Branwen patted Merlo’s captured hand and finally spoke up again. “You said that they told you that they would make it up to you somehow, though? What happened to land you in that situation on Koltan, then, without any resources of your own?”
Merlo huffed at the distant event. “Don’t get me wrong, the Altairans acted all apologetic, made sure I had food and stuff, but I didn’t really like the thought of just waiting around for them to come drill me with more questions. So instead I asked them what I’d have to do to make it here, and they talked about stuff like getting a job for credits, and things like that. And when a day had gone by and no one had come back with any answers from anyone important, I told them I wanted to find something to do.” She frowned. “I mean, I guess sitting there thinking about what just happened was driving me nuts.” She opened her mouth to continue, but just ended up closing it again and shaking her head.
Branwen nodded, a deep sadness settling onto her to match Merlo’s. “I know how hard things like that can be. I understand.” She gave the small hand she grasped another squeeze. “What happened then?”
“I asked if I was free to go if I wanted, and they said I was. So I decided to try to follow the advice they gave me, and that’s how I got myself in that mess with the Gates on Koltan. I guess you know the rest from there. They haven’t gotten in touch with me since, until now.”
“That is… a sad, incredible tale,” Branwen spoke up after a few moments, letting Merlo’s last words fade away into the empty air of the bridge first. “And I feel for you. I wish that there was more I could do to help.”
Merlo laughed, a short cough of amusement coming out as she wiped her face on the high-tech sleeve of her armored suit. Branwen couldn’t see where the tears went, and wondered if the nanosuit had somehow eaten them. “Captain,” Merlo continued, “You’ve taken me in, given me a place to stay, told me stories, fed me, gave me a job on a damn good ship, and watched my back in some pretty rough situations. And now you’re willing to come help me with this? Captain, you’ve already done far more for me than most people ever have. That’s more than enough for me.” The girl stood, eyeing Branwen with a dubious expression, and it took Branwen a moment to figure out her body language and what she wanted.
“Oh.” Branwen stood from her seat, untangling the remnant of harness straps. Then she watched as Merlo, hesitantly, as if nervous or new to the expression, slowly stepped forward another small step and hugged her.
The friendly embrace lingered for a minute before Merlo spoke, her voice muffled by Branwen’s coat and shoulder. “Thanks for everything, Captain.”
Branwen puffed out a breath, partially in amusement, but mostly because Merlo was holding her pretty tightly. “Hmph. You had as much a hand in all of those things as I did. The only thing I can truly claim credit for is giving you the opportunity.” She patted Merlo firmly on the back, a companionable gesture from her homeland.
“If you say so, Captain. Myself, I’m pretty sure I’d be in jail on Koltan right now if not for you.” After a moment, Merlo followed suit with the patting, and Branwen had to stifle the cough the force of it almost wrung from her. She was certainly glad now that her injuries had healed.
They held on to one another for a long while, but just as Branwen began, with a little embarrassment, to consider telling Merlo to stop squeezing before she caused bruises, the girl abruptly stopped on her own. For a moment, she just stayed there, but then she trembled, and it rapidly transformed into her holding desperately onto Branwen as she shook and cried.
So Branwen held her for several long moments as Merlo buried her face in her chest and wept, as no doubt all the feelings of failure and the loss of her ship and her crew and her previous Captain all collapsed in on her. Branwen understood; she’d seen others in Merlo’s place before, many times. For that matter, she’d been in similar situations before. Sometimes, life simply gave a person more than they could handle.
So Merlo clung to her for a couple of minutes, and then it was suddenly over. She straightened abruptly, wiped away the remnants of upset from her face and pretended it had never happened. “Anything else we need to talk about before I go unload cargo, Captain?” Branwen noticed her arm jump, as if she was restraining a salute, and likewise restrained her amusement.
“No, I think we are all right.” Now the bloody girl did salute, turning to leave with hardly a sniffle left behind.
“Then I’ll go make sure everything’s taken care of.” She called back as she strode away. Branwen thoughtfully watched her friend go.
