woman’s left arm, a familiar looking box tucked under it. Tor’laen saw the mildly incredulous expression spread across the Crown Daughter’s face.

Vessa must have also noticed her gaze.

“Nalyra, I spent bells filling out the frankly absurd amount of forms and documents required for Tor’laen to become a Shield Consort. I demand visitation rights.” She gestured with the Dominion box in the Ydani's direction, the pieces rattling around inside. “Besides, none of the girls on the ship can give me a decent challenge these days.”

“You two and that ridiculous game of yours.” Nalyra gave a mock sigh. “This is your fault, Tor’laen, and I expect you to keep my Admiral entertained.” The Crown Daughter took the bottle of wine from the woman, sweeping back into the main part of her cabin.

“With pleasure, Nalyra,” Tor’laen said wryly, accepting the proffered box from the Admiral. “Shall we get started, Vessa?”

“Of course, Consort.” She grinned.

“As usual, you do not disappoint, Tor’laen,” Vessa muttered as she looked closely at the wonderfully complex position he had just put her in on the board.

Vessa had developed into a solidly defensive Dominion player, from what Tor’laen had seen from the Admiral playing against other members of the crew. She generally controlled the board and slowly encroached on her opponent’s territory, forcing them to exhaust their resources before she made any major plays. Unfortunately for her, it was a style that Tor’laen was well-acquainted with, having become wildly popular just a few years prior among the Ydani when the strategy dominated a few major inter-planetary tournaments in a row.

So Tor’laen was keeping his plastic fleet mobile, harrying the thinner parts of her defenses, and forcing her to over commit during small engagements. Currently, she was looking at a choice between losing the defenses around either of her colonies, depending on which one she committed to defending.

“He is quite impressive at the game, isn’t he?” Nalyra asked dryly, commenting from the armchair she was lounging in at the side of the board. The Crown Daughter was now in her nightgown once more, her complex hairstyle dismantled, the black strands of her hair falling about her back and side. It was…more than a little distracting for Tor’laen, the thin material and minimal design of the gown leaving far less of her figure to the imagination than her normal attire.

“I’ve been playing this game since around the time I learned to read,” he said, grinning at the Zakkili women. “That’s almost…” He paused for a moment, doing the math in his head. “Nearly seventy-five years of your Zakkili calendar. I think it would be more odd if I wasn’t proficient at it.”

He said it lightly, as a joke, but looked up from the game board to find the two women staring at him.

“Tor’laen…you mean to tell me you’re nearly eighty years old?” Vessa asked slowly.

“Eighty-two, actually, by your years.” He shrugged. “Just entering middle age.”

“Middle age?” Nalyra repeated, her voice incredulous. “What, do Ydani live to be two hundred years old?”

“Give or take a couple decades.” He reached to take a sip of his wine. “Don’t you Zakkili live about the same?”

“Well, yes, but that was something we considered…unique to Zakkili. The only other race that comes close is the Aurelai, and they generally make it to about one hundred and fifty. At least, naturally, that is,” Vessa explained.

“No, more than that, I had no idea that you were roughly double my age,” Nalyra pouted.

“Does it bother you?” Tor’laen raised an eyebrow at her. “I assumed you could tell I wasn’t exactly in the Early Harvest of my youth.”

Nalyra considered the idea for a long moment.

“I suppose it does not,” she acquiesced. “Age rarely plays that large a role in Zakkili unions, after all.”

“As I’ve come to expect, our former guest is full of surprises,” Vessa chuckled. “Also, I’m firing on your ships here, Tor’laen.”

“Mmhm. Start rolling the dice, Vessa.”

The Admiral did so, her torpedo cruisers launching an imaginary salvo of projectiles at his fleet. The Ydani had been well-prepared, though, his point defense frigates in perfect position to intercept the missiles. Vessa clicked her tongue in mild frustration as only a single torpedo made it through his defenses, causing light damage to one of his destroyers.

“So Vess…” Nalyra began. “What was that about talking shop?”

