Sorry for the delay publishing this one, my editor needed some more time with it, but hope you enjoy it, this jumps us forward a few years in the career of Ó Treasaigh, whom I intend to write a lot more about.
It had been three days since the fleet had jumped into the Lykoros system, and they were finally entering orbit of the system’s only inhabited world, the planet for which the system was named.
Commodore Farah Naderi stood in the CIC, leaning over the station of the main communications officer, something that, to many of her crew, looked somewhat unnatural.
Commodore Naderi was starborn, raised on cargo ships. The gravity plating of a starship could be, at best, two-thirds Earth standard, so she had grown tall and long-limbed. Her presence was commanding, but she looked fragile, like steel wire stretched far too thin. She was built for bulkheads and starship decks, not soil and sky.
She held a headset to her ear, a look of concentration on her face, listening intently to news reports and intercepts from the world below. What she heard concerned her.
Stepping away, she moved towards the plotting table, the glow of the battlespace display lighting her face. She noted that all the task force’s ships were successfully holding a station-keeping orbit above the world.
Her own vessel, the Antioch, was in dire need of time in dry dock. In fact, all of the vessels under her command could do with it. For the past seven months, they had fought a brutal war with the Harmony – a war the Accord had started – a misguided attempt by the military council to stave off demands for democratic reform.
Instead, the fleet had been decimated. It had not been in any condition to fight a war on that scale. Years of contractual inertia, stagnation in ship design, and a military leadership who owed their roles more to politics than to any real ability in strategy or warfare had resulted in staggering losses in terms of worlds, ships, and manpower.
Her task force was held together by tape and prayer. Most of the ships were at minimum crew levels. The troops were hardened veterans but there were barely five hundred of them.
They were at Lykoros following an urgent request from the world’s ruling Triarchs. The worlds of the Accord were self-governing for the most part, but after the war there was a great deal of resentment among its members. Lykoros had lost nearly half a million men and women on the front lines alone.
Looking around at her crew, she saw the exhaustion etched on all their faces. There was a weariness to them all.
“Commodore.”
She turned to see Captain Katie Ó Treasaigh. Naderi nodded in acknowledgement of the Antioch’s commanding officer.
“We have received a formal request from the Triarchs for a meeting, ma’am. Should I respond in the affirmative?”
“Please,” Naderi replied, and Ó Treasaigh clicked her heels before returning to the communications station.
The past few weeks with the young captain had not been unpleasant. Naderi’s promotion to Commodore was still fairly new and she struggled with the fact that the Antioch wasn’t her ship, but rather Ó Treasaigh’s. She had to stop herself from giving commands on ship’s operations. The vessel she commanded during the war was currently being broken up in some distant breakers yard; it had suffered badly in its final battle and was far beyond repair.
Turning back to the battlespace display, she was relieved that combat here was unlikely. She had only a dozen frigates under her command, limited ammunition for their railguns, and no significant firepower among them.
The Antioch was a rare success story of the war: an advanced electronic warfare ship. Its weaponry was only defensive, its function to scan for threats and use its advanced sensors to assist in targeting for larger vessels’ weapons, something it would be unable to do here.
Captain Ó Treasaigh had proven herself to be a capable commander, earning her own promotion at the end of the war. Naderi hoped that if the success of the eight Type 64 pre-production series could be used to develop more capable replacements for the navy’s current suite of vessels, then the future might not be so bleak.
A few hours later, Naderi was seated at the desk in the captain’s office. Captain Ó Treasaigh had been kind enough to allow her to use the room, given that there was no real alternative for a flag officer on a ship this small. She had even given up her own cabin, relocating herself to the Watch Cabin.
There was a gentle knock on the door before Ó Treasaigh stepped inside, carrying a tray of tea. Farah smiled and gestured for her to sit. Ó Treasaigh set the tray down.
“Thank you, Katie,” said Naderi, lifting a mug of warm tea and taking a sip.
