THE VALSPON STAR ZONE, EN ROUTE TO SIDE BALTIT

CARLA’S SHUTTLE

Swarms of wreckage of various sizes drift past my seat’s window, and it’s a sight that compels me to lean forward to glimpse more of them. Many are Metropolitan, but there happens to be Mafia ship debris as well. It’s a destruction that is all too familiar for me throughout my life. But compared to Abassi, and more recently the battle at Rouen, it is eerily here.

Could it be the lack of asteroid clumps that makes me feel uneasy? The remnants of a battlefield long over, without so much of a cleanup on our part? Peering at the ruby-hued planet itself, I find it clear that Valspon’s orbit will eventually become cluttered with man-made debris. I imagine the same will be said at Velksland, given the amount of carnage that unfolded there. How terrible that thousands of men will never so much as be put to proper rest: without a final rest in peace. A hand on my shoulder, as a certain oaf sighs on the window, creating a thick mist over the starry veil of space.

“Terrible, isn’t it?” Brutus muses, over my shoulder still, “such a waste of life. If only Che were better prepared…”

“It can’t be helped,” I respond, leaning back into my seat, “Che had no way of knowing what would happen. And to a greater extent neither did I—nor Simon,” I rest against the seat, closing my eyes and exhaling heavily, “with everything said and done, I understand now that I alone am responsible for his shortcomings. I vastly underestimated what the Metropolitans were capable of committing, particularly to an outer region like Toscana. It is by no small miracle that neither were coordinating their efforts, much less aware of the other’s actions,” I say, stroking my disfigured cheek.

Brutus, horrified, is taken back. Even if I did perhaps advise Che and his subordinates to set up something akin to an early warning parameter, it would still be futile. The same scenario would play out—but unlike the clever ruse at Rouen, the possibility of organizing a relief as I did would be nonexistent. I would’ve been bogged down at Velksland, and Che would crumble at Valspon, paving way for a swift conquest of Lübeck. So to say it is a miracle given the way things have gone is an understatement of itself.

“They… weren’t…” he stammers, shaking his head, “that’s an understatement to say we were in a lucky position!” Brutus says, glancing at Olga, “but how did you come to that conclusion?” I smile meekly, but before I get the chance to answer, Olga answers in my stead.

“The… blonde officer from that ship, if I have to guess?” Olga surmises, stroking the end of her prosthetic arm, “Miss… Vitoria… er, Schlapp,” Olga remarks, absentmindedly.

“Blonde?” Brutus asks, turning to face me—uncomfortably close for my liking. His brows furrow, and then Brutus’s mouth forms a perfect O, and he gives a small nod. “Ah… right, I remember now. The young officer assumed control and helped the enemy fleet to withdrawal. That was the woman you met after the Fed fleet evacuated from Valspon, wasn’t it? On the Yilan, I mean. ”

“That’s right,” I say, cupping my hands together, “we trusted each other. I had no reason to doubt her, and I suspect she had no reason to doubt me. The massacre that unfolded here could have been far worse if not for Miss Victoria.”

Brutus seems to be lost in contemplation, staring out to the remains of the starry battlefield. Before long, he clears his throat before speaking, “was it the right thing to do letting them slip away with such a manageable force?” Brutus asks, “when they might just launch an invasion again once the Metropol admiral is briefed about what happened here?”

“Brutey…” Olga interjects, shuffling in her seat. Our eyes meet briefly. Brutus leans forward to rest his arms on his knees.

“I didn’t want to bring up the point back on the Montepuez…,” Brutus clears his throat, “but I’m sure it was something that most of us had in mind at the time. I think what I want to get at is… it could come back to bite us in the ass, Li,” Brutus says. Both he and Olga exchange glances awaiting my answer, “and of course, in my case… I didn’t think to object to your decision during the battle itself,” a pause, “or rather, I couldn’t bring myself to do it. I think back then, during the Fed withdrawal here, I didn’t think much of it. You knew what you were doing, and what use would it do to complain about your decision after the fact?”

