Aftermath - Ann Aguirre [16]
“A large number of the Morgut ships were lost in grimspace,” Vel answers. “You timed that gambit well. They had just begun jumps to strike other targets.”
But not New Terra. Those bastards didn’t touch our homeworld.
I nod. “Conglomerate losses?”
“Yes.”
I imagined as much, but it’s hard as hell to hear it. “Because of me?”
He declines to reply, which offers its own answer, but I have to know the worst. I persist, “Vel, tell me. How many lost?”
“Three ships.”
“How many?” I repeat hoarsely.
“Each carried a full crew, Sirantha. Two hundred souls.”
Dear Mary. I killed six hundred people. And that’s not counting any private vessels that may have been traveling. The math at how many family members will be grieving because of me becomes impossible, astronomical. If I thought the universe hated me after the Sargasso, well, I suspect I haven’t seen anything yet. The public will scream for my blood.
And they’re right. They are so right. The tally’s too high. This time, it’s no misunderstanding. I’m not the victim of somebody else’s scheme. It’s all me. I steady myself with some effort, repeating my prior conviction. Someone had to make the tough call. It’s regrettable, but you saved lives. You did.
While I wrestle with the sickness in my stomach, he goes on, “I arrived with twenty ships, and we aided the Dauntless. When only a few Morgut vessels remained, I broke from the battle to head the extraction team.”
“So there are still a few up there?” Hit finally sits down herself.
“Scout ships mostly, but I did not wish to risk your safety further.”
Typical Vel. He’s put in charge of the entire Ithtorian fleet, but when push comes to shove, he’s on the ground looking for me. Nobody ever had a better friend.
A third Ithtorian—this one almost as tall as Vel, honor marks on his carapace—comes down the hall from the cockpit. He holds his claws in what I recognize as a salute. “We have the all clear, General.”
“Then take us up.”
“What’s going on?” Hit asks.
Ah. I forget not everyone understands Ithtorian.
“We can fly now,” I tell her.
Hit straps in. Even though we’re not jumping, it’s never a bad idea to refrain from splitting your head on a bulkhead thanks to turbulence. The two crewmen secure themselves opposite us, and Vel takes his place next to me, smoothly fastening his harness. Maybe it’s because he’s lived so long, but he exudes the most reassuring aura of unflappable calm.
“I know you have bad news,” I say softly. “I’m ready for it.”
But that’s not true. One is never ready. You just lie and say you are and hope you can take the hit on the chin without going down.
“Is Dina all right?” Hit asks, a catch in her voice.
The ship rumbles, and I feel the pilot working with the thrusters to bring us off the ground. As such liftoffs go, it’s fairly smooth, unlike the chaos exploding inside me. Not Dina, I tell myself. Hit takes my hand in a grip that hurts as we wait to hear the best news . . . or the worst.
“She is well enough,” Vel answers. “A few burns.”
Thank Mary.
He continues, “It would be most efficient if I simply break the news. Doctors Dasad and Solaith are missing.”
I swallow hard. “They’re not, actually. We saw them die.”
CHAPTER 5
Vel asks a number of questions about what we saw. I out-line the circumstances, and he inclines his head, making some notes on his handheld. “I will file the report, then.”
So that’s it. Official news. I promised Mac on Perlas that I would look out for Evie—that I was saving her by taking her away. Hurt jabs my stomach in shrapnel shards, splinters of failure. Mary, he’ll want to shoot me when he hears, but he’ll have to get in line.
The ship goes up and up while Vel tells us of other losses—Torrance, the scout, and Drake, the medic. So many clansmen followed March into the stars to die, but I didn’t know them well. Their losses feel different; I have some distance from them. No losses hit so close to home as the two scientists.
They say funerals are not for the dead but for the living. Those rites are