Blue Guardian

by S. J. Madill

  Roche must've seen her shadow in the doorway, because he jerked upright, wide eyes looking toward her. "Oh!" he yelped. He fumbled at a datapad until the sounds of torment subsided. "General. Sorry about that."

  "I heard sounds of distress, Major."

  "What? Oh." He shrugged, motioning toward his datapad. "Just listening to music. It's not to everyone's taste."

  "That was human music?"

  "Uh, a subset, I guess."

  Roche had picked up a small packet from the workbench, and opened it to produce a tiny green strip. He popped it in his mouth, and held the packet out to her. "Do you listen to music, General? Here, have some gum."

  "No, I don't," she said, peering down into the packet where more green strips lay in wait. "What is this?"

  "It's chewing gum."

  "I chew it?"

  "Yeah."

  Another indecipherable human custom. Zura picked a strip out of the pack, and carefully put it in her mouth. The corners were sharp, and it had the texture of a gasket. She took a few tentative bites, and a sweet taste flooded her mouth. Somehow, after a few more bites, the taste became sweet and bitter at the same time.

  "Lemon lime," said Roche. He raised his eyebrows in encouragement. "Good, huh General?"

  Different, but not necessarily 'good'. She kept chewing. "How do I know when I'm done?"

  "Well," began Roche. He seemed to need a moment to think about it. "When you don't feel like chewing any more, or when your face is sore."

  Zura shook her head. "I don't understand the purpose of this."

  "Purpose?" Now Roche looked baffled. "I guess some humans have, I don't know, habits of movement. When we're thinking, our bodies need to be doing something or else we can't concentrate. Some people fidget or chew pens. I smoke and chew gum."

  "And it helps you concentrate."

  "Yeah, General. Kinda." Roche kept chewing for a while, watching her. Maybe he was thinking, but Zura couldn't tell: her own pointless chewing, and the increasingly bland taste, were distracting.

  "So," asked Roche between chews, "were you working out, General? You're in great shape for someone your age. Eight-hundred-year-old humans never look fit like you."

  That was either a compliment, or a joke. Or maybe both. "I don't do exercise, Major. It's a waste of my time." She kept chewing.

  "So how do you stay in shape?"

  "Genetics." Just like everything else, she was born with it. If that wasn't enough, there was a drug to increase cardiovascular capacity; there was another to increase muscle mass. There were patient-tailored genetic drugs for everything. Almost everything.

  "Wow," whistled Roche. "I work out every day and yet…" he patted his stomach. He looked up as if noticing something. "I'm sorry, General, I'm talking too much. Was there something you needed, or—"

  "I found evidence of a ship landing nearby, Major." Zura turned to look over her shoulder, and caught a glimpse of Antur behind her: a man-shaped haze blending in with the doorway. "I'll send you the co-ordinates."

  Roche's eyebrows went up, and he momentarily stopped chewing. "A ship, General? When?"

  "One or two weeks ago is my estimate."

  He started chewing again; it seemed to have new purpose to it. "Huh. Wasn't aware of it, General. We should've seen it, unless it was at night."

  "Is the turret's sensor system not working?"

  "Oh, it's fine, General," said Roche, waving one hand as if to dismiss the idea. "We just don't have the power to turn it on."

  Apparently he saw the look in her eyes, because he quickly raised his hands to placate her. "I know, General, I know. We've had some giant arguments, the councillors and I. But the bottom line is, our reactor is shitty and can't do the job."

  "Are the councillors pursuing this?"

  Roche just shrugged, still chewing mercilessly on the gum in his mouth. "Last I heard, General, Colonial Affairs back home said that we were now under Palani control and it wasn't Earth's problem any more."

  Zura said nothing, just shaking her head. For centuries, the Palani had watched the humans — and sometimes fought with them — and still they remained inexplicable. The most bewildering combination of soaring genius and profound incompetence.

  "I know what you're thinking, General."

  "Do you now, Major?"

  "Yeah. And no, I don't know how the hell we ever achieved spaceflight. Sometimes I think it must've been an accident."

