VOX PROTOCOL: Chapter Ten

Voices and Vows

Aug 08, 2026

Voices and Vows

Andri found the Scribes could act as able field medics, and with the help of Big Shield, who possessed solid medical experience, they had everyone on the Vox’s team seen to quickly. That number did not, of course, include the Vox-Lance and Big Wing, who remained outside seeing to both prisoners and executions... and the heart extraction. Fiercely turning her mind from the thought, Andri sat Lance down in the corner with an armful of medical supplies in tow, and she made him take off his leathers. She wasn’t sure what had come over her, but she refused to let the others take care of him, and no one—not even Big Wing or the Vox—challenged her on that point of etiquette.

“Are you angry with me?” Lance asked in a low voice so the others wouldn’t hear, eyes seeking. He wheezed even as he sat there, cringing as his chest heaved with pain. “You’re very quiet and strange.”

Andri glanced behind her. Big Wing and the Vox had finally ordered Big Shield inside for a checkup, and the woman appeared to have a dislocated shoulder to deal with. The noise of stoic arguing and groans of pain as Big Wing tried to set it consumed most of the air in the passenger car—and they still hadn’t gotten the train back underway.

“I’m not angry,” Andri said, her voice clipped. She couldn’t help herself, and she knew the Vox would notice if she stroked Lance’s cheek, so she briefly squeezed his hand. “I’m actually frightened for you. They came damn close to killing you, and I’ve never seen you this badly injured. I’m used to watching you deal with people smaller and less skilled than you—not warpacks and huge, hardened Abni fighters bent on ransoming me for armaments.” She breathed out a long sigh. “Masadi’s not going to like this. He might have a whole litter of kittens when we finally get back.”

Mysteriously ashen now, Lance nodded silently. Andri examined him, realizing she’d been wrapping his clavicle extremely tightly while she spoke—so tight he wouldn’t be able to swing that arm.

“Remind me never to leave the consulate without a course of Lymphomax and Republic Panacea,” she muttered, offering him a small smile. His mouth twitched once, but he still didn’t respond, and he refused the opioid-alike painkiller available in the train’s medical kit. Andri grew serious again. “Thank you... for protecting me, for not letting them take me. They really did a number on you, but I know you took it to protect me.”

“I made you the Vow of S’zae, and I don’t take my vows lightly,” Lance grunted, barely able to raise is voice above a whisper... the Vox and his team notwithstanding. He swallowed. “But you’re very welcome. I would have carved my own heart from my chest and fed it to Big Shield if the Dhan-mot had taken you.”

Andri sighed, tying him off and rifling around in her own personal bag for some paracetamol or an anti-inflammatory. She knew from personal experience that the muscles around his shoulder and clavicle would begin to enflame and pull very soon.

“What in god’s name is a Dhan-mot? And how did they know I was here?”

“An excellent question,” the Vox said loudly behind her, re-entering the train car with Vox-Lance in tow. Vox-Lance carried an insulated container with ginger devotion and care, using both hands. Dinner leftovers from the chow line to snack on later, Andri thought grimly.

Lance’s eyes tracked the Vox, all cloudy, opaque steel, and she couldn’t read him, couldn’t figure out what he might be thinking. Her lips tingled where the Vox kissed her; she could smell the blood, heady and fatty and high-musk, on Lance’s mir-s’zaek. In the past, he’d always cleaned it quickly and sheathed it again, but when killing another Abni, he behaved strangely, and she didn’t know the right things to do or how to be a comfort to him.

“Do you want a piece of gauze to clean your mir-s’zaek?” Andri asked Lance in a low voice, but even while he shook his head, the Vox spoke.

“You needn’t honor the tradition of blood if you risk disgusting our guest the attaché, Consular Lance. They’re a roving band of thieves and killers; without their former Dhan-mot, they haven’t even a shadow of a true warlord to follow, nor his honor to protect them. Their blood’s not worth your tongue, and they’re likely irradiated anyway.”

