The final tally came in. Twenty warships survived the battle. Fifty-four home ships survived. Three navigation ships remained, and one archive ship. Beyond that, we had two production ships. Our losses were severe. We did not have the ability to build ships. Our production and repair capabilities could be counted on one hand. We no longer had the right to call ourselves an armada.

Losses are always personal. Every one of us lost someone, but there was no time to grieve. In the rotations following the battle, life in the fleet was a hectic race to arm our home ships, repair, maintain, and take stock. People spoke when it was necessary; laughter was not heard among us, but sometimes, in the late quiet that followed the fatigue of hard work and long turns, weeping crept from our rooms and roamed the hallways like ghosts.

I could not sit for long. Inactivity made time for thought and thinking always brought me back to tears. I lost the love of my life; Zotha was gone. My best friend, Rigil, had not survived. Bollate was gone. Oobulublay was gone. The imagined struggles of their final moments terrified me. The worst of it for me was the loss of an entire race. The Roa’h Dow Shirah had been destroyed. The Kee population had been decimated. Only a handful remained on the Seed Ship, and Lamet was not among them.

I sat in the situation room aboard the Tristow, awaiting the arrival of General Taush and General Cedetra, my mind a blank. When they finally arrived, it was as if they burst into the room. Startled, I arose. Their uniforms were immaculate. Without speaking, they walked to the table, ordered their caps and folders, then sat. Cedetra was a dog-headed Axerri. His pointed muzzle and penetrating eyes presented a menacing aspect. I seated myself beside Taush and waited quietly while they leafed through folder pages.

Cedetra spoke first as one with a lisp. “We have no legal system. For the time, we will appoint those best qualified to serve under you. The Judges and the Council of Elders are gone. With the King’s permission, myself, General Taush, and some under our immediate command will act in their Stead.”

I nodded. I felt that every word they spoke would only be the tireless inundation of bad news. I steadied myself and steeled my flagging will to let the storm wash over me. All of us had our personal struggles. Each of us needed to find the fortitude to make it through. As a battered people, we knew that every individual was required to drop the I and embrace the We.

Taush had been thumbing through his folder as Cedetra spoke. He closed his folder and turned to look me in the eye. “There are just under five thousand cycle nines, eights, and moleculars. Food stores have been collected and are being rationed. Planting and raising livestock are now a priority. The GM is at ninety percent capacity.”

A knock sounded from the door; Taush paused. A uniformed angel entered, walked to Taush, and handed him a sheet of new information. The angel left, and the room was quiet as Taush read the information to himself. He then passed the sheet to Cedetra and turned back to me.

“43S7,” said Taush, “is the only med-tech remaining. There are no Oliphareans left among us. Medical supplies and equipment are wanting, but our production personnel are putting in extra turns under his supervision.”

Cedetra spoke up. “Our angels and techs are stretched thin, however, our progress is acceptable. With your permission, we would like to stop for a small ceremony within the next rotation. A time of reflection and silent respect for those we have lost.”

I nodded again. “Yes,” I said. “Of course.”

Cedetra stood, donned his cap, and saluted. With his folder beneath one arm, Cedetra said, “I will take my leave.”

Taush and I stood with Cedetra; when the door closed behind him, Taush turned and took my arm in a strong grip. I looked into his eyes.

“Find a way to pull yourself together,” he said.

He dropped my arm, took up his cap and folder, turned, and left. I narrowed my eyes on his departure. I hated his words, but I could not fault his logic. Did he cry when he was alone? I doubted it. Still, his losses were no less real than mine. No longer a proud armada, we were survivors, hurt and scared. We were a huddle of raw trauma in need of purpose. As King, that fell to me. For direction and purpose, they would drain my very essence. They would suck me dry like a tick in a tender spot I could not reach. How I needed the arms of my lost Zotha!

