by S. J. Madill
Her eyes sparkled in the bright light from the desk lamp. “I imagine, Captain, that you must have a great many questions for me. For instance, you may wonder how I know so much about settlements on the edge of the Burnt Worlds. Or my connection with the Urlahel temple commandoes. Or how I learned to shoot a gun. Or how the Iyurele touch works. We could start there.”
Dillon looked at her, his mouth open. He consciously closed it again. “I didn’t come here for…” He stopped, then started again. “I have to admit, those are all very good questions.”
The Palani leaned back in her chair, closing her eyes as she nodded. The smile began to fade from her face. “Captain, my family — the Yenaara — is a powerful family. Very powerful. When I was born with the traits of a Tassali, it meant I would be barred from politics.” She opened her eyes, her voice growing quiet. “It was a bitter disappointment for my family.”
Looking down at her hands, she continued. “I entered the service of the Divines as was expected, and began to rise through the hierarchy. Leading a team of Urlahel was a prestigious assignment, a path toward power in the temple. And, with the temple’s increasing influence over politics, power in the temple can become political power.” The Tassali continued to study her hands, clasped in her lap.
Dillon spoke gently. “What happened?”
She looked into his light blue eyes. “My Urlahel unit travelled extensively throughout the Burnt Worlds and beyond. I saw things, met people, and learned things. Things that most Palani people do not know about. Great crimes, committed long ago.”
The Tassali sighed, glancing away and back again. “You may have noticed, Captain, that I can be… passionate. When provoked, I have been known to speak in temper. One of my family’s rivals deliberately angered me, and I expressed an opinion that was… not congruent with the decrees of the Pentarch. I told of things that should not be known.” A hint of a smirk tugged at the corner of her mouth. “I did so publicly. And very, very loudly.”
“What did they do?”
Again she looked down at her hands. “I was denounced and disowned, by most of my family. By everyone I had ever known. And by millions of people I had never even met. It was humiliating.”
The white face had become tinged with blue. When she spoke again, her voice was lacking some of its harmony. “The Pentarch were furious. I had learned of things that were forbidden, and I refused to be quiet. I found out that they planned to silence me.” She looked down at the desk, her cheeks flushing blue. “My cousin Orlahal, he was one of the few who still spoke to me. He sent a ship to get me. I escaped from my homeworld, sneaking away in the middle of the night. Like a thief.”
She shook her head. “It was not truly a diplomatic vessel, Captain. It was a foolish young man, helping his equally foolish cousin try to escape the inevitable. We had no destination, and no plan. Orlahal…” She shook her head. “Now he is gone as well, and his entire crew.”
She looked back up and met the Captain’s eyes with hers. “I know,” she said hesitantly, “that you have orders to take me home. I do not really feel I have a home to go to. I do not wish to interfere. You do what you must, of course. And the Pentarch will do what they must.”
Dillon had leaned forward in his chair, his elbows on his knees, his eyes not leaving the cobalt gaze of the Palani. He fought with his voice until it came. “I’m sorry, Tassali. I had no idea. That’s such a cold thing to do.” He immediately regretted his choice of words, and began to stammer a retraction. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean…”
The Palani woman’s face brightened as she started to laugh; the first he’d heard from her. It was like a song. “Oh, by the gods, Captain, how I hate your language! What nonsense is it, that ‘cold’ means uncaring?”
“I…,” he sputtered, “...I have no idea where that comes from.”
Her laughter subsided, leaving a wide smile on her face. “Thank you for that, Captain. And for listening. But tell me, that is not why you came, is it? To listen to me pour my troubles over you, for me to plead my case once more?”
Dillon smiled and shook his head. “You’re welcome. And no, it wasn’t. I originally came here to thank you, Tassali.”
“Please, Captain, call me Amba.”
He nodded, and straightened in his chair. “Thank you, Amba. For saving my life.”
“You are very welcome, Captain.”
“Please, Amba, stop calling me Captain.”
She nodded back. “You are very welcome, Fredrick James.”
