Zero

Kissing the pale face one last time, Radittsu hauled himself upright. Damned if he'd die any way other than on his feet, glaring at the enemy.
Above him, ranked in a grinning line across the sky, the Warui-jin slowly took aim, silhouetted against the brightness growing behind them…

The sky… what was happening to the sky?

      Looking past the ugly, leering, threatening figures, eyes wide, Radittsu stared upwards. A star. There was a star forming, in the sky. White - no, gold … red… green… blue … blue-white… He blinked rapidly a few times, trying to clear the spots from in front of his eyes, the light was almost blinding…
      He looked again, noticing distantly that the Warui-jin were looking over their shoulders, maybe alerted by their own shadows before them on the snow. He lifted a hand to try to shield his eyes, squinting… there were figures in the light, moving… red figures... With a sudden rush of hot anticipation he realised he knew what they were.

      In the sky, a twelve-armed star, a red being at each point, and at its heart, the glowing form of Jeice.

      The Warui-jin disintegrated in a silent flare of light.

The next half hour was disjointed, chaotic. He remembered seeing Vejiita pull himself away from the nerveless aliens holding him, soaring into the sky and forcing himself to fight side by side with the hash'shavven. He saw the aliens mown down, their cries the only sound in that awful silence, the warships falling in flames from the sky, burning up before they hit the ground. He sat bleeding in the snow, Zha'haabron cradled against him, trying to keep the High King alive, ki-shielded against the rising wind, and watched unblinking as sheer power rolled from the small red forms in the air, sweeping through and over the invaders, destroying them as though they'd never been…
      "We're saved, aren't we?"
      He hadn't been aware of Ry's approach: he twisted painfully to see the young Saiyan supporting a shivering 'raadiin, doing his best to keep the semi-conscious zn'hre warm. He pulled them both down, supporting them against his own body.
      "Yes. Everything will be all right now."

"I am sorry."
      Radittsu glanced up from his position at Zha'haabron's bedside, wincing as the Feeodoreean medic tended to his mutilated back. Jeice's expression was sombre.
      "What for? You saved our arses."
      "Not all. We were too late. And the city…"
      "Cities can be rebuilt." Vejiita stood at the doorway, pale and exhausted, arms folded over his chest. Jeice inclined his head.
      "Greetings, your majesty."
      The Saiya-jin-no-Ou waved a hand irritably.
      "Thank you. For your help. Much as it pains me to admit it, it was timely. And much needed."
      Jeice smirked quietly.
      "We will speak no more of it, majesty."
      Vejiita limped forwards, staring down at the Ssii'iin.
      "How is he?"
      Radittsu gently brushed a lock of green hair back from the pale, bruised face.
      "Hurt. It'll take a while for him to heal. He hasn't regained consciousness yet."
      "Let me know when he does."
      The Royal Liaison frowned.
      "He was badly injured. And is suffering from the cold."
      Vejiita snorted.
      "Oh, don't worry, I don't want him to do anything, not until he's recovered. I just want to speak to him." He eyed Radittsu. "You fit enough to join me in Council?"
      The Feeodoreean finished smearing a quick-drying growth-promoting gel over the broad back and nodded at the king.
      "As long as he doesn't try to do too much." He swiftly injected something that spread like a warm, soothing blanket through the torn flesh in front of him: Radittsu groaned and relaxed as the pain receded. The medic patted his shoulder. "And I want you to report back tomorrow for another check up."
      The big Saiyan stroked his bondmate's face, head turned to smirk at the medic.
      "I'll be back as soon as the Council's finished." He stood, carefully, and gestured towards the door, following Vejiita, Jeice beside him.

A small part of the diplomatic corps HQ was still standing, although it lacked windows. One chamber had been cleared of debris, the holes in the walls patched up, and a fire lit in what remained of the hearth.
Vejiita gazed around at the sadly depleted group, feeling oddly vulnerable without Zorun at his back. More than half were missing, dead or too badly injured to attend. A weary Zyelenyi stood in for Manzano, who'd been killed - along with most of the rest of the corps staff - early in the conflict; Nashi was gone, along with the warrior representatives of the lower classes. Limau had survived, and Hijau, Kyuri, maybe a third of the original special squad… He shook his head. All of them hurt, exhausted, desperate for rest. But there was nowhere for them to go. He sighed and pulled himself upright as a couple of Feeodoreean techs entered, accompanied by a handful of other aliens, Korijin, Shimosein, Hassinan, Muruanian.
"We need quick decisions and even faster action…"

