“Yes,” Lakinda said, a sour taste in her mouth. The first officer on the Midsummer, trying to stare her down because he was blood and she wasn’t.
Though that gulf might soon evaporate, and not in a good way. Along with the anger and frustration radiating from the Patriarch’s office had come calls for Lakinda to be detached from the family entirely. At the moment those calls weren’t loud, but it seemed to her that they were slowly growing in both number and volume.
What would happen to her if it came to that? Would she be rematched to her old family, back in the obscure Oyokal farming community that she’d escaped from when she joined the fleet? More worrying, if she was no longer Xodlak, what would be the Defense Hierarchy Council’s response? Theoretically, she would still keep her rank; but would they decide she could no longer be an effective ship’s commander? “Though family status doesn’t matter in the fleet,” she added, as much to herself as to Zistalmu.
“Of course not,” Zistalmu agreed. “Nor should it. On the other hand, it never hurts to have a strong family position, whether to leverage for future endeavors or just as a bit of cushioning against the general surprises of life.” He raised his eyebrows. “Tell me, Senior Captain: How would you like to move up from merit adoptive to full Trial-born?”
Lakinda felt her eyes widen. She’d assumed Zistalmu’s purpose in calling her in was to either coax out some additional details of the nyix fiasco or else simply to offer moral support for her family problems. Suggesting he was willing to push through an advancement was the last thing she could have expected. “Can you do that?” she asked. “I need the Patriarch’s approval to even start the Trials, and as you just said the whole family is unhappy with me.”
Zistalmu chuckled. “Oh, I doubt even our Patriarch could convince yours to change his mind on anything,” he conceded. “The Xodlak have been good allies, but your current Patriarch is a stiff-necked old groundlion. No, Senior Captain, you misunderstand. I’m not encouraging you to take the Xodlak family Trials. I’m offering you the chance to become a Trial-born of the Irizi.”
“Oh,” Lakinda managed. All right; so Zistalmu offering to nudge the Xodlak on her behalf was the second to last thing she could have expected. “I … don’t know what to say.”
“You don’t need to answer right now,” Zistalmu said. “In fact, I’d be a little concerned if you didn’t take some time to think about the offer. But be assured that it’s genuine, it’s eagerly and wholeheartedly given, and it’s completely open-ended. Take all the time you need, and contact me when you’ve made a decision.”
“I will,” Lakinda said. “Understand in turn that whether or not I accept, I’m flattered and humbled by the offer.”
“We wouldn’t make it if we didn’t feel you deserved it,” Zistalmu said. “At any rate, I’m sure you have other matters that require your attention, so I’ll say farewell. For now.”
“Thank you, Syndic,” Lakinda said, standing up. “I’ll make a decision as quickly as I can.”
“At your own pace, Senior Captain,” Zistalmu said. “Good day.”
A moment later Lakinda was striding down the corridor, her head spinning. Trial-born of the Irizi. Not in the farthest reaches of her imagination would such a possibility ever have occurred to her.
Yes, she would consider it. She would consider it very seriously. As an old man back home had once jokingly told her as he picked himself up off the ground, When you see the saddlebull is about to throw you, jump off.
And really, Senior Captain Ziinda had a nice and rather exotic ring to it.
The call came late at night. As, Thurfian thought to himself, all such calls should come.
“He passed early this morning,” Speaker Thyklo told him, her voice tired and strained. “Peacefully, and with his family in attendance. I know that was the way he would have wanted to go.”
“As would we all,” Thurfian said. “I’m sorry to hear that he’s gone.”
They were the standard words spoken at such news, Thurfian knew. But unlike some who would be repeating that sentiment in the coming days, he genuinely meant it. He and Patriarch Thooraki had had their clashes over the years, and Thurfian was pretty sure the old man had disliked him. But Thooraki had guided the Mitth well and with a firm hand, and the family had grown stronger and deeper under his leadership. And that, truly, was what mattered. “Have you and the Patriels chosen his successor yet?” he asked Thyklo.
“We have,” the Speaker said. “We’ve chosen you.”
Thurfian felt his mouth drop open, the last lingering tendrils of sleep fog vanishing. “Me?”
“You,” Thyklo confirmed. “I know that traditionally the Patriarch is chosen from among the ranks of the Patriels, but the confusion surrounding the recent military incident has underscored the need to keep firm control of family dealings at the planetary level. None of them felt confident that they could leave matters in the hands of their deputies while new Patriels were chosen.”
“Yes, that makes sense,” Thurfian said, still feeling the hammer blow of the news bouncing around his brain. He’d been working hard these past few weeks in an effort to angle himself higher in the family’s ranks.
But his goal had really been just for Speaker Thyklo’s position. Never in his wildest dreams had he expected to jump directly to Patriarch.
Speaking of Thyklo, he’d better make sure that avenue hadn’t been inadvertently overlooked. “What about you, ma’am?” he asked. “The Speaker is also traditionally a viable candidate for Patriarch.”
“It is,” Thyklo agreed. “And the position was indeed offered to me. But the network of contacts and friendships I’ve established in the Syndicure can’t simply be handed over to someone else. Not even you. No offense meant.”
“None taken,” Thurfian said. So this was really happening. Patriarch of the Mitth … It was a huge step.
But he could do it. He knew he could. The Patriarch had a whole squad of deputies and aides to help oversee the swirling hive that constituted the Mitth family. They would handle the details, leaving him free to consider and then enact the broader policy decisions.
In fact, as he thought about it, he realized that Thyklo’s position as Speaker would actually have been harder for him to step into. That role was even more dependent on personal connections and relationships, on favors given and received, on quiet deals and unspoken promises.
As Patriarch, Thurfian would have to take on some of those same tasks, of course. But now those challenges would be with his own family members and the other family Patriarchs, not the roiling mess that was the Syndicure.
Yes. He could do it. “If you and the Patriels believe I can serve the family best in that capacity,” he said gravely, “I accept your offer with thanks and humility. I will strive, with your support and counsel, to maintain and advance the honor, glory, and power of the Mitth.”
“As will we all,” Thyklo said. “And now you’re expected at the homestead. Senior Aide Mitth’iv’iklo and an escort are on their way to your home, and should be there within twenty minutes. Bring whatever you like, but don’t worry about packing—that will be handled later today. The office and staff will be informed while you’re en route, and the Patriels will be waiting to speak to you via conference call when you arrive. Any questions?”