Dillon grimaced. “That sounded like my mother calling me when I’d been bad.”
The Tassali raised an eyebrow at him, her smile widening. “It does? That would not do.” She thought for a moment. “Feda. It is very close to your name.”
“What does that mean?”
“I will tell you later. But fear not, it is a compliment. At any rate, your Chief Black has already visited to thank me for helping you.”
He looked away for a moment. “Yeah, I guess she would.”
“She thinks very highly of you. Very highly. She told me a little about you.”
Dillon’s eyes wandered back to hers. “Yeah. She’s been good to me. You should meet her son someday, he’s just like her. He’s in university now.”
Amba was quiet a moment. “What about your family, Feda?”
He shrugged. “My parents are long gone. My two big sisters, I never see them. I get maybe a message every few months from Maureen. Haven’t heard from Jane since she married that Swedish guy.” He exhaled loudly. “No, I’ve just got the Chief. And this,” he said, gesturing to the cabin. “Until we get back, anyway. Then that’ll be the end of that. So I guess I’m not really in a hurry either.”
The Palani looked at him quizzically. “What do you mean? What happens when you get back?”
Dillon stood up, ignoring the pain in his abdomen, and began to pace across the tiny cabin. “I’m not supposed to be out here. I was supposed to be promoted this year, but that was just seniority, not merit. Years ago, back at the start of my career, an evaluation officer decided I wasn’t command material. I don’t know why. The decision went into my record, and that was that. I fought it for years, but no one would do anything about it. No one could tell me how to undo it. I’m only aboard because it’s a mandatory rotation. After this, it’s desk jobs forever. My ten years are up. I was going to leave the service when I got back.”
The Tassali stood, and watched him pace back and forth. “I thought you were doing very well.”
He stopped, facing the wall. “No, I’m just faking it and hoping no one notices. Truth is, I don’t give a damn whether I get home or not. There’s nothing there. There never was.” His voice became a whisper. “I just want to get the rest of them home. They deserve it. O’Neil deserved it.”
Dillon suddenly felt a touch on his arm. Startled, he turned around to face the Palani.
She stepped right in front of him, gently putting her hands on his arms. He had never seen her up close before. Her porcelain skin was flawless, and the blue of her eyes was endless.
He stammered, “I thought you couldn’t…”
The Tassali shook her head. Her voice was soft, and her citrus-scented breath was cool on his face. “No. I will say again what I have said to others: the Palani are not the only ’clean’ people. I cannot believe that a person such as you is a mere animal. I have chosen to believe you are holy. You must be.”
Dillon looked at her face, feeling her cold fingertips on his arms, and desperately tried to find something to say. You’re beautiful, you’re exotic, you’re captivating. You’re a bad idea. Your hands are cold. Your breath is sweet, your lips must be…
“I…” he stammered.
“Feda,” she said again, “I have never been so alone. And you feel the same, I know it.”
“Amba…”
Her voice was a whispered song. “Neither of us has to be alone any more.” She backed away, her hands lingering on his arms for a moment, and she s
miled. A soft, genuine smile that warmed the room.
19
Head Mechanic Saparun Vish stood next to the jump drive, his hands on his hips. His apprentices, Stewart and Anderson, were running the latest set of tests on the mass of plumbing and circuitry, scanning its components and supporting framework for the seventh time. Inside the translucent white sphere, tiny glowing motes of blue light wafted about, swirling in lazy circles around the sphere’s centre.
Able Seaman Stewart looked up from her datapad, meeting the Dosh Mechanic’s green-eyed gaze. “Sir, the replacement looks good. All the plasma injectors are now working properly at one percent power.”
Saparun nodded. His quiet voice was difficult to hear amidst the murmur of machinery. “That is good. And the power reading?”
She smiled broadly. “Negative energy, sir. Just shy of one negative megajoule.” Stewart glanced toward the engine room’s hatch. “Sir,” she said.
Lieutenant Cho grinned as he approached. “Head Mechanic Vish. Stewart, Anderson. Negative energy? What's that blue glow I see in the jump drive? Have you got it working?”
