by S. J. Madill
Slowly putting down his mug, the Mechanic leaned forward, his eyes flicking back and forth between Cho and the display. His voice was low and fluid. “What does it say, Lieutenant? What is that? Is it evidence?”
Cho leaned back, his eyebrows coming together in concentration. When he spoke, it was slowly and carefully. “I believe… I believe it shows a point of gravity heading right at the ship. Well, not a point of gravity. More like an object, microscopically small, with a mass alternating between zero and…” he leaned forward again, squinting at the screen, “...three hundred thousand tons.”
The two fell silent, staring at the screen, watching as the animation repeated. The same small dot, blinking green and red as it approached the ship again and again. Saparun coughed, not taking his eyes from the red dot. “It travels in a straight line, Lieutenant. Can we track its point of origin?”
“Yeah, let’s do that.” said Cho quietly. His fingers moved back and forth across the console, hesitantly at first, then with greater speed. The animation zoomed out, showing more of the space around the Borealis. The red dot appeared at a point in space some distance away from the ship, before starting its track toward the hull.
“It came from there,” said Cho. “From nothing. Some sort of anomaly?”
Saparun shook his head. “No. I do not believe that. A point of variable mass appears a kilometre away from the ship. In a tenth of a second, it flies in a straight line right into the hull. That is not a natural thing. It cannot be.”
“But,” said Cho earnestly, his fatigue forgotten, “the sensors say there was nothing there.”
“Then let us see the nothing, Lieutenant. Show us that area of nothing at the moment the point appeared.”
The officer tapped some windows back open, dragging them on top of the coloured animation. More details appeared, bits of data dotted throughout the space around the ship, moving about as the recording played.
The two of them sat and watched the animation run several times, looping back to its start point and playing through again. Saparun leaned forward and tentatively poked at the display, dragging his red finger across the animation. The image tilted, drawing a three-dimensional view. “There,” he said at last.
“Sir? Where?”
The Mechanic pointed at the screen. “See? There. Where the point originated. This area of nothing.”
“I don’t see it. I...we need to—”
“This area of nothing, Lieutenant. No emissions, no noise, no background. Nothing. The rest of the universe has background noise. But not this area. Now go further back in time, to when we exited the jump.”
Cho leaned closer, his face almost touching the display. A few taps, and the scene ran longer, starting before the dot appeared. He dragged his finger on the screen, watching the image swivel and turn. “Yes!” he blurted suddenly. “I see it!” He began to tap furiously at the console. “Let me get it to map the area of nothing…”
On the display, a shape was drawn. It was a kilometre away from the image of the Borealis. A massive upright cylinder, according to the readout: forty metres in diameter and two hundred metres high. Beginning as a single object, it appeared behind Borealis as she exited the long jump. Keeping pace with the ship for several seconds, the top third of the cylinder had separated by five metres or so, then the dot had appeared from the gap. The dot moved in a straight line to the Borealis, whereupon the animation came to an abrupt end.
The human and the Dosh sat and watched the animation several more times, unable to pull their eyes from the image of the cylinder following their ship. “Lieutenant, please document this.”
“Yeah,” said Cho, not taking his eyes from the screen. “I’ll get the Captain.”
“Agreed,” replied Saparun. His head suddenly tilted, his eyes looking toward the tech suite’s door. “Did you hear that? “
Cho looked at him, puzzled. “No sir, I—”
The speaker chirped. There was an unfamiliar voice, speaking carefully. “Captain and Chief to the junior ranks messdeck, please. Urgent.”
11
Long, slender fingers tugged at the seams of the shining white coldsuit, stretching it across porcelain skin. As the seams met in the middle of the Palani woman’s chest, the suit silently fastened itself, drawing together from her abdomen to her chin. Across her back and up her neck to her hairline, the glossy white material of the coldsuit tightened and then relaxed, forming itself to the curves of her body. She slowly moved her arms and legs, getting a feel for the suit’s ease of movement, then stepped into her cabin’s wash area to see herself in the mirror.
She frowned. The coldsuit covered almost every inch of her skin, from the boots up her legs, to her thighs and upper arms, and her entire torso up to her neck. It was comfortable enough, but absurdly tight. No, she thought. Absolutely not. Not on this ship full of semi-feral humans.
Fortunately, there was a class structure on the ship: officers and crew. The Captain had shown himself to be somewhat civilised, which was a relief. The Dosh had been a welcome sight when she’d boarded: a known quantity in a ship full of unknowns. Hopefully the Dosh had been a civilising influence on the humans, though the Dosh attitudes toward propriety were famously lax.
Back in her cabin’s main room, she wrapped herself in a loose-fitting sleeveless robe, fastening the red and gold belt at her waist. She examined her tiara before kissing it twice and putting it carefully on her brow. Heading back into the so-called “head”, she examined her appearance again and was satisfied with the result.
