A Family Reunion

Late 1035, TE Calendar - Rupee Quay Bandir

Every time Gaala saw her little brother, even after so many years, he looked like she wouldn't see him again.

Tenaa Val Sel Uen was slim even for a Rupeean fennec, pallid and still. The set of his thin mouth and the slightly flattened cant of his sail-like ears spoke of suppressed pain, his round dark eyes sunken and hollow as if disinterested in the world. Tenaa's shoulders were tightened and his elbows pressed hard into his ribs, making him seem even smaller, and he moved his head in darting glances every few moments. Casual, comfortable day clothes looked like rags as they hung down his shoulders - she could tell the clothes were brand new, not chasing the latest fashion so much as sauntering ahead - and he had pulled a light cloak over his shoulders. A matted, too-glossy tailtip settled in his lap, an almost childlike pose. Even the silver rings and pendants that lined his ears seemed limp and pathetic.

Gaala knew she looked nothing alike at first glance. A few centimetres taller and athletic, she'd chosen to wear a Rupeean Marine infantry uniform without the belt sash or rank markings, under her old and painstakingly repaired military-spec thermal cloak. She's scrubbed up specially for the occasion, even relearned how to apply a little Terran-style eyeliner to offset her deep bronze complexion, and conditioned both her tawny hair and bushy tail to silky perfection. She was standing aloof and aware, something she'd learned dissuaded aliens from meddling with her, and kept her almost unadorned ears up and apart rather than locking onto Tenaa in challenge.

Even their ceremonial blades set them apart. Tenaa's small and bright dagger lay somewhere inside his cloak, modest and unthreatening but regal in its simplicity. Gaala felt the comforting weight of a Sestian war pick on a loop on her belt, a betrothal gift from her Maino, a well refined but brutal battlefield weapon with its own hardlight field. She knew well that her brother wasn't defenceless, and that a far stronger hardlight source would turn that tiny dagger into an unstoppable force if he ever needed it, and she knew he had the skills to use it. She almost smirked - the Sel Uens had fire in them, no matter the looks.

She turned her attention back to Tenaa. They had said enough with their silence, and had fallen into their old game of mutual stubbornness. Gaala let fond nostalgia pass like a shadow over her face before speaking first, breaking close to 6 years of silence.

"Hey."

"...Hey." Tenaa's voice was as broken as his body, but there was life and humour still in there. The moment's recognition felt like flying.

"So, what is it this time?" He'd always been sickly, and never the same crisis twice.

"Bone marrow. Genovials didn't take so they made up this serum for me." He was matter of fact, gentle, unvarnished. There wasn't a time when either of them really knew if Tenaa was going to survive, and fear turned to numbness with long dreary familiarity. "It's taking its toll."

"You're tough. You've lasted this far."

"If you say so..." He half smiled, in the cryptic Duner way, and suddenly his deep eyes came alive again. "But I can barely walk."

"For now." Gaala wasn't sure whose benefit she said that for... probably her own. As much as she was well outside of the family firm, she kept one eye on the news where the sickly prince was concerned. Tenaa had climbed out of his bedridden state one step and touchy medical intervention at a time, entered the diplomatic service on his own merit, pushed himself to become one of the leading mediators both for Clan Uen and with their allies across the stars. He'd made a life for himself, after all the barriers he'd scaled. It couldn't end in something as meaningless as yet another sickness, could it?

She realised she'd been quiet longer than expected, and Tenaa had the chance to fill the void.

"We need to talk about it sometime."

"No we don't."

'It' was the matter of their father's uncle, Crixin Val Sel Uen I, emperor and protector of the Rupeeans and chieftain of Clan Uen. Their granduncle had no family left to continue his line, save for the brother and sister now talking quietly in Tenaa's day room. They'd exchanged messages about the matter, out of obligation on her part.

"Granduncle won't-" Tenaa checked himself, turning inward, his ears flattening to his skull for a moment. "He's pushing himself too hard." Everyone knew he pushed himself too hard - from what Gaala had heard last the emperor was spending his 12th decade of life haring around Azar Province personally meeting Terran planetary leaders just behind his occupation forces. It was working, guerrilla activity among the humans was falling off dramatically and he was making himself a folk hero all over again, but still...