The Dosh stepped away from his apprentices to greet the officer. “Lieutenant, it is pleasing to see you. You have begun your shift?”
Cho nodded, patting the Mechanic on the shoulder. “Aye, started early. Just relieved the Captain. Thought I’d begin with a quick once-around.”
Saparun nodded. “The Captain, has he improved?”
The Lieutenant’s smile dimmed. “Actually, no. He looked terrible when I relieved him. He said he was headed down to med bay to see Singh.”
“That is unwelcome news. However, he is in good hands.”
“Yes, and Singh’s got fleet surgeons at her beck and call back in Halifax. He’ll be fine. So…” said Cho, nodding toward the dimly-glowing jump drive.
Saparun turned to face the direction Cho was looking. “Yes,” he said. “It is at one percent power and generating a minimal amount of negative energy. This pleases me. But it is a long way from being able to make a jump.”
Cho’s grin widened. “That’s great, I’ll tell the Captain. So have you been enjoying human-style engineering?”
The Dosh slowly turned his head to look at the officer. “The Captain calls it ‘reckless self-endangerment’, and he is correct. However, our results are self-evident. Dosh Mechanic policies would never permit these creative methods.”
“See? Maybe humans have something to teach the Dosh.”
“I would also point out, Lieutenant, that humans suffer nine hundred times more mishap-related injuries than the Dosh.”
Cho laughed. “Fair enough. But we also went from our first powered flight to our first FTL flight in less than two hundred years. And please, just call me Cho.”
The Dosh nodded. “And you must call me Sap. The Chief has told me, more than once, that human progress involves the blood of the workers. I thought she was joking, but there must be some truth behind it.”
“The Chief said what?”
“One moment,” said Saparun, reaching into his coat pocket. He pulled out his datapad, which was emitting a series of urgent-sounding beeps. “I have an urgent and secure message from my commanders.” He began to tap at the datapad’s display. “What time,” he asked distractedly, “are you taking your lunch today, Cho?”
“I don’t know. Say, nineteen hundred?”
“Very well,” said the Dosh, tapping at his datapad. “I would like to eat with you, so I will come to the wardroom at nineteen hundred.” A new window popped up on the datapad. “Ah, here we are… oh. Oh no.”
“What?” asked the Lieutenant. The smile that had grown on his face suddenly disappeared.
The Mechanic’s red-skinned fingers rapidly danced across the pad’s display. “I have forwarded it to the ship’s comm system. An urgent message from Dosh command: a Palani outpost, here in the Burnt Worlds, is currently under attack.” He held up the datapad for Cho to see. “Iralan.”
“Oh, shit,” breathed Cho. He turned and sprinted out of the engine room.
20
“Main armament ready, port and starboard. Seventeen shots,” said Chief Black. “Eight shots port, nine shots starboard.”
The Captain nodded. “Thank you.” His eyes watched the large display screen that extended out from the arm of his chair. He poked at the screen with a finger. “I don’t see green for the hangar airlock, Chief. And one of the repair bots hasn’t moved; I want it in its ‘ready’ position. And enough of ‘Beat to Quarters’, please.”
“Aye aye, sir,” she replied tersely. As the repetitive tap-tap-roll of synthesised drums faded from the loudspeakers, the Chief began to bark short, sharp orders into her headset, rapidly clicking from one channel to the next.
The bridge crew were buckled into their seats, focused on their consoles. Each of them had a respirator helmet ready in a bag on their hip, and all had sealed up their uniforms to be vacuum-safe. A fully-suited damage-control team was quickly inspecting the bridge, checking the crew’s readiness. One of them caught the Captain’s eye and held up one hand, pointing to it with the other.
Dillon nodded, wincing as he started to pull on his gloves. “Nav, what’s our ETA?” He turned his head to look as Singh came onto the bridge. “And have we had any contact with the Palani ships we’re supposed to meet?”
“Sir, time to Iralan system is one minute ten. No contact from the Palani.”
