“Was anyone aware that the Captain of this ship was in a cargo bay executing prisoners of war?” Drexler asked. The bridge grew silent. It became harder for Drexler to control the pace of his breath. “Where is your First Officer!” Drexler demanded.
A large Simian male took a tentative step forward.
“You don’t have an answer for that question?” Drexler asked.
The Simian met the Captain’s eyes and spoke loudly, both actions a sign of disrespect among his kind. “The Captain does what the Captain wants to do.”
“You are dismissed. Leave. Go back to your ship right now.” Drexler said. The Simian stayed put.
“You are not the Captain here,” the Simian replied.
“That’s where you are wrong. I’m the Captain of this Armada. We have no place in the command structure for officers who will let stand the murder of unarmed prisoners. Leave this ship and go back to where you came from.”
“Murder?” asked a Feline crew member, stepping forward. “I don’t understand how killing things that want to kill us qualifies as murder.”
“Oh, you don’t?” Drexler asked. “How about this. Do you understand how there might be an end to this war? Do you understand how truce negotiations might fail when one party objects to the murder of prisoners? Do you understand that those Reptilians are living, thinking, feeling, sentient beings who do not deserve to be slaughtered in a cage? Do you understand that we will never defeat an enemy if we act just like they do?” He started out calm but ended up shouting as he stalked back and forth between the crew and the locked door many now eyed.
Drexler stopped inches from the much larger Simian and shouted, “Get off this ship before I toss you in the hold with the Reptilians and see how you like it!” Drexler unlocked the bridge doors and the Simian scurried past.
Drexler forced himself calm as he surveyed the remaining crew. They consisted of Simians, Felines and two Tonaw. He was surprised that the Tonaw allowed Captain Aahloh to do what he did.
“I will see about getting you a new First Officer,” Drexler said. “Your captain will return soon, I and I want this new crew to serve him well. I will revisit this issue with you in detail; I promise you that. In the meantime, you will treat all prisoners with care and deference. You will provide for their basic needs and see to their health and well-being. If you do not, you will find yourselves on a shuttle heading back to Trade Union space in very short order. Do I make myself clear?”
The crew gave their assent in Tradespeak and their native languages. Drexler left the bridge still fuming.
22
Abhay sat on the cracked sandstone tarmac at the foot of the ramp leading to the Forest Child transport. The ship was due to leave within the hour, and the departure caused great commotion, both physically and politically. Ambassador Dhohal was very skilled at his profession, but the maneuverings necessary to abstract the Taskforce from Medina 3 taxed even his century of experience.
His decision to leave the BJP government brought a sense of unexpected relief. That was how Abhay understood he made the correct decision. His only source of anxiety now was the task at hand of explaining that decision to his mother. He waited for her now.
The busy spaceport seemed as good a place as any to break the news. Watching the local atmospheric ships in transit among the newly-arriving interstellar craft provided a backdrop of hope. Some of the Armada fighters damaged by the first fight began to arrive. Repair ships floated up to them before they even docked. Abhay saw that as a sign of progress. The sooner those ships were repaired, the sooner they would get back into the fight. Abhay would be there with them.
He made a visor with his hand as the clouds parted in the aquamarine sky to let the high-noon sun glare from nearly every surface. He did not hear Mother Parveen’s approach.
“Waiting outside the gates, I see,” Parveen said.
Abhay turned to see his mother, five-feet, four inches tall, standing in front of him like the giant she was.
“Just like when you were a child. Whenever you got in trouble at school, I knew it, because there you were, ready to face your punishment head-on,” Parveen said and smiled. She roped her arm through her son’s and led him up the ramp.
“Father taught me that,” Abhay said.
“Yes, he did,” Parveen replied. “He taught you how to face your problems, study them, then make the right decision.”
