Epilogue

8 days after Chandrasekhar's disappearance

In a cramped office inside the provincial headquarters for the Home Ministry, two civil servants watched a monitor play the same footage on loop, over and over. It was twelve seconds of video of a Terran man in a sanitarium patient's clothing walking along a cobblestone path, past an open gate, smiling at the camera, and then disappearing out of the field of view as the camera turned. When the camera returned to his position, he was gone.

"This is the last anyone saw of Admiral Chandrasekhar, according to the police investigation. There's nothing else, not the cameras along the road through the forest, not anyone at the town down the road, not any observers at any of the Grand Island seaports, nothing," the older of the two explained. "He might as well have ceased to exist."

The young stared at the footage, before reaching out and pausing it. "How was it reported?"

"Huh?"

"If this is literally the last time anyone, anywhere reporting seeing this Terran, who reported him missing?"

"His superiors at the Terran Space Forces."

"Really?"

"The Sanitarium assumed he either checked himself out without telling them, or left on an excursion. He committed himself willingly, he was under no obligation to stay at Boto Haban-Haban." He scratched his chin. "Apparently his boss was a Deputy Inspector-General of the Terran Navy, and he didn't bother telling them he'd committed himself. A few weeks passes, and they determine exactly where he is, but they can't very well do anything about it."

"Hard to threaten a man who isn't afraid of being sacked."

"Very true. So, they keep complaining to the Sanitarium staff, telling them they need to tell him to go back to work because the paperwork is piling up and the Deputy Inspector-General can't bear summarizing her own reports by herself. The staff tells them that they'll do no such thing, because if they send this Chandrasekhar back, he's going to kill himself or someone else or worse, hence being committed. Then one day, they tell them that he's left, and the Space Forces really loses their mind."

The elder official reached forward and let the footage play on loop again.

"So you think he's dead?"

"That's the easy answer, isn't it?"

"What's the problem? No body?"

"No body, no nothing. It's like he literally ceased to exist. If he died somewhere between the Sanitarium and the nearest seaport, where is he? There aren't any dangerous predators on the Grand Isles, nothing that could consume an entire adult Terran. There would have been something left." He glanced at his colleague. "Maybe someone had it out for him?"

"Except where do they hide the body? Bury it in the forest? The forensics and bio-scanners would have found any more than ten grams of his body somewhere in that forest if it was there. The Terran literally vanished, as if into another dimension. Could the body be destroyed?"

"Yes, but that would have left evidence, something behind. A few charred remains, a burnt patch of ground, something." He groaned again. "So what does that leave us with?"

"That he left. Like any normal person could."

"So somehow he left without being seen on a single video feed after this one, without being seen by a single observer. An elder Terran with a limp, frayed nerves and an arm tremor. How does that happen?"

"And he hasn't been seen anywhere else on Home either?"

"No."

The two stood in silence, watching the repeating footage. The older official spoke again. "Of course, we're not machines, we're not perfect. Maybe he's buried under a rock somewhere, maybe he was cremated and we missed the ashes, maybe he's on a passenger liner to the Tenpa Empire. It makes more sense than he just stopped existing."

"If you're confronted by competing hypotheses which are, in fact, equal, the one with the fewest assumptions should be accepted. Another more complex hypothesis might ultimately be correct but, in the absence of certainty, the simplest one is best."

The civil servant glanced at his younger counterpart, raising an eyebrow. "Ockham's razor," he explained.

"So our job isn't to find out what happened to Alan Chandrasekhar. It's to determine which one of these 'hypotheses' is simplest."

16 days after Chandrasekhar's disappearance

In what had grown into a minor scandal, the Imperial Health and Wealth Ministry released the missing Terran admiral's possessions. None of his rumored notes or records, just a few trinkets, scribbled pages resembling a diary, a handheld video game, and the like. Most notable were the four handwritten notes, each with an associated comm cube. The four paper notes clearly identified their intended recipients, though they lacked in content.

The first went to Lord Admiral Dawid Clan-Clan. The unfinished note simply read: Thank you.

The second went to the admiral's son, Trang Shekhar Hieu. Another unfinished message: Forgive me.

