The shuttle shook slightly, jostling its occupants. Despite the lack of any viewports, Tor’laen could feel the shifting of the small craft as it entered Orphila’s atmosphere. He unconsciously ran his fingers over the patch that had been hastily sewn onto the shoulder of his Ydani uniform, the silver-colored crest of the Saint’s Aegis denoting him as part of the Star Citadel’s crew. He could feel the ridges of the coarse thread, stitching it to the uniform.
He and Nalyra sat in silence, the only two passengers aboard.
“I trust you know how to play the role you’ve been given today, Ydani.” She glanced over at him.
Tor’laen threw her an incredulous look.
“I’ve done bodyguard work before, Crown Daughter,” he said flatly. “It was necessary to protect our commanding officers during the war.”
The Zakkili smirked at him.
“I imagine the situation won’t quite be the same.” She closed her eyes, sitting regally despite being more than a head shorter than him. “Orphila is not an active warzone, and I plan to keep it that way.”
“Civilian crowd control.” Tor’laen nodded. “I have experience with that as well.”
“Good.”
Nalyra fell silent, eyes still closed, apparently satisfied with not speaking further without pressing need.
Tor’laen folded his arms, respecting the silence. Sitting in a shuttle, alone except for the Zakkili Crown Daughter who he had just been assigned to protect, who was now his commanding officer and also responsible for evaluating him. Somewhere along the line, his life had become very strange.
“One mark until touchdown in the capital, Crown Daughter.” The pilot’s voice came over the small intercom system in the ship.
The shuttle slowed, hovered for a breath, then settled with a faint bump as its landing gear met the pad.
As soon as the shuttle had touched down, Nalyra was already at the entrance of the passenger compartment, tapping the screen to open the door. Tor’laen moved behind her. The portal slid open with a hiss, humid air rushing in. Stepping out into the warm morning sun, the Ydani got his first look at Orphila.
The city around the landing pad was sizable, though nowhere near the scale of the capital he had seen on Zakkil. There were the occasional taller buildings, reaching up five or six stories high, but most were only one or two floors tall. The city spread outward rather than climbing high.
The buildings here were a completely different style than the ones on the Zakkili homeworld. They were more functional rather than artistic, but there was a certain calm beauty to them as well. A feeling of welcome, with large windows, planter-filled balconies, and soft colors decorating each. Tor’laen had to fight not to relax too much — the architecture somehow felt comforting, serene.
Between many of the buildings were large parks, a place for citizens to relax among the carefully tended green plants. The roads were large and clean, with plenty of room for citizens to walk, or ride on some kind of small, personal scooters. In the distance, beyond the city limits, mountains made up the horizon, covered in the green foliage of trees and bushes.
The Crown Daughter descended from the shuttle, striding confidently across the landing pad. Tor’laen trailed her. A crowd was already starting to form, excited and nervous voices rising above the sounds of the city. Though the crowd was mostly made up of Zakkili, there were other races mixed in with the green-skinned citizens. It took the Ydani by surprise for a moment before he remembered the briefing. Right. Nalyra had called Orphila a beacon of cooperation. He had assumed that was just royal phrasing. Apparently, there was some truth in it.
He didn’t have the luxury of inspecting the new aliens closely, but he got an impression of individuals covered in fur, or leathery skin. Even a few that looked like insects, about the same height as a male Zakkili.
The Crown Daughter stopped at the top of the ramp to the landing pad. She drew herself up, looking out over the crowd.
“Citizens of Orphila,” she started, her voice quieting the crowd. “I am Crown Daughter Nalyra, Royal Hand of the Saint’s Aegis. I come to your planet today on a mission of peacekeeping, to help restore order to your world. The order my sister fought to preserve. The order her enemies tried to tear from you. My sister believed Orphila was not merely a colony, but a promise,” Nalyra said, voice ringing over the crowd. “That promise will not die with her.”
Tor’laen let the rest of her speech fade into the background. His gaze traveled across the crowd, missing nothing. The people were worried. Nervous. Many were in awe of the Crown Daughter, but a few faces were filled with suspicion. Most in the crowd wore black. Likely the Zakkili used the color for mourning, just as his people did.
This city, this planet, was wounded. And it had barely started to heal. It gave him an idea of just how much their fallen leader, Nalyra’s sister, had meant to them.
More than a few citizens in the crowd were looking his way as well. Looks of curiosity, or even admiration. That wasn’t too surprising, he supposed. The various races mixed in the crowd were all somewhat around Zakkili heights, meaning he would still tower over any of them.
No danger, as far as he could see. At least, not yet.
A mental prod from Nalyra brought his attention back to her. She had finished her speech, and it was time for him to get to work.
“Make way. Move aside, please.” Tor’laen moved forward, his deep voice carrying across the crowd. Whatever the Crown Daughter had said in her speech, it had worked. The mood had shifted, lightened. Their grief wasn’t gone, but a feeling of hope, of healing, had settled over it.
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Tor’laen idly wondered if the Crown Daughter could Press an entire crowd at once.
He moved ahead of Nalyra, taking advantage of his size to create a path through the citizens. Dozens of mental pokes and prods hit him, faint flashes of interest, curiosity, or admiration. The Ydani suppressed the urge to roughly shake his head. Even if they were mostly well-intentioned, the sheer amount of them made his mind feel crowded.
One of Nalyra’s ears flicked slightly, and like a mental breeze, the Crown Daughter blew away all the faint mind touches.
“Thank you.” Tor’laen muttered, as they exited the crowd.
Nalyra gave a quiet, bemused huff.
“I can’t have you getting distracted, Ydani.”
Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed her unconsciously tapping a manicured nail on the hilt of his dagger.