  She found she was chewing even harder, though the gum had lost its flavour. "My jaw is sore."

  "Yeah," said Roche. "Told you."

  Zura just grunted in reply, turning and walking back outside. The random drops had turned into a light rain, and her shoulders and head started getting wet. A trickle of cold water wound its way down the back of her neck, but she didn't care. She had a call to make.

  Chapter Ten

  Zura's call wasn't returned until the next morning.

  Half-empty teacup in hand, she stood behind her desk looking out the window. The deep indigo of dawn had given way to the light of early morning. Outside the window, the red-grassed fields beyond the colony rose into the hills on one side, and swept down to the sea on the other. From this location at the back of the colony, there were no signs of settlement to spoil the view.

  A gentle chime sounded from her desk. It was the deeper-sounding chime of a priority channel.

  She hadn't expected to hear anything yet; it was still night in the capital.

  Stepping away from the window, Zura set the teacup down on the desk, and pressed a finger against the blinking white gem on the desktop.

  The holoprojector sparkled to life, the image wavering a moment before assembling into the standing figure of Pentarch Threnia. The member of the Palani leadership council was smoothing her bright red robes.

  Zura stepped back from the desk, facing the image. She bowed her head. "Honoured Pentarch."

  Threnia was already bowing in return, clasping her hands together in deference. "Mahasa Varta, glory to you. I wasn't informed of your message until just now."

  "Honoured Pentarch, thank you for calling. I know it is still early on Palani Yaal La."

  Threnia gave another brief, self-conscious bow of her head. "Thank you, Mahasa." She cleared her throat. "I saw the report that you had arrived at the colony. "

  "Yes, Honoured Pentarch."

  Threnia cleared her throat again, but didn't make eye contact. "Mahasa, I regret you are there. I have been trying to get you a better posting, but the other Pentarch…" she trailed off, shaking her head.

  "I appreciate your efforts, Pentarch. I will go where I am ordered. As I always have."

  "You should be back in the home worlds in comfort, Mahasa. Not exiled to the far end of space with these humans. You deserve better."

  "I have my own ideas about what I deserve," said Zura. Her most vivid nightmares were always about what she deserved.

  "Some of the Pentarch are again asking if you would retire, Mahasa."

  "They don't want me to retire, Pentarch. They want me to disappear. I understand, and I bear them no ill will."

  Threnia shook her head. "Then you are a more forgiving person than I, Mahasa."

  "I didn't say I forgave them, Pentarch."

  A sardonic smile appeared on Threnia's face. She looked down toward the floor, smoothing the front of her robes once more before looking up at Zura. "I am glad you are well, Mahasa. What can I do to help you?"

  "I want a power reactor for this colony."

  Threnia raised an eyebrow, looking sideways at her. "Do they not have one?"

  "The reactor they should have received was diverted. I suspect corruption. An older reactor was substituted, but it is insufficient to the task. It isn't capable of running a sensor suite, let alone a defensive weapon."

  "Surely this is a matter for the human colonial bureaucracy, Mahasa."

  "I spoke with the human councillors who oversee this colony: names of 'Miller' and 'Lang'. They have been told by the human
authorities that the colony is now the responsibility of the Palani government."

  "Not at all," said Threnia, shaking her head. "Not at all. These colonies are to remain under human control until—"

  "With respect, Pentarch…"

  Threnia fell silent.

  "With respect, Pentarch. The legal arguments, while interesting, do not change the situation here. The colony remains undefended, apart from my three ships. The same three ships, Pentarch, that are expected to patrol the seventeen hundred systems in my sector."

  "Mahasa, illegal activity in your sector has dropped by ninety-nine percent since you were appointed fifteen years ago. Treasure hunters are staying away because they're afraid of you."

  Like most politicians, Threnia was full of talk and bluster right until an actual decision was needed. Then, like the rest, she tended to disappear until the decision had been made by someone else. But however flawed they might be, the politicians were still in charge. Zura took a deep breath. "Honoured Pentarch…" she began.

  Threnia must have seen something in Zura's eyes, because the Pentarch's face drooped until she looked like a scolded schoolchild.