She shifted about in the chair, trying to get comfortable. It wasn’t designed for the long-limbed starborn, and she felt cramped in it.
“I’ve arranged a meeting with the Triarchs this afternoon. They were reluctant to meet with me, but once I explained your situation, they relented.”
Farah nodded. The reality was that she couldn’t set foot on a planet. Her body simply wouldn’t cope. She would be unable to walk, her skeleton would suffer microfractures, her heart would struggle under the increased gravity, and her lungs would falter under the different atmospheric pressure.
“Good, Katie. I need your eyes and ears open on this one,” she said after another sip of tea. “Things seem tense down there, and I want to know exactly what’s going on.”
Taking another gulp of her tea, Naderi paused.
“Katie, I know I’m throwing you in at the deep end here, but you have my utmost confidence and trust.”
“Thank you, Commodore,” Ó Treasaigh replied. The tea was warming her hands. She had yet to take a sip, staring into the cup instead. “It’s just strange being the most senior officer here. We lost far too many good people.” She finally took a long swallow, the warmth spreading through her, though it did little to ease the survivor’s guilt.
She had started the war as a Commander, given stewardship of the Antioch as her first command. Now, so many of the officers she had served with, and those she had served under, were dead.
Later, strapped into the Jollyboat with four marine guards and a small group of crew dressed as civilians, she tugged at her jacket and polished the peak of her cap. She was nervous as hell; she had never met the planetary governors of an Accord member world before.
As the craft touched down and the door opened, the noise of the crowd outside was unmistakable. Things were not happy here. The Triarchs had wanted her to land at the Ekklesio, the grand building from which both the Triarchs and the planetary parliament, the Areopagus, ruled.
Ó Treasaigh, however, had insisted on landing at an Accord military base on the city’s outskirts and travelling in by groundcar. She claimed it was protocol, allowing for better protection of the navy’s landing craft. In truth, she wanted an excuse to travel through the city, to glimpse the situation with her own eyes. It also allowed her to get boots on the ground, crewmen among the citizens, to judge the true mood.
As the car moved through the streets, she did not like what she saw. The driver provided by the Triarchs refused to answer questions about the situation, but the evidence was plain: visible unrest, queues for food stretching around blocks, people thin and gaunt. Crowds gathered in squares and broad avenues, holding signs. Some called for the overthrow of the Triarchs, others for an end to tyranny. Many were simply begging for more rations.
By the time they reached the Ekklesio, Ó Treasaigh knew this world was a tinderbox.
Inside she was ushered into a lavish, opulent chamber. The three Triarchs sat upon golden thrones. All three were plump, even obese. Looking around the room at their courtiers and advisors, the contrast with those in the streets was stark. Here, there was no shortage of food.
When she had left the Antioch, attempts were still being made to negotiate a hololink so Commodore Naderi could attend remotely. But the Triarchs had decreed that no one outside the room would be allowed to join, citing “security risks.”
The formal introductions dragged on. Ó Treasaigh had no desire to hear the detailed lineage of each Triarch, but endured it until, at last, they turned to the matter at hand.
“There are malcontents stirring up the masses,” said the First Triarch. “These thugs have swayed the less objective in our society, convincing them that the issues facing our world are the fault of their betters, and not the result of their own sabotage and laziness.”
The haughty tone took Ó Treasaigh aback. To declare themselves “the betters” of the starving crowds outside knocked her for six.
“Your Honours,” she began, forcing herself to swallow the contempt rising in her voice, “you called urgently for the aid of the Accord, warning that your planet was on the brink of collapse as a result of the war. We responded.” She paused, steadying her tone. “But what we find here appears to be little more than an internal security matter, something generally left to yourselves, as the heads of the planet’s forces, to resolve.”
“We believe these agitators were planted by the Harmony during the war,” declared the Third Triarch, peering down her nose at Ó Treasaigh with lofty disdain. “They were sent to stir separatist and revolutionary sentiment. That makes it an Accord matter, and your military forces should deal with it.”
