Burnt Worlds

by S. J. Madill

  “Captain, please. I am asking you. Do not hand me over to my people.”

  He couldn’t contain his surprise. “What? What's going on? Are you a fugitive?”

  The Palani’s eyes found his. “Yes, Captain. I suppose I am a fugitive.” She shook her head. “But I am not a criminal. I have…,” she paused, then started again. “It is political, Captain. I have certain political ideas that are… unacceptable to the Pentarch. They seek to silence me, and so I fled my homeworld.”

  Dillon felt a massive weight land in the pit of his stomach. “Damn,” he said quietly. He felt slightly dizzy as his thoughts began to swim.

  “Please, Captain,” said the Palani. “If you give me over to my government, it will be the end of me. I will be arrested, and will disappear forever.” She glanced down at her hands in her lap, and then back up to him. “You are my last hope.”

  The Captain sighed. He realised he was rubbing his face with his hand, pinching his temples with his thumb and forefinger. “I don’t…,” he began, then stopped. “Okay,” he tried again, “I need to think. I need to contact the Commodore—”

  The Tassali interrupted him. “No, Captain, please do not do that,” she said. “You are using Dosh channels. If you tell your Commodore, the Dosh will hear about it. It would shame my government, and they would become furious. They would kill over such an insult.”

  Dillon sighed again, suddenly feeling exhausted. He put his hands in his overcoat’s pockets. He focused on breathing calmly, noticing as he did that the citrus scent was nearly gone from the room. He wondered if the Tassali had stopped using her breath, or if he had become used to it. No, he decided, if he were inhaling opiates he would feel less stressed than he currently did.

  “Tassali,” he said, choosing his words one at a time. “We are about to arrive at the Oronezu system, to look for supplies—”

  “I have been there before, Captain. I could be—”

  “— and after that we’ll be travelling for five days to rendezvous with your flotilla. So please let me focus on Oronezu for now. After that, I will be able to concentrate on a solution to this new problem. I can only handle one crisis at a time.”

  The Tassali nodded. “I understand, Captain. You are being very fair. Thank you for agreeing to think about it. I trust you.”

  “Yeah,” he said, turning wearily toward the door. “you and a few other people.”

  14

  “Oronezu,” said the Chief. She looked up from the helm at the bronze-coloured planet that had abruptly appeared. “Anyone know what there is to do here?”

  Dillon was perched in the Captain’s chair, one leg crossed over the other, his foot tapping. He glanced up from his datapad. “Geosynchronous orbit, please. Sensors?”

  “Sir,” said the crewmember at the sensor console. “Twenty-three ships in orbit or in transit, sir. All fifty metres or less. Grab bag of classes and technologies. No active sensors from the surface. Seven other ships are landed around a settlement, including one of cruiser size. I suspect the cruiser is a hulk, probably crashed. Though its reactor is up.”

  “Powering the settlement?” asked the Captain.

  “Could be, sir,” said the Chief. “So,” she nodded, “we’re the big kid on the block. I like this place already.”

  Dillon grunted. “No emissions from the planet. That doesn’t make a lot of sense. What are those ships up to?”

  “Sir,” said the sensor tech, “Six of them are underway, making their way calmly yet directly away from us. Everyone else is parked.”

  “Huh. Tell me about the settlement.”

  “Prefab structures, sir. Hundreds of them. Looks like there was a bombardment at some point. A few structures have been repaired and are now occupied. Total population maybe a thousand, sir. Weather is fifteen degrees and clear.”

  “Good, thank you. Chief, ask PO Lee to form up his team in the shuttle bay. Same kit as last time. Time to go shopping.”

  The Chief was watching him closely, a hint of tension in her forehead. She stepped closer to him, her voice almost a whisper. “You're not going yourself, are you? Send Atwell or Cho.”

  Dillon shook his head. “No Chief,” he muttered. “Between you and me, I think our passenger's going to leave us. If she does, there'll be hell to pay.”

  Chief Black nodded. “And you want to be the one that pays it.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Aye aye, sir. I’ll talk to you when you get back. If they’re having any good sales, let me know.”