It took her a few moments to negotiate with the plumbing, trying to remember how to produce water that wasn’t unbearably hot. Twisting the control all the way to the right, she was rewarded with a pleasing stream of near-freezing water. The melodic words of an ancient hymn filled the tiny room as she carefully went through the ritual of washing her hands and forearms. Still singing, she patted herself dry using the same gentle, methodical steps she had followed since she was old enough to reach a basin. Without touching anything else, she pulled on a pristine pair of elbow-length white gloves, checking to make sure the fit was correct and all the seams were straight. As she quietly sang the final bars of the hymn, she kissed the fingertips of both hands, and touched them together in a brief prayer to mark the night's surrender to dawn.
She sighed, and looked up at the mirror. The face looking back at her still had furrows on its brow and tightness around the eyes and mouth. Taking a deep breath, she let it out slowly, but shuddered as she did so.
Tassali Yenaara wondered how it had come to this. No home, no family, no ship. No one to trust, nothing to hold on to. Everything was strange, incomprehensible, and unsettling. But she had her beliefs, her faith, and the rituals. Rituals for the start of the day, for the end of the day, for coming and going. Rituals for everything. Structure and certainty to occupy her mind while she waited. She needed to look around, to learn more about the humans and their ship. She knew she had to remain calm, to have faith. If she was righteous, the Divines would provide, would keep her safe. An opportunity would present itself. There is still time.
Staring at her reflection, she forced her face to relax and her eyes to brighten, assuming a look of serenity and control. There must be no outward sign of anything else, especially not among the savages. The mentors had been very clear about the nature of humans. The last time a Palani had checked on them, before the Burning, the animals had been living in filth, dwelling in mud and stone huts, rutting like beasts while their young died in squalor. Uncountable human factions hacked each other with metal blades; the strong harmed the weak and the rich discarded the poor. Now, a dozen centuries later, the same species had traded their mud huts for colonies, still squabbling among each other even as they spread from world to world like a contagion.
Reaching up, the Tassali pulled a slender ribbon from her tied-up hair, letting it tumble across her shoulders and down her back. One last glance at her expression, and she stepped confidently from the head, thro
ugh the cabin and into the airlock, which quickly cycled. The passageway door opened.
It was like stepping into a furnace. Her hand quickly went to the small controls on the side of her suit, and within moments a chilling comfort spread throughout her body. While the air was still hot on her face and in her lungs, she felt cool enough. This would do.
The lights in the corridor were dim and blue. While to the humans this signified the depth of night, to the Tassali it was a reminder of early morning at home. The ship was quiet, with most of the crew sleeping. The only sound was the faraway hum of the engines provided any sound. Walking past the Captain’s cabin, she heard talking from up ahead, and approached the entrance to the bridge.
Standing in the hatchway, she looked at the crew at their stations, at the empty Captain’s chair to her left, and through the large windows to interstellar space beyond. Most of the stars barely moved at all; only a few of the nearest ones slid by the field of view, passing to one side or the other. There had been a similar view from the meditation area on her former ship. She had enjoyed spending time with Orlahal, or Ennur, quietly meditating or talking while the stars passed by around them.
“Tassali Yenaara! Please come in.”
It was a human female that spoke to her, and was now approaching from across the bridge. The one with the dark blue hair.
The Tassali bowed slightly. “Thank you. You know me, but…”
The human woman smirked. The Palani was unsure what to make of that expression.
“I’m Chief Black, ma’am. Haven’t seen much of you. Settled in?”
The Tassali cocked her head slightly. “You are a chief? Are you a tribal leader?”
The Chief began to laugh, then stopped herself. “What? Not officially, ma’am. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t laugh, ma’am, but you’re more right than you know.”
The Tassali remained quiet, watching the human woman's face.
“Er,” began the Chief, “every warship has a ‘Chief of the Ship’. Usually the longest-serving, non-commissioned officer on the ship. Oldest and, in theory, wisest. Though I have my doubts, ma’am.”
The Tassali offered a faint smile. “Having doubt is an expression of wisdom, Chief Black. I am sure the crew benefits from your experience.”
The Chief glanced over her shoulder toward the crewmembers at their consoles. “They had better,” she said for them to hear. “I’m also in charge of discipline and adherence to regulations.”
“A highly responsible post, Chief Black. But not a member of the officer class?”
Black looked the Tassali in the eyes, raising an eyebrow. “Officer class? No ma’am, I work for a living.”
Disrespectful of class, thought the Tassali, or at least irreverent. Was this Chief some sort of agitator for the lower classes? Or perhaps the ruling elite permitted a controlled level of dissent, to provide the illusion of freedom from within the structure; to prevent a building up of seditious thought.
She noticed that the Chief was staring at her hair. The human woman's eyes had grown distant. “Chief Black?”
The Chief glanced at the Tassali’s face, then back to her hair. Her voice was quiet. “You have the most beautiful hair, ma’am. I’ve tried for years to get a colour like that.” She reached out her hand. “May I?”
The Tassali hesitated. A human savage, presuming to…? And yet, this one was different. Like the Captain. “You may.”
Chief Black smiled, and reached toward the Palani’s neck. She gently touched the wavy blue hair, lifting a thick lock of it and feeling it between her fingers. She withdrew her hand. “It’s very pretty, and so soft. Thank you. What can I do to get mine that colour?”
