“What?”
“Your whole body is locked up.”
I realize that I’m grabbing her tightly, my breathing somewhat labored. I relax my muscles. “I apologize.” I clear my throat. “Just a memory.”
“Must be a bad one.” Her voice is even.
“It was.” I wipe my brow.
“Do you want to talk about it?”
“Why would I?”
“We humans find that talking can alleviate some of the misery.”
“Please don’t blame me for being skeptical.” My voice is haughty. “Since humans are not currently the reigning masters of the universe.”
I wince at my own words, but she doesn’t seem fazed. “Exactly. We need strategies to survive our cur
rent fate. Talking to each other is one of the best.”
“Words solve nothing.” I’m clenched up again.
“Won’t hurt you to try.” She’s patient.
The urge for comfort—strangely new—overpowers me. The words tumble out. “This was several solar cycles ago. I was a commander in the army, newly promoted. I trained a troop of Zandians in battle and led them when we took back our planet. But we—failed.”
The feeling rises up again, the panic and helplessness. “My brother was one of them.”
“I’m so sorry.” Her hand is impossibly soft on my arm.
“I think if I had only trained them harder. Pushed faster. Did more. Maybe my brother would’ve been ready for the attack. Survived.”
“Is that what your superiors said?”
I shake my head. “It’s what I say to myself. Sometimes the battle plays in my head, over and over. Like a holo that won’t stop.” I push my temples.
“It sounds tragic. And distracting.”
“Perhaps.” I consider it. “You know how your body had that instantaneous reaction to the sight of the needle?”
She nods, her blue eyes on the side of my face.
“It’s almost like that. Triggers remind me of the battle. I…” I swallow. “I’m a trainer. All of the warriors I train put their lives in my hands—same as my brother. Every mistake I make puts their lives at risk.”
“But you make mistakes?”
I nod. “I freeze up—like you did with the needle. Instead of giving the orders I should be giving, I’m suddenly back at the battle, watching my brother die over and over again. And that’s when accidents happen.”
“I’m sorry,” she murmurs.
“That’s what happened a few planet rotations ago when I—made my most recent error. I was actually demoted.” I give her a side-glance, waiting for scorn or disgust, but it never comes from her; instead, it wells up in my gut. “And it was the right thing for the king to do. I failed at my task.”
“You’re a great captain, Khrys.” Her voice is soft. “I’ve seen that first hand. You’re a clever adversary and a strong warrior. I have no doubt you serve your king well.”
“You’ve not known me enough to make those statements.” But I feel unaccustomed pride at her compliments.
“It sounds like the ruminations take you away from your tasks. Can you stop thinking of that event quite so often?”