Epilogue

Epilogue

Fighting continued for some time, but the conflict had already passed its climax. Rebel camps became more and more scarce, even as the member nations of the UGC voted the unified government more and more power. Within eighteen months, the Execronian Confederation was completely extirpated. Other international outlaw organizations were dismantled one by one. The galaxy never became a perfect place. Utopia remained true to its Greek meaning.

Irene was not absent in Sean’s life in the following months. The companionship was certainly good for him. The two met with increasing frequency, until finally, when it was clear the fighting was near an end, the Augustonian commodore proposed to the Feraustan princess.

The wedding was grand. Naturally, the father of the bride, Emperor Tullius, had been present, and so had Emperor Priscus. Markus had also come, along with some of Sean’s navy friends. The absence of Commodore Stewart, who surely would have been present, was saddening. Both extended families were in attendance. I had been the best man. Well over a hundred people celebrated in the reception. I think the best part was that Sean was authentically jubilant, even after all we’d been through in the past year, rather than disgusted by being injected into such a crowd.

I could never have imagined the man as a very uxorious husband until he actually married, although his affliction – err – affection may not have gone quite far enough to justify the use of the term. But he did not start so.

Following the ceremony, he and Irene Tullius Kent were staying in his cabin. I tried telling him how ridiculous this was, of course; how silly it was to stay at home for one’s holiday, but he explained to me that it really was vacation. He’d spent more time at war than he had at home, so home really was a vacation from war. Irene had loved it. I suppose she had more tolerance of the cold than I did. After the wedding, the ecstasy had left Sean, though he says he was more sober than somber. During this time of peace in the wilderness, he relived the last year of war in a sort of melancholic state. He was coming to terms with it all. During all this, he spent a lot of time alone. It was a brisk November night, and there was snow on the ground. He was sitting in front of the cabin looking up at the remarkably clear night sky.

Irene walked over to him and, quoting Kate from Shakespeare’s Henry IV Part 1, asked, in so many words what may be troubling him.

He silently motioned toward the vastness of space above them.

The galaxy was stretched out across the sky. I may wrack my brains for a simile, but there is nothing to which such a comparison can be made. The sight was singularly beautiful and unique.

“Those distant, cold lights in the sky?” she mused. “Let them be such. They’re pretty ornaments decorating the celestial canopy.”

“They’re battlefields.”

“What you’re looking at? No, not what you’re seeing.” She pointed to a star most of the way across the galaxy. “See that? When that star emitted the light you see now, people were living in caves. They were concerned with who had the sharper spear, not the more powerful interstellar warship.” She pointed at another. “And that one? That star ‘shuffled off our mortal coil’ since shining that light, before the first war between humans even happened.”

Sean leaned over and put his arm around her. She continued. “You know, when I first met you, I heard the entire conversation between you and Captain Yachovich. It was kind of prophetic, wasn’t it?” Then, idly changing the subject, for the atmosphere was no longer grave at all; she gestured toward the scene around them, drawing attention toward the terrene beauty of the setting, and quoted her husband this time. “‘In the morning those three cottonwoods in front of the cabin will be covered in ice, and that little creak around the side that’s so noisy in the summer will be frozen in its bed. The early morning sun will reflect off of it. Across the flats a few miles, the glaciers on the mountains in the west will be catching the golden light of dawn.”

Sean nodded. “That was one year ago today, you know.”

Irene smiled. “You described it so beautifully. I’m glad I could be here the same time of year to see it as you portrayed it.”

Commodore Kent continued to serve in the Augustonian Imperial Navy, but, happily, most of his adventures were behind him. After marriage, he changed much. He remained an introvert, but was more sociable. He not only attended but enjoyed more public events, and performed more with his violin in art music ensembles. He wisely decided not to trouble himself with the intangible darkness he formerly saw everywhere. He was not thoughtlessly optimistic; he was healthfully rational.

I speak in general terms. The old, brooding, passionate, brilliantly caliginous part of him never vanished. One night, coming to visit him, I found him alone, sitting in his living room, Shostakovich’s String Quartet no. 8 playing, as he stared into the blazing hearth.

“‘Look not too long into the fire, Oh man!’” I quoted Ishmael.

He turned a dark smile toward me. “See how the flames dance with the music!” The string quartet was midway through the second movement, and indeed, the fire was darting as frantically as the music seemed to dance, and it did dance. It was horrible, mad, blind, sensless, raving, desperate, crazesd, and most of all primal, but still a dance. It was the last remnant of sanity screaming as it was consumed by the blaze of insanity. And then it was gone, and the fire, having depleted its fuel, died down. The embers smoldered in the third movement.

The Milky Way had seen the last of its large scale wars, but the Milky Way was not all there was to the universe. At the conclusion of the wedding, I heard Priscus and Tullius talking. Priscus was jokingly referencing the feat Tullius had accomplished in uniting the galaxy.

“So, my friend, what next have you planned for humanity?”

The response: “Andromeda.”