Hope and love can bind the most distant hearts, even across an entire galaxy.
— LERONICA TERGIET,
private journal
In the early evening, Zimia’s interplanetary district usually bustled with activity, as sidewalk vendors and customers bargained loudly and good-naturedly with one another, testing and teasing, using psychology and artful humiliation as they tried to sell their wares.
Vor had not been back home in more than a month. Abulurd had pushed the javelin and they’d arrived in Salusa a day early. As always, Vor looked forward to seeing Leronica again. She was his anchor, his one point of stability every time he returned from a mission.
He expected Estes and Kagin were still here. They had intended to go back to Caladan months earlier, but the quarantines and uncertainty caused by the Scourge had complicated all travel plans. They were safer on Salusa than anywhere else… and he was glad the twins had been in Zimia to keep their mother company while Vor was away. Yet again.
Tonight, as he strutted home ahead of schedule, a strange pall hung in the neighborhood air, a curious lack of energy and enthusiasm. It seemed fitting for his own mood, too, since he’d had to leave Parmentier without ever finding news about Raquella. Although Abulurd and his crew had assisted his search for two days, they had found no sign of Vor’s granddaughter or her medical team. She and Mohandas Suk seemed to have vanished off the face of the planet.
Abulurd had been anxious to return to Salusa, bringing his report on the final stages and aftermath of the epidemic, as ordered. Vor certainly understood the call of duty, and so he had shuttled with them all back to the javelin and headed home….
Tonight, in Zimia’s interplanetary district, the people seemed subdued, not chattering in their colorful languages as usual. Instead, they conversed quietly among themselves, and turned to look when they saw Vor pass. It was not uncommon for people in his own neighborhood to notice him, but this time no one hailed the Supreme Commander or made any attempt to engage him in conversation. They left him alone.
Something was wrong. He picked up his pace.
On the fifth floor of his building, he found Estes and Kagin inside the apartment with their wives, children, and grandchildren, people Vor rarely saw. Had Leronica thrown another reception for him? He doubted it, since she had not known the exact date of his return.
Smiling, he looked tenderly at his grandchildren, but they didn’t seem to recognize him. He glanced curiously at his two sons, who greeted him with even less warmth than usual, preoccupied with great concern. They looked many decades older than their father. “What’s going on? Where’s your mother?”
“It’s about time you got here,” Kagin said with a glance at his brother.
Estes sighed, shaking his head. He picked up a rambunctious little girl and held her, shushing her. Then he gestured with his chin toward the master bedroom. “You’d better get in there. She might not have much longer, but she never gave up hope that you would come back to her.”
Vor pushed his way into the bedroom, feeling the clamor of panic. “Leronica!” He could make no excuses for his priorities, and Leronica had never begrudged him his Jihad duties. But what if something had happened to her?
Vor entered the room he had shared with her for so many years. Uncharacteristic worry flooded his mind. He smelled medicines, sickness— the Scourge? Had Leronica been infected somehow, despite all the precautions? On general principles she had always refused to take spice, which left her vulnerable. Had he been a carrier himself, personally immune but still able to pass along the infection to others?
Vor stopped just inside the door, his breath catching in his throat. Leronica lay on their large bed, looking older and frailer than he had ever seen her before. An intense young doctor attended her, trying different treatments.
When she saw Vor standing at the doorway, her eyes lit up. “My love! I knew you’d come!” She pulled herself into a sitting position, as if she had just received a full dose of stimulants.
Startled, the doctor turned, then let out a visible sigh of relief. “Ah, Supreme Commander, I am glad that— “
“What’s wrong with her? Leronica, are you all right?”
“I am old, Vor.” She nudged the doctor. “Leave us alone for a while. We’ve got a lot of catching up to do.”
The man insisted on staying a moment longer to adjust her pillows and check another scan reading. “She’s as comfortable as I can make her, Supreme Commander, but there’s— “
Having long dreaded this day, Vor didn’t hear the rest of the doctor’s statement. Instead, he focused his whole world, all his attention on her. She smiled bravely, a wan, sickly offering. “I’m sorry I couldn’t be at the door to welcome you home with open arms.”
