It turned out my mother was wrong. My sister had died, died forever. Perhaps I had died for a short time too… though it does not count if someone brings you back.

But when I first met Festina, I got most angry with her when she claimed Earth humans could achieve death, I believed she was putting on airs, pretending to be holy herself. The ability to the seemed too wondrous and special to be true.

However, I did not feel that way anymore. Starbiter had died. Grandma Yulai had died. Even villains like Admiral York and the man who killed my sister had died. For the very first time — there in the infirmary, watching Uclod weep and Lajoolie comfort him — for the first time, I realized just how un-special Death was. How common. It was not the exception, it was the rule: a ubiquitous poison infesting the universe, and those of us from Melaquin were total simple-heads to think death was a blessed gift we had been denied.

Starbiter: disemboweled and smashed at high speed into the Shaddill ship. Grandma Yulai: her brain burned to smoke by some mysterious device. My sister: shot with invisible sound, churned up and blasted until her insides shattered, then buried to rot in the dirt.

What did that bode for anyone else?

Festina could die. Truly die. At any time. Perhaps as a noble sacrifice, perhaps as the foolish result of blind bad luck. The same for Uclod and Lajoolie. The same for me as well — the Pollisand had promised I was not immune to death, and had warned that a time of danger was imminent.

I could die. Anyone could die. The doctor, the cloud man, baby Starbiter, they were no more permanent than leaves on an autumn tree; one day their winter would come and then they would be trampled in the dirt.

How could these people stand it? Did they not know? Did they not realize? Why did they not scream and scream at the thought their lives would end?

But I did not scream either. The utter truth of death had taken my breath away.

"Are you all right?"

Festina stood by my shoulder, her face filled with concern. "I am not all right," I whispered. "I am not all right at all."

"What’s wrong?"

I steeled myself, then told her the truth. "Things die."

"Yes."

"People die."

"Yes."

"You and I, Festina — we could die."

"We will die, Oar. Sooner or later. Maybe in the next second, maybe years from now; but we will die."

I looked at her. Was this not a good time for my friend to offer an embrace, a comfort, a reassurance? Lajoolie had enfolded Uclod in her arms, but Festina was only watching me — as if she did not want to make the moment go away. As if she wished the thought of death to impress itself on my brain, deeply, deeply, deeply.

I fought back tears. "How can you stand it?" I asked. "Why do you not scream and scream?"

"Because screaming doesn’t do any good. Nothing does any good in the long run. Death will come." Festina locked my gaze with her blazing green eyes. "But we have choices, Oar. There are some deaths we don’t need to accept. If a blood clot hits my brain right here, right now, there’s nothing I can do about it, so no regrets. But if I die from something I could have prevented if I’d just thought ahead…"

She shook her head fiercely. "We Explorers have a saying, Oar — don’t die stupid. It’s got a double meaning: don’t die because of your own stupidity, and don’t die in a state of stupidity. Learn things; learn everything you can. Keep your eyes open. Prepare, prepare, prepare. You’ll still die eventually, but by God, in the final second you can tell yourself you didn’t just throw the fight."

"And yet," I whispered, "one still dies."

"Yes. One still dies." She glanced at the weeping Uclod. "It seems you’ve just recognized your own mortality, Oar. Everyone does sooner or later… then most people immediately try to put it out of their minds. They go into denial, except when the grim truth strikes so close to home it can’t be ignored." She turned back to me. "Don’t do that, Oar. Stay mindful of death. Stay constantly mindful."

She held my gaze a moment, then lowered her eyes with shy chagrin. "Of course, some people say you should also stay mindful of life. I’m still working on that one. C’mere."

Festina opened her arms to me and I finally, gratefully, slid into her embrace.

Afore Pressing Matters

We did not stay that way long. Behind my back, someone made the sound that humans call a Polite Cough… but I did not think it polite at all, for it caused Festina to release me. "Yes?" she asked.

I turned. Dr. Havel stood there in the company of the cloud man, Nimbus… who was now not shaped like a man but a featureless ball of mist. At the center of the ball lay the delicate silvery Starbiter; and do not ask me how a ball of mist can support a ball of baby for I do not know. Some mysteries are too pleasing to be questioned.

"Uhh," said the doctor, all shamefaced, "sorry to interrupt you, Admiral, but uhh, ha-ha, Nimbus has been saying some things I think we should, uhh, discuss."

"What sort of things?" Festina asked.

The doctor gestured for the cloud man to answer. "Well," Nimbus said, particles of mist roiling within him, "I’m sure you realize Grandma Yulai won’t be the last. She’s only the first casualty in a much larger campaign to keep York’s expose hushed up. If someone on the High Council was desperate enough to murder her—"

"Wait," Havel interrupted. "Does it have to be someone on the High Council?" He turned to Festina with his big watery eyes… as if, ha-ha, the admiral would reassure him the universe was not truly cruel. "Maybe it was just someone misguided," Havel suggested. "A lowly ensign perhaps, who thought killing this woman would make the admirals happy. That could be how it was, couldn’t it?"

"The council will try to make it look that way if this business ever gets out." Festina curled her lip. "They’ll find some gung-ho hotshot who’ll confess to doing it unasked… and the admirals will howl with horror that anyone could believe they’d approve of such a deed. For all I know, maybe it was some lousy lieutenant who wanted to impress the High Council. But we have to assume the worst: one or more admirals have gone bug-fuck and they’re ready to out-and-out murder folks who pose a threat." She gave a grim little smile. "I’m afraid I fall into the threat category. So does Oar. So does everyone on this ship."

"But even if the admirals are on the warpath," Havel said, "they can’t do anything, can they? They’re all on New Earth. They can’t send execution squads to murder us in space the League would never allow killers to leave New Earth’s system."

"The admirals don’t have to send killers. Every planet in the Technocracy has locals who don’t mind slitting throats for a price. And our beloved high admirals know who those people are. Wherever we dock, someone will be waiting for us."

"Then we don’t dock," Havel said. "We’re a navy starship, for heaven’s sake — we can survive in deep space for three full years. Even longer if we sneak into uninhabited star systems every so often and mine a few asteroids."

"And in the meantime, we let the killers run free?" Festina scowled, "I wasn’t the only Explorer marooned on Melaquin — there were dozens of others, and they’re all at risk. Most are still serving in the fleet; the next time their ships dock, there’ll be assassins waiting in port. As soon as my fellow Explorers go on shore leave, they’ll get their throats sliced. Do you think I’ll sit back and let that happen?"

"Then let us confront the Admiralty," I said. "Let us make them stop killing. Let us make them know how awful death is."

Festina shook her head. "The admirals are all on New Earth, and it’s way too dangerous for us to go anywhere near there. I don’t just mean New Earth itself — just entering the system may be a risk. Entering any Technocracy system. The council could spread word that Royal Hemlock has turned renegade: non-sentient. Every navy ship might have orders to manufacture missiles and put us down."