  -----

  Dillon stepped off the elevator, checking the safety on his pistol for the third time. He holstered the weapon and went back to checking the clasps on his armour once again. The hangar airlock hissed briefly as it opened, and he stepped in toward the shuttle.

  The rest of the team was standing near the shuttle’s open side hatch, and they looked up at him as he approached. He noted the tension in the air, and then he noted the extra person.

  In addition to Saparun, and Lee with his five armoured crew, there was an eighth person present, wearing the same nondescript overcoat as they had all worn on Tashann. With her hood down, her long blue hair stood out.

  “Captain,” said the Tassali. “I wish to accompany the team down to the surface.”

  Dillon stopped in front of the group. He forced his hand to stop fidgeting with his armour. “Tassali, there is the potential for danger here. May I ask the nature of your interest in Oronezu?”

  The Palani shifted her feet, looking tense. She looked him in the eye. “I have been here before, Captain, in a… professional capacity. I know several reputable merchants who may be able to assist us.”

  “How long ago were you here?” asked Dillon.

  “About ten months, Captain.”

  He watched her cobalt eyes carefully. It was difficult to look away. “So,” he asked, feeling many sets of eyes on him. “...will there be anyone here who would be unhappy to see you?”

  “Not that I know of, Captain. When I left, the unhappy people were… already gone.”

  Dillon sighed. “There’s a lot you aren’t telling us, isn’t there?”

  “Yes. But nothing that would endanger anyone or our common purpose. Captain, this is the last habitable planet before the Burnt Worlds. I can let you know if there is anything here that warrants special attention.”

  Dillon thought about it for a moment. If she wanted to leave the Borealis, this would be her best chance. Just get down to the surface, and walk away. Problem solved, he thought, and gave a small nod to the Tassali. He glanced at Petty Officer Lee, who stood next to the Palani and was watching her closely. Lee's expression was a mixture of suspicion and fascination.

  “Lee?” asked the Captain.

  “Sir,” said the petty officer, turning to look at his commander. “I recommend we all stay covered and incognito. Don’t let anyone know who we are.” He glanced momentarily at the Tassali. “Any of us. At least not until we know how friendly they are.”

  “Okay Tassali, you can come for the ride. But stay covered. That goes for everyone. And if things smell wrong, sing out. We can abort and try a different planet. Better a few days’ detour than a big mess. Mount up.”

  -----

  The shuttle landed in the middle of a thruster-scoured circle of charred ground, several hundred metres from the edge of the settlement. Six other ships were parked nearby, and piles of shipping crates and equipment lay scattered throughout the landing area. There was a stiff breeze, and it blew bronze-coloured dust across the landscape. A few battered shrubs competed with tufts of coarse grass, clinging to patches of wind-worn ground. In the distance, the rusted hull of a larger ship slumped awkwardly in the dirt.

  Small groups of aliens, many of them armed and armoured, sat on crates or on the hulls of spaceships. They stopped their conversations to look with interest at the big grey-and-red shuttle with its engines powering down.

  A wide hatch slid open on the side of the shuttle, and they hopped down to
the ground, spreading out and appraising their surroundings. Dillon looked at the nearby ships and the aliens that were now watching his crew. “Okay,” he said calmly. “We have the attention of the locals. Tough-looking bunch.”

  “Aye, sir,” said Lee. “I think we can do this. They’re interested, but not jittery. Even though that one’s got a pet over there, look.”

  The Captain looked toward where the petty officer had nodded. Under the nearest parked ship was a dog-like creature. It was two metres tall at the shoulder, with vicious-looking fangs and claws, and a ridge of long spikes down its neck. It stood up and sniffed the air.

  “I’ve seen those before,” said Saparun. “The Jaljal have them… they call it a spine hound, I think. Guard animals. Fiercely territorial. Stay away from its ship and there shouldn’t be a problem.”

  “Yeah, and it’s chained up too, sir,” said Lee. “Doesn’t look like much of a sit-in-your-lap dog, though.”

  “You never had a dog?” asked Dillon. “All dogs are lap dogs. Doesn’t matter how big they are.”

