Burnt Worlds

by S. J. Madill

  “Huh. Anything from the scan?”

  The medic shook her head. “Nothing we didn’t already know, sir. Mostly the same organs as us, but different arrangement. Five glands we don’t have. I’ve got no idea what they do. Scanner says she’s fine, but there’s some readings I’ll have to look up. Probably some of those inherited things. Otherwise it’s straight out of the xeno textbook, sir.”

  “Good initiative, Singh. Anything else?”

  “Thank you, sir,” she nodded. “And yes, she asked me to tell you — and this is a quote, sir — she will see you now.”

  The Chief suppressed a snort as her face lit up. “Congratulations, Captain. You’ve been summoned for an audience.”

  Dillon looked from the medic to the Chief and back again. “Summoned? Whose ship is this, anyway?”

  -----

  While the airlock cycled, blowing cold air into the small antechamber, Dillon did up his overcoat and put on his winter gloves. Even before the inner door opened, he could see his breath. Singh wasn’t kidding about the temperature.

  The door slid open, revealing the xeno officer’s cabin. Barely three metres square, it had enough room for a bunk, desk, two chairs and an over-plumbed head. The far wall was dominated by a large window. The screen was fully open, and the nearby gas giant filled the view, its colourful green-and-yellow clouds swirled into planet-spanning stripes.

  The Palani turned away from the window, her white cloak swirling around her legs. Her blue eyes sought his. “Captain.” Her multi-tone voice was like the playing of chords. “Thank you for coming to see me.”

  “Tassali,” said Dillon, the breath of his words visible in the air. “Master Seaman Singh said you wanted to talk.”

  “Yes,” said the white-skinned woman. She sat carefully on a chair, her back straight, her feet together on the floor and her white-gloved hands clasped in her lap. “Why is she called ‘Seaman’? She clearly presents herself as a female.”

  “Ah,” said the Captain. “A quirk of our language. A relic from an ancient time.”

  Delicate furrows creased the Palani's forehead. “Your language is a mess. It is irregular and imprecise. It favours the males. It is full of absurd idioms and slang.”

  Dillon nodded slowly. “I agree.”

  Her face showed she hadn’t expected that.

  “However,” he continued, “it can be expressive. If you have time, search the archives for Shakespeare, Tennyson, Sharma, or Bao Zhi. Or Gruber. You may be surprised.”

  Her eyes narrowed slightly, her head tilting. “Nevertheless,” she said after a moment, “your language’s only real value is that every major species can speak it. Were it not for that, no one beyond your worlds would bother to learn it.”

  He nodded again. “I expect that is true, Tassali.”

  She glanced at the other chair. Dillon quietly sat down, then crossed one leg over the other and rested his hands in his lap.

  She held his gaze with her cobalt eyes. “Our language was once spoken throughout the galaxy, of course. But the Dosh cannot make the sounds to speak it, and their language is offensive to us.”

  The Palani’s tone was condescending, but Dillon didn’t feel bothered. The cabin seemed quite pleasant; the temperature didn’t feel nearly as cold as it had when he came in. He felt himself becoming relaxed and comfortable.

  He suddenly became conscious of his own calm. He pulled himself away from leaning on the back of the chair, sat upright, and began to study her face. The narrowness left her eyes as the furrows faded from her brow. She was looking at him differently, though he couldn’t figure out what it was.

  “Tassali,” he began carefully, then stopped. He steered to safer waters. “Is the cabin comfortable for you?”

  She looked around her, as if seeing it for the first time. “It is enough, Captain. I understand this is a warship, and luxuries are few.” Turning slightly in her chair, she looked out the window. “My ship was a diplomatic vessel. We were unarmed.” She fell silent, still looking out the viewport at the planet that loomed beyond.

  Dillon remained quiet, looking at the Palani. He began to marvel at her brilliant blue hair, the way it tumbled down past her shoulders. The contrast against her white clothes and the grey room was captivating.

  He blinked. “Your ship was attacked, Tassali?”

