Eventually, the woman turns away to contemplate, once again, the tube holding Esse Temple. When she next speaks it’s wistful. “We met twenty years ago, Esse and I. During the Truce of Logan. I was an ambassador’s attaché, she was a cadet in their diplomatic program. We were instantly drawn to one another: same odd family background, same sense of humor, both of us transwomen. It was a strange time, a hopeful time. Peace seemed almost within reach. And we were both young, and foolish…” A moment of quiet. “Separating at the end of the summit was the hardest thing I’ve ever done. Since then I have never loved anyone as much.”

Lost in her recollections. Who benefits from this? Misery gets a sharp impression of the Lady Storm’s memories—the nights spent together, the jokes shared, the hope in their impressionable young minds. Tales as old as time. She cares nothing for these details, filled in by her imagination. So Esse Temple seduced her at some point. So what? A monster is a monster no matter what sweet face it puts on.

Still the Lady Storm goes on. “When her fleet arrived, when she hailed me, when I saw her again, after so many years—I too thought it was a sign. Relationships between our two sides had deteriorated so much since the truce. She’d even become a major villain in our telling of things. Yet hope persisted. Rumors that the Throne had been working hard to secure peace with the Heretics. When Esse arrived—when I was told not to engage, to let the siege continue in peace—I genuinely believed it was a sign from the Larex Forge. I had so much hope, so much joy that I had been denied for the past twenty years…” Her narrative runs dry, and she looks at Misery sadly. “If only you knew what you destroyed.”

“I know,” Misery says. “My only regret is that I didn’t destroy enough.”

A sigh, a giving in to the inevitable. “Come with me,” the Lady Storm says, beckoning with a finger. She walks and Misery follows. The circle of guards tracks with her position. Their destination is a tube several columns downwind. Misery blinks in surprise: she also recognizes the person suspended in the nano-plasma. The diminutive frame, the cottony shock of hair, the pixie-ish features. Tank.

“We found your colleague in the wreckage of the ships,” says the Lady Storm. “By some miracle, she’s still alive.”

Misery wants to close her fists in anger, but forces herself to stay still. The Lady Storm’s actions seem like a threat: We have something precious to you, vulnerable in our hands. “Why are you showing me this? What do you want from me?”

“I thought you would be glad to know she’s alive.”