Choices | Page 6

its many institutions had remained. Yet this was a religion responsible for the deaths of millions in the years since its fiery birth. In the name of the Red Catholic Popes who had reigned through the decades of conflict, tens of thousands of Empaths had been hunted down and slaughtered. Butchered like animals. And in its quest to broaden the compass of its reach, whole worlds had been razed to eliminate them as a threat to the faith.
"You should at least take someone with you," Burrye said.
I gave him a dry look. "That would hardly help foster trust, now would it?"
"With all due respect, Captain, I don't think the Reds are deserving of anyone's trust."
"You puzzle me, Jacob," I said.
He frowned.
"You act like someone with a grudge," I explained. "I've seen Empaths with less animosity towards the Unity than you seem to harbor."
Burrye's face coloured. "I just wonder why we're so magnanimous," he said. "They killed millions. You of all people should know the brutality they exhibited. You were there, on the front lines. You saw people die."
"Yes," I whispered. "I saw people die. Too many. Which is why I'm here. I've no desire to see more people join those who have already suffered our folly. I want to see this peace work, Jacob. And if that means showing a little humility when it comes to the Red Catholics, if it means accepting that they'll continue to be a part of this Empire, then so be it. That's infinitely preferable to war. Only someone who has never fought in one could think otherwise," I added pointedly.
"Perhaps, Captain, you've become too hardened by your years of service."
I arched a brow and regarded him quizzically. "Meaning?"
"Meaning that perhaps you can no longer understand the pain of those of us who lost loved ones because of the Reds."
I felt a small kernel of rage explode somewhere within me, but I didn't unleash it. What would have been gained by railing at him? How could he know his words were like a stinging slap across the face? Unless, of course, he'd intended them to be just that.
"We in the ships weren't machines out there," I said in a slow, deliberate manner. "It wasn't easy killing people. It never is. And despite what some might suggest, you don't become hardened to it. The only way one ever kept one's sanity was to tell oneself that it was us or them. And better it be them than us."
Burrye shifted uncomfortably. "I didn't mean to imply--"
"I think I know what you meant," I said brusquely. "And now if you'll excuse me, I've a meeting to attend." I made to leave my office.
"Captain," Burrye called after me.
I turned and looked at him.
He stared back at me, looking somewhat contrite. "Good luck," he said at last.
"Luck is for the unprepared," I said, remembering an old adage from my days in the Academy. And then I left, hurrying out of the embassy on my way to my appointment with Kieara Cjhar--where I soon discovered I should have paid heed to another little tidbit of Academy advice: expect the unexpected.

6.
"Put this on," my guide said. He handed me a black, hooded cloak. "For the scanners," he explained, noting my perplexed look.
"I'd have thought that it would have taken something a little more sophisticated than this," I mused aloud as I donned the garment.
He laughed. "They are more pious on Tradur than they are on Chastity," he said in a lumbering baritone. "It has always allowed the Church to rule by fear. Little need for expensive security devices when you can achieve the same thing by threatening would-be transgressors with the wrath of God." He laughed again, a brittle, cynical laughter; and then he pulled the hood of his own cloak up over his head, burying his face in shadow. He started forward, motioning for me to follow.
We stepped from the safety of the embassy's encompassing shield and out onto the ill-lit avenue we'd all taken to calling "Embassy Row." There was no one in sight, which was the whole idea. Without checking to see whether or not I was following, the guide headed quickly up the avenue, towards the heart of the city.
I'm no stranger to the machinations of the underground, but the method by which I was conveyed to my rendezvous with Kieara Cjhar rivaled anything I'd ever experienced as an intelligence operative. We moved under cover of darkness, my guide and I wending our way through the narrow streets of Tradur's capital, Jehku, avoiding the more built-up areas of the city. Once we even descended into the murky depths of a maze of service tunnels, far from the prying eyes of the curatai, the morality police who patrolled the streets in search of strictures violators. The curatai made me