  She turned back to face him. “Orlahal came to get me. I was meditating in my room. He came to me, right after the first explosion. The idols, the altar service… he threw them in with my things…” She glanced at the white satchel that lay on the bed. “He grabbed me. Pulled me from my room and pushed me into the survival pod. It was forceful, and a sin, but not unkind. He asked me to convey the crew to the Divines.”

  Her eyes flared as she looked at his. “I blessed him. I saw his face when he closed the hatch. He knew.”

  Dillon swallowed, trying to clear the lump that had appeared in his throat. It wouldn’t go away, and it tried to catch on his voice. “I’m very sorry, Tassali. Did you… did you see what attacked your ship?”

  The Palani shook her head. “No, Captain. I saw nothing. We had just jumped, as far as we could, and were attacked shortly after.”

  “If you choose not to answer, I understand, but it may be relevant… Tassali, what was your ship’s mission?”

  She hesitated. “I would prefer not to say.” A blue tint began to spread on her cheeks. She swivelled in her chair, turning her back to him. “Why are we still in this system, Captain? There is nothing to be gained, and our attacker may be nearby. I spent twenty hours in that pod, looking out at this. Please, Captain, take us away from this place.”

  Dillon stood, reflexively smoothing the front of his overcoat. “I understand. I plan to be underway soon.”

  Her back was straight and her shoulders were square, even as her head sagged slightly. He struggled for something to say, but wound up standing in silence. Turning, he pressed a button to open the inner door.

  “Captain,” said the Palani. She looked over her shoulder at him. Her face and eyes were flushed with blue. “I wish to ask a favour.”

  “Name it.”

  She looked at her bed, then back toward him, her eyes meeting his. “I must convey the spirits of my crew to the Divines. It should be today. I need a larger, private room to do so…”

  Dillon nodded. “I will have the wardroom cleared and locked for you. Twenty-two hundred hours? That’ll give the room time to cool.”

  The Tassali looked at the clock on the wall console, and frowned. “Your system of time makes no sense either. But if I understand it correctly, that would be two hours from now. That seems adequate.”

  “Is there anything I can do to help with your... observance?”

  “No. As the Captain, you would be permitted to attend if you wished, but no, there is nothing I need.”

  She turned to look back out the viewport as he closed the airlock door.

  -----

  Tassali Yenaara adjusted the position of the box once again, making sure it was centred on the wardroom table. The box and the table were both made from the dark, thick-grained wood of trees native to Earth. A crew member had produced it from a cabinet. It held things used in the rituals of human religions. It seemed appropriate.

  From her satchel, she carefully picked up a folded blue cloth, kissing it twice. Reverently unfolding the altar cloth — the Lenira — she draped it over the makeshift altar. Her gloved hands smoothed the cloth, long fingers running along the intricate gold embroidery. Reaching back into her satchel, she carefully pulled out the five cloth-wrapped idols of the Palani deities, kissing each in turn and placing them delicately on the top of the altar. The last she placed was Elinth, the Lady of Dusk, who was foremost during the ritual of farewell. The Lady’s arms were outstretched, as in the embrace of an unseen lover, her eyes filled with calm regret.

  As the Tassali touched the gem on the idol’s back, the wardroom began to fill with light. After a moment’s hesitation, the light res
olved itself into a spherical image. The image filled the room around the altar, showing the homeworld at dusk. The Tassali watched the image as it began to move, displaying a live image from Palani Yaal La, the eternal world. She knew the specific place being shown: it was Resana, a temple on the southern continent, not far from the ocean. Birds flew past and, as the sound began to come through the idol, she heard their mournful calls. The room of this alien ship, so very far from home, was suffused with the warm blue and pink glow of the Palani dusk.

  Behind her, the wardroom door chirped as it unlocked and opened. A moment later it chirped again as it locked shut. She slowly turned around.

  The human Captain stood inside the door. He wore a long heavy overcoat, the colour of night, with two rows of brass buttons and a belt around the waist. On the cuffs were thick gold-embroidered stripes, and over his left breast were two rows of coloured ribbons. He looked clean and tidy, unlike before. Not so much the human savage of which her people often spoke. On his hands were white cloth gloves much like hers, and her expression softened as she looked at them. Her eyes met his, and she gestured to the floor just inside the spherical hologram of the Palani sunset. He stepped forward, nodded once, then stood quietly. His breathing, calm and even, was visible in the air.