When he lifted her warm, dry hand it felt like a papier-maché sculpture in his grip. “I should have come back sooner, Leronica. I should never have gone to Parmentier. Abulurd could have done it all. I didn’t know— “
He wished he could run from what he was seeing, but knew that was impossible. Watching the love of his life slide toward death was far more frightening to him than any battle against enemy thinking machines had ever been. Desperation made him dizzy. “I’ll find some way to help you, Leronica. Don’t worry about the medical situation. There’ll be a solution. I’ll insist on it.”
Missed possibilities piled up around him, drowning him. If only he could have given her the life-extension treatment, too. If only he’d convinced her to take melange regularly. If only they could have a few more years together. If only his nurturing granddaughter Raquella could have been here to take care of Leronica. If Raquella was even alive…
Leronica’s papery lips formed a smile, and she squeezed his hand. “I am ninety-three years old, Vorian. You might have found a way to fend off age, but it’s still a mystery to me.” She looked closely at him and reached up to wipe off a bit of age-simulation makeup he had put around his mouth. Her fingers brushed away the fine lines he had intentionally added. She always seemed amused at his efforts. “You haven’t changed a bit.”
“And you look just as beautiful to me as ever,” he said.
* * *
VOR RARELY LEFT her side for the rest of that night or the next day. Estes and Kagin and their families crowded the house, and everyone struggled to control their anxiety. Even the twins could see that Leronica seemed much more vibrant when Vor was with her.
She didn’t ask for much, occasional treats to satisfy her sweet tooth, and Vor procured anything she wanted, despite the disapproving glances of Kagin, who cited the doctor’s instructions. Vor hung on to threads of hope— threads that grew more frayed hour by hour.
On the edge of evening on the second day, with reddish sunlight filtering through the windows into the bedroom, Vor gazed down on the old woman who slept fitfully. The night before, he had dozed uncomfortably on a single cot that had been brought in, and his entire body ached with fatigue. He recalled times when he had slept better huddled in scant shelters on rugged battlefields.
Now, as slanted sunlight touched Leronica’s wrinkled face, Vor saw her in memory the way she’d been when he met her, serving kelp beer and food in a Caladan tavern. She stirred and opened her eyes. Vor bent over to kiss her forehead. For a moment Leronica did not recognize him, but then she focused and gave him a melancholy smile. Her dark pecan eyes remained beautiful— reflecting the depths of the rich, selfless love that she had felt for him all these decades.
“Hold me, my dearest,” she said, her voice cracking from the effort of only a few words. Then, as his heart cried out helplessly, Vor felt her slipping away in his arms. At the last moment, as she gasped a final breath, she whispered his name, and he responded by saying hers, long and slow, like a caress.
When he could hold the tears back no longer, Vor began to cry softly.
Kagin appeared in the doorway. “Quentin Butler is here to see you. Something about the Jihad, and he insists it’s important.” Then, seeing his mother and Vor’s tears, he realized what had happened. His face paled. “Oh, no! No!” Kagin rushed to his mother and knelt at her side, but she did not move. Vor didn’t let go of her.
Kagin broke out in loud, convulsing sobs, looking so pitiful that Vor pulled away from Leronica and placed an arm around the younger man’s shoulders. For a moment, his son looked at him with shared grief. Estes came into the room and stood, reeling, as if hoping to delay the reality for a few more seconds.
“She’s gone,” Vor said. “I’m so sorry.” He stared in disbelief at the two dark-haired men who looked so much alike.
Estes looked like an ice statue, unmoving. Kagin looked coldly at his father. “Go attend your military business with Primero Butler. It always happens— why should it be any different, now that she’s dead? Give us time alone with our mother.”
Numb and barely able to move, Vor rose to his feet and plodded into the living room. Looking haggard from his own shock, Quentin Butler stood at attention wearing his crisp green-and-crimson Jihad uniform.
“Why are you here?” Vor demanded, his voice dull. “I need to be alone now.”
“We have a crisis, Supreme Commander. Faykan and I are just back back from Corrin, and our greatest fears have come to pass.” He drew a deep breath. “We could have less than a month before all the League is destroyed.”