Henal
© 2022 by Walter Reimer


Thumbnail art by  thetiedtigress



Varan sat and looked at the half-full glass on the table in front of her.

How many had this been? Aka, yes; she was looking at number fourteen.

The slightly cloudy pink beer was warm now, and likely flat after the several cycles it took her to complete all of the death notifications. Bōank and its five fellow cruisers had suffered badly in the battle, even more so among the far more fragile shlani that made up their crews.

Bōank itself had suffered the loss of nearly five percent of its crew complement, with another twenty percent wounded to some degree. The ship was in a bad way, and repair teams were working as fast as they could to bring the ship up to a state where it could make it back to the dockyard at This Far without exploding.

Still, it was in better shape than Meritorious, Rapacity, and Respectful, which were all being abandoned. It had been the assessment of the engineers at the repair station that all three ships would have to be scrapped.

There was nothing left of the Terran force. Even those furs who had tried to escape in lifeboats had been killed.

Those deaths didn’t weigh on Varan’s mind at all. She had spent two cycles criticizing herself in her action report before appending the patrol group’s damage reports to it and sending it to Admiral k’Daridh.

Huffing a breath, the vir reached out for the half-empty glass, and it was nearly to her lips when the intercom chimed.

She put the glass down. “G’Raf here.”

It was her Command-Second. “Captain, Admiral k’Daridh is aboard. She’s on her way to your quarters.”

Varan frowned. “Why wasn’t I informed she was on approach?”

“She insisted we not tell you, Ma’am,” he said diffidently.

“Aka, if she ordered it, it’s all right. Thank you, Subcaptain.” She switched off the intercom with a flick of her tailspur and looked around the cabin. It wasn’t too messy after having come through a battle.

She managed to get to her feet on the second attempt as the door annunciator sounded. “Enter, please,” and as Vesan entered Varan drew herself to attention and saluted. “Admiral.”

Vesan returned the salute and smiled warmly. “Captain. If you won’t be offended by the indelicacy, you and your ship are not quite in inspection order.”

“Hleh-hlih,” Varan chuckled. “Neatness aside, I believe that we managed to move beyond my mistakes and hold on long enough for you and the rest of the Fleet to arrive.”

Vesan flicked an ear at her assertion. The vir sniffed and glanced around, spying the glass. “How much henal have you had?”

“That’s number fourteen,” Varan replied. “Ma’am.”

“How many were you planning on having?”

“With respect, Ma’am, I don’t know. May I sit, please?” Varan was swaying slightly.

Vesan looked at her before reaching out and seizing the captain’s hand, then half-dragging her to her bed. Varan blinked at her as Vesan used her intact hand and tail to undress her, and after the admiral had removed her uniform tunic she pushed Varan onto the bed.

She was on top of Varan in an instant, and as they hugged each other and their tails twined together Vesan whispered, “It’s all right to cry, lir renit.”

And Varan’s memory brought forward the names of the dead.

And the tears came.