Tassali Yenaara returned the smile. “It would be easiest if you were born Palani. My home world is rich in minerals that are rare on yours. Perhaps, if you lived there for a time, yours might take on some of the hue.” She shook her head. “Probably not.”
The Chief beamed for a while, smiling broadly at the Tassali, then suddenly seemed to snap out of a reverie. She took a sudden step back. “What? Oh, wait. I’m sorry ma’am, that was inappropriate.” She shook her head. “I intended no disrespect, ma’am.”
A small wave from a gloved hand allayed the Chief’s concern. “There was no disrespect, Chief Black. Please do not worry.”
“Thank you, ma’am.”
“I believe,” began the Tassali, “I shall go for a walk. I will be up for a while longer, before I take my second sleep. Perhaps we shall talk later.”
“Yes, ma’am,” said the Chief, giving a short nod.
Walking calmly from the bridge, the Palani turned to her right, following the passageway that led away from the cabins.
She paused at the entrance to the wardroom, and looked inside. The room was dimly lit, save for a bright light over the long wooden table she had used as an altar some days ago. There was music coming from the speakers inside: it was complex and gentle, with dozens of stringed and wind-based instruments playing together in complicated harmonies. She found it immediately soothing.
Sitting at the end of the table, facing down its length, was the Captain. His elbows were on the table, and he was leaning slightly forward with his face buried in his hands. A datapad was on the table in front of him, along with an empty glass and a mangled pen.
She watched him take a deep breath. He exhaled with a hint of a shudder. A sudden urge came over her, to approach him and offer some words of consolation; some thoughts to ease his burden. Instead, she found herself continuing down the passageway, unsure of her course. She resolved to speak to the Captain later, maybe offer some meditations. Then again, no doubt humans had their own simple ways of coping with difficulty; perhaps she ought not to meddle.
Coming to the elevator, she stepped inside and pressed the button for the middle deck. She felt a sudden interest in visiting the engine room, to see the Dosh. She had met a few of them before, and felt she understood them. They were lacking in shame and modesty, and though their morals often conflicted with her own, they were nonetheless civilised. They were familiar.
Exiting the elevator onto the middle deck, she started straight ahead for the engine room, but stopped. To her right, around the corner, came the sounds of excited conversation from the lower ranks’ eating area. The Captain and now the Chief had made her begin to re-evaluate her perception of humans, and she found herself curious. She quietly walked toward the messdeck.
Five humans were sitting along a bench-like table, smiling and laughing at something one of them had said. One of the others, a female with her back to the door, was excitedly waving at her colleagues. “I bet the ice queen’s a total freak.”
One of her friends suddenly spotted the Tassali and began to react in horror, but the woman continued. “Yeah, all the Palani, I bet they’re into the weirdest shit imaginable—”
12
“Captain and Chief to the junior ranks messdeck. Urgent.”
Dillon launched himself from his chair in the wardroom, awkwardly shoving the table as he began to move. He made the wardroom door just as Chief Black sped past. “What’s—”
“No idea, sir.”
As he turned into the passageway, she had reached the top of the ladder. Grabbing the handrails, she leapt down through the hatch. Dillon struggled to keep up with her, slowing on the ladder as he momentarily lost his balance.
He landed hard on the deck below, a few steps behind the Chief. The two of them thundered down the passageway. Ahead, the junior messdeck was strangely quiet. As they skidded in through the doorway, his heart sank.
Five crewmembers were standing around a table, looking guilty. They came smartly to attention when they saw him.
“Sir,” a woman began, her face tense. “it was me. I was shooting my mouth off like an idiot. The Tassali heard me, she—”
The Chief interrupted her. “Damn it, Stoneman! Cut to the chase: your exact words.”
Seaman Stoneman closed her eyes, her face turning red. “'Ice queen', si
r. And that the Palani were into 'weird shit', sir.” She opened her reddening eyes, looking at the Captain. “Sir, I'm so sorry, I was—”
“Shut it,” said the Chief. “What did the Tassali say?”
“She was quiet, sir. She just said, 'I do have a name', and walked away.”
Dillon looked at each of the crewmembers one by one. One of the other crew, Seaman Graham, looked like he was about to speak, but the Captain raised a hand and shook his head.
Dillon looked up at the ceiling. “Ice queen,” he said quietly. “Chief?”
Chief Black’s voice was sharp and clear. “I’ve got this, sir.”
“Good, good,” said Dillon to the ceiling. He was forcing himself to remain calm, but his brittle voice was betraying him.
“Sir,” said the Chief. “Captain’s Mast tomorrow?”
“Yes, thank you Chief. Oh nine hundred, on the bridge. I’m very interested to hear all about this.”
“Aye aye, sir. Oh nine hundred tomorrow sir.”
Dillon left the messdeck, slowly and deliberately retracing his steps back along the passageway, up the ladder and into the wardroom. He picked up his datapad and pen in one hand, and with the other he carried his empty glass to the counter. He carefully set it down before leaving the wardroom and walking to his cabin.
The moment the cabin door closed behind him, the datapad was airborne, thrown with tremendous force across the cabin. It struck the far wall next to the window, and clattered to the floor. The display went dark.