  Turning back to face the altar, she looked around her and took in the sights and sounds of her home. A lone cloud was passing overhead, and a soft chorus of birds had started their song.

  Bowing her head and taking a deep breath, she began her prayer. “Aas tenala huen yaal Elinth la—”

  She stopped, raising her head. Above her, the small cloud kept moving on the wind. Turning her head to her left, she glanced out of the corner of her eye at the human standing behind her. He stood still, silent and unmoving, his eyes taking in the Palani vista around him.

  Tassali Yenaara faced forward and bowed her head. She started again. “The realm of Elinth begins with the dusk…”

  10

  Head Mechanic Saparun Vish continued watching the console for the port engine. He had been staring at it for almost ten minutes, not making a sound. His night crew, Anderson and Stewart, were working at the fabricator, discussing the design of an improvised tool they hoped to create. The ‘apprentice Mechanics’, volunteers from among the crew, had grown to six. This allowed two of them to be on duty at all times of the day and night, which Saparun thought was quite adequate.

  Ninety-four, ninety-five… now. Sap looked at the pressure readout, and watched as it dropped by half a percent. His green eyes flicked to the field strength indicator, which began to move slightly higher. In his mind, he began to count again, and eleven seconds later the readings started to return to normal, right on cue. Unstable injector. Regular fluctuations in pressure. Injector will fatigue, then fail. Engine will take itself offline, but no other harm or threat of harm. He closed his eyes and leaned back his head, breathing deeply. Tomorrow. Maybe the day after.

  He turned his head to look over at his human apprentices. They got along very well with each other, communicating mostly in a series of jokes and insults. Large amounts of their informal language revolved around sex and sexual organs, body excretions, and religion. This seemed to be the case for both positive and negative expressions. Despite his relatively long time spent working with humans, mastery of idioms remained elusive. Each nationality, or tribe, of humans had its own uniquely impenetrable set of idiomatic expressions. Like the encouraging farewell, “Keep your stick on the ice”, which made no sense. He shook his head. Anderson was now suggesting that Stewart’s sexual preferences included a domestic animal. Stewart, for her part, was smiling as she interrupted to escalate the barely-disguised innuendo.

  Saparun listened to a lot of human conversation. He usually got his meals from the so-called “junior ranks mess deck”. Not because the food was better, which it wasn’t, but because it was only a few steps from the engine room. Apparently, human tradition required that the ship’s senior staff use the “wardroom” for its meals, but that was one deck up and, with only three other officers on the ship, it was almost always empty. He was a practical person, and the lower ranks seemed entirely welcoming of him. They were comfortable speaking with him, and several had even given him their coffee rations. In fact, the sight of the Mechanic enjoying his blessed coffee was evidently a source of great enjoyment for the enlisted crew.

  For the past two days, he’d noticed a change in the messdeck conversation. With the arrival of the Palani aboard ship, the human crew had begun to speak, almost exclusively, of the newcomer. Some thought her to be exotic, others thought her haughty or arrogant. Most all of them, male and female alike, at some point speculated on the sexual attributes and/or behaviour of the Palani in general, and even of the Tassali in particular. He had very nearly spoken out, to strongly discourage such talk. Such discussion was acceptable, perhaps even entertaining, among the Dosh. But not among the Palani. He’d remained quiet, partly due to the regular, distracting transcendence of a mug of coffee held tightly under his mouth. He wanted to speak to the Captain about his concern: having a Tassali on board was a greater threat than the humans realised. A full-blooded Tassali was a powerful being; if her skills were fully developed she would be able to manipulate the minds of anyone she spoke with. The entire crew could be influenced, made susceptible to her will. Which was to say nothing of any combat training she might have had.

  For now at least, he would remain quiet.

  There was also the greater question, of why a senior member of the Palani religion would be out here. Once the Palani leadership knew where she was, they would want her back. And when it came to looking after their own, the Palani were anything but subtle.