Ó Treasaigh glanced around the chamber. The advisors looked as surprised by the claim as she was.
“If that is the case, we will need evidence,” she replied firmly. “We cannot allow Harmony agents to destabilise the legitimate governments of the Accord. But at the same time, any action must be against confirmed targets. We are forbidden from interfering in purely internal security operations.”
The meeting dragged on for nearly forty-five minutes. When it finally concluded, she rejoined the two lieutenants who had accompanied her. Triarchal protocol had barred them from entering the chamber, but a few discreet nods confirmed they had succeeded in their side mission.
On the ride back to the base, the car’s sound filters were activated, ensuring the Triarchs’ driver could not overhear them. One of the marines had already swept the cabin for bugs and had stayed with the vehicle during the meeting.
“What did you learn?” Ó Treasaigh asked the two junior officers.
“The battles in the Povest sector damaged the relay buoys, which reduced imports of fertiliser. Crop yields fell sharply this year,” said Lieutenant Li Zhengwei.
Ó Treasaigh frowned. “I thought this world was a major exporter of food. How badly were the yields affected?”
Lieutenant Tane Raukura spoke up. “They didn’t reduce exports.” Ó Treasaigh’s confusion must have shown, because he continued: “The guard I spoke to said they kept exports steady to pay for luxuries and niceties, while rationing food to their own people.”
As the truth clicked into place, Ó Treasaigh realised the entire crisis could have been avoided, had the Triarchs simply made sacrifices to their own lifestyles. She had disliked them from the moment she met them. Now she actively despised them.
As the Jollyboat returned to the Antioch, Ó Treasaigh spoke with the crewmen who had mingled with the crowds. She quickly learned that the average protester was starving. The Triarchs had enforced strict rationing, but the people weren’t fools. Those working in agriculture knew yields were down, but not so low that hunger was inevitable. Those in the export sector knew vast quantities of food were still being shipped off-world.
Back aboard the Antioch, she reported to the Commodore in her office. Naderi had not been idle while Ó Treasaigh was planetside. She had managed to make contact with several rebel leaders, as well as officers from both the local militia and the few Accord units still stationed on the surface.
“They’re asking us to deploy troops,” Ó Treasaigh concluded. “They want us to arrest the rebel leaders and put down the protests. I told them I didn’t have the authority to decide that, and that I would bring it to you. They were put out by this, and even more so when I reminded them they had refused a hololink.”
With all the information laid out, Naderi stood and ran a hand through her thin grey hair, pacing the room. It was a habit she had when thinking hard. She undid her bun, let her hair fall loose, then tied it back up again, something practical for her hands to do while her mind worked.
At last, she sat down. She had made her decision. Whether it was the right one, she couldn’t know, but it was the best for the Accord.
“Katie, I want you to send the Triarchs a message,” said Naderi. “Tell them I am taking their request under advisement, and that I will respond forthwith.”
Events on the surface escalated during Midwatch. In theory, ships in orbit were supposed to adopt the planetary capital’s time, but in practice this was rarely practical. It was nearing 0300 ship’s time, closer to 2100 local, when things began to happen.
In the CIC, both Commodore and Captain stood by the comms officer, listening as reports came in. A massive crowd had gathered at the Ekklesio, demanding the resignation of the Triarchs. Within an hour, protestors had scaled the walls and forced their way into the building.
Dozens of urgent transmissions came from the Triarchs, begging for intervention. They insisted Accord troops should crush the “revolution” before it went too far.
By the time morning watch turned to forenoon, Naderi and Ó Treasaigh were taking breakfast together in the captain’s cabin. The meal was resequenced protein sausages, eggs, porridge, and a pot of tea.
Finally, Katie voiced the question that had been weighing on her since the night before, as they listened to the Triarchs’ downfall.