  The Tassali, who had been standing in the shuttle hatch behind the Captain, stepped quietly to one side, until she was out of sight. “Captain,” she said softly, “Crimson Banner.”

  Dillon glanced over his shoulder. “Pardon? Crimson what?”

  “Crimson Banner mercenaries,” she hissed from the shadows of the shuttle’s interior. “They do not normally come here. I must stay out of sight.”

  The human looked back at the armoured aliens standing around. Most of them had splashes of deep red paint across their breastplates.

  Saparun’s hooded cloak nodded. “The Tassali is correct. Five… six of these locals appear to be wearing Crimson Banner marks.”

  The Captain sighed. “Someone bring us up to speed, please?”

  A hushed voice from inside the shuttle. “Ruthless and profit driven. Very highly skilled, Captain, they are not to be underestimated. If you are not part of their current contract, they will ignore you. But seeing one of my people here would upset them.”

  Dillon’s voice sounded sharper than he intended. “Why?”

  There was a moment’s silence. Dillon turned around and looked at the Tassali, who was watching him. “The Crimson Banner works with fortune hunters who pillage the Burnt Worlds for religious artifacts. Palani artifacts. For this sacrilege, the Army of the Divines hunts them.”

  “Damn it,” said the Captain. “Army of the Divines?”

  The Dosh’s voice was a quiet grumble. “Palani religious commandos.”

  The Tassali sighed. “A better translation would be ‘templar’, Head Mechanic.”

  “In any event,” said Saparun. “Not subtle people.”

  “If you say so.”

  “That’s enough,” growled Dillon. “Are these mercenaries a problem? Yes or no.”

  “I think ‘no’,” said the Dosh. “If we were their contract, they would already be shooting.”

  “I agree,” said the Tassali.

  The Captain looked around at the nearby ships, crates and mercenaries. “Okay,” he said at last, “Tassali, you stay out of sight. Graham and O’Neil with the Head Mechanic and myself. Lee, the rest of your team stays here. I’ll keep you informed.”

  “Aye aye, sir.”

  Dillon, Saparun and their two armed crewmembers started out toward the distant settlement, their boots kicking up bronze dust that swirled around them.

  -----

  The sun was further across the sky. It had been a long, dusty walk back from the merchant district.

  Dillon glanced over at Saparun. “Who the hell uses one-twenty-one-millimetre mass drivers, anyway?”

  The Mechanic shrugged inside his cloak. “I don’t know. I suspect the ammunition came from the cruiser hulk. With the new fabricator material, I should be able to make sabots for them in a few hours. They should fire through our main armament without a problem.”

  The gusting breeze threw up dust in their faces, and Dillon spat some of it out. He turned to look back at the wheeled cargo mover that followed them, the first of two heavily-laden robotic vehicles that were keeping pace. O’Neil and Graham were keeping a watch all around, occasionally walking backward for a few paces to observe activity behind them.

  “It’s a good find,” said the Captain. “Seventeen shots could make the difference. And the fabricator matter looks good.”

  “I think it’s Uta,” said Saparun. “High quality.”

  “What was that other thing you bought, Sap? You said it was a souvenir, which is pakteta, but I didn’t ask. I figured you’d found something that was more valuable than the merchant knew.”

  “This?” asked the Dosh, pulling a small metal object from his pocket. He rolled it over in his red-skinned hands. It was intricately cut, and fit neatly in his palm. “It is actually a Dosh engine part, Captain.”

  “No kidding? Out here? What does it do?”

  “It is an injector from a plasma shaper. From a design of engine that my people developed and then abandoned. Terribly inefficient.”

  The Head Mechanic held it up between his finger and thumb, pointing at its ends with his other hand. “I will attempt to fabricate conduit extensions here and here. If it works, I will need to scan the design and then fabricate two hundred and eight more of them.”

  The Captain looked at the Dosh’s face, hidden within his cloak. “Two hundred and eight? What will you do with that? Give everyone souvenirs?”

  “No, Captain. If it works, I will repair the jump drive.”

  Dillon missed a step. “What? Are you sure?”

  Saparun’s cloak moved as the Mechanic shook his head. “No, I am not sure. I am not even slightly sure. The mere idea violates ten or more of my people’s quality-control standards.”

