Auxiliary's Revenge

Chapter 2 – Ceremonies-3

“It's a deal, sir.”

“I'd like to hear you play your banjo at some point, too.” Brewer looked at Jerry's bandmates. “Contact my office when he's up to it and we'll set it up.”

“Yes, sir,” Bill said, beaming.

“At the moment, though,” Brewer said, raising his voice slightly and looking around at everyone in the room, “I'm here for a specific purpose. We're going to have a little award ceremony right here and now. My people will record the event.”

A young woman from Brewer's entourage began setting up a camera on a tripod. When it was ready, she aimed it, a light came on, and then she nodded at Brewer. “Ready, sir.”

Brewer nodded back. “The video will remain classified, of course, until after Mr. Harper has moved out of the mansion. That's for security reasons. But I wanted some of his friends to see it live, and I'm pleased you were all able to make it. So let's begin, shall we? First, it is my pleasure to introduce Thane Alfred Sawyer of Lightbridge.”

One of the people who had entered the room with Brewer stepped forward. The thane was an elderly, distinguished-looking man, a “grandfatherly” sort who wore a dark brown woolen suit and carried a leather-bound briefcase. He laid the briefcase on the bed next to Jerry and offered his hand. “Warrant Officer, it's a pleasure and an honor to meet you.”

Jerry took his hand. “Thank you, sir. The pleasure and honor are mine, too.”

“I'm the thane of Rice Bay County, and my jurisdiction includes Skybridge 2 in certain circumstances. You played a vital role in the defense of my world and my county during the battle there. Without your telekinetic prowess, things likely would have played out much differently. We owe you a great deal.”

“Not just me, sir. Other Homesteaders were there, too, as were lots of others from all over the Commonwealth. Some of my friends are now buried on your planet. You'd better take care of their graves, sir. You Lightbridgers had better not ever forget. It's a matter of honor.”

“I understand,” Sawyer said, “and I can assure you that Homestead's heroes will not be forgotten.”

“Thank you, sir.” Jerry sighed. “Sorry if I came on a little strong there. It's a personal thing for me. I don't know if you were ever in the Lightbridge Dragoons, sir, but if you were, then you know it's not easy losing men under your command.”

“I'm sure it's quite traumatic,” Sawyer said. “And that brings me back to why I'm here.” He opened his briefcase and removed a medal. It displayed the historic Lightbridge—the actual bridge prior to its collapse—in front of a rising sun, and the ribbon was green and gold. He held it up for the camera. “This is the Dawn Crossing, an award dedicated to off-worlders who perform valuable services for Lightbridge. As the duly appointed representative of Lightbridge in this matter, it is my pleasure to present this award to Warrant Officer Gerald Wayland Harper of the Homestead Volunteer Rifles.”

The others in the room applauded.

Sawyer leaned over, looped the ribbon over Jerry's head, and arranged the medal on his chest. He then stepped to the side, offered Jerry his hand again, and smiled for the camera.

There was a fresh burst of applause.

Jerry shook his hand and looked at the camera. The Battle of Skybridge 2 had been costly, both for the Lightbridgers and for the Homestead Volunteer Rifles. The memory of the dead came flooding back in a hurry, and he desperately tried to shove those images away. It didn't work. The ashen face of Lieutenant Allen Slate, the brave vac who didn't know the first thing about sword fighting but took up the blade anyway, returned once again to the forefront of his mind. Slate had killed his share of Reliant boarders, and now Jerry couldn't avoid the man's lifeless stare. It was an effort to keep from breaking down right then and there.

Sawyer grabbed his briefcase and stepped aside.

“Next is a letter,” Brewer said, producing an envelope from his suit jacket's inside pocket. He handed it to Jerry. “I won't say who it's from. I'll let you announce that if you want, or you can keep it to yourself. Your choice.”

Jerry gave him a quizzical look and then examined the envelope. On the front was his name, rank, and county of residence. There was a stamp as well as a customs mark; the letter was from off-world. There was no return address. He turned it over. The envelope was sealed with a blob of burgundy-colored wax. Impressed into the wax was a symbol. He brought the envelope closer to his face to make it out. The symbol was a trio of crossed swords inside a nine-pointed star. He looked up at Brewer.