“Brutey…” Olga mumbles, wincing at his words. I want to assure her that it is fine for Brutus to vent, but I remain silent so Brutus can continue.

“I’m sorry,” the big oaf says, rubbing his forehead, “it’s not right for me to criticize you, isn’t it? I’ve done a lot of that already. It feels like most of the interactions I’ve had with you are criticizing you in some way, Madame…” Brutus says, trailing off. I rest a hand on his and gently caress it.

“There’s no need to be guilty about it, Brutus. I see it as a genuine concern,” I say, glancing at Olga but she averts her eyes, “but just as I told that father of mine, I have faith that the Federation will want to avoid another catastrophe. The admiral is a man of honor, and judging from his decision to withdrawal from Rouen, and despite his overwhelming superiority and complete disregard for his safety, he has decided to concede defeat entirely. I am confident the admiral is a better man compared to the naval commander that invaded us here. And as for letting them withdrawal with most of their fleet intact…” for a brief moment, my mind goes blank.

I can’t think as to why I would do that—let such a still-formidable force go free here at Valspon. By all accounts, to ensure even absolute security on this side of the realm, I should have annihilated every last ship. I went as far as to massacre the independent detachment that was heading for Ides, but I allowed Miss Happ’s detachment on two occasions—and the rest of her force to retreat without harassment. Why? Why would I do such a thing?

“Meeting that blonde must have made you realize something, Madame,” Olga says, “whatever the two of you discussed—she seemed to have changed your perspective on life.”

“Self-preservation,” I reply wryly, stroking the center of my aching brow, “I was merciful because the blonde officer has done what no other officer I’ve faced before has done—she sought to preserve her own life and those that served with her. Not in a cowardly way—“ I pull Julius’s bandanna before continuing “she wanted to avoid a bloodbath as much as I wanted to topple my father’s regime and avoid needless conflict. She believed that her superior’s actions were illegal, unjust, in a sense. And perhaps… perhaps I felt sympathetic for her.

“And in a way, she did what I couldn’t at Brunsb üttel— avoid an even greater loss of life. I have nothing but respect for the young officer. I am sure that in some way or another, when the time may come, she can further convince the Metropol admiral of avoiding another confrontation in Toscana. So long as the Don avoids something rash that is…”

“Madame…” Brutus starts, he clears his throat, “don’t you think… you’re trusting this ensign a little too much?” That warrants turning to Brutus in disbelief, “not to mention having too much faith that the Fed admiral won’t change his mind about invading again… he did say indefinitely, right? but that doesn’t necessarily mean never,” Brutus remarks, lightly stroking the red handkerchief, “he might see the better tactical advantage he may have if he links up in the Frankish realms, and then…”

“Brutus,” it’s a more stern pronunciation from Olga. She grips her knee. Brutus cuts loose a deep sigh, and just as he opens his mouth to speak—before I cut him off from the opportunity.

“I suppose… in a way, I’ve been too trusting. I have no other choice, after all,” I say, warmly, bearing a grimacing smile, “if it comes to that, then there’s nothing I can do but accept our fate. But I doubt the Metropol fleet would travel so far into the corners of the galaxy to challenge me,” I say. I pull lightly on the handkerchief, and Brutus lets it slip from his grasp.

I then get off the leather seating and take a few steps to the center before turning to the other two. "I stand to reason they will perceive any further incursion into Toscana as costly for minimal gains…" I glance at Olga before continuing, "Olga's surgical strike on their supply column might have more far-reaching strategical congruences than I may have suspected. It could have been their entire campaigning logistics corp that Olga sunk, or it could have been only half. Either way, it could be too impractical for the admiral or even Miss Happ's commodore may consider. And with that said…

“There is still that particular stronghold nestled in the Frankish Domain…” I pause, caressing my scarred brow with the bandanna, “the name of it escapes my train of thoughts. But I do recall my father and its self-proclaimed ‘Il Magnifico’ did not get along because of either’s stubbornness on giving up despotic powers. But that aside… if what the ensign told me is true, then I can likely surmise that their fleet originally came to subjugate their Cluster rather than the Year 217 Mafia.”

