Ambassador of War

Chapter 3

Malar sat with her husband at the small table in their room. She had changed out of her armour into something more comfortable, a simple dress that was one of two that her mother had gifted her, many years before: the other, much more stylistic with embroidered patterns and glittering jewels sewn into the fabric, had seen extensive use at royal balls before the Protectorate's campaign began. She had gifted similar garments to her own daughter, garments which had spent more time gathering dust.

Her husband put down his cup and wiped the water from his lips. "The Edge still looks to be in decent shape," Zion explained, "so that's something." His fighter-cruiser was the only remaining ship in their military, unless the Exodus was counted; the only combat-capable ship, to be sure. It was not his originally; the ship he served aboard before, the Silencer, had been shot down in the early days of the war. Malar still thanked the gods her husband had managed to crawl out of that wreckage alive. The Edge was his first true command, however, with him being hastily promoted by Xenon after his commanding officer was killed in the capital. "We can't afford to do any test flights, but they have been thorough with scrubbing out the dust."

"It gives us some protection during lift-off."

"I think it is unlikely that there will be much air resistance. A large number of the Protectorate's ships are still on standby near Angril –" Malar grimaced when he said the planet's name; the subjugation of its native people currently underway was another crime she hoped the Protectorate would one day answer for – "so they are unlikely to be here in time to stop us."

"And they wouldn't know in time to intercept us, either."

"Exactly. Even if they'd be able to pinpoint us with the drive shut off."

"Which it will be for most of the trip. Do we know how many ships the Protectorate have here?"

"They had six at the airbase we raided a few months back, so at least those. We do not know if there are any more, but it is likely."

"Six is more than a match for our one. We should cut that number down."

"That would be helpful but do it quietly. Sabotage, not destroy; if they see a number of their ships going up in smoke, they'll know we're planning something off-ground."

"I will get Xenon on it tonight."

Zion nodded. "Are you raiding tonight?"

"No," she smiled, Zion returning the gesture. "Still another two days."

They heard the door creak open, and Malar turned to see Cobalt striding in, towel around her shoulders and her clothes damp with sweat. She had a wide grin across her face, and her bare neck and arms were covered in a criss-cross of angry red burns.

"Training again?" Malar raised an eyebrow; this had become regular in recent months.

"He's getting better with his counter-attacks," she replied, as she moved to her room. "If he were able to start formal training, he'd be a formidable opponent."

"You know they're supposed to be ritual duelling weapons. Only royals carry them in battle."

"Who else am I supposed to train against? It would be embarrassing if in the heat of combat, I burned my own arm off."

"She makes a fair point," Zion chuckled. He lowered his voice. "Is she still looking to join the Forces?"

Malar sighed. "And I am still firmly against it. We know what happens if we lose her."

"We won't be around to protect her for long." He took her hand in his gently. "At least the training? Before it is too late."

"After we've got off this rock," Malar allowed. "When we're safely at lightspeed, I will consider it. I know as well as you do that she needs it, but I don't want her running off into battle now. You know it'll happen the moment she gets her armour."