A Moment of Peace

They refuse to go away. They keep asking my opinion on whether the Chiss should become involved in the Yuuzhan Vong war, what I think of donating our forces to the fight, what my personal feelings are on the preparedness of our military. They ask so many questions I can only answer half of them and the half left unanswered come back to haunt me until I can't sleep.  

This morning, I sent them all away. I lost control, something that happens to me so rarely, I cannot recall the last time I let loose my emotions in such a way. I ordered them from my office, told them not to dare return until summoned. I needed time to think.  

I don't know how long I sat at my desk; I lost all sense of time. Pictures of Davin and Cherith and Jagged floated before my weary eyes, pictures that showed them smiling, flying, running, happy, all so in love with life.  

It's unfair. The galaxy is unfair.  

No parents should have to outlive their children.  

I slowly became aware of another presence in the room, though I did not turn to see who it was. That step, that scent, I would know anywhere. Closing my eyes, I leaned back in my chair, too tired even to greet her.  

Syal's hands were warm on my shoulders and she gently dug her thumbs into tense knots of muscle, easing the physical and emotional pain I had felt moments before. "'Tir, what's wrong?" she murmured, her voice low and strangely comforting.  

I shook my head. My wife did not have to relive the deaths and disappearances of our children. Gathering my courage, I reached for the button to summon the Colonels and diplomats and special envoys from gods know where, but Syal's hand caught my wrist.  

"No, 'Tir. Not this time. This time, you're going to tell me."

A long breath escaped me. I looked up at her for the first time to gauge how serious she was and saw the Antilles in her staring back at me. In her dark blue eyes was the look that meant I was not leaving until I told her what was going on. It was the same look she had given me countless times over the years, whenever I refused to tell her something. Sometimes I wonder if I could stand up under torture, because I know I can't stand up under her gaze.  

"I was thinking about Davin and Cherith." There. I kept my defiant stare turned away from her, focused on a holo at the other end of the room. The picture refused to remain sharp and began to blur around the edges. Angrily, I closed my eyes, hard, blinking away the mutinous tears, but Syal knew. She always knew.  

She came around me until she was standing between me and the wall I had been studying so intently. "It's not good to keep all that in."


I nodded, acknowledging the fact that she was right, as usual. I still did not have the energy or will to speak, and the tears in my eyes were threatening to spill over once again. Though I tried to stop it, one insubordinate drop slid down my left cheek, leaving a brackish taste in the corner of my mouth. I swatted it away as if it were a biting insect, then turned away from my wife. She would not see me crying for children I could never see again.  

Syal knelt in front of me, her long blonde strands of hair shifting against one another. How many times I had just watched her, watched the way she moved, the turn of her lips when she smiled, the flashing of her eyes when she was angry. Reaching up to me, she took my hands in hers and pressed my palms together, gently kissing the tips of my first fingers. I closed my eyes again as a fresh round of tears welled in my eyes, and felt the softness of her touch as she stroked my hands. The hands which, I now noticed with a feeling almost akin to fury, were trembling with an emotion that I could not name.

"'Tir," she whispered. "You can share it with me."

Suddenly, I realized that not only could I share it with her, I wanted to share it with her. I needed her support as much as she had ever needed mine, and here she was, offering it to me. That offer was probably the greatest gift I have ever been given.  

"I miss them," I said, cursing the instability of my voice. "I was always too busy for them and now it's too late." My words seemed, to me, unoriginal, cliché, but I have no doubt that they are the same words uttered by every parent who has lost a child. Survivor's guilt can eat a person up from the inside.  

"They loved you," Syal assured me. "They loved you, and admired you, and looked up to you. They were proud of you. You have nothing to be ashamed of."  

I finally looked at her, saw the tears glistening in her eyes, and with one final shudder, I broke down. Lines of tears flooded my face; I wept with all the pain of years of pent-up grief. Silently, Syal climbed onto my lap and put her arms around me as harsh sobs shook my body. She held me as one holds a baby, murmuring soft sounds of comfort and encouragement, allowing me to take her in my arms and cry into her soft hair.  

After a time, my tears slowed and finally stopped, but Syal did not move from her position, her slim form nestled up against my chest. I ran my fingers through her long, silky hair, inhaling the scent of the perfume she wore, enjoying the feeling of closeness, a sensation that had, of late, become far too infrequent.  

"'Tir?" Her voice was so quiet, I had to strain to hear it.

"Yes?"  

"You know you're braver for crying than for holding it in."  

My years of training refuted that statement, but somehow, there was a truth to it. I kissed the crown of her head and eased her off my lap, standing and opening a desk drawer for a mirror and comb to make myself presentable for the stream of self-important people who would soon again crowd my office.  The seemingly ancient man who stared back from my mirror looked so tired and careworn I felt a deep pity for him. I looked away from Syal and straightened my somber black uniform, schooling my features back into the mask of impassivity that I wore like a second skin.

Syal smiled secretively, reached out to cup my cheek in her hand, and kissed me lightly. "I'll see you after work."  

She had almost reached the door before I remembered what I wanted to say to her. "I love you," I called after her.  

She turned until I could just make out her profile. Her mouth curved up into a little smile, and she said, just loud enough for me to hear, "I love you, too." Another moment, and she was gone, the door hesitating, then whispering shut behind her.

I punched a button on my comlink, calling the communications officer.  

"Chiss Central Communications," came a young voice from the other end of the transmission.  

"This is Baron Soontir Fel," I said, doing my best to sound imposing. "Tell all those dignitaries that if they want to talk to me, they need to get in here by 1500 hours. I'm leaving at 1600 hours to take my family out to dinner."  

"Um, yes, sir."  

I grinned. "And you can tell them I said that if they have urgent news after that time, they can leave it with my secretary."   

"Right, sir."  

"Fel, out."  

I leaned back in my chair, combed a hand through my graying hair, and then sat up straight as the first emissary buzzed and entered my office. He looked not a little uncomfortable.

"General Fel…"  

"Sit down," I interrupted him. "Tell me, do you have a family?"

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