The third went to a relation of Lord Dawid, Fighter Corps Captain Kalin Clan-Clan. Its message was even less informative: Goodbye.

The last went to another member of the military family, Captain-Lieutenant Aisha Clan-Clan. The message was very terse: Good luck.

According to the government investigation, all four comm cubes were blank, having gone unused. At least, that's what they told him; having been thoroughly studied by the investigation, they were turned over to their intended recipients. The comm cubes were blank, as they said, but their existence led to a further event.

In orbit over Terra, a Space Forces junior officer on an extended assignment, after some great length, tracked down a particular senior officer sitting on an Admiralty subcommittee.

"Excuse me, sir! Admiral Sterlitz!"

The much older man didn't hear him and continued down the hall, so he tried again.

"Admiral, sir, I'm sorry to bother you, but my name is Trang Shekhar Hieu. I was hoping you could answer some questions about…"

The admiral turned abruptly to him in the space fortress corridors. "Don't."

"I'm sorry Admiral, I…"

"Ensign, don't. Just walk away before I change my mind," he warned him again, before turning. And that was it.

Ensign Trang, with the very limited political assistance available to him in the Space Forces, wasn't satisfied. His first plan had been to speak to handful of other officers who he knew worked alongside his father: Monzo was dead, Yamaguchi was under house arrest. That left Sterlitz, who was difficult to find and unwilling to talk. So that plan had been a bust, that left the other recipients of his father's incomplete notes. After some difficult communication, he used his own ship and traveled to a major trade world on the Outer Periphery of the Ctarl-Ctarl Empire. He had a name available to him: Kalin Clan-Clan, one of the three other people who'd been left something by Chandrasekhar. He had no idea who she was, but decided to contact her first before Lord Dawid—her uncle, he determined—or Lady Aisha—his Lordship's daughter, out on posting somewhere—on the basis that he thought his chances of getting an answer were better.

His intuition, unlike that of his father, was correct. Kalin Clan-Clan, of the Navy Fighter Corps, eagerly arranged for him to take his long-range patrol frigate into the center of the Ctarl-Ctarl Empire, specifically the headquarters of the 181st Royal Taskforce, to whom Chandrasekhar served as "military envoy." It was there the two met for the first time.

Trang stared at the giant of a woman, towering him—he was still a somewhat short, thin young man, in fact the ideal build for a sailor—in her skintight purple flight suit. He was suddenly glad he'd asked Yoko, his significant other, stay behind. Having met Trang's father only a few times, Yoko really didn't care for him in the least—the feeling had been mutual, in all likelihood—and only tagged along because that's where Trang was. Yoko, who was not a small woman either, would have found her intimidating, even if she was a Tao practitioner. She was pale, with dark black, bluish hair that reached down to her knees in two tails, with long legs and a very large chest. Her manner was unmistakably military. "Ensign Trang, thanks for coming all this way."

"You're welcome, Captain. Just call me Shekhar, miss, everyone does." He hadn't meant to call her 'miss'—but it was hard to see the Ctarl-Ctarl as fellow military officers, even after a decade of treaties. "Ma'am," didn't seem correct, even if she was his social better, she was still a Ctarl-Ctarl.

"Call me Kalin," she said in return.

Contact Kalin had been the right choice. She'd spent part of her childhood knowing Chandrasekhar, the same parts that were large gaps in Shekhar's own memories, and had physical evidence of it: dozens of school and family photographs, souvenirs for museum trips, letters written back and forth. With some reluctance, she offered to let Trang have his pick of it—he couldn't bring himself though. It was a harsh reality: they were of Kalin's friend, not of his father.

"You know, Ensignia...Shekhar, I never thought I'd actually meet you. You're smaller than I imagine."

"Well, you're definitely bigger than I expected," he said, forcing a nervous laugh. He opened his eyes to see if Kalin was offended. When she wasn't, he closed them again and kept chuckling awkwardly. "Before you ask, I know I don't really look like him."

"I don't suppose you do, she conceded. Some basic pleasantries helped ease the tension greatly.