Brutus contemplates for a while, scratching his chin, “you think they will redouble their collective efforts on them instead? The mercs over there in the Franks,” the oaf says leaning back in the leather car, stretching his arms on the chairs. It is a bit of a stretch: there could be ulterior motives to the deployment of Victoria’s fleet there. Maybe the ensign might have not been too informed, either.

In the end, I give a nod in response. "How can you be so sure?" Brutus asks, and unexpectedly he scoffs while scratching his neck, "I hope it doesn't seem like I'm interrogating you too much, Madame," Brutus remarks slyly while glancing at Olga embarrassingly, "I'm just… a little antsy about it, is all."

“The mercenary groups there led by the ‘Il Magnifico’ have—or at least had— a formidable naval force, and their Clusters are regarded to have been fortress Sides,” I say, to the bewildered Olga and Brutus.

“Fortress Sides?” Brutus utters, throwing his arms off the chairs, and leans forward with one hand on his leg. “I used to hear that actual Frankish settlements were armed to the teeth, but describing them as fortresses is another thing,” Brutus says. When it looks like Olga wants to speak, he gives her the go-ahead.

“You sound uncertain about their strength, given that you mentioned them in past tense,” Olga says “it must mean that your knowledge of this mercenary stronghold must be a little dated at best. So to reiterate what Brutey asked: how did you know of this?”

I turn my back to them and take a few paces towards the cockpit. With a glance at the windows, we are closer to our destination at Baltit: and it looks just as disturbing at the Side as it is near the planet. The mouth of its entrance is chipped off at points and there floats numerous assault shuttles and smaller remains of Mafia and Metropolitan ships. If I squint hard enough, I can even make out unfortunate corpse remains drifting in the Baltit’s gravitation field. Friend or foe, I hope that we can bring these souls to proper rest. I turn away from the window to my subordinates.

“Informants,” I comment, stroking my shoulders, “I’ve always considered them a little shaky at best. But they are otherwise trustworthy sources… supposedly sympathetic to the Mafia… or perhaps speaking because of money.”

“Informants?” Olga inquires. But before I can answer, she sits up straight with eyes widened. “You don’t possibly mean…?” Brutus cocks his head at Olga, seemingly unable to understand what either of us is getting at.

“There exists—“I pause, caressing my lips, “or at least existed a network of spies operating on Kamon’s orders. I happened to come across this information itself sometime after we lost contact with them.”

“The Madame…” Brutus clears his throat, “on Madame Hwang’s orders?” He asks, cupping a hand over his mouth. I nod, and Brutus slumps in his seat, his shoulders sag. “What a fearsome woman, that Hwang,” the oaf says, rather grimly.

Olga cuts a scoff while rubbing her neck, "the thought of her having such resources at her disposal sends a shiver down my spine. And in the Frankish region of all places! To think we were this close to openly confronting her at Brunsb üttel only a few days ago," Olga says. She then folds her arms, pursing her lips, "you said you—or, rather, Kamon—lost contact with them: when was that?" Olga asks, "surely, if we had access to this network even a month ago we could've been better prepared, no?" Brutus nods in agreement.

I take a seat, continuing to wrap the bandanna continuously over in my hands before speaking. “It’s evident to me that we lost contact with the network of informants at least a year ago, maybe a year and a half. As such, I’ve been left in the dark regarding any monitoring on either the Frankish settlements themselves or Il Magnifico’s mercenary strongholds… much less any Metropolitan fleets in the area. And despite Kamon’s efforts—” I tilt my head to the cupola above “she was unsuccessful in reestablishing communications with the informants. A process that she persisted on until half a year ago.”