Abhay braced himself, but there was no follow-up. He was a skilled warrior, veteran of a dozen armed conflicts, career politician, and former military officer. In the presence of his mother, he was a grade schooler. He did not feel too bad about that because Parveen had that effect on a great many people. A statue of Parveen, ten meters tall, greeted visitors to the Government House on Kerala 2. Her likeness stood there among the pantheon of great political leaders of that world.
Abhay looked down at the top of her thinning, gray hair. Her arm felt like a bird’s wing on his, and the skin of her hand resembled parchment. She was getting old, and as she leaned on him, he realized how much he relied on her for support. He led her to the common room, which reversed its recent trend to become less common. They had the room to themselves.
Abhay led her to the broad bench. Parveen sat while Abhay prepared two cups of tea. Parveen focused on the bulkhead that seemed to hold some distant point of fascination.
She came back to the room with tea placed before her. “It was very nice for the Ambassador to carry tea for us, don’t you think?” Parveen asked and took a tentative sip.
“Oh, no,” Abhay groaned. His mother gave him a quizzical look. “I know I’m in trouble when you make small talk. If you start in on some parable involving tea, I fear that I am doomed.”
“Am I that transparent?” Parveen asked. She rarely laughed, but when she did, its authenticity was disarming.
“To me? Yes,” Abhay said. “This is the right decision. I have made up my mind.”
Parveen said nothing. Abhay squirmed. She became inscrutable again.
“Well?” Abhay asked.
“Well, what?” Parveen replied.
“Aren’t you going to say anything? Talk me out of it? Offer critique or … anything?”
“Not this time,” Parveen said. “When do we leave?”
“We?” Abhay asked. He assumed his mother would stay behind to continue her political work. “I thought you were staying here. It’s war out there.”
“I understand. I’ve been through war before. More than once.”
‘But ..” Abhay stammered. “No. You are staying here.”
Parveen pursed her thin lips. “Because I am an old woman?”
“Yes. Precisely because you are an old woman. And you are my mother. It’s too dangerous.”
“But not too dangerous for your young wife?” Parveen shot back.
“That’s different. She grew up in space. I am a military officer ―-”
“And I am a former military officer,” Parveen said. She sounded oddly petulant, more like a teenager. She relented with a sigh. “You want to take care of your mother,” she said. “I suppose this is another stage of growing up or growing old. It may be my time to be the one who is cared for.”
“Then let me do that, Abhay said.”
“You are a good son, Abhay. I would like you to consider accepting me as part of this mission. I am not asking for your permission. I am asking you to be OK with me along. You made a decision to take a new path, and I feel that path is also mine.”
“I can’t stop you,” Abhay said, in tones part question, part statement.
“No, you can’t,” Parveen replied. She sipped her tea.
“Then welcome aboard,” Abhay said. “But I will protect you, and you may not like how I do so.”
“I expect nothing less, Abhay,” Parveen said.
They drank tea together as parts of the ship hummed to life as the crew prepared it for launch.
***
Samuel somehow convinced Aahloh to come back to the
Fleetfoot I for treatment. They managed to find another Tonaw doctor with experience in psychology. The murderous captain sat placidly on a surgical bed swinging his broken leg when Drexler came to the medical bay.
“Hello, Captain Fleetfoot,” Aahloh said.
The pleasant greeting jarred Drexler. Just an hour ago, Aahloh was engaged in killing unarmed sentient beings as if he were exterminating rodents.
“Hello, Captain Aahloh,” Drexler said, struggling to maintain a neutral tone. “How goes your checkup?”
“The Doctor said that I exceeded the limits of my leg binding,” Aahloh said. “He gave me a scolding because he had to re-set the leg bones.”
“Yes,” Drexler replied. “I see that you have a fresh leg binding there. Is it very painful?”
“No,” Aahloh replied. “Not at all. In fact, it feels quite pleasant now.”
“I suppose so,” Drexler replied. “Absence of pain usually feels pleasant.”
Aahloh seemed to consider this, “Yes, I suppose I got accustomed to the pain and ignored it.”
Drexler studied the Tonaw Captain, trying to read his expressions, which was always a difficult