Behind the Vox, Andri saw Vox-Lance licking a line of blood from his mir-s’zaek in a ceremonial fashion, before he removed a cloth from his belt and cleaned the steel neatly. Resolve entered Lance’s eyes, and Andri looked away politely. After a few seconds passed and a couple members of the Vox’s team hailed Lance with a word she didn’t recognize and which didn’t translate, Andri helped him pull a small cloth from a pocket in his bark-leather belt, hidden in places on his armor she seldom considered and never explored.

The Vox and his Lance approached, the latter clapping Lance hard on his unaffected shoulder.

“F’heja! Well done. You’re looking hale. He didn’t even blood you.”

“My victory is partly yours.” Lance spoke in Zehyrian, and his words sounded rote. He could barely speak above a whisper, all his strength pushed into his volume, and Andri heard a low whistling and crackling in his lungs. She worked on taping up his ribs next, moving gingerly around him and hearing small noises of pain in his throat to warn her.

“How old are you?”

Andri turned to the look at the Vox, confused, before realizing he’d addressed Lance in Earth Standard. Lance also narrowed his eyes in confusion, but he didn’t push back.

“Thirty-seven.”

The Vox raised his chin; under their feet, the arrow train began to trundle forward again. Without the accelerating snap of a station launch, it moved very slowly as it got itself moving again of its own accord using burners, sliding along on the frictionless tracks.

“Interesting. To my eyes, you behave like a younger man than that,” the Vox said. “I suppose all you adventuring mercenary types from the AMG remind me of perpetual adolescents. Home, duty, stability—the land—those things make a man truly Abni-S’zaelyn.” His eyes flickered to Andri. “Do you make the Vow of S’zae to all your charges at the consulate and the ambassador’s mission?”

Lance looked down, wincing with pain as Andri gently pressed tape over his ribs and took a scan.

“I don’t believe I’m obligated to speak of such things. I mean no challenge to your authority, Honored Voice, but my relationships with those in the consulate, whether contractual or avowed, are my own business and not those of Zehyr.”

“Of course you don’t mean to challenge me,” the Vox muttered, eyes intense and unmoving. “You acted bravely and ought to rest in a bed of ghala with plentiful toasts of i’ida, as they did in our ancestors’ day. And yet you make me uneasy. Why am I uneasy, Consular Lance?”

“Only you can know that, Voice.” Lance spoke with quiet strength, unassuming, unbending and unchallenging, as though nothing the Vox did could threaten him.

“The Vow of S’zae is a very serious matter of both honor and the spirit that houses it,” Vox-Lance said, perhaps putting words—or pressure—behind the Vox’s unease. “I mean no offense to the attaché, but did the embassy or your yumei contract-holders force such a vow out of you, without their knowing or understanding its full weight?”

Andri turned right around and glared at him, mouth open. “I beg your pa—”

Lance raised his unaffected hand for silence, his mir-s’zaek safely sheathed again. “Attaché Kordova, he meant no offense to you. They know you would exact no such vow from me.” He looked at the others. “My vow was sworn to the attaché only, and that freely given. I was her bodyguard on a station during a conflict, and she preserved my life. I honored and revered her bravery, and felt she deserved the protection of my life, if I should ever have the opportunity to give it.”

The Vox-Lance waved a hand once in that Abni way, closing his eyes in understanding and looking satisfied. The Vox, however, frowned deeper. As Andri feared, he could smell bullshit... and he definitely sensed when he didn’t have the full story.

“I see. Well. We’ll endeavor to get the pair of you back to P’aetre-zhae... but it may be near dawn when we arrive. We’ve lost our momentum on the track, and energy was limited in Aedani—our recharge wasn’t a full one. We can’t accelerate as much as we’d like.”

Andri nodded, taping another section of rib and hearing Lance hiss with pain. “That’s alright. My samples are only time-sensitive on the order of a week, not hours. They’ll keep, but I ought to sit down and take some notes.” She examined Lance, still seeing him ashen. “I’m worried about our Lance’s pain levels. His sternum looks fine on scans, but—”

“F’heja, must I order you to take the pain reducers like a father orders a child?” The Vox-Lance sounded amused and warm, like he might be teasing his brother-in-arms. At last, Lance smiled, showing that little dimple Andri loved.