I was naive then and even now. I thought nothing of the loss of the informant ring back then: and yet it seems so obvious now. Though I do not know of the exact timing of the Metropol fleet’s arrival, it could be that either Kamon cut off payment to them. Or, in likelihood, they voluntarily cut off communications to avoid drawing suspicions to themselves. Or, perhaps, still, they were apprehended by either Metropol or Frankish authorities. And I thought nothing of it.

There were rumors of Terra initiating another campaign against piracy throughout its territories. Stragglers from subdued havens warned us of the approaching threat from Rouen—information that the Don foolishly chose to ignore. In our minds, there was no way the Metropolitans would dare cross into the Rouen against such formidable odds. And yet… when the Rouen threat did loom over us, there was not so much a word from the Frankish Domains—from any potential stragglers from the Frankish mercenary strongholds. I truly believed I had nothing to worry about, and, as such, I foolishly told the Don that what we faced was the total commitment of the Metropolitan fleet at Rouen.

And I paid dearly for the miscalculation.

Brutus asks, with brows raised, “could it be that the mercenary strongholds are already wiped out, then?” Olga looks at him in surprise. It seems she had the thought as well.

"It could be… but at the same time, it's likely Miss Victoria's fleet prioritized us over them," I remark "the Commodore's flotilla seemed… small, and unaccustomed to actual naval combat. Notwithstanding that it was divided into separate squadrons. On the other hand, the informant reports I read indicated their mercenary fleet had better quantity—but perhaps not so much in quality," I say.

When it looks like the two have nothing more to say, I stand up and smile meekly at the two, bearing the aching pain. "Once we arrive in the Baltit, I will discuss with Sergi, since he took it upon himself to monitor the Metropolitan movement in Bordeaux. If it's evident that the Metropolitans withdrawal further into the Frankish Realms, then I believe we will have nothing to worry about—we can rest easy," I say, holding my arms out. The two murmurs, but don't object and give nods.

In truth, though, it’s all I can do. And it’s all I hope we have to do… because if the Don gets any ambitions, then I will be doomed.

"Well, well, aren't you three just real chatty?" The voice of Carla reels me around, she has been leaning against the cockpit door but pushes herself towards us. "Brute here is popular with the ladies I see, I'm jealous!" She glares past me in Brutus's direction, and I can't help but sneak a glance at a nervously smiling Brutus. "Anyway, the shuttle is programmed to navigate and descend into the harbor. We should be inside any moment now," she holds up a hand, "but you don't need to buckle back in for it, though. There's no danger of you splattering on the ceiling," she chuckles at her dark humorless joke, "I imagine you guys might want to get up and stretch anyway," Carla says. Carla then excuses herself and proceeds back into her cockpit—but stops just after passing me.

“Carla?” I ask. Her hazel eyes fall on the bandanna I wring in my hands. She averts her gaze, briefly, before turning to face me directly. She squints in pain, looking me in the eyes.

“That… that bandanna,” Carla stammers quietly. She extends a hand out, “may… I see it?” I grip it tightly, and without another word, I reach out, slowly, and place it folded in her hands. For a moment, she does nothing, but she slowly curls her hand into a ball, squeezing it tightly. I cut a heavy sigh cup her hand with both of mine. It’s only momentarily, however, since Carla pulls away the next second. With her back to us, Carla’s head hangs low as she seemingly holds the red handkerchief close to her, and she remains like this even as the Side colony overshadows us.

“Juley…” Carla finally breaks the silence, “I always wondered where he was after that battle in…” the pilot’s voice cracks a little, but she clears her throat and tries again, “that loud, impolite, rude, annoying, bratty smart ass wasn’t anywhere,” she inhales deeply after the long-winded insults, “and before I knew it, I started to hate the Castelforte’s pilot resting facility. It was so… quiet. So devoid of nosiness, and none of the other pilots seemed to know where he was,” Carla says, slowly turning to face me. The bandanna is held tightly to her chest with both hands, “Juley… why… why do you have his bandanna?” Carla asks, her voice trembling all the same, “the guy wouldn’t give it up even if it meant the world. He wouldn’t even wash the damn thing… and it always stunk up the facility!”