  “Fine with me. Violate away, Sap.”

  “It is not that easy, Captain. There are procedures, safety protocols. I must conduct hundreds of tests to ensure success.”

  “Then violate more standards, Sap.”

  “I know you value results over procedure, Captain. But my Guild does not. They will not approve. Though…”

  “Though what?”

  “Though I confess I am intrigued by the notion of trying some human-style engineering.”

  “What, you mean ‘reckless self-endangerment’?”

  “I do not know if I would put it quite like that, Captain. But yes, a more improvisational approach might be—”

  “Write up something that says I’ve ordered you to violate your standards. I’ll sign it. It’ll be my responsibility. I want to get everyone home.”

  “Yes, Captain. The Guild will be outraged, but will not sanction me.”

  Dillon was about to speak, when O’Neil’s tense voice came from behind them. The tension was evident in her voice. “Captain. The mercenaries have moved. There are two more than there were before. The dog thing is now unchained. More of them are armed. I don’t like it, sir.”

  The Captain fell silent, peering out at the groups of aliens around the other landed ships. Their own shuttle was just beyond, and he could see his crewmembers waiting for them. “Damn well done, O’Neil. Good eye. You’re hired.”

  He put his hand up to his earpiece. “Lee, Borealis: Dillon here. You receiving?”

  “Lee to Dillon,” came the PO’s voice. “Loud and clear. I see you.”

  After a moment, Atwell’s voice came through as well. “Atwell to Dillon. Receiving.”

  “Okay, I’m not liking this. The mercs aren’t being as quiet as I’d like. I think they might be looking to steal our supplies. Lee, wake your people up. Uncover if you want.”

  He heard two clicks of static, an acknowledgement from Lee.

  “Atwell,” he continued, “bring the ship down here. Warm up the secondary guns, we might need fire support. How’s your aim?”

  “On our way, sir. Two minutes or so. Arming secondary guns, but we need to get closer. And my aim is shit, sir, but the computer’s is pretty good.”
<
br />   They were a hundred metres from the shuttle. Up ahead, Lee and his team had spread out, and their hands were on their weapons. Several of them had pulled back their hoods.

  Out of the corner of his eye, the Captain saw one of the mercenaries stand up.

  O’Neil’s shout shattered the quiet. “Ambush behind!”

  Dillon pivoted to his right to look behind them. His right hand drew his pistol while his left threw back his hood. He felt something streak past his head.

  O’Neil was behind him, raising her carbine to fire at a target Dillon couldn’t see. Her head suddenly jerked, and Dillon felt something warm and wet spatter across his face and in his eyes. O’Neil’s knees buckled, and she began to crumple to the ground.

  Dillon brought up his pistol and fired, sending three hypervelocity slugs toward the mercenary beyond O’Neil’s limp form. Bright orange specks sparkled as incoming rounds zipped past him, too quick for his eyes to track. Saparun was to his right somewhere, and Graham was moving backward in a crouch, sending carefully-aimed shots at another group of Crimson Banner mercs. Dillon threw himself toward O’Neil.

  As soon as he touched her arm, he saw the mess that was the side of her head. With his other hand he grabbed her leg and pulled her body over his shoulder, pushing off in the direction of the shuttle.

  Saparun and Graham were on either side, letting off a constant stream of fire as they moved backward alongside him. Beyond were Lee and the other team, crouched behind crates, trading fire with mercenaries to the left and right.

  The Head Mechanic suddenly dropped his pistol, blood dribbling from his hand. Without saying a word he bent over, picked up the weapon with his other hand, and resumed firing.

  They were forty metres from the shuttle, and Dillon became aware of the noise all around him. The staccato cracks of slugs tearing the air apart as they passed, the patter of the weapons firing, and Lee’s voice barking through his earpiece.

  He grunted as something punched hard into his back, and then again. Sudden panic rose in his stomach as he realised rounds were striking O’Neil’s body. Ahead of him, one of Lee’s marines jumped as a round hit the crate he crouched behind, sending a sharp fragment of metal slicing across his cheek.