“You needn’t allow me to make such trouble. I’ll take half a tab, if it will sooth your mind. Will it ease your worries, Attaché?”

“Yes,” Andri and the Vox said at the same time. The Vox chuckled, then spoke. “Do it for your charge, if you won’t do it for yourself.”

Andri fed Lance half a tab of painkiller, with the help of Little Scribe, and alongside Big Scribe, she helped him get comfortable in the back of the passenger car on a folded-down cot from one of the walls, opposite Big Shield. The easy-to-wipe-down covers on the cots told her all she needed to know about the Vox’s propensity to fight off interlopers with his team.

Andri found a blanket at last, and draped it over Lance, feeling amused smiles turned in her direction—including his.

“I know,” she muttered. “You all think I’m ridiculous, fussing over a couple flesh wounds when you’re plainly made of steel instead of meat, and obviously you’ll be fine—”

Lance, now high as a kite on some pseudo-opioid, stopped her voice with a hand on her arm, grinning like a fool.

“They don’t think you’re ridiculous. They find you... adorable... as do I.” His eyes fluttered shut, still grinning. “I forgot how... effective... t’is-mal tabs can be....”

Andri opened her mouth to ask him how he felt, but his first loud snore stopped her. She buried a relieved laugh and went back to her seat.

For propulsion, the arrow train’s engine car now blasted plasma from two burners along its side, creating an eerie aura of light radiating at the edges of the windows like a sunrise... truly an Abni-S’zaelyn solution to an engineering problem, if she’d ever seen one. Andri’s knees still shook, and she nearly collapsed into her seat, again opposite the Vox.

“You took good care of him,” the Vox commented, watching her put away spare gauze. “Perhaps someday, you’ll honor me with the story of how he came to make you the Vow of S’zae.”

Andri put rolls of tape away with exactitude, not looking him in the eye. “I’m still a little offended that you thought I twisted his arm to get it.”

The Vox cleared his throat. “He may have failed to answer the call... and he may be the son of a deserter... but he remains one of my people. It’s the Vox’s duty to look after the rights and needs of the people of Zehyr, and your Lance is a man of Lirdah Province. And Ambassador Masadi is...” He paused, perhaps finding the right word.

Andri smiled darkly. “Tricksy?”

“I was going to say ‘clever’.” His smile twitched wider for a moment. “Still, I didn’t mean to offend you. You’re a brave warrior, for a member of your political class. When I watch you study the soil or dress in your fine, flowing garments, it’s easy to forget you served with the yumei military… until I see you with a blaster in hand.”

Andri rested her shoulders and looked out the window, despite the gathered darkness, and all she could see was the sputtering plasma steadily jetting them back up to speed, occasionally casting light on a tree or a passing paddock. Still no house lights, nor the illumination of civilization bouncing off the low clouds.

“In training, after I joined up, I took first in Marksmanship... just because I could, really. We kept hearing about Praezorians sending boarding parties and slaughtering Med Techs and lab crew, and I didn’t want to be a burden to the marines. If I was going to end up dead, I figured it better be for a damn good reason. I wanted to take a few roaches down with me, kicking and spouting ichor.”

Another slow nod. He’d become a natural by now—almost human in yet another uncanny way.

“And did you?”

Andri chuffed softly and avoided his eye. “More than I like to talk about. I could say I don’t regret it, because I did what had to be done… but I still regret the horror of it.”

The Vox shifted in his seat. “As you just saw, we scholars and politicians must brandish our weapons and fight in our own defense, or that of our people—it doesn’t serve to be a burden to our warriors, even when they’re sworn and bound to protect us. There is no horror in that. Only necessity.”

Strangely, Andri did actually feel better—not just about the horror of the Praezorian Wars, but about Lance laying asleep and injured nearby. The Vox also knew the burden of having others sworn to protect him, and needing to do his duty while knowing that duty may endanger them.

“You were very hesitant when I kissed you,” he said softly, perhaps to keep the rest of his team from overhearing. “I know from watching that you’re a dauntless woman... not one who’s prone to freezing in the face of danger, neither war bands nor radiation. But you froze when I kissed you.”