"He might be, but I walked away." And paid a lot to do so... not that she'd ever say it.

"When- If-" Tenaa almost doubled over in convulsion, recovered, and levered himself back upright. Gaala said something, anything, to fill time for her little brother to recover.

"Knowing Granduncle, he has a fresh succession plan under his blanket each sleep. Just because he-" She stopped dead. Tenaa had been politic enough to keep their discussion to illness, but the idiot stupid warrior Gaala had walked straight into the unthinkable. Granduncle was almost invincible, a war hero, irrepressible. Just the thought of a galaxy without him was...

She caught Tenaa's eye. He'd been waiting for her to finish. She closed her eyes and tucked her tail a little more.

"I'm sure he does..." Gaala felt herself move forward, leaned into it and walked to the low couch where Tenaa was seated. She settled next to him, with a little respectful distance between them.

"Okay, okay." She'd screwed up, so he won the little unannounced debate. She'd let him have the spoils of victory. "What's on your mind?"

"Other people have succession plans. I don't have names but I know the signs." Treason. Her stomach dropped at the idea.

"For Uen? or Crown?"

"Crown." For all his physical weakness, her brother was brave enough to sail into dangerous political territory without blinking. "But anyone who fears another Uen emperor will fear the Uen chief too."

"Which means," Gaala added, "its up to the next chief to handle Crown succession." The 'Crown' was only about 25 years old. Granduncle, the first Rupeean emperor, had made it his life's work to break down the petty dictatorships of the Cartel Era, to fashion an independent and internationally trusted state out of the anarchic mess that had once been their homeworld. His labours would have meant nothing if there wasn't a healthy and reputable dynasty to follow the old fennec's example.

"Which means... the next chief can't be weak."

Gaala stood despite herself. She knew he was going to do this sooner or later.

"I told you, I walked away. I can't fly in and steal your throne!"

"You don't-" Tenaa made to stand, to meet her eye to eye. At the apex of the motion, something gave way, maybe his legs, and he crumpled like a sun-baked leaf. By some miracle Tenaa landed back on his couch.She was at his side instantly, making a trauma assessment like he was a civilian gored by a wild beast. Bones seemed okay, muscle groups weren't tender anywhere, and he was conscious. There was a shimmer from Tenaa's tunic as it dispensed a minute payload of anaesthetic to bead on his skin. He was breathing heavily, deliberately.

She new her brother was tougher than anyone gave him credit for, but he was fragile too. For a moment she'd forgotten how serious everything was... how small the distance between him and tragedy.

"Gaala. I can't guarantee I'll be alive next year. Even without the stress of running the Clan and the whole Protectorate. I can't do this. I wouldn't pick me to do this."

"Tenaa, please..." She dropped her voice. Everything felt heavy. "The pressure would break me. It nearly did already."

"I know..." Fleeing the palace had saved Gaala's life once. It almost killed her, estranged her from all of her friends and family, created a kidnapping scare that crippled Clan Uen for five weeks, and left her with nowhere to go but the remote duties of the wildlife service. The VDF had taken Gaala in, let her reforge herself as her own woman in something approaching anonymity. If she hadn't run away, if she had let the weight and obligations and ceremonies of the imperial court crush her, she didn't know where she'd be. Sleeping under the ancient Uen sands, probably. Maybe Granduncle would have commissioned a plaque for her, before turning his full expectations onto Tenaa's frail shoulders.

Looking up, she realised Tenaa was deep in thought too. She pricked her ears his way,  catching his attention and asking for his thoughts without breaking the moment.

"We need to be smart about this. Cunning."

"I'm not-" something in Tenaa's tone stopped her. Not a plea for help, not an accusation, but an offer to conspire. He was thinking like a Duner, something Gaala could get behind. "...Fine. We'll be cunning."