“Carla…” Brutus says, attempting to get up. But the creasing of the leather chair tells me that Olga is trying to keep him down, at least.

“He acts like your chauffeur, right?” Carla asks, taking a step forever, the sorrow in her eyes only grows larger with each step, “why else would you have me haul you around, right?” I can’t bring myself to look into those eyes anymore. Carla takes another closer—and I take a step back. Before long, I am backed to the wall, and Carla’s breathing becomes heavier. Behind Carla, I hear the groaning of the seats as Brutus attempts to hold Olga down in return.

I close my eyes, gritting my teeth, expecting Carla to lash out at me—explaining why Olga would get unsettled watching the two of us. But it never comes—nothing happens. Carla’s unwelcoming breath brushing off my skin gets tamer. I open my eyes to her backing off.

“I always knew he was a reckless idiot,” Carla says, turning around, “I told him to be careful, and no matter how many times I chastised him, Juley…” Carla’s voice trails off. The pilot then turns away from us, unwrapping the bandanna to wipe her face with. Carla turns around and approaches me again. Her now wet, reddish eyes look into mine—but it is not one of contempt, or at least I would think.

“I’m… sorry,” I say, weakly, “it was too late… if I had realized sooner, he would still be with us… ”I clench my fist, gritting my teeth again, “if I didn’t have to resort to shuttle couriers…” Carla cuts me off by placing a hand on my shoulder—and to my surprise pulls me toward her in an embrace. Her arms wrap around my neck tightly, and she buries her head, wetting my neck.

“There was no helping it,” Carla croaks “Juley wouldn’t want us to lament over it… none of them would, right?” Carla says, after a gasp of air. The pilot takes a step back and seems to head off into the cockpit before stopping again. She holds the bandanna up, staring at it intently, her hand trembles. She wipes her watery eyes and storms off towards me, making me stiffen against the wall once more. Without another word, Carla presses the bandanna on my chest. I look up at her, and she only offers a gentle, but slight, smile.

“Carla…?”

“I think…” she clears her throat, again wiping her irritable eyes, “I think Juley would want you to have it. If I keep possession of it,” she presses it to my chest harder, “it’ll only make me depressed with what could have been,” Carla chokes. I caress her hand, and she lets go of the bandanna as it slips into my hands. “Sorry,” she says “that was a little-winded…” she glances at Brutus and Olga, forcing a grin before taking a few more steps back towards her cockpit door, “I… didn’t mean to ruin the moment between everyone,” Carla says, taking slow breaths of air.

“You did no such thing, Carla,” I shake my head, “there’s no need to worry about it,” I say, warmly, taking a few steps towards her and holding one of her hands. Similarly, I wipe away the wetness from her eyes, caressing her soaked cheek in the process. Carla takes a few more short, intense breaths through her nostrils, giving me a gentle nod. I take a step away, and Carla gives us one last look before heading off into the cockpit—the door slides quietly behind her.

I drag myself over to Brutus and Olga, sitting down quietly adjacent to Brutus, and slump forward with the crimson bandanna. I look up at the two sorry-looking subordinates, and I open my mouth to speak—

A loud, metallic thud from the cockpit jolts the three of us in place. Brutus is the first to get up, and he rushes over to the door. There’s another metallic thud, followed by muffled whimpers. The oaf looks like he is about to force the door open—but I grab him by the shoulder—tugging at his sleeve. “Let her be, at least for the time being,” I tell him, my voice faint enough to hear over the wailing, “I’ve made things difficult for her… I think she needs some time to herself,” I say, tugging at his sleeve harder.

Brutus ignores me at first, tightening his grip on the door. But eventually, the oaf sags his shoulders and relents. Brutus rips himself from the door and I follow him back to our seats, where I hold the damp cloth close to my chin, anxiously biting down it.

Julius… Carla, I’m sorry.