  Zura continued. "Beyond my sector are numerous ungoverned systems. There are bandits and Uta slavers and Jaljal blood collectors. Even the Greys will become a threat, once they find out the humans have cows here."

  "I understand, Mahasa. Your… dislike… for Uta slavers is well known—"

  "Don't patronise me," snapped Zura.

  Threnia recoiled as if she'd been slapped. "Mahasa, I didn't—"

  Zura was quieter. "Yes, you did. You mentioned my past to suggest I have a bias. Of course I do." She paused to take a breath and centre herself. "I am going to send a request for a reactor for the colony. Will you approve it?"

  "Mahasa, I don't know if—"

  "It is a simple question," sighed Zura. "Either you will, or you won't. If you won't, I will land the Kahala Mihia and use it to power the colony."

  Threnia's face flushed. "Absolutely not! Your priority is to patrol the grave worlds, and—"

  "If I am to prioritise dead planets full of ruins over the lives of colonists, I will do so. The Pentarch Council decides what I do, and I obey. But the Council does have to decide, Pentarch. Send me orders, and I will carry them out."

  Threnia's shoulders slumped a little, her arms hanging limp at her sides. Zura thought the Pentarch had given up too easily. "You are right, Mahasa. I will do what I can to get you a reactor." She looked up at Zura. "You make things difficult for politicians, Mahasa. We like having room to manoeuvre."

  Room to avoid making decisions, thought Zura. "Wars are not won by timidity, Pentarch. Choices must be made."

  "The war is over, Mahasa. But there are those who still remember all you have done for our people."

  "I remember what I did," said Zura.

  She was about to end the conversation, but a thought came to mind. "One last thing, Pentarch. A hybrid child arrived here. Her adoptive human parents did not survive the trip. The humans are trying to find human relatives who will take the child. If necessary, can she be re-adopted by a Palani family?"

  Threnia shook her head. "If the child was made available for humans to adopt, it was because she was not suitable for adoption by Palani. That wouldn't change even if the human adoption was unsuccessful." Threnia paused. "A tragedy, of course."

  "Not suitable," repeated Zura.

  "Indeed, Mahasa. We wish the child well, of course."

  "Of course."

  "May I call you later, Mahasa? When I have news of your reactor?"

  "Please do." Zura bowed to the holographic council member. "Honoured Pentarch."

  "Glory to you, Mahasa," said Threnia, returning the bow. The holographic image scattered and faded.

  Zura reached for her tea, but the cup had gone cold.

  "Not suitable," she whispered to the empty room.

  Chapter Eleven

  Passing through her office's reception area, Zura's eye caught a glimpse of activity out the window. The councillors were outside, speaking to Doctor Singh. As they spoke, Councillor Miller gestured toward Zura's residence. They seemed to reach an agreement on something, and the three of them started walking toward the stairs to Zura's door.

  Having something to eat would apparently have to wait. Right now, the colonial leadership wanted something from her. Again.

  Judging by the jackets worn by the humans, it was probably cool enough to go outside without the coldsuit. Another small victory.

  The front door slid open as Zura approached, and she stepped out onto the steel-mesh flooring at the top of the stairs. A sharp breeze was blowing in from the sea, bringing cool, damp air with it.

  At the bottom of the stairs, the humans stopped talking and looked up at her.

  "Good morning, General," said Councillor Miller. "Could we have a moment of your time?"

  No, thought Zura. "Of course, Councillor," she said.

  Deciding it would look too imperious to stand at the top of the stairs and talk down to them, Zura gritted her teeth and descended. With each step, it felt like a knife was being twisted in her leg; she fought to keep the discomfort from showing. The councillors didn't react, but lines appeared on Singh's forehead as the woman's brow tightened. Palani doctors had always been hard to deceive, too.

  The soldier at the bottom of the stairs nodded as she walked by him, coming to stand in front of the humans. Miller had a hopeful expression on her face, wearing her insincere smile. Singh was looking concerned, while Lang merely glowered at her.

  Miller took a half-step forward, clasping her hands in front of her. "Thank you for your time, General."