Tenaa half smiled. "Either of us would be disaster for Granduncle's legacy, you'd break and I'd be swept aside, so we can't rule alone." And they couldn't share the burden either, both of them knew.

"I got that far."

"But I've seen what you did with that space ghost Project-" It took a moment for Gaala to work out what he meant.

"-Void Walkers." Conscious, self-directed starships given life by the science of souls. Gaala didn't understand the science and didn't approve of the name, but she'd been heading security for the multinational project since almost its initiation.

"Yes, those. With a figurehead, you could run an empire. I'd pick you for that job." Gaala had been responsible for discipline in the Void Walkers Project too, hardly an easy feat when the free-spirited sophont being in front of you shares a mind with the battlecruiser on station outside your office window... She managed with a light touch and a willingness to delegate. And with Maino's help.

"And what about you?"

Tenaa paused, eyes closed in thought, perfectly still and looking almost relaxed. He'd always been the type to lose himself in a puzzle.

"I need to be taken seriously." His smile was enigmatic, the mirror of her own when she was toying with someone. "Or have a figurehead of my own. Speaking of which..." He motioned to her sidearm. "I notice someone picked you!"

Gaala unhooked the war pick on her belt, sat by Tenaa once again, and held it out so he could see it properly. It was a Sestian climbing axe, with a light but strong metapolymer handle curving forwards and a short scythe blade, all clean and utilitarian lines. Intricate designs had been etched into the blade and body.

"You mean... Yes. Maino." Betrothal blades were an old Duner tradition, trading the very symbols of adulthood and self-sufficiency that marked a Duner's pride. Somewhere out there amongst the stars, Maino was keeping safe the same sword Gaala had accepted from the body of her and Tenaa's father.

"A runaway prince too, you're so alike. And if I believe his dossier, he's talented." Okay, now Tenaa was teasing her. Though there was information he missed, that wasn't exactly public yet.

"You could say that. They mean a lot to me."

"You'll have to introduce me sometime.Gods, imagine having two of you around..."

Gaala wasn't listening, not really. She was watching the play of light on the blade's relief, picturing her Maino when they next met. As chiefs of security and logistics, they had a lot of excuses for meetings to run late, to order in some food, to find distractions for one another...

"You think he's a possible for figurehead?" The question drifted into her reverie rather than snapping her to reality.

"Not... not at present. Maybe never. It's their choice to reenter politics or not." Or to enter in the first place - Sestian kitsunes were matriarchal and the empire of the House of Summer reached deep into their history. For anyone born male, opportunities for power were few.

Gaala paused. "What about the long term? Do we hold the crown or pass it along?" Other Clans could hold the throne, theoretically speaking. The constitution and crown were both a single generation old and such questions hadn't ever been tested. "I don't think we should be an imperial dynasty."

"Exactly. The details are up to whatever Granduncle is cooking, we can't plan for that."

"Not effectively anyway."

"Alright, alright." And just like that, Tenaa seemed strong again, in control. "Oregano and Invictus willing, we won't have to deal with that. Just need to survive the handover of power... literally."

While she'd suspected it, Gaala hadn't really realised how much her little brother had grown. Part of her had always shamelessly projected, imagined him as a child coddled by successive doctors and palace servants, stunted emotionally. She had always expected that he couldn't take the lead. But then again, she'd heard rumours of how he behaved in the Crown diplomatic service. Diligent, tactful, dangerously intelligent. He took after Granduncle, the conquering state-builder, in ways she never would.

Tenaa spoke up again. "You're staying long?"

"A few days. Personnel files, you know how it is." The Aden family had vanished from their Clan's records over a software error, but there was confusion over which Clan had minted their citizenship documents in the first place. And her star agent was at risk of being caught up in the consequences.

"I do, I do..." The prince winced, and not just from pain. "I'll ask questions and I'll call you tomorrow. no need to trek through the palace to find me again."

"How thoughtful." Gaala stood once again, hooked her pick, and glanced her brother's way before she left. They were both smiling.

"Wind at your tail, sister."

"Get well soon, Tenaa."