Andri arched an eyebrow. “Is there a question you’re asking me?”

The Vox narrowed his eyes, back to a look of very Abni-S’zaelyn confusion. “I have the political and social experience to know when a woman is attracted to me. Feel free to deny it if you like. Now’s your opportunity. I promise to take zero offense, Attaché.”

It took all of Andri’s considerable will and training not to allow her eyes to flicker to Lance then, snoring peacefully on his cot... secure in the knowledge that he’d upheld his vows, shown his love... protected her life and freedom with his own. Instead, she fixed her attention on the Vox, allowing his words to soak through her. Was it a crime to admit she was attracted to him?

A man being objectively attractive is different from admitting I’m attracted to him... up to and including kissing him.

In his Abni-S’zaelyn way, Andri supposed that the Vox wanted to know if what he’d done was acceptable, if she forgave him… if they could move forward, or if he must retract or reverse course entirely. She liked a man who knew to check in, she supposed.

Sticking to her policy, Andri hewed as close to the truth as possible.

“You’re very attractive; you know that. You surprised me... and I suppose my head’s still spinning, from...”

The Vox had that amused sparkle in his eyes, and again, Andri suspected he had her number and refused to say. Maybe he found it fun to watch her squirm, but until he said he’d clocked their lies, she wouldn’t behave any differently.

“What was he like?” The Vox scrutinized her, eyes deep, gold-flecked amber... and so strangely easy to read. “He was Consular Lance before your current contractor, I believe?”

Andri chuffed weakly. “Made inquiries? You’ve really been making me your business, haven’t you?”

The Vox didn’t so much as twitch in shame. “Whoever he was, he must have been conscious of his good fortune. You’re a political woman and scientist of immense talent, and if I may be blunt, an ideal of beauty in our culture. I’m curious what sort of man has so entangled your spirit in his.”

Andri’s mouth went a little dry, and she knew she wouldn’t escape this question.

“He was... our Lance, as you gathered. Sweet, and earnest, and poetic, and... spiritual in a way that would make most military men blush. So many marines and starfighter pilots are hardened and sarcastic, but our Lance... he stayed sincere. If he thought he’d been unfair, he apologized. Back when I dated marines, getting one of them to apologize was like prying teeth out.”

The dark amusement vanished from the Vox’s eyes, and he sat listening with pure openness. The loveliness of his eyes almost made her breath catch and her chest heave.

“Date? You mean entertain a partnership? The Skelow use words like this. You seem to prefer men of the warrior class—soldiering types and mercenaries.” He frowned and looked out the window. “Perhaps I did misunderstand your gesture; perhaps you were merely being kind and friendly. I’m sorry to be so forward, Attaché.”

Andri cocked her head, feeling some sympathy for him and aware that she’d intentionally sent him mixed messages. He’d offered his arm to give her a chance to show him preference—and she’d done so, clear as day. She knew what these gestures meant, and she wasn’t so naïve as to pretend he couldn’t see it. But he was gentlemanly enough to offer her a way out, a story with which to fully retract with her dignity.

“Our Lance... the one I was seeing... he was extremely hesitant about me. He wanted to be absolutely sure of my preference for him before he did anything—and even then, I think he struggled to believe it. I suppose I was expecting similar hesitance from you… not a sudden rush.” She frowned as well, realizing she found it odd. “Why did you move that fast? You seem so calculated the rest of the time, so methodical. It felt like… a risk for you, honestly.” She realized it only as she said it aloud.

He took a deep breath and met her eyes again. “My role is quite constrained—more than even you might believe. I can’t discuss my history or my home. I can’t show preference to any Zehyrian. I can’t choose the company I keep, or even my team—they’re all chosen for me.”

Andri blinked, the implications of his words dawning on her. “You mean... wait, so, that means... as long as you’re the Vox, you can’t date another Abni?”