"What was your father like?" Kalin asked him as they stood in her office.

Despite himself, Shekhar looked surprised—it was still the most obvious question to ask. He could tell Kalin felt badly for asking. "I'm sorry. My father…I…nevermind."

He thought about it momentarily. "You know better than me, probably. He wasn't a happy man. Not while I knew him. I mean, he pretended to be happy because it was demanded, but I doubt he was. Not while I knew him anyway."

Kalin nodded silently.

"He had a lot of problems, but I don't think he ever determined if they were his own fault or just bad luck. Karma, or something, you know?"

"If you're asking if the Ctarl-Ctarl have karma, we do."

Shekhar crossed his hands. "All life is a game. As with any game, sometimes the only way to win is not to play," he recited. "That was something he said in the last letter he wrote me. To be honest, I think he'd be glad it was over. It was the only way he'd ever let anything go."

"He wasn't that old," Kalin pointed out. "For a Terran."

"No, he wasn't. What was done with him?"

"You mean his possessions?"

"Sorry, yes."

"They're all just sitting in the Clan-Clan Family's estate. Apparently, he didn't keep anything in his office in the Space Forces, which is just pissing them off. I'm not sure if they've decided what to do with his possessions, but everything military-related…all of his files disappeared into the War Ministry. What he might have given you in the past is the only exception as far as I know."

"When I was younger, he said one day he'd give me his notes and writings, and then to destroy anything I didn't want. After he left, he didn't want anything to go to the Naval Ministry on Earth. I think he just…didn't like them."

"They did treat him like dirt for twenty years," Kalin explained. "Those last few years, under the Deputy Inspector-General of the Navy, were particularly bad."

They stood in silence before she continued, leaning against a wall. "I think they might have taken his will to live. To tell you the truth, the last time I saw him, he looked so much older. One time, the Deputy called him in unexpectedly, and I watched. She was just asking some questions about data table he was turning into reports. You'd think he was being interrogated by the Intelligence Bureau. He could barely stop him from shaking, he must have thought he made a mistake. Then everything turned out to be right, and she just left. He was a nervous wreck. Like his whole life depended on getting some numbers in some report right."

"Except I doubt he cared that much about his life. He was probably just afraid." He looked at her. "Did he ever talk to you about defecting? To the Ctarl-Ctarl Empire, I mean."

She shook his head. "No, he didn't. Never."

"There was this commander he knew from years ago, in the Space Forces. He'd say they'd never let him resign or retire. Some dispute from the past. Apparently, the commander disappeared years ago, but that restriction survived, even when he was promoted to admiral. He never said so, but I think the only way he'd ever leave the Space Forces was if he defected."

"Then why didn't he?"

He stood there. "That's the million-wong-question. He never said. I guess fear. Fear motivates everyone, especially him. He worried himself into an early grave."

"If he did, it began years ago. There was nothing you or anyone else could have done." To his surprise, she put a large hand on his shoulder. "Or him, for that matter."

"Probably not."

She looked forward. "The last time I saw him, it was while he was recovering from that stroke he refused to admit having. He actually looked pretty happy, the happiest I'd seen him at a long time. Of course, maybe he was just enjoying the party."

She looked directly at him. "I'm sorry, Shekhar."

"Don't be. Everyone likes a party," he joked quietly.

The two stood in silence. "Are his parents alive?"

"My grandparents? They are, I haven't spoken to them recently though."

"For the Ctarl-Ctarl, it's considered very tragic when parents outlive their children."

"Yes, us too." He sighed deeply. "I don't know what I'm going to tell Mum."

He looked at her and felt the need to elaborate. "My mother, they were married when I was born on Heifong but not long after that. She's remarried now. Did he ever mention my mother to you?"

She shook her head. "I'm sure my uncle, Admiral Dawid Clan-Clan would know. I don't know about cousin Aisha, they were close, but he didn't talk to her about that sort of thing, I think."

