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“Now you flatter me, sir.” Fal’ran edged aside to make room for Patrick in the conversation, but he didn’t look at him.
“Not at all.” Yal’rest clapped Fal’ran’s shoulder and Patrick fought the urge to rip the man’s arm from its socket. “Boldness like yours is exactly what the Rangers need. You’re a great fit and I look forward to watching your progress in the Corp.”
With a last nauseating smile and a salute with his half empty glass, General Yal’rest tottered off, no doubt pleased he’d been seen being friendly with Patrick and Fal’ran and thus showing all the bigwigs in the atrium he wasn’t to be lumped together with the War Minister he’d clung to before.
Fal’ran didn’t turn to Patrick, instead staring at the spot Yal’rest had stood. He raised his glass to his lips in a trembling hand.
“Fal’ran,” Patrick whispered, stress buzzing in his ears. “Can we talk?”
“Yeah.” Fal’ran clipped the single syllable with a press of his lips. He nodded and faced Patrick, his burnt-orange eyes a furious storm of emotions. “Yeah, I think we should.”
“We can go this way.” Patrick made for a side exit, running through his mental map of Base Ship Givast. He’d spent little time in the administrative wing, but he knew offices lined a hall off the atrium. They’d be empty by this time.
A few guests moved to intercept them, having looked for an opening all evening to engage with two of the men of the hour, but Patrick ignored them all and Fal’ran’s footsteps on his heels didn’t falter.
Those footsteps echoed in the dead silence of the hallway when they left the atrium, and Patrick winced at the deafening sound. Fal’ran was going to scream at him. He could feel it. He could feel the bubbling emotions in the man behind him and he braced himself for the onslaught as he ducked through the first open door he found.
But Fal’ran followed him into the meeting room silently, skirting the table and its ring of chairs to stand opposite him. He set his feet in a wide, firm stance, clasped his hands behind his back, lifted his chin and breathed a slow, deep breath. Confidence and maturity rolled off him in waves.
“I’m sorry.” Patrick surprised himself with his own pleading tone.
“For what?” Fal’ran raised both eyebrows, but he didn’t look surprised. “To hear Yal’rest tell it, you secured me a position in the most prestigious arm of the Klah’Eel military.”
Patrick swallowed. “I did.”
“Over half the current generals did time with the Rangers.” Fal’ran spoke with a clinical coolness that put Patrick’s teeth on edge. “The only better-known force is the Gat’Raph, and I missed out on joining them by at least a decade.” Fal’ran shrugged a shoulder. “There’s no better unit for me if I want to make a name for myself.”
Patrick took a few shaky steps forward until only the smooth expanse of the long table separated them. “That’s true.”
“So why are you sorry?”
Patrick clenched his fists. “Because you should have heard it from me first.” He flung an accusing finger toward the atrium they’d escaped. “Not from fucking Yal’rest while he licks your boots to get you on his side.”
Fal’ran’s jaw rippled as he ground his teeth. His eyes fell from Patrick’s to the surface of the table between them. “I’m not sure that would have made it hurt any less.”
His raw tone punched the breath from Patrick’s lungs. Guilt pressed him into the ground like the gravity on Klah’s huge neighboring planet. “It wasn’t supposed to hurt at all.”
“How was it not going to hurt, Patrick?” Fal’ran hunched his shoulders, and his eyes snapped up to glare at him. “I want to stay with you, and you want me on the other side of the sector.”
“I don’t.” Patrick planted both palms flat on the table. “I don’t want you on the other side of the sector. I don’t want you to join the Ranger Corp. Fal’ran, I don’t want you to take the offer.”
Fal’ran recoiled, his brow furrowing in suspicious confusion. “What? Why the fuck did you get me a position with them, then?”
“Because I want you to have options.” Patrick came around the table, as though standing closer to Fal’ran would make it easier for him to understand. “I want you to make a real decision about your future.”
“How can I make a decision when you haven’t given me any choices?” Fal’ran stepped back and out of Patrick’s reach.
“I was going to—” Patrick shook his head as the words came out all wrong “I am. Look, the position with the Ranger Corp isn’t the only one I found for you.”
Fal’ran narrowed his eyes, his defenses still up. “And what’s the other one?”
Patrick inhaled a steadying breath and fought through the shame. He shouldn’t be ashamed. He had nothing to be ashamed of. He reminded himself of that a few more times as he lifted his chin. “The other position is as my second-in-command of a joint species state research station on the edge of the Dead Zone, established to investigate the Dead Zone as a possible long-term home for the Insects.”
Fal’ran blinked, and his eyes flashed with quickly stifled hope and lightning fast thoughts. “A research station? This is what you’ve been holed up with Serihk about. I assume Sazahk will be the lead scientist?”
“And Tar and Bar’in will be on the security team.” Patrick watched Fal’ran’s face and wished for the millionth time in his life he had a klah’eel’s sense of smell. “I’ve already spoken with them.”
Fal’ran’s eyes shuttered. “Before you spoke with me.”