“Not unless they’ve surrendered their citizenship on Zehyr, which we make intentionally difficult... and then, why would they come here, to this backwater they despise and left on purpose?” Andri heard the bitterness in his voice. “The wonders of Melor and Kalur, adventures among the stars, the cosmopolitan pleasures of the Pleasure Centers... they’re always waiting and calling. That allure is louder than the call of duty, the voice of home. Much louder than me, or any other Vox, however large or small our voices may be.”

Andri examined him, searching his expression for clues. She found him much easier to read than Lance, which surprised her. She couldn’t tell if it was the Vox’s openness, some integral similarity between them, the parallels between their duties and training, or Lance’s inherent reserve and opaqueness by comparison. Maybe being a member of the warrior class meant always burying oneself deep under steel—which seemed so unlike the marines and pilots Andri had known, all laughing and wild with their rage, wearing their hearts on their sleeves like ship patches.

“How long is your, uh... tour of duty as the Vox?”

He cleared his throat, smiling at her, and kindness lit his eyes. “I’m chosen as the Vox for so long as the crisis endures and we’re dealing with the yumei and Cetian governments, or until I displease the provinces, and their councils vote to replace me. In your parliamentary terms, you might call it a vote of no-confidence. Here, it would be a Vote of Silencing. Quieting the Voice, as it were.”

“But...” Andri blinked rapidly, realizing still more implications. “If our governments come to an agreement to help Zehyr’s restoration... I mean, those negotiations and arrangements could last the rest of your life. And you can’t see a fellow Zehyrian in all that time?” Remembering the expression, she squinted at him. “Tell me you didn’t move so quickly because you’re desperate for humanoid contact. That makes me way too sad for you. I can’t let allow you to be that pathetic.”

The Vox grinned, so handsome that her heart truly skipped in her chest, and her lungs caught suddenly.

“No—please. I hope I’m not that pathetic, and you ought to abjure me if I am. The protocol was only recently enacted, and I’m still settling into the role... and I have little idea if a deal with your governments will suit my people. If it doesn’t, I’ll return to my old governmental duties, and our representatives to STF parliament will take over managing the crisis with Skelow and Verrantin assistance.”

Andri continued to frown. “And if... you started a courtship, or a partnership with a Zehyrian...”

“Then I would be ineligible for service as Vox in the future,” he explained, chuckling. “I couldn’t be trusted not to prefer my own children especially, as is only right and fair. Don’t be sad for me, Attaché Kordova. I’m a young man still, and there’s a season for everything in life. Now is my season to serve in this way.”

Andri nodded, understanding. “And later I suppose, you’ll get a proper Zehyrian wife and have proper Abni children and stop messing around with yumei girls?”

His eyes turned intense again, but his smile didn’t fade. “If you’d prefer something unserious, Attaché, I’m comfortable with that. I’m attracted to you. If you like Abni men, as it seems you do, I’d be happy to help you forget your former lover. And if you want to discuss nematodes and soil pH in bed... I’m open to that, too.”

Andri laughed. “Now that’s a fetish I haven’t heard about yet. Nematode pillow talk.”

“Anything from your mouth is beautiful.” He spoke quite sincerely, not listing off into humor. “Talk to me of Karabari Priests—lashes upon their genitals—and I’ll soften to clay in your lovely hands.”

Andri swallowed, feeling a twinned wave of interest and aversion, excitement and nausea, wash over her all at once. While she didn’t dare look at Lance, her mind went to him... remembering the way he’d gazed at the sky, lost and struck to the ground with horror and sadness, the way he’d encouraged her to appeal to the Vox... to make the mission a success. A bridge, to convince Zehyr they could help them without the planet getting their dander up, and without pushing Zehyr into the arms of other governments.

A relationship. She worried Lance might want succor for his planet more than he wanted total surety in Andri’s preference. But then... wouldn’t that be right and natural? Like preference for the future of one’s own children, who could blame Lance if he preferred his home world? If he couldn’t help himself in his love of a home to which he couldn’t return for so long?

She could do this, not just for the mission, but for him. This was what Lance wanted, right?

“Let’s start casual,” she said in a rush, forcing the words out before she lost her nerve. “But... I still want to know why you moved so quickly earlier. You seem to regret it now.”

