Character


Arsenio had lost track of how long he'd been in the bathroom.
He had gone there of his own accord, excusing himself from the negotiations with a polite word and a nod. The Senate Guard had insisted on accompanying him. Standard protocol for a Chancellor-candidate, especially during wartime. He hadn't liked that part, but he had learned long ago that rank came with its own kind of captivity. They had smiled, performed the ritual bows, and then there had been a long corridor and a door that closed behind him with a firm thud.
The lavatory itself was pristine, more observation suite than restroom. The walls shimmered faintly with sterilized polish, the basin gleamed like a mirror of liquid silver, and through a narrow viewport he could see Atrisia's sun caught in the arm of its orbital haze. Beyond the closed door, the hum of the AVS Tython carried on: muted voices, distant footsteps, the steady rhythm of a capital ship at alert. The Senate Guard stood just outside, silent and immovable.
He called out once, careful to keep his tone neutral. "Sergeant. Is everything all right?"
The voice that came back was steady, too formal forcomfort. "All secure, Senator Tagge. Please remain inside until we confirm the corridors are clear."
That phrasing made his skin tighten. "Confirm?" he repeated, but the Guard did not elaborate.
He exhaled slowly and studied his reflection. For a man who'd spent a lifetime studying history, he hated stillness. The Tython was supposed to be hallowed ground, host to delicate negotiations that might help alleviate the pressure on the Alliance as it stared down the Empire. Yet somewhere in his gut he felt the wrongness. The Senate Guard's silence, the way the ship's usual pulse seemed to have skipped. He had lived through enough coups and bombardments to know the texture of anticipation.
A faint tremor rippled through the deck plating. Somewhere far away, a bulkhead slammed shut. He glanced toward the door, expecting the Guard to react, but they didn't. That was worse. Trained calm meant orders; orders meant something was already happening.
He tried again. "Sergeant. You'll tell me if there's danger?"
"Yes, Senator Tagge," the man replied, too quickly. "Please remain where you are."
There was another shudder through the deck. The lights dimmed for half a heartbeat. Someone barked a command in the corridor; it was muffled, indistinct. Once again, the guards did not move.
Tagge folded his hands behind his back and turned away from the door. He hated that he was locked here, hated that history might once again be written without his witness, but he also understood the necessity. They would protect him until there was nothing left to protect.
He looked once more at his reflection and made a decision. "We shall wait," he murmured, "for now."