I shifted to my dome on the Seed Ship. I screamed through the bubble, venting into the red Esthos. I screamed a second time and a third. I drove my fist into the hard clear material of my prison. I shifted to the garden and fell to my knees. There, I wept. I felt as though my tears kept pace with the falls. I trembled beneath the weight of loss and expectation. As I leaned into the sand and wiped my eyes, I noticed that my knuckles bled. My turmoil was summed up in the drop of blood I saw in the sand.

I arose absently and walked to the trees. They were connected side by side. I placed a hand over Odum. He knew neither pain nor loss. I rested my hand over Ava whose spirit knew no turmoil. I placed my hand on Nimrod’s tree. A soul imprisoned for most of my life. Had I taken his place?

I said quietly, “I envy your peace.”

Shifting to my quarters, I sat heavily before my node and spoke to the Great Mind. “GM.”

“Your Majesty,” came the answer.

Massaging my eyes, I said, “Summon Wiznchour to my apartment.”

I was on my couch when the navigator entered and stood clasping his hands together. I stood and walked to him.

His voice betrayed the stress he was under when he hailed me. “Your Majesty.”

I spoke without preamble. “Is there a way to determine where we are in the Esthos?”

He blinked as he thought. “There is,” he answered.

“Tell me where the Seed Planet is,” I commanded. “Use all your resources. I need a way to move forward.”

“At once, Your Majesty.” Wiznchour turned without saluting and left.

I sat at my node and brought up images of the Esthos. I used external sensors to pan around my ship. Nothing I saw gave me a sense of direction. All that I saw confused the eye. There was no left or right, no up, no down. I ended the image and closed my eyes; I saw red. When I opened my eyes, I was no longer at my node. I had shifted without clear intent.

I was not alarmed to find myself sitting on the outer hull of the Seed Ship. I sensed no danger other than floating away from the ship. I took a breath and discovered atmosphere. It was foul but breathable. I shifted back to my node and stood.

“GM,” I commanded. “Analyze external elements.”

The answer returned immediately. “Twenty percent oxygen; seventy-seven percent nitrogen; two percent sulfur dioxide, and trace amounts of methane, argon, and carbon dioxide.”

I stepped from my apartment to find the door guards absent. I gave it no thought, I had no need of them. I walked to the GUF, kicked off my sandals, and sat on the floor. I touched the large orb, with no thought of what I might say. To be honest, I felt too guilty to speak. Could I have done more, acted with greater speed? It was obvious that my brother had taken advantage of his many revolutions apart from us to prepare.

My father’s voice came to me in my shame. “Forgive all but your brother. Receive them with open arms.”

I looked up to find Khamuel standing beside me. “Did you hear that?” I asked. He nodded.

Khamuel seemed sad. He had lost many comrades. In the rotations following our bitter defeat, Khamuel had worked in a tireless manner, silently shouldering his loss. I had no words of comfort to offer; I was as hollow as every other soul.

“Report,” I said.

Khamuel straightened and spoke. “Most are busy. There is progress. Some have refused to work. We are holding them in Hope on General Cedetra’s orders. No work, no meals.”

I asked, “How many?”

“Twelve,” he answered. “One is a cycle ten.”

I stood and stepped into my sandals. “Take me to them,” I said.

Hope bustled with quiet but fervent labor. When Khamuel and I reached Hope, I went to the fountain and sat. I ordered Khamuel, “Bring them to me.”

The twelve were broken, but not beyond repair. I would encourage them. Perhaps my words would reach even me. Father’s command was fresh in my mind; his words were a warm comfort to me. There weren’t so many of us left that we could afford to be unkind.

The twelve approached, surrounded by armed angels. Their manner was downcast and beaten. They shuffled with heads lowered. “Sit,” I said. “Guards, bring food.”

As the four angels went to get food, Khamuel, an intimidating figure, stood over the group. I observed the prisoners, they were too afraid to look up. Five were Huim, three were Axerri, and four were Kee.

I stood and said, “Look at me.”

The last to look up was an Axerri with a bird’s head, and he did so at the prodding of Khamuel’s boot. I walked back and forth, peering directly into their eyes to hold their attention; a trick I had learned from father’s personal memories.