“We haven't opened it,” Brewer said. “RI usually screens these things during times of war, but they decided this was a special case. They weren't sure what to do with it, so they asked me. I said I'd handle it personally. It's been scanned for chemical agents, but only on the outside. The inside is a complete unknown. What happens next is up to you.”

Calael leaned forward in his chair.

Jerry held the envelope up so Calael could see the wax.

“The Temple?” Calael asked. He squinted. “The seal is legitimate.”

“How do you know?” Jerry asked.

“I know. Trust me. You can open it without fear.”

Jerry gave him a wary look, but he took his word for it. He worked his thumb under the flap and broke the seal with a pop. He lifted the flap and pulled out a letter.

Mr. Gerald Wayland Harper,

We regret that we cannot be there in person during your Ealdorman's ceremony. We are busy rebuilding our Temple and our island. Nevertheless, don't think we're not grateful for your sacrifices on our behalf. You fought for our holy world and our sacred places. Your blood mingled with ours on Sherin Ch'taia. Just as importantly, you helped our brother Shiserin meet his reckoning with as much honor as the circumstances allowed. For these things, we are in your debt. We don't know how we will repay this debt, or when, but we won't forget it.

Reladur Valaeish of Clan Valaeish on behalf of the Harowaith Temple

Jerry stared at the message for several moments. It felt heavy, as if the paper was turning to lead or something and was about to fall to the floor with a clunk. Sure, it sounded like they were sincerely pleased with him, but what if he was reading it wrong? What if they planned vengeance against him for killing a Harowaith and the letter was just part of some elaborate ritual? After all, Calael hadn't defended him in the castle against Shiserin. He'd been willing to let Jerry die because of some tradition only the Harowaith understood. The Felids could be very subtle when it came to their honor, and that went triple for the Harowaith, and Jerry wasn't sure what to think. He'd have to talk it over with Calael in private later.

“Our next dignitary,” Brewer announced, “is a young lady named Chisira Alrowadur from Sherin Ch'taia.”

Jerry's heart soared at the introduction, and he had to blink away a few tears.

A teenage Felid girl stepped forward, holding a plaque in both hands. She smiled at Jerry and gave him a small wave.

Jerry smiled back. “Hey, Chisira.”

“Hello, Mr. Harper.” She gave Calael a dark look but quickly turned back to Jerry.

Calael smirked.

“Miss Alrowadur is a student at Breeder's Will Academy,” Brewer continued, “and was a participant in the recent battle to liberate Three Swords Island. Her teacher was tragically killed in the battle, but the students and surviving staff have been working tirelessly to rebuild their school and their town. We're honored that Miss Alrowadur has taken time from her work to come here for this ceremony.”

“Thank you, Ealdorman Brewer.” Chisira cleared her throat. “On behalf of Breeder's Will Academy, I would like to present Mr. Harper with this plaque.” She held it out towards him. “It says we owe you a debt of honor. The students who survived Castle Ch'taia signed it with an engraving pen.”

“Please stand to the side,” Brewer said, “and hold the plaque so the camera can get a good view of it.”

“Oh. Sorry.” Chisira quickly moved over and turned the plaque around.

The others applauded.

Jerry put a hand on the plaque and smiled for the camera. This time he did break down. Losing men under his command was one thing, but being responsible for the lives of children was another matter, and successfully protecting those kids was the thing he was most proud of in all his life. It was the only time he truly felt like a hero. Tears streamed down his cheeks, and he blinked furiously in a vain effort to get the room to come back into focus.

Brewer wrapped up the ceremony with a few more words, but Jerry didn't really hear. He was back in the tunnels on Sherin Ch'taia. He was aboard the Ormelius in the space near Skybridge 2. He was back in the swamp village on Forever Dawn. As they had many times throughout the years since the Claim War, the ghosts of the past took control of his mind and threatened to overwhelm him.

When he finally mastered himself once more and became fully cognizant of his surroundings, everyone except Calael had already left the room.

Calael watched him from his chair and stared with knowing eyes. “There's always a reckoning.”