“Why didn’t we help them?” she asked. “They were the legally recognised government. Shouldn’t we have tried to prevent their fall, despite their failings?”
Naderi had known the question would come. Soon enough she would have to answer it before the Admiralty Board.
“Katie, I have fewer than five hundred troops under my command. Yes, they’re veterans, and each is worth twenty starving protestors.” She spooned up some porridge, swallowed, and went on.
“Even if they had been deployed, they would have made no difference. At our most conservative estimate there were two million protestors. My people could have delayed them for a few hours at most.” She took a sip of orange juice, her throat parched from the long night.
“The end result would have been that the protestors believed we were against them. They would have seen this as a revolution not just against the Triarchs, but against the Accord itself.”
She set her spoon down, her expression softening slightly.
“Instead, once it’s morning down there, I will send a message to whoever has assumed authority. I will offer our troops, not to crush them, but to restore order and distribute food aid. The Accord will be seen as liberators, not oppressors.” She sipped again, then smiled faintly. “And of course, we will offer our assistance in prosecuting the Triarchs for their crimes. I’m sure Accord Central Records will have no trouble proving their corruption, and that they deliberately starved their own people.”
The day went by slowly, the situation on the ground seemed to find some calm and that evening Commodore Naderi remained seated before the observation window long after the ship had fallen silent. The viewport had been installed to allow human eyes to monitor a vital exhaust vent should the cameras fail, but tonight it served another purpose entirely. Below, the planet of Lykoros lay sprawled in twilight, its cities glowing faintly, rivers catching the last light of day, fields and forests stretching out in patterns that only a map could hope to capture. She could see it all, so close, and yet so utterly beyond her.
She rested her hands on the cool frame of the glass and let her gaze wander. The thought she had tried to avoid pressed against her, she would never walk there. Never breathe its air. Never feel the soil beneath her boots, the wind against her face, the weight of gravity pressing down as it did on those she had sworn to protect. Starborn by birth, raised in the void, she was always above, always apart. And yet it was she who had made the decisions that shaped the lives of those who had known the ground as home all their days.
The glow of the planet reflected back at her, mingling with her own pallid features. Could she understand what it truly meant to live here? To endure hunger, to feel fear, to fight and lose in ways she could never imagine? She hoped that she had averted too much bloodshed, she had given relief and hope, yet a bitter thought lingered: hope that came from her hands, but life lived below without her feet ever touching it. Was she justice, or merely a proxy for it?
The hum of the Antioch was a soft, constant presence, a reminder of the life she led that was entirely separate from the lives she oversaw. The war, the Triarchs, the protests, they all seemed both monumental and distant, like a dream observed from the wrong side of a pane of glass. Even here, in the command of this little fleet of hers, she felt the ache of isolation. Decisions weighed heavier when no one else could share the burden and the distance between her and those affected was more than spatial, it was elemental.
Her thoughts were interrupted by the soft chime of her headpiece.
“Commodore,” came the clear, efficient voice of the CIC Watch Officer. “You have a communication from the provisional government. They wish to speak with you directly.”
Naderi’s gaze lingered on the planet one final time. The lights of the cities were steady now, unknowing of the decisions made above them, unaware of the delicate balance she had tried to maintain.
Somewhere below, in a world she could never touch, a new leader had emerged, ready to take the first steps toward a future she could only hope was steadier than the past.
“On my way”. Her voice was calm, measured, but inside, the weight of what she had done pressed like gravity. She would speak not as one who had walked their streets or shared their hardships, but as the voice of the Accord; above, apart, and yet irrevocably tied to their fate.
When she arrived in the CIC she stepped on the Holopad, and before her the hologram flickered into life, and for the first time, she saw the face of the person who would inherit the world she could never tread. The planet spun silently beneath them both, and in that quiet, Naderi allowed herself the barest trace of a hope: that her choices had, at the very least, bought them a chance.