I said, “All of us must work.”

The Axerri with the head of a bird asked in a hopeless voice, “What’s the point?”

I countered. “Look beside you; the one next to you is the point. If you will not work for yourself, work for a fellow survivor.” I paced to let my words sink in. Faces bowed in shame; I commanded, “Look at me! Do not look away. We are not beaten. We survive. Life calls to us, and only the dead have the luxury not to answer.”

One of the Kee who knelt on the front line suddenly prostrated himself. He cried pitifully, “Timbol is scared.”

With that, the other three prostrated themselves and wept. One of them said, “Family dead.” Another said, “Lamet gone.”

I knelt before them and said softly, “Look at me.” When they looked up, I said, “Lamet was dear to me. I miss him more than I can say. All of us have lost the ones we love, but we still have each other.”

I saw the angels returning with baskets of food. I stood by the fountain as the Kee wiped their faces on their arms. I waited for the angels to place the baskets and watched as the hungry captives ate.

The bird-headed Axerri said, “I am cycle ten.”

I answered, “Come and sit beside me.” We sat on the fountain, and I asked, “What is your name?”

He said, “I am Tuva.”

I watched Khamuel step away and listen to his headset. I said for all to hear, “I will not punish you for your doubts and fears. Bring them to me. Work for the survivor next to you, and I will work for all of you.” Khamuel motioned to me with his head. I stood and concluded. “Eat. Rest. Work. We need each other now more than ever.”

Khamuel dismissed the angels, took my arm, and drew me away from the group. He spoke for my ears only. “Two new ships have appeared. The Generals call you to the Tristow.”

I said to Khamuel, “If there are any in holding on other ships, release them. Feed them, and encourage them.” With a nod, Khamuel walked away.

I took a breath and shifted to the Tristow. I entered the situation room to find five Generals in animated discussion. They watched the large wall screen that displayed the red Esthos. At a distance were two bright specks of light. The screen displayed scrolling hash, and the distant ships were encircled by green markers. I cleared my throat for attention. Taush turned to see me.

General Taush called loudly, “Your Majesty,” and saluted. One by one the other Generals followed suit. I clasped my hands before me and waited.

Taush and Cedetra walked around the table to flank me. “Sit,” said Cedetra. “Sit, everyone.”

With Cedetra seated to my left and Taush seated to my right, I was introduced to the three Generals that sat across from me. General Karnac was an Axerri with eagle eyes. He sported no other animal features. His short brown hair seemed to stand on end. General Chisisi was Huim. His deep eyes spoke of the recent battle and the deaths he had witnessed.  General Eesho was also Huim. His barrel chest reminded me of my father.

It was General Eesho who stood and gave me the information. Pointing to the screen, Eesho said, “The two marked ships appeared within the last half turn. They have neither moved nor hailed.”

I asked the obvious question. “Are they the enemy?”

Eesho answered. “They are not.”

I asked, “So, they’re ours?”

Eesho answered. “Uncertain.”

I turned to look at General Taush. He said, “They are of recognizable fleet parameters, however, the GM can not identify them by ship code.”

“Any thoughts?” I asked the Generals.

Karnac stood as Eesho seated himself. Karnac spoke in a rumbling deep voice. “One thought, Your Majesty. They are the Jarjatra and the Aljara. Ship coding was among the stripped functions.”

I asked, “But you left King’s coding intact?”

Karnac answered with a straight face. “Yes, Your Majesty. King’s coding is deeply nested. There was no way to predict our present calamity.”

I sat back and placed my hands on my head in absolute astonishment. The Jarjatra and the Aljara were the two Alhii cargo ships in which the Alhii had been exiled. They were long tubular constructs with hexagonal sides. The ships had been refitted with housing and supplied with rations for those under cycle ten. I looked at General Taush in amazement.

I asked the unfinished question, “That means?”

Taush answered, “Yes, Your Majesty. Your mother and sister have returned.”