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"Mitsuharu!" Kosho cupped his pale, worn face with her hands. "That was nine months ago! We've been living on dregs and scraping from system to system…" She drew back, comprehension slowly dawning in her face. Her expression softened minutely. "What did the orders say?"

"We had a good ship," Hadeishi said, eyes distant, staring through her at the overhead. "A good crew. All these years of training and learning how to act as one…moving so smoothly, so effortlessly, without the slightest hesitation…the best crew I've ever had. A fine ship."

"Mitsuharu," Susan tried to catch his eye. "What did the orders say?"

"They were…we were recalled to Toroson to deco mmission the Cornuelle, Susan. They were going to break her up, use her for maintenance parts for other Astronomer-class cruisers. They're…the whole class is being retired from service, or sold, or parted out."

"Oh." Kosho sat back, nostrils flaring, her face perfectly still. "The ship."

"You…" Hadeishi's face twisted and his eyes filmed with tears. "You're a captain now, Susan. A Chu-sa yourself. You deserve the honor, I must say, more than any officer I've ever served with. And Hayes – he…he…made lieutenant commander. And Smith…ifthey're still alive. If any ofthem are. You're bound for the Naniwa – and she's a fine, fine ship – fresh from the yards. You'll…" Tears began to leak up from his eyes in tiny silver droplets and Susan had to turn away.

Imperial officers did not cry. Susan herself did not remember Hadeishi ever showing such raw emotion before – oh, he was fond of laughing and making sly hints and poking fun at her when he thought no one was looking – and he treated the junior officers very gently, by Fleet standards, but this…this was too much for her. She held herself very still, hands white at the knuckles as they clenched on the edge of the fold-out bed.

"You were all being taken away from me," he rasped, barely able to speak. "I was left with nothing. No ship, no crew, no purpose. You see…" He stopped, racked by a gasping heave. "There was nothing for me. No promotion. No new ship. Only orders to proceed to Jupiter to wait on The List. Hayes…Hayes is for the Taiko, Smith for advanced school…Huйmac and the Marines for a training cycle at Syria Planum on Mars. You will all do so well."

Susan closed her eyes, forcing herself to ignore the dreadful sound of his voice. His exhaustion was creeping into her as well, filling her heart with a cold emptiness.

"I just wanted a few more months of your company, Susan. A few more days to have a purpose."

Kosho turned, pressing her hand across his mouth. Her eyes were very bright. "Don't say anything. Nothing. No more." She shook her head slowly, appalled and anguished in turn. "We were out too long, Chu-sa! Worn down to nothing, spent, exhausted…did you think we were ronin in some old tale? Wandering from town to town, helping the peasants, fighting bandits…"

She stopped, her skin turning the color of fresh ash. "You should have told me. We are Imperial officers, Mitsuharu. We have an honorable duty to attend. We can't just ignore orders…even if…even if they're painful to consider. And the ship…" Kosho looked up at the dead lights on the overhead. "She is dying despite all you've done…we're badly damaged, kyo, they won't even bother to haul her back to Toroson."

Hadeishi closed his eyes, turning his head away.

"Oh," Susan said, the brief flare of anger dying, falling away into darkness. She put her hand on the quilt over his heart. "I don't know what will happen to you…"

The room remained cold and quiet, even after he had succumbed to a fitful, weary sleep.

Kosho watched him for a long time, checking his medband now and again. At last, she stirred and forced herself to stand up. The little washroom lacked water pressure or lighting, but she managed to repair her makeup, now badly streaked and smeared, and make herself look presentable.

Then Chu-sa Kosho let herself out and headed for the secondary control bridge. There was work to be done, and – if she could manage to placate the gods of the Fleet – save the careers of her junior officers. Those who lived, at least.

The dead will keep their honor. They will be remembered at the Feast of Spirits as heroes.

The Sobipuru Bus Terminal, Parus Near the Court of Yellow Flagstones

Clouds of exhaust fogged Gretchen's view of the city as the Tikikit bus slowed to a crawl. A huge crowd of Jehanan townspeople blocked the street, voices raising a huge, frightened murmur, claws scraping alongside the vehicle and clattering against the windows. Anderssen stared out in alarm, barely able to make out the stone awnings over the bus stands through the moisture on the windows. Torrential rain poured down, turning the street into a muddy river.

"Hoooo… Taste the fear in the air!" Malakar leaned at her shoulder, long snout pressed against the glass. "Such a crowded city this is!"

"This is much worse than last time," Gretchen said, feeling the bus shake from side to side as the crowd surged against the vehicle. A clamor of hooting and warbling made it hard for her to hear. "Everyone is trying to flee -"

"Should we leave the bus?" The gardener folded one claw over the other, eyes wide. "Where will we go? How will we pass through such a throng?"

"Our hotel isn't far," Gretchen said, wondering if they could manage to move through such an enormous press of people. A wild face appeared momentarily at the glass, a young Jehanan trying to scramble up onto the roof of the bus. The window made a splintery sound as his clawed feet scrabbled on the sill. "What else can we try? If we stay here, they'll push the bus over."

Anderssen took a breath, readied herself to plunge into the fray and patted Malakar on the shoulder. "Come on."

Chuffing exhaust, the Tikikit bus inched into one of the quays in the station. Hundreds of Jehanan, nearly every one of them laden with baggage, pots and pans, bedding, and wicker baskets filled with personal effects, overflowed from the waiting ramps into the road and packed the open floor of the station itself. Gretchen pushed down the stairs from the bus, shoving aside a Jehanan matron trying to claw her away aboard while shrilling wildly in an unknown tongue. Malakar tried to apologize, but had to stiff-arm a frantic male to keep from being thrown to the ground.

A stifling blanket of heat and humidity started to choke Anderssen before she'd taken two steps into the surging, agitated crowd. Her medband squeaked an alarm before being drowned out by the booming roar of thousands of panicky townsmen. She reached back, seized hold of Malakar's harness and started plowing forward, head down, shouldering natives out of the way on either side.

Claws scraped her face, clutched at her shirt and pants, then fell away behind. Malakar hooted mournfully, hands tight on the back of Gretchen's field jacket. Intermittent blasts of some kind of alarm horn shook the air. A sea of noise rolled back and forth over them, echoing from the vaulting roof and the awnings over the buses. The stench of the crowd faded, replaced by the smell of smoke and burning plastic.

Anderssen stumbled through a wood-and-glass door at the front of the bus station. Broad flights of steps littered with discarded goods – potted plants, shoes, smashed sun-hats, broken bottles and fallen, ripped paperbacks, sections of sod, torn clothing, harness buckles and straps – led down to the curving road. The huge crowd inside petered away to a few mournful souls sitting on the sidewalk, huddled in blankets or staring sightlessly at the sky, rain sluicing from their scales.

Despite the rain, a thick pall of smoke hung over the city, hiding the upper reaches of the ancient Khus.