The Last Silver

Aramaeis did not sleep that night.

Dinraal found him in the research shelter before dawn, seated beneath the pale glow of the recovered map.

A cup stood beside his elbow.

Untouched.

Dinraal knew the habit well enough to bring a fresh one.

His uncle looked up when he set it down.

“You should be asleep.”

“So should you.”

“I’m older. I can survive being foolish.”

“I’ve seen very little evidence that age protects anyone from that.”

Aramaeis smiled faintly.

Dinraal pulled out a chair.

On the display, the mark beside the archive coordinates had been enlarged until its edges blurred.

“What does it mean?”

“Custody.”

“Of the archive?”

“Of what was placed there.”

Aramaeis leaned back.

“I saw it on sealed transfers. Records removed from active command. Test results. Names of people who had disappeared from official accounts.”

Dinraal studied him.

“People from the Silver Army?”

“Some.”

“Did you ask where the records went?”

“Yes.”

“What were you told?”

“That preserving them was someone else’s duty.”

The bitterness in his voice was quiet.

Dinraal looked at the mark again.

“And you accepted that?”

“For a time.”

Aramaeis turned the cup between his hands.

“There were always more urgent things. Another deployment. Someone wounded. An order that had to be carried out before there was time to question it.”

Dinraal thought of the settlement outside.

Of meetings postponed because a transport needed unloading.

Of how easily the urgent could consume everything.

“What changed?”

“I began recognizing names.”

His uncle’s fingers tightened around the cup.

“People I remembered. People the reports described incorrectly. Eventually, people the reports claimed had never served.”

Dinraal remained still.

Aramaeis looked toward him.

“If this anchorage holds the original records, there may be answers there that have nothing to do with the Questioner.”

“Then we bring those back too.”

His uncle watched him for a long moment.

Then he finally drank.

They did not leave immediately.

Eve spent the morning comparing the old coordinates against stellar motion. Asha reconstructed the surviving route notes. Arcturus selected a small survey cutter with enough endurance to make the journey without returning through the old relay corridor.

Aurelius insisted that the expedition carry a proper medical kit.

Johanna improved upon his definition of proper.

By midday, the cutter’s cargo manifest included so much equipment that Alexander began asking whether they intended to occupy the archive.

“Possibly,” Asha said.

He stared at her.

“For research.”

“That does not make the answer less concerning.”

The expedition would be small.

Dinraal and Isolde. Aramaeis. Asha. Alexander, commanding the cutter and its crew. The First Weapon, who had stationed himself beside Dinraal’s packed bag and refused to be persuaded elsewhere.

Eve would remain to direct the research teams.

Arcturus would continue establishing the system’s defenses.

Aurelius, Tiamat, and the others would stay with the settlement.

Tiamat listened to that last decision in silence.

Dinraal waited until the room emptied before approaching her.

“You can say it.”

She looked at him.

“What?”

“That you want to come.”

“I do.”

He nodded.

She glanced toward the window.

Outside, workers were fitting the final section of the common hall’s roof.

“But I also want to be here when the next transport lands.”

Dinraal had expected an argument.

His sister seemed to recognize it.

“I’m capable of wanting two things.”

“I know.”

“And you’re taking Aramaeis.”

“Yes.”

“He knows more about those places than I do.”

Dinraal leaned against the table beside her.

“We’ll be careful.”

Tiamat gave him a skeptical look.

“We’ll take Alexander,” he amended.

“That helps.”

“And Isolde.”

“That helps considerably.”

He smiled.

Tiamat reached for his wrist.

“Bring our people’s names back.”

His expression softened.

“If they’re there, we will.”

That evening, the common hall hosted its first public meeting.

There were enough benches.

Barely.

Halen stood near the back, watching people sit on them with the possessive concern of someone who had built every one.

Nessa had brought the children’s suggestions for the settlement’s name.

This proved dangerous.

“Big River Place,” Julius read.

A child near the front raised a hand.

“The river is big.”

“It is,” Julius agreed.

“Then it’s accurate.”

“I cannot dispute that.”

Gilgamesh leaned toward Dinraal.

“A strong candidate.”

“Better than yours?”

“My proposal lacked support.”

“Your proposal included your name.”

“It would have been easy to remember.”

Cleopatra, seated on his other side, did not even turn her head.

“No.”

The final choice came after a woman from the first landing group stood with a folded piece of paper.

“I suggested Hearth,” she said.

Her voice was soft enough that people near the rear stopped whispering to hear her.

“There isn’t much more to it. I thought it sounded like somewhere people could come back to.”

Dinraal looked toward Isolde.

She was already looking at him.

When the vote came, Hearth won comfortably.

Julius entered it into the settlement register with visible satisfaction.

“Does that name the planet too?” someone asked.

Aurelius shook his head.

“Tonight, we’ve named our town. We can leave something for the people who haven’t arrived yet.”

Dinraal liked that answer.

Later, when most people had left, Nessa stopped Isolde near the door.

“The school arrangements can wait until you return.”

Isolde shook her head.

“They don’t need to. You know what’s required. Work with Meret on the washroom connection and ask Halen about the partitions.”

“And if we need to change the plan?”

“Change it.”

Nessa smiled.

“All right.”

Dinraal watched them speak.

When Isolde rejoined him, she noticed his expression.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“That generally means something.”

He offered his hand.

“I’m glad they have you.”

She took it.

“They have each other too.”

Their room looked strange with the bags packed.

The flowers from the wedding had dried. Isolde had laid the best-preserved ones between sheets inside her journal case.

She left the case on the table.

Dinraal noticed.

“You’re not bringing it?”

“I’ll write notes on the ship.”

He glanced at the storage compartment holding her dress.

Then at the small possessions they had accumulated since landing.

Two extra cups.

A folded blanket.

A stone from the riverbank that Isolde claimed would make an excellent paperweight.

They were leaving things behind.

He had wanted that.

It felt different now that they were actually doing it.

Isolde crossed the room and put her arms around him.

“We’re going to come back to a school with walls.”

“And a council that has discovered six things I forgot to do.”

“Only six?”

He rested his forehead against hers.

“Try to sound supportive.”

“I married you. That was a considerable endorsement.”

He kissed her.

For a while, the bags waited.

The cutter departed the following morning.

Dinraal watched Hearth disappear beneath thin cloud.

The town was too small to remain visible for long, but he kept looking toward the place where it stood.

Isolde sat beside him.

Across the compartment, Aramaeis checked the seals on a case of archival storage units.

Asha had already begun reviewing the approach calculations.

Alexander’s voice came over the internal channel.

“Last opportunity to remember something you’ve forgotten.”

Asha looked up sharply.

Dinraal closed his eyes.

“Please don’t encourage her.”

“I heard that,” Alexander said.

The First Weapon pressed against Dinraal’s knee.

He lowered a hand.

The cutter climbed beyond the atmosphere, passed the growing orbital platform, and turned toward the outer system.

Their route had been calculated aboard the ship.

No relay request went ahead of them.

When the stars stretched into transit, Dinraal kept his hand resting against the familiar weight beside him.