Even as Radittsu, Jeice at his side, was returning to the infirmary help was arriving, islander craft with supplies of the fruit and fish they'd stored to see them through the cold season, the first of the shuttles from Kitaa bearing freshly caught game and second and third class labourers, ready to assist where needed…
      The medic was hovering at Zha'haabron's side as the pair arrived: he glanced up at the Saiyan and nodded.
      "All is well, Raditts'-sama. He should wake soon."
      The Saiyan seated himself, ignoring the Feeodoreean pulling his mane to one side to inspect his back. Jeice gently stroked the Ssii'iin's face, then smiled at Radittsu.
      "I'm going to see if there's anything we can do. I'll return later."
      The Saiyan nodded absently: Zha'haabron's eyelids were fluttering. The hash'shavven slipped out silently, *calling* for his people. They weren't builders, but they may be able to help in the attempts to restore power to the city…

*Welcome back, zkai'da.*
      Zha'haabron sighed, then started coughing, his lungs aching. Radittsu slid an arm under his shoulders and raised him a little: the medic lifted a beaker to his lips. The stuff tasted foul, but soothed the pain, and after a moment he was able to breathe again - albeit noisily.
      **… what happened…?**
      Radittsu kissed him, eyes shining.
      *Jeice. Gathered twelve of his people and headed here as soon as they heard the news. They destroyed the Warui-jin, zkai'da. They saved us.*
      Zha'haabron stared at his bondmate for a second, then his eyes closed. His *voice* was anguished.
      **How many died?**
      The Saiyan gaped, then pulled himself together. Of course, that would be the king's first concern: he'd think about offering thanks later.
      *We don't have a full report yet. Nearly all the civilians survived, and all the R'ren'nkh'ians guarding them. We've lost something in the order of two thirds of our onworld warriors.*
      The zn'hre stared, aghast.
      **Two thirds?! That's over fifty thousands beings…**
      Radittsu swallowed hard.
      *I know. Most of them were Saiyan.*
      Zha'haabron buried his face in his hands with a sob.
      **… so many…**
      Radittsu held him, unspeaking, as he wept for his adopted people… After a while he drew a shuddering breath and looked up, golden eyes still brimming.
      **Tell me the rest…**

It was a sombre tale. The city and much of the outlying area had been almost completely destroyed: there was no power, and hence no heating. The inhabitants were struggling as best they could - the Saiyan, Korijin, Hassinan and Shimosein taking on most of the tasks outdoors - to make their shelters as habitable as possible: it looked like they'd be there for some time… Vejiita had made it clear that anyone - anyone at all, regardless of their importance to the Empire - could leave the planet until there was somewhere fit for them to live once more. A few of the more delicate, warm-world natives had taken up the offer, messages relayed to their homeworlds from the smaller 'port in Matou, but the majority had opted to stay. Vejiitasei needed all the help it could get.
      And they had, as Vejiita had pointed out, the skills and materials of a large part of the galaxy to use to rebuild the city - and the opportunity to create something worthy of the Empire. Plans were already being drawn up for a new Capital…
      Techs and Saiya-jin were working on getting power back, repairing the damage, making sure everyone had heat and light. Temporary shelters were being flown in from other parts of the Empire, and food was being ferried in from other part of Vejiitasei, along with Saiyans eager to help. There'd be no shortage of fresh game once the hunting parties had organised, and of course it was bighorn migration season on the plains. At least no-one would starve.
      The Feeodoreeans had put out a call for more of their kin to travel to Vejiitasei with medical supplies - they were overwhelmed at the moment, and really couldn't cope. Several ships were already on their way, infirmary ships that could be landed onworld and used as hospitals.
      Radittsu took a deep breath and kissed his bondmate's hair.
      *We've organised a crew to gather the dead, try to name them. It's not going to be easy. A lot of the remains are unidentifiable…*
      **Zorun…?**
      *Not yet.* And possibly not ever, the big Saiyan thought to himself. So many had been vaporised, torn apart, buried under falling buildings… But he'd instructed the crews to keep a special look out for the King's Guard. If there was anything to be found, they would. He looked over his shoulder, wincing as he moved incautiously, and smiled tentatively: 'tiisaan stood at the entrance, Tion supporting him. The dancer looked hollow-eyed, grim; Radittsu had never seen such an expression on his face before.
      "Papa?"
      Zha'haabron beckoned him close, taking his hand when he'd limped close enough.
      **Zk'vissin…**
      **Papa…** The dancer bit his lips to try to stop the tears. **Papa… it's so unfair. They never did anything but create beauty. Why? Why them?**
      Ignoring his own tears, Zha'haabron pulled the hostling close, holding him carefully, not wanting to cause more injury to either of them.
      **Zk'vissin… sometimes the universe isn't fair. Sometimes the worst beings survive to cause pain and suffering, while those who deserve nothing but joy and beauty are destroyed. I don't know why. Perhaps they'll learn the answers in their next life.**
      The hostling's face crumpled, his voice a quavering wail.
      "But I want them back now…"
      Radittsu knelt, settling close against the distraught dancer's back as he sobbed against his sire's shoulder.