Shekhar didn't really know if he could just ask Dawid about his father—it seemed almost taboo—but he was glad he'd spoken to Kalin. It was a lot of comfort to know that his father had at least on friend in the universe, possibly more. Captain Clan-Clan became his motivation for volunteering for the foreign posting to the Imperial capital space, not unlike his father, though not in the capacity of military envoy thankfully. Instead, it was part of the ceremonial security unit for the civilian Terran ambassador to the whole Ctarl-Ctarl Empire, the father of a woman Shekhar had met in his travels through the different kingdoms. It became possible to see Kalin on a semi-regular basis, to actually develop some sort of idea who his father was.

In time, he worked up the courage to ask to meet with Lord Admiral Dawid Clan-Clan in person, who'd known his father for as long as Kalin, possibly longer, the details weren't clear. Dawid was an older man, about his father's age, enormously charming and successful, but not of a great deal of substance—he seemed happy to talk to Shekhar, but reluctant to answer many questions, dodging even. He promised to meet again, and he'd have more to tell him.

128 days after Chandrasekhar's disappearance

Lady Kalin was at the orbital home base for the First S.F.S., where she spent her time when she wasn't planetside at the Imperial University's Biology Department. Having run a half-day's drills, she still had plenty of energy to burn when she learned Trang Shekhar Hieu's ship was going to come in for refueling—Kalin had enough pull to get Shekhar's small ship refueled quickly and get him sent on his way, and didn't dislike his company. Yuri and Keiyo-Anna, the other two pilots of Pixie Flight, thought he was funny. They found her older, clingy girlfriend, a sneaky but emotional womanchild who'd accompanied him on his posting, hilarious and made a point to tag alone in the event that something embarrassing happened to Shekhar.

It wasn't a bad experience in the least—he could understand his father's reasons for staying in the Empire now, independent of his bad history with the Space Forces. There was something about witnessing the center of military might in the known universe, a nexus of both means and purpose. Kalin told him in private that the Empire's military, even the Imperial Navy, was in a gradual decline—experienced officers were slowly leaving the ranks, replaced with inexperienced officers like herself. The Ctarl-Ctarl war machine needed war—simple posturing was not their style. Piracy was still around, but the pirates, or at least the ones with any sort of sense, had long since realized they could not fight a war against the Ctarl-Ctarl and win, the sort of war the Empire wanted or needed most.

Still, he couldn't see it. The Empire's massive space stations in orderly operations, hundreds and thousands of destroyers, cruisers and battleships, fully-manned with conscripted youth who looked like more than a match for the contract personnel in the Space Forces. Admirals and captains calling the shots, not private military corporations. It as a fundamentally different atmosphere than the Terran forces.

He was glad for the opportunity—but it didn't bring either of them any closer to understanding what had happened. It didn't take that long for his reasons for being there to fall by the wayside. He was living in the longest age of peace between the Ctarl-Ctarl Empire and the Terran states, peace meaning military cooperation. The Ctarl-Ctarl were happy to demonstrate their unused strength, and those demonstrations kept him busy. The notes, and the blank comm cubes, were put aside.

It was months since Shekhar came to the empire, the eve of the Great Baodan Wargames, one of the largest military exercises in the universe—waged between the entirety of two different royal taskforces around a barren, lifeless moon orbiting the outermost planet of the capital system. The Ctarl-Ctarl even towed a pair of purpose-built space stations into opposing orbits around the moon to serve as the home bases of either competing side. Shekhar was allowed to observe, though not participate, from the field headquarters of the 181st Taskforce. To him, it looked like a massive orbiting commerce outpost converted for military use. He had hoped to find Clan-Clan before her squadron went on full alert, to wish her luck, though he was being slowed down by Yoko insistence to try all the food the Ctarl-Ctarl had unpacked from storage and fed the troops. Kalin was several levels below, in one of the converted hangars that Shekhar had toured earlier. He remembered what his father told him about Ctarl-Ctarl warships—the space station, and even the hangar, fit it almost perfectly, with old, unruly-looking trees rising out from the middle of the deck and waterways cutting left and right. He couldn't tell if they were part of the space station's original function, or served a military purpose.

"Captain Clan-Clan."