“Now come. We have much to do.”
“Highness, the procedures are clear.” The Dorrai clerk said slowly. “Releasing these financial records to an off-world organization would require authorization from the High Fortress.”
“And I am telling you, I act with the authority of the Crown.” Nalyra responded, emphasizing each syllable. “You will release all the data to my crew.”
The clerk blinked placidly back at her.
“After I receive a response from the High Fortress, yes.”
Tor’laen didn’t need a psychic connection to imagine how much this man was making Nalyra want to pull her hair out.
He took another look over this alien, a member of the species the Crown Daughter had named as Dorrai. Tor’laen had seen a few of them over the course of the day – a slow moving, deliberate people, from his view. They were about the height of a Zakkili woman, but nearly twice as broad, with wide shoulders and a stout, grounded build. Their skin looked leathery and tough; this clerk’s was light brown, the color of varnished wood.
The Dorrai’s face ended in a blunt snout, with solid ridges running up its bridge and back toward his forehead. A pair of soft brown eyes rested beneath a set of heavy brows, and a pair of rounded ears sat high on either side of his hairless scalp.
A sturdy people, clearly, but not one suited to fighting. That much was obvious to Tor’laen. They were too slow, too deliberate. He wasn’t sure a Dorrai could move faster than that steady, unhurried gait they all seemed to share.
“Then, how long will it take to receive a response from Zakkil?” Nalyra asked, perhaps recognizing that this clerk was nigh immovable, both physically and procedurally.
“Requests from our office are usually marked as low-priority.” He said solemnly. “I wouldn’t expect one before the end of the span.”
“No.” The Crown Daughter bristled slightly. “No, that will not do. When I return to my Citadel tonight, I will contact the High Fortress directly. Would a recording of authorization from the High Steward be sufficient to release the records to me?”
The Dorrai took a long moment to consider. Tor’laen was surprised Nalyra didn’t start tapping her foot impatiently.
“Yes. That would be acceptable.” The man nodded deliberately.
“Fine. Noted.” She turned to stalk away. “Come, Ydani.” A faint pulse of her irritation brushed Tor’laen’s mind. He had to hide his grin, careful not to let his amusement leak out.
Though, if anything, the Ydani’s respect for the Crown Daughter had only grown over the course of the day. Nalyra had made no fewer than ten public appearances over the past dozen bells, and given a lengthy speech at each. Tor’laen had given a speech or two before, of course, but always carefully planned, and usually given only to the men and women under his direct command. Giving a speech to a crowd of grieving citizens with little to no preparation sounded like a special kind of nightmare to him.
The pair walked down the spacious hallway, back towards the main lobby. Nalyra’s tour of the city had ended with the two of them in the capital building, where the planet’s government was centralized. The place Nalyra’s sister had ruled from. She had been everything to her people, Tor’laen had come to realize over the course of the day. A leader beloved by every species that called Orphila home.
He’d had no stakes in the game at first, but now the Ydani was looking forward to finding the coward who assassinated her. One of the rare things he and Nalyra completely agreed upon.
The Crown Daughter led him back into the main lobby. Back into the chaos.
The spacious room was full of people, a mix of Zakkili and other races, all clustered together in groups. Government officials mingled with peacekeeping troops, along with the odd civilian, there with some complaint or concern. It was a clear sign of just how disorganized the capital was, without their Crown Daughter to guide them.
I must check my sister’s personal communications before we return to the Citadel for the night. Nalyra’s thoughts pushed into his head, apparently not wanting to bother making herself heard over the crowd. Her mental touch carried just a hint of weariness, threaded underneath the thoughts. It seemed the Crown Daughter was more worn down than she was letting on.
Tor’laen simply nodded, following behind her.
She had almost made it to the double doors that led to her sister’s office when she was intercepted. It was a male Zakkili, dressed in some kind of formal clothing and clutching a tablet, his eyes darting around nervously. He had been among those who welcomed the Crown Daughter to the capital building. Some kind of secretary or minister — Tor’laen hadn’t bothered to memorize the man’s position.
“C-Crown Daughter, if I might have a moment of your precious time…”
“What is it, Minister Takil? If this is not urgent, I must ask that it wait until tomorrow morning.” Nalyra folded her arms, looking down imperiously at the man.
To his credit, the minister didn’t fold under her glare.
“It is quite urgent, H-Highness. We were expecting a large shipment of meat by the end of the span, but-”
The man launched into some explanation about revised tariffs and delays, and Tor’laen tuned him out. Once again, that was Nalyra’s arena. He would focus on his own.
His gaze roved over the crowd. It really was chaos, packed with uncertainty and undercut with barely restrained panic. The peacekeeping forces especially seemed lost. The Ydani could pick out a few sergeants and some corporals, or at least their equivalent, judging by the insignia on their uniforms. However, no one was issuing orders. No one seemed to be in charge.
Tor’laen casually placed himself between the Crown Daughter and another approaching official, slightly shaking his head at the Zakkili woman. She paled a bit at the sight of him and scurried off. If he let every petty bureaucrat approach the Crown Daughter, she — and by extension he — would be there all night.
“…yes, yes.” Nalyra was saying, irritation slightly bleeding through. “You may include my seal with the message, and let them know that the tariff remains unchanged. This does not constitute a natural disaster, no matter how much of a disorganized mess it currently is.”
“Yes, Crown Daughter. Thank you, Crown Daughter.” Takil backed away, bowing frantically over and over.
Nalyra watched him go for a moment, then turned away.
“Let us be done with this dreadful day.” She muttered.
She had taken a single step toward her sister’s office when an ear-splitting bang filled the room, and the double doors exploded outward.