“Yes, I believe we shall be all right,” she repeated quietly to the empty room.
CHAPTER NINE
Conflux of Interests
Branwen
As far as planets went, Altair was huge. At least to Branwen, anyway; she struggled to navigate the extremely dense and crowded city structure with only the assistance of the exceedingly thick-headed VI repeatedly popping up from her datapad. She had read that Fade was considered a “Class Four” habitable world, compared to Altair Prime being a “Class Six”. What that meant, past Altair being bigger, she had no idea. Though it figured in a system they invented, that their world had the higher ranking.
Though, in retrospect, Fade actually seemed larger the more she pondered about it. On Fade, she had seen huge, open expanses, mighty snow frosted mountains, extensive oceans, and a far, far more boundless sky. What Altair actually felt like was more claustrophobic, a large word that she’d recently learned from Zimi, but the description her young medic had given her for the term seemed to fit the place exactly.
There were buildings everywhere they could reasonably be placed, some of which were imposing, sculpted figures of architectural wonder that seemed as tall as any mountain. She would have wondered at the purpose of all of those buildings, if there weren’t also so many people to fill them. Whoever planned these Altairan cities had done a masterful job, because there were always places for the throng to go, and the streets weren’t exactly crowded. But there was a massive number of people, nonetheless, and that was even with Branwen comparing to the marching armies and grand overland campaigns she’d been a part of. At least the Altairan crowds were quieter and more polite than that.
“One hour remaining. Please go left at next junction, and head straight onward to the transit area.” The disembodied voice drifted up from one of Branwen’s datapads, where she clutched it fiercely in one hand. She didn’t want to lose it, become hopelessly lost in the streets of Altair, and starve before she found her ship again. She pushed her way through the crowd, Merlo in tow, Altairans politely moving out of her way when plausible. She saw her opportunity and turned left, following the directives of the formless VI gripped in one hand.
“That is correct. Thank you. Now please continue…” For the moment, she knew where she was going, so she dropped the pad back down to her side and ignored the muffled voice of the VI. She’d turned off its holographic projection early on; the wooden motions and fake emotions of the pretty, polite Altairan image came close at points to disturbing her. Probably because of the similarity to things she’d seen in her past which were entirely unrelated.
“You worried if we’re going to make it, Captain? I mean, we left an hour early.” Merlo raised her voice from behind Branwen. She glanced back at the girl; Merlo, as always, was wearing her suit, a short, silver topped sapling in a forest of Altairans. Branwen had briefly considered wearing nicer attire for this meeting, getting out some of her finer garments from Fade, maybe her coat or cloak from the Tor. But she’d thought better of it. These wanderer’s clothes, these Captain’s clothes, were good enough for her these days, so she’d decided that they should be good enough for anyone else as well.
“We will be fine.” She called back, and then added, “I hope,” under her breath. An hour to cross to the massive heart of the largest city on Altair and meet with some supposedly important and impressive Altairan figure about her pilot’s future? Maybe she should have left three hour
s early.
She had assumed Altairan transportation in the city was effective, and she hoped that assumption was correct. They’d left the Destiny in the capable hands of Zimi and Mr. Leonard, having successfully unloaded and delivered their cargo, making a tidy sum in the process. Branwen was satisfied, at any rate. Altairan cities were very safe, so she had no qualms about leaving the pair of them to watch over the ship while Mr. Leonard conducted his repairs and Zimi sought out further gainful employment. Everyone seemed to be recovering at a good pace from the attack on The Bazaar, though Mr. Leonard still jumped at unexpected noises, even more than usual.
Branwen looked around, soaking up some of the sights as she went quickly toward the transit area. Merlo hurried along behind her, jogging lightly at points. It was easy for Branwen to look around, despite the hurry. Since the Captain was taller than almost any Altairan native she saw, she could easily look over the heads of the crowd while staying on track. It also blinded her a little; the brilliant cerulean sky of Altair brought a sting to her Fade-born eyes, though she understood she that problem was mostly unique to her.