Kalin had been about to slide down the ladder to her spacecraft when she heard the muffled voice through her helmet. It belonged to a young officer—turning to look at him, though, he wasn't that young, on the contrary, he was at least a year or two older than she was. It was simply his comparatively small size and higher voice that made him seem her junior.

"Yes?"

"I'm sorry to bother you, ma'am, but I'll need you," he said, immediately presenting her with a document and a pen. He was impeccably polite.

Kalin almost commented on his choice of words, but instead retracted her visor, took the document and scanned it with her eyes before coming to her conclusion. "This is a full report."

"Yes, ma'am, on the opposition naval fighter compliment. Was that incorrect?"

"No, it's…I wasn't expecting the report so soon. I'll need to read the whole thing."

"I'll wait, ma'am," he said very patiently.

It took ten minutes to read—much less than she expected. The writing was excellent by military standards, direct and to the point while maintaining specificity and accuracy. Upon finishing, she signed it on each page and presented it back to him. She looked at him directly before releasing it.

"Sub-Lieutenant…" she began.

He had a rather vacant expression on his face. "Was there something wrong with the report, ma'am?"

"No, it was excellent, but…Lieutenant, have we met before?"

He raised an eyebrow. "No ma'am, I actually transferred from the carrier Orta Goboro when it was reassigned out of the taskforce. I don't believe we've met, ma'am."

Kalin cocked her head. "No, you're right. Though has anyone told you, you have a very Terran look about you?"

Rather than looking offended, the prim-looking officer cracked a smile to her surprise. "Actually, ma'am, you're not the first person to point that out to me today. A Terran Ensign made the same observation just this morning."

She kept staring at him before closing her helmet. "I'm sorry, Lieutenant, here's your report," she said, letting it go.

The officer saluted sharply and professionally. "No offense taken, Captain Clan-Clan. Goodbye and good luck." He spun on a boot and strolled off to join a group of junior officers by the nearest information kiosk.

Shekhar and Yoko missed her before her departure, but were waiting in the hangar when she returned. Yoko was exceedingly popular with the soldiers, having gone from a mere curiosity to a riot with her Tao magic tricks—simple levitation, elemental manipulation, and so forth. Shekhar had to explain that she was mostly harmless to the ground crew officers, who were more wary than the conscripted sailors, workers and technicians of an ex-pirate. He was still making assurances when the hangar lift brought down Kalin's brilliantly-painted red fighter.

The two officers saluted the returning captain—Trang Shekhar Hieu did the same, feeling compelled. Kalin had already opened the canopy and was sitting on her seat's headrest, undoing her helmet. A mass of straight, dark hair cascaded out of her helmet. That's a neat trick.

Yoko had noticed the officer's attention directed upwards in the converted headquarter, stopped laughing and pushed a Ctarl-Ctarl sailor out of her way as she climbed back up to them. Shekhar was climbing up to the gantry to meet her and congratulate her on not needing his luck apparently, if the officers' convoluted descriptions of their status were any indication. Instead, Kalin looked at him and the smile vanished from her face.

He almost jumped. "Lady Kalin, is something the matter?"

"No…it's just…there's someone who reminded me…a lot of you, actually. Someone I just saw."

Shekhar stared at her strangely. "Was it another Ct-…I mean, was it one of your countrymen?"

"Yes, actually, how did you know?"

"I was speaking with a naval officer when Yoko, who made that exact observation. She said we looked a lot alike."

"She was right," Kalin said, almost shouting and looking across the hangar before pointing. "In fact, he's right over there."

She pointed at the information kiosk, where the half-dozen sailors and officers had already begun to disperse. The sub-lieutenant, still holding his book of reports, shook the hand of another officer as he left, then turned for the escalator. He saw the two looking at him across the lobby and, after climbing onto the escalator, saluted calmly at both of them as he rose.

Shekhar and Kalin stared, as Yoko leisurely leapt to the high gantry to where they stood. Their stares didn't break.

"Hey, what's taking you two so long?"

sakura ga chiru koro ni
guuzen aimashou
minarenai fuku wo kite
tanin no kao wo shite

mou ichido hajimaru
itsudatte modoreru
nagai jikan wo kaketa
saikou no koi da mono

END