  The chirping of the engine room’s speaker broke his train of thought. “Cho to Engineering, is the Head Mechanic there?”

  “Yes, Lieutenant,” said Saparun in reply. “How can I be of assistance?”

  “Sir, if you have some time, could you come by the tech suite?”

  “Of course. I am on my way.”

  The Dosh gave a quick nod to his apprentices at the fabricator, and walked out of the Engineering space. He moved quietly through several hatches before entering the dark, screen-lit confines of the technology suite. A half-dozen consoles were back-to-back along one wall, and Cho sat at the far end. The golden glow of the screen lit up his fatigue-lined face.

  “Lieutenant,” said Sap. “The hour is late. You must be very interested in something.”

  “I am,” said the officer, pulling up a chair next to him. The Mechanic sat down and looked at the console. Directly in front of him was a steaming mug. His face lit up, and he glanced at Cho, who nodded and flashed a wide smile. “A bribe, sir. We might be a while.”

  Saparun picked up the mug in both hands. “Happily accepted, Lieutenant. Thank you.” He put the mug to his lips and breathed deeply, his face splitting into a toothy smile. “Sensor logs, I see.”

  “Aye, sir,” said Cho. “The Captain told Lieutenant Atwell and I about your theory, and asked us to help investigate it in our spare time. I’ve been looking into it. I intend to figure it out.”

  “You are not co-operating with Lieutenant Atwell?”

  “No.”

  The Mechanic said nothing, but looked into the human’s eyes. He took another deep coffee-infused breath, his eyelids twitching. “My theory, do you believe it?”

  Cho nodded. “Absolutely, sir. I don’t believe jump drives just explode for no reason.”

  “Thank you, Lieutenant. What have you found?”

  The broad smile faded. “Nothing.” Cho sighed and pointed to a long list of entries at the side of the screen. “I’ve run processing filters, spectrum filters, time filters, and eleven different types of signal processing. The computer is convinced that there was nothing there. No other ship within the range of anything we have.”

  “A problem, then.” Saparun's green eyes ran back and forth across the display. “I have been spending a lot of time thinking about t
his. Thank you for running so many different types of analysis.”

  “You’re welcome, sir, but it doesn’t help.”

  Saparun shook his head. “I don’t agree, Lieutenant. In a way, it does help. It tells us we are looking at the wrong thing.”

  “Sir?” asked Cho, his brow furrowing. He was looking intently at the screen, his hand absently scratching at the back of his head.

  The Mechanic took a long breath from the mug, holding it in for a while before sighing it out. “The sensors show nothing. Let us ignore them. What other data does the ship have? How about navigation?”

  “Aye, sir.”

  The human officer put both his hands on the console, his fingers beginning to tap across the display. Several windows opened and closed, before one popped open and quickly filled with long columns of numbers. Cho poked at the window, and the columns flew upward until he let go. A few more taps and he was satisfied. “Here, our position in the last few seconds before the explosion. This is us, moving forward, decelerating after the jump.”

  “The numbers are not very helpful. Perhaps a picture?”

  “Aye, sir.” Cho poked a few times more, and a window opened with a line plotted through it. The line had a slight bulge. “What’s that, Lieutenant?”

  “It shows a slight deceleration just before the explosion. Looks like we drifted a bit aft and to port. Not much, though, sir. It’s pretty much within the system’s margin of error.”

  Saparun took slow, lingering drink from his mug. He looked at Cho. “The explosion occurred aft on the port side. Perhaps it is not an error. Suppose we did drift slightly aft and to port.”

  The Lieutenant stared at the Mechanic for several seconds, his face expressionless. He squinted. “Gravity? Some local gravity anomaly?”

  Turning back to the console, Cho tapped at the display. More windows opened and closed, before a final image showed a top view of the ship surrounded by a disc of varying colours. The disc was green mottled with yellow, except for the rear of the ship on the left side, where the colour showed a small dot of red. Cho dragged his finger left and right across the display, and the yellow and green flowed around the ship. The red dot winked in and out, moving in a straight line to and from the side of the ship. He leaned in and read a line of small text.