Altair was, to put it mildly, quite interesting to Branwen. Nowhere else had she been in the clusters where technology was so ingrained into daily life. Personal datapads abounded, often disguised as part of clothing or jewelry, while interactive holograms helped draw attention to multitudes of shops, or assisted needy customers. Small robotic things helped keep the streets clean, though the Altairan populace seemed to mostly take care of that on their own.
A set of windows tinted of their own accord as the odd, oblate Altairan star descended far enough to slant its rays across the front of a building. Transports of all shapes and sizes, both wheeled and flying, zipped about like busy insects on their designated pathways, attractively designed barriers keeping them well separate from the large amount of pedestrian traffic. Further overhead, starships small enough to pass through atmosphere landed and took off from sky-scraping towers where strips upon strips of landing space bristled from them like the branches of an evergreen.
Those buildings were so enormous they dominated Branwen’s perceptions. They towered over everything else in the city, dwarfing her, so tall that it dizzied her to look up to their tops. Rounded glasteel and metal alloys descended from their pinnacle into a smooth, poured stone base, and some of them spiraled or curved upward with an elegant, artistic grace. Around each soaring spire sat bunches of smaller buildings, nestled together in precise, measured arrangements. Some of the technological monuments were connected to others by seemingly tiny, distant walkways, suspended high above ground and covered over with more thick glasteel. Branwen found herself torn between hoping they wouldn’t have to use one of those to reach their destination, and longing for the adventure.
She got an adventure she hadn’t quite asked for when she accidentally pushed to the fore of a cluster of pedestrians, Altairans politely resettling all around her in a tiny ripple of motion that echoed through the crowd. Branwen found herself looking off the edge of a platform at a single, metal rail suspended in the air a few feet off of the ground. It ran in both directions as far as she could see, disappearing off into the distance and curving slightly upward as it did so to her right.
Branwen could have sworn the rail sparked suddenly with energy, and she felt a vague rumble in the ground, as if something large was approaching her. She realized she had taken an unconscious step back when she bumped Merlo, whose surprising sturdiness halted her. Around her, another ripple of Altairan repositioning passed through the crowd, until most people were once again just barely not standing shoulder to shoulder.
“Something wrong, Captain?” Branwen could hear the smirk in Merlo’s voice, even as the rumbling increased in volume.
“What is that?” She called back, smiling to herself. Logically, she knew it was probably nothing out of the ordinary, but logic did little for her nerves.
“Looks like it’s our ride, Captain.” She sounded entertained. A moment later, from out of nowhere, heralded with only a slightly louder rumble and accompanied by an odd, rippling, reverberating sound Branwen could hardly have described, their ride did indeed arrive. It sped past the Captain in a flurry of more metal and glass, slowing within moments to a standstill. Numerous arcs of glass made a vague sound, released, and rose upward the instant it came to a standstill, revealing many padded benches and seats just behind them. Along its length, Altairans and foreigners alike started to file into the object and seat themselves, save those trapped behind Branwen.
“Come on, Captain, we don’t need to miss it.” Merlo brushed past her, grinning broadly at Branwen the whole time, the lousy woman. A couple of other people also stepped past, but most stayed put. She supposed everyone else was being polite and waiting for her to step on first, but she’d already made the mistake of looking under the strange, caterpillar-like transport.
It wasn’t connected to the rail beneath it at all. It just kind of floated there, with only a vague and disturbing distortion of the air between the two objects.
“Oh, bloody abyss,” she said as she stepped onto the transport.
9.1- Branwen
They arrived twenty minutes early, but it was okay. He was already waiting for them.
“Mr. Batolome will see you now,” chimed a polite young Altairan woman, almost small enough to rival Merlo, from behind a desk. She did something obscure on the glowing display screen hovering before her, and the doors in front of them parted. Merlo stepped in first, and Branwen followed. She hadn’t been specifically asked or permitted to enter as well, but she hadn’t exactly been told not to, either. She put out a hand to close the tall, paneled doors behind her, but they were already taking care of that on their own.
