The Romulan War_ Beneath the Raptor's Wing (Book 1) - Michael A. Martin [158]
He could only hope that the Andorians would remember what Dunsel had done here once the auroras settled down and the ring dissipated.
“He blew his own ship to kingdom come,” Shosetsu said, as though he’d been reading Mayweather’s thoughts. “Who knows how many millions of Andorian lives he saved?”
“And not just today,” said Mendez. “Those Romulan bastards would have got their hands on an NX-class starship if Dunsel hadn’t pulled the pin on that new autodestruct system.”
Mayweather swallowed hard. He knew that the Yorktown now carried an identical autodestruct package, thanks to her most recent repair-and-upgrade layover at Proxima. And thanks to Captain Roy Dunsel, the autodestruct system had just received its first effective test in the field.
Would I have had the strength, Mayweather wondered, to make the same choice that Dunsel did?
Firstmoon, Fesoan Lor’veln Year 464
Wednesday, March 10, 2156
I.G.S. Weytahn
Nearly half a dayturn had passed since the Weytahn’s engineers finished getting the ship back under way, allowing her to resume her patrol of the home system’s remote defense infrastructure. Late in the ship’s night, Shran left the command deck in the capable hands of Subcommander Nras, whose need for the succor of duty Shran recognized as having become particularly acute since the death of his son, Skav. But even though Shran had retreated to the solitary darkness of his small, utilitarian cabin, the solace of sleep eluded him.
Instead, he welcomed the chorus of the slain for yet another visit. “Hello, my friends.”
Anitheras th’Lenthar separated himself from the silent, shadow-shrouded figures who crowded the corner—the ghosts of Keval, Tholos, Thon, Skav, Gareb, Talas, and all the rest—and approached the bed where Shran lay, wide awake. Speaking without speaking, his words sounding directly in Shran’s mind, the visitor said, “Jhamel, Vishri, and Shenar are concerned about you, Shran.”
Shran chuckled humorlessly as his elbow accidentally knocked a half-empty bottle of Fesoan grainwine from his bedside table to the floor. Ignoring the mess he knew was spreading across the floor, he replied aloud.
“How could you possibly know that, Theras? Or aren’t you still dead?”
Theras seemed to have a far stiffer spine now than he had had in life. “Of course I’m dead. That’s why you were able to take my place in the shelthreth, alongside my three lifemates. I know your feelings for Jhamel had always come first, but I still thought you were committed to the marriage group.”
“I am committed to the shelthreth,” Shran growled, though he was bitterly aware that he had never done right by either Shenar or Vishri. Having been nothing but supportive of his halting but sincere attempts to embrace Aenar-Andorian pacifism, both Shenar and Vishri were unlikely to admit they agreed with Shran’s harsh self-assessment. Regardless, he believed that in their hearts they knew it to be true.
“Then prove it, Shran. Take some leave time and come home, if only to reassure Jhamel.”
Shran shook his head. “I can’t do that. Not now.”
“She needs to speak with you, Shran. She needs to know you are all right.”
“Perhaps being dead has kept you somewhat out of touch with current events, Theras. But Andoria has an enemy to fend off at the moment. We are at war. I cannot come home now.”
“Not even to celebrate a victory over the Romulans?”
Shran sniffed. Victory indeed. The Romulans had caught the Imperial Guard unawares, as though they were so many drunken tunnelers sprawled in the path of a school of ice borers. They had nearly succeeded in launching calamitous attacks on Andorian cities, and still possessed voluminous resources capable of bringing still more havoc to Andoria, at any time and from any direction.