“Thank you,” said the Captain. He beckoned Singh, who reached out her gloved hand to him. He opened his palm, and she dropped two small tablets into it. “What’s…”
“Quadrileptene, sir.”
Dillon stared at the medic, who quickly continued. “It’s industrial-strength Fuckitall, sir. You’ll be pain-free for two hours.”
“Damn it, Singh, this really isn’t the time to get stoned on painkillers.”
She vigorously shook her head. “No, sir. These are combat-approved. Fleet surgeon’s idea.”
The Captain grunted, and quickly swallowed the tablets. “Okay, thank you. Two hours. Then what?”
“Withdrawal, sir. I’m afraid you won’t enjoy it.”
“For fuck’s sake… okay, carry on Singh. I hope you’re bored for the next while. Dismissed.”
“Yes, sir. So do I, sir.”
As the medic left the bridge, Dillon turned back to his display. “Chief, that last bot…?”
“Dead to the world, sir,” came the Chief’s voice. “Engineering is on it.”
The excited chatter of the bridge crew, and of the Chief haranguing the damage control teams, began to settle down. Dillon quickly checked his display, then scanned the bridge. All the displays and consoles showed green indicators throughout. Gloved hands on consoles became more methodical, and sets of eyes began to steal glances at him and other crewmates. Atwell reported all was ready in the main armament control space, as did Cho from the tech suite. The ship was as ready as it was going to get. He felt panic rising in his chest, and concentrated on his breathing, forcing himself to slow down and remain calm. He looked around for his pen, or anything to keep his hands busy.
Chief Black looked meaningfully behind the Captain, and he pivoted his seat to look.
The Tassali had stepped onto the bridge, and had silently taken a place in the farthest corner of the deck, behind the Captain’s chair. She wore a form-fitting suit under her loose robes, a scarf-like cloth over her head, and a nearly-transparent veil over her face. Dillon presumed it was the Palani equivalent of a space-exposure suit. He looked at the blue eyes that were watching him.
“Stay there,” he said. “Be careful. And hold on to something.”
She quietly put her hand on a grab bar beside her. The two of them looked at each other for a few moments, then Dillon nodded and turned away.
“Five seconds,” said the navigator.
Dillon looked at Chief Black, who met his eyes and nodded. He looked back at the bridge windows.
The grey bulk of a planet suddenly popp
ed into view in front of them, filling their field of vision. Wisps of black and yellow-brown clouds swirled across the surface of the world, passing over the delicate outlines of ancient coasts and dried oceans.
Between them and the planet, a cluster of metallic specks sparkled with orange. As they rapidly approached, the specks grew into the twisted shapes of debris: portions of hull and interior compartments, some of which briefly erupted in fire as escaping gases ignited.
The sensor technician broke the silence. “Some sort of space station, Captain. It has been completely destroyed. No power sources, no life forms, no intact escape pods.”
“No ships?”
“No sir, no ships on scope.”
Dillon frowned. “Bullshit. It’s here somewhere, it’s just not showing up. And where the hell are the Palani? Cho, you listening down there? Can you find the attacker?”
The Lieutenant’s voice came from the speaker. “Aye, Captain. Looking for signs of nothing, sir.”
The Captain turned his seat to face the Palani behind him. “Tassali, what’s here? What’s special about Iralan? Why a station in the Burnt Worlds?”
She hesitated. “Iralan has great religious significance. There are buildings on the surface, so people can come and visit the holy sites. Thousands of pilgrims and archaeologists. A station in orbit to service the ships that bring them. There’s nothing military here, Captain.” She paused. “Not as far as I know.”
He narrowed his eyes a moment, his jaw tensing. “I believe you, Tassali. But that ‘as far as I know’ scares me.” Dillon paused for a moment. “How many people are down there?”
“Usually sixty to seventy thousand.”
“Seventy thousand? Damn,” said the Captain. He turned his seat back around. “Cho?” he asked the console above his head. “Anything?”
“Not yet, sir,” came the reply.
The sensor tech spoke up. “Sir, there’s a distinctive pattern in the wreckage. Wreckage of a jump drive, sir.”