*You need to rest, zkai'da. You were badly hurt.*
      Zha'haabron rubbed a hand over his eyes. Tion had settled 'tiisaan onto a bed nearby: the zn'hre were automatically gravitating to the infirmary simply because it was the warmest place they could find at the moment, and the Ssii'iin expected to be sharing his small room with more before they were through.
      **I can't. I can *feel* them, zk'aida, *feel* the grief, pressing down on me. And there's more to come…**
      "Papa?"
      It was very quiet. Radittsu turned to see 'leesaan hovering uncertainly inside the door, his eyes hollow and frightened. Zha'haabron stretched out a hand, and the academic carefully seated himself on the bed, folding his own hands in his lap.
      "Papa… I can't… I haven't seen Lahana since he left…"
      Radittsu froze, gaze flickering between the king and the prince, tail unconsciously wrapping Zha'haabron's wrist.
      "Zk'vissin… he fought beside me…"
      "And… you know what… happened…?"
      Zha'haabron took his sireling's hand.
      "… he died bravely, zk'vissin."
      For a moment 'leesaan simply stared, then paled, shivering.
      "I… I see… thank you for telling me, papa…"
      **Zk'vissin…**
      **I never told him how I felt, papa. Never told him I love him**
      **He would have known, zk'viss. Saiyans know these things, without being told**
      The hostling gazed at his sire.
      **That doesn't help me feel any better…**
      He pulled his hand back gently, rose to his feet, and turned, walking unsteadily, face expressionless, for the entrance. Radittsu glanced at the king.
      *I should go with him…*
      **No. Let him be**
      *But…*
      **Trust me, zkai'da…**

It was snowing outside, but 'leesaan hardly felt the cold.
      Lahana was dead.
      He moaned and dropped to his knees, arms wrapped around himself, trying to hold in a grief that threatened to split him open.
      Kyuri found him there, a little later, and pulled him to his feet, cuddling his far too cold body closely, ki-shield flaring to protect him.
      "'leesaan… come inside. I know, he's gone. But freezing to death out here won't bring him back. He was proud of you, you know."
      Big desolate golden eyes gazed into hers.
      "Kyuri…"
      She kissed his forehead.
      "Come, highness. Come back into the warmth. I'll stay with you, if you like."
      Weeping, he allowed her to lead him back inside….

Hijau slumped on the floor, leaning back against the wall, eyes closing of their own accord. More exhausted than he'd ever been in his life, aching for Zha'haarak's soft, loving presence and knowing the zn'hre would have to stay in the caves for just a little longer, it was too cold and too cramped here…
      He wondered if he could request time to fly down to Kamome, hold his bondmate for just a little while, reassure himself that all was well, his zn'hre wasn't suffering... But he couldn't. There was too much to do here. With Nashi and most of the diplomatic corps dead, he and Zyelenyi between them seemed to have been lumbered with everything the king's Liaison and the corps used to do.
      The whole thing was a fucking nightmare - but at least Limau was helping, giving advice and taking on those of his son's duties he could competently perform.
      He'd survive this. Of course he would. Though he wouldn't enjoy it.
      He very carefully refused to think about Zorun. That would come later, when he had the luxury of time to grieve.
      He sighed and hauled himself upright as Jahonda *called* for assistance. No rest for the weary…