The Vox lowered his voice. “I don’t regret it, unless what we did is something you don’t want.” He paused, eyes still searching hers, maybe reading her as she read him. “I moved quickly because I wanted to be past the difficult part, well before we return to P’aetre-zhae. The next time I invite you on a tour or take you to an event... I want my intentions to be clear in your mind. While you’re on Zehyr doing your work, I’d like to court you. I’d like to help you understand Zehyr, and for you to help me understand yumei.” He lowered his chin slightly. “For our mutual pleasure... and for our people’s mutual advantage.”

Andri’s mind and face cleared immediately. The clarity of the proposition, of politics and pleasure, duty and desire, appealed to her professional instincts as well as her heart, easing her inner turmoil.

Andri just hoped she wasn’t lying to herself. She smiled, hiding the thought and indulging in the clarity.

“Are you asking me on a date, Vox?”

“To start with... yes.” The intensity went up a notch, which Andri didn’t believe possible. “I’ve been reading about yumei dating culture, and it intrigues me. Perhaps we could combine our rituals some. I believe coffee is a traditional first date?”

Andri smiled wider, disguising the way her stomach twisted. To discuss their histories and get on the same page, Lance had invited Andri to the mess at the consulate on Kor’lana for dinner. It had been a first date, of sorts... and when they finally admitted they were together, he asked her out for coffee.

“It is, yeah. What’s a common first courtship ritual among Abni? My... former lover... he never told me.”

The Vox narrowed his eyes in confusion, but his expression cleared quickly. “Well... he would have been far from his parents. A common first formal courtship meeting is over a meal of t’as-zaet with one’s parents or family groups. Yours aren’t present, and mine would be inappropriate to add, but formal ta’s-zaet with you would be an honor.”

Andri’s translator did nothing for her here. “I’m sorry. What is t’as-zaet?”

“A ceremonial meal of six set courses and drinks. Six is a holy number on Zehyr—thus the hexagons you may be seeing everywhere.”

Andri’s mouth dropped open. “I can’t believe I never made that connection. I keep seeing honeycomb designs and not paying it any mind.” She smiled, oddly relieved. “So... t’as-zaet? Is that an invitation? I’d love to try it.”

His lovely broad grin nearly knocked her out of her shoes. “Then it’s a ‘date’, as you say.”

~*~

Not far off the Vox’s promise, the arrow train finally slowed its approached into P’aetre-zhae during the small hours, as hot pink and orange dawn light kissed the smoke-filled, stormy horizon ahead, just beyond the city landscape. Andri never lost her wonder at the strangeness of alien skylines, particularly because she had little reference for interpreting them, though she sometimes enjoyed a florid explanation from the mission’s urban planning attaché, with whom she often shared a desk or office. The Abni featured long, low horizons, which didn’t surprise her; they didn’t seem the type to enjoy living or working in skyscrapers. Buildings here were wide instead of tall, and each spacious roof featured a green space or garden: their idea of the luxuries of city living.

Though Big Scribe encouraged Andri to catch some sleep if possible, she didn’t sleep a wink, and the Vox kept her company telling her about features of the landscape and animals in the paddocks they passed. With Lance down, Andri moved to high alert and utter wakefulness; she stayed that way until she saw the Phocion’s Med Techs waiting at the spaceport with a stretcher, the security team with them, ready to receive.

The Vox clasped her hand in both of his when they parted, and the Phocion’s doctor watched this with eyebrow-raising interest. No way Masadi wouldn’t know about it the very moment he woke up.

They took Lance directly to the surgical pod and regen therapy, while Andri, despite lurking near him during transport and threatening to stay with him in Med Bay, got shooed to her quarters for some sleep by a harried medical team, pleading tight spaces. With a final glimpse at Lance’s sleeping face, Andri did as they told her.

Her lips tingled in the lonely darkness of her quarters, and Andri stared at the ceiling for a good hour before sleep overtook her... dreading debrief, knowing she and Lance needed to have a long conversation, and unsure what she could say for herself as an excuse, to him or anyone else.

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