The room was nicely but simply appointed, with rich dark wood edgings and furniture, soft floors, and a respectable view from where most of the left wall was actually a window overlooking Incarnum. Or, it would have been respectable if the planet’s star hadn’t been setting just then, and happening to accidentally cast its last few piercing, azure rays directly into Branwen’s retinas.
She blinked and looked away. The rest of the room’s tasteful decor did little to hide that fact that it was just as technologically advanced as the rest of Altair seemed to be. But what drew Branwen’s gaze at last wasn’t the technology, but the man who controlled this room in its stead.
“Miss Merlo, Captain Hawke. I am Arden Batolome. It is a pleasure to see you again; if you will both have a seat, please?” The distinguished looking officer rose and leaned forward, extending an arm across the table in greeting. Branwen moved first, stepping forward around Merlo and clasping his arm in her typical fashion.
It was one of her ways of assessing him. She could learn a lot about someone from the way they composed and carried themselves, like the fact that it only took him a moment to adjust to her manner of greeting and return it in kind. Looking him over, Branwen realized her prior difficulties in reading the man hadn’t merely stemmed from viewing him through a technological lens at all, but rather from his composed and somewhat imposing manner. Taking first impressions for what they were worth, the man impressed her. She wondered who he really was.
Merlo stepped in as Branwen released his arm and made room for her. She repeated her Captain’s gesture, taking his forearm into her hand with less familiarity but similar confidence. Batolome’s brow twitched ever so slightly, but he clasped her arm with the same lack of hesitation, then released her, gesturing to a pair of seats invitingly. As they complied, he continued.
“I appreciate your haste in coming to meet with me. Let me begin by apologizing for the inadequate manner in which you were treated prior to my intervention.” Branwen noted he spoke with a precise, practical but genial tone. She also saw, on closer investigation, that the suit he wore was definitely of Altairan Legion style, though this time it lacked any insignias that she could use to identify what kind of position he held. “It was never our intention to allow you to leave as
you did.” Merlo bristled visibly, narrowing her eyes a little. “Not without seeing to your needs appropriately. And for our failure in this matter, you have my humblest apologies.” He pressed his right fist to his chest and bowed at the waist as Merlo and Branwen looked on in surprise.
“Uh,” Merlo began eloquently, “No problem, I guess. I mean, I was more upset about what happened to my ship, you know? And my crew.” Her face contorted in a bitter frown. Even in this situation, the vestiges of her anger were still palpable to Branwen. She noted that Batalome did not appear blind to it either. “So is that what this is about then? Just giving me my identification and stuff?”
Batalome frowned deeply, and Branwen thought, honestly. When he spoke again, his tone was surprisingly gentle and subdued. “I am so very, very sorry about the lives that were lost in the incident regarding your ship. It was a tragedy that our communications technologies were so disparate that your approach was mistaken for hostilities, and the issue has been raised with our interplanetary affairs department. They will be working with our technicians to seek out solutions to the problem so that such errors will not be repeated.” He settled into his chair, folding his hands on his desk. “I know that no words can possibly salve such a loss—”
Branwen braced herself as Merlo suddenly snapped to her feet, ire flushing the fair skin of her face with a sudden, angry red. “You’re fucking right words can’t solve it! My ship is gone, my people are dead, my Captain…” her voice broke as her eyes glistened with remorse. She blinked at the tears that threatened to spill and slammed her fist onto his desk, cracking the sturdy glass coating without even trying.
Batalome observed the display calmly, but not without an obvious measure of sympathy. He lowered his head respectfully at Merlo’s mention of the dead, not even flinching at the violence done to the high tech screen coating his desk. Branwen’s respect for the man rose a notch further. Batalome remained silent for a few seconds as Merlo exhaled heavily, seeming to vent some of the worst of her anger into the air by force of will, before settling slowly, almost reluctantly, back into her seat.
Destiny Abounds (Starlight Saga Book 1) Page 16