“Ah, yes. Good point, Lyra,” the Admiral muttered, clearly recalculating her approach to his fleet. “The salvage teams returned to the Aegis shortly before you did, after completing their assignment.”

“And?”

“These were not surplus or refurbished ships, not by a long shot.” Vessa glanced up at her friend. “Modern components, cutting-edge electronics…even clearly military-grade weapons systems, according to Nivi.”

“The notion of piracy grows ever more unbelievable,” Nalyra muttered, swirling the wine in her glass.

“Indeed.” Vessa slid a few ships across the board. “The decisive find, though, was an intact data core we managed to pull from the cruiser we smashed into pieces. It was quite the fortunate discovery.”

“What did it contain?” Tor’laen asked, leaning forward slightly.

“The software and files were the exact kind that a PMC would use — modular encryption, editable combat credentials, the works,” Vessa said quietly. “However, they had been carefully wiped, even before the battle was joined, to show no signs of which PMC they belonged to.”

“Of course they were.” Nalyra leaned back in her armchair, blowing a sigh of frustration.

Tor’laen’s gaze flicked between the two Zakkili.

“I’m afraid I’m missing something. Just what does that mean?”

“It means,” Nalyra began, her eyes closed. “That this just became far more complicated.”

Nonplussed, Tor’laen turned his gaze to the Admiral.

“Whoever was behind this likely planned for us to find this evidence, or at least kept it in mind as a contingency.” Vessa drummed her fingers on the table. “This was a false flag operation from the start.”

“False flag?” the Ydani repeated, confused.

“You aren’t familiar with the term?” Vessa asked, and he shook his head. “Understandable. It’s an ancient phrase, from our age of ocean-sailing ships. It means whoever did this wanted us to think it was pirates, and perhaps discover that it was perpetrated by PMCs after the fact. Who do you think would want Kelran to be attacked by ‘pirates’?”

“House Freika,” Tor’laen answered without hesitation. “If they can prove the KPDF is under-prepared or under-supplied, it would be a huge blow against House Tekelli.”

Vessa gave him a smirk.

“Precisely. But what if Tekelli wanted us to come to that exact conclusion, and ordered the attack themselves?”

Tor’laen reeled back in his seat. He would never have considered that possibility. It was a concerning theory — striking against one’s own interests to frame another group for the act. This was not just battlefield deception…it was politics, spending lives for eventual benefits. A slight feeling of nausea spread throughout him.

“I…do not like this line of thinking,” he admitted, folding his arms.

“In that, we are aligned, Tor’laen,” Nalyra interjected, still leaning back in her armchair, eyes still closed.

“So both Houses are suspicious, then.” Tor’laen frowned, moving his fleet toward the planet Vessa had opted to sacrifice. “Where does that leave us?”

“With the PMCs,” Nalyra answered without hesitation. “We shall conduct a thorough investigation into the private military companies affiliated with each House.”

“I assumed that would be your order, Lyra.” Vessa nodded. “I already have the intelligence team combing through the public filings and transactions of each PMC.”

“Excellent,” the Crown Daughter purred. “Indispensable as always, Vess.”

“I do try my best.”

The Admiral grinned at Nalyra, only for her smile to falter as her eyes returned to the game board.

“Oh no…” she muttered, leaning down for a closer look at the Ydani’s fleet formations. “I recognize this positioning. You have a subspace dive card, don’t you?”

“A trap well-recognized, yet sprung nonetheless,” Tor’laen said with a grin, revealing one of the cards in his hand. Vessa gave a small groan as the Ydani moved his entire fleet within spitting distance of her homeworld.

“That’s the game, I would think.” The Admiral gave a rueful sigh. “Well played, Tor’laen.”

“You as well, Vessa. You’ve improved quite a bit.”

Tor’laen shook the Zakkili’s hand, smiling at his opponent. From the corner of his gaze, he noticed Nalyra watching him, her grin predatory, her eyes glittering with pride and possessiveness.