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We are to be used as drones, freely expended to protect your ships while weakening the Grand Hive.”

The conference was silent for several seconds.

“My understanding is that losses in the fighter strike were lower than expected,” Tidirok said quietly. “And all of our ships were on the same line, Commandant. Ronoxosh had complete tactical command of your ships. I did not order your fighter strike. Your ships were not positioned in front of ours.

“I regret your losses. Your presence here helped save this system, and I would be a poor ally if I did not honor your dead as my own today. I swear to you, we did nothing to make your ships a target.”

“And yet the Infinite focused their fire upon us when the final clash was joined,” the same Warrior officer said. “One must wonder, then, what drove them to target us. One must wonder, given how intact this system is, if the Infinite are truly as much your enemy as you claim.”

“Enough,” Oxtashah suddenly snapped, the Princess’s voice cutting through with a tone that sent a shiver down Rin’s spine—and he wasn’t biologically programmed to follow Wendira Royals.

The Warrior Fleet Commandant physically quailed and seemed to retract into himself.

“I do not believe there was treachery today, merely the tides of war,” she said grimly. “But we can see, I think, the vulnerabilities we face in joint operations. While this alliance is utterly essential to us both, I fear that this combined fleet may prove to be a dangerous proposition.

“Nonetheless, I will consult with our Queens before any further action is taken,” Oxtashah told them all. “There will be no more talk of treachery,” she said flatly, glaring at the images of her subordinates. “But I do ask that an analysis be performed, to see if we can identify why the Wendira ships were targeted over all others.”

“That analysis is already underway,” Tan!Shallegh said calmly. “I have guesses, but we will freeze the water of guess to the ice of data.”

“Thank you,” Oxtashah said. “I think we should cut this meeting short before any of our people say something they may regret.”

“One last thing, in that case,” Tidirok interjected. Every eye drew to the Voice of the Republic. “I will need the names, Princess Oxtashah.”

It took Rin a moment to realize what Tidirok was asking—but the two Wendira Warriors clearly picked it up instantly.

“The names, Voice?” Oxtashah asked, her voice slow and careful.

“Of your dead. All of them,” Tidirok told her. “It is my understanding that your Drones fight so that they will be remembered. Regardless, I would have the name of every Wendira who died to save a Laian system.

“Whatever else happens between our peoples, I will see those recorded and a memorial built. They died for the Republic, not the Hive, and so the Republic will remember them.

“You have my word.”

Chapter Thirty-Five

Morgan watched the footage in the holotank warily. It was a recording of the bridge of a Laian supply ship, a bridge that would normally hold at least seven people.

In the image she was watching, it held one. A large metallic-black Laian male, his carapace carefully patched over where age had grown his flesh past what his chitin could handle. She’d only seen Laians of that age a few times before, and she suspected the ship’s pilot was on his last years.

“Course is locked in,” he announced. “I’m transmitting everything. I don’t know if this will work, Tosonak.”

“If it doesn’t, twenty thousand people are going to die,” the person on the other side of the radio announced. “Night-Moon-Light Station doesn’t have the fuel to maintain their power cores for more than twelve hours more.

“I still think you should send someone else. You have thirty captains willing to take this flight, sir.”

“And every one of them younger,” the pilot replied, going through controls with the kind of care that suggested rusty skills. “I may own the company, Tosonak, but I’ve lived my life. I won’t send others to die for me when I’m more expendable.”

“Bioform is heading your way, boss,” Tosonak told the Laian—apparently a transport company CEO named Tosolor. The voice on the radio was a child of the CEO’s group marriage.

“I see it. Transmitting the messages now.”

Morgan couldn’t see or hear the message Tosolor sent, but Shotilik was standing at her shoulder.

“From what I’ve seen, it’s a mediocre translation into Alavan text of ‘this is a mission of mercy, we are unarmed,’” the Rekiki told her. “I don’t know how Tosolor managed to pull that off, but you’ll see the effects.”

The bioform grew larger on the freighter’s scanners. It was only a Category Two, but that was more than enough to obliterate the three-hundred-meter in-system freighter Tosolor was piloting.

“That thing is more than close enough to kill me,” the Laian muttered. Morgan wasn’t sure if Tosonak could hear him, but he had been recording and sending everything his sensors saw. The recording she was watching was directly from the ship’s internal cameras, though.

“Wait!” he said loudly. “I have a response? Tosonak, I’m forwarding you a message. I need to… Wait, it’s in the Tongue?”

Someone had apparently run the translation software at higher levels than normal, Morgan realized. At this level, places like the Sahara Desert tended to be translated as “Desert Desert.”

“Tosonak, I have a transmission from the bioform,” the pilot declared. “It says… It says, ‘Course and cargo?’”

“Then send them the suns-burnt manifest, Tosolor,” the Laian on the radio begged. “Send them it now!”

It took the older pilot a minute to find the data according to Morgan’s time stamps, while the bioform calmly matched velocity and repeated its request two more times.

“There,” Tosolor finally declared. “Manifest sent.” Apparently to make certain, he picked up a microphone and tapped it on.

“Um, I’m bound for Night-Moon-Light Station with helium-3 fuel, water and food supplies,” he declared into the microphone. “They have less than twelve hours of fuel and three days of water and food.”

Silence. Shotilik accelerated the playback and the time stamps said it

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