  Zura just nodded. As much as she disliked them wasting her time, it was the one thing she had the most of.

  "General," said Miller, suddenly avoiding eye contact as she spoke. "We've been talking about the Hybrid girl who landed the other night. The one whose parents, you know, who—"

  "The orphan," said Lang. Miller winced, rolling her head from side to side. "Maybe we shouldn't use that word—"

  "What about the orphan?" asked Zura.

  Miller wrung her hands together. "Yes, well, we haven't been able to find any of her extended family who can, uh… are able to…" she looked pleadingly at Lang, who said nothing. "…who are in a position to offer her a home. Her adoptive parents had only a few relatives, most back Earthward, and they're not—"

  "They don't want her," said Lang. "Because she's a Hybrid. Can the Palani find her a place? Adopt her back out?"

  "No," said Zura.

  Miller winced again, sucking in a breath through her teeth. "That's so unfortunate. Maybe if you—"

  "Councillors," said Zura, "I just asked one of the Pentarch directly. The answer is 'no'."

  Lang looked like he was going to spit on the ground. "Not Palani enough, I bet."

  Zura raised an eyebrow. "And is she not human enough for her kin?"

  There was movement outside the front door of the doctor's residence. "Doctor Singh?" asked a young voice.

  A girl was on the doctor's front steps. She was short and thin, with delicate features. Her skin was the same colour as Singh's, and her curly hair was the same cobalt blue as Zura's. She wore a sleeveless shirt and short pants, her arms and legs bare in the sharp breeze.

  Singh turned from the group, walking toward the girl. "Go back inside, before you get cold. I'll be—"

  "I'm not cold," protested the girl. "I'm fine."

  As Singh climbed her steps and stood next to the girl, the young face turned and looked right at Zura. "Oh my god!" she said, before Singh shushed her.

  Singh was speaking to the child, but Zura couldn't hear what was being said. The girl's wide eyes were going back and forth between Singh and her.

  Lang's voice came from behind Zura, a muttered whisper almost too quiet to hear. "She can't stay. She's only twelve, with no family."

  Zura turned to look at Lang. "Agreed. When you find her kin, I'll a
rrange transport."

  Lang's eyes were studying hers. "We'll keep trying."

  Miller whispered, louder than needed. "We need to keep in mind her well-being. We'll have to find a way to tell her—"

  "Tell her what?" asked Zura.

  Up on the landing in front of Singh's house, the girl slid past the doctor and ran down the stairs, bounding toward them. In her mind's eye, Zura could remember when she could run and jump with speed and grace, instead of lumbering along with creaks and pains.

  The young girl came to a stop two paces from Zura. "Aasal," said the girl. The girl's pronunciation was excellent; her voice wasn't as flat and bland as a human voice. Bending at the waist, she bowed to Zura.

  "Aasal," replied Zura. "What is your name, child?"

  "Yaella Russo, ma'am," said the girl, a smile growing on her face. "Wow," she said, wonder in her eyes. "You have such a pretty voice, ma'am." The girl caught herself, and her cheeks flushed with a slight violet tint. "Oh, should I call you General? I'm so sorry, ma'am. What's the Palani word?"

  "Mahasa," said Zura.

  "May I call you that?"

  "You may."

  The child smiled again, and looked at the human councillors standing around her. Zura felt a knot forming in her stomach. The child seemed healthy, which was good, but she was happy. Happy, with her adoptive parents dead in a storage building not two hundred paces away. They hadn't told her.

  "Child," said Zura. "Where were you going? Just now, when you came outside."

  "Oh," said the girl. "I came to ask Doctor Singh if I could see my parents. She said I could see them as soon as I was feeling better." She smiled, looking from Zura to the councillors.

  Yaella must've seen something in the way the councillors avoided eye contact with her. When her eyes came back to look at Zura's, the smile was already starting to crack.

  "Come," commanded Zura, taking two steps away from the human councillors. Yaella followed, her steps suddenly stiff and uncertain. Zura recognised the pained, despairing look in Yaella's eyes; eyes that stayed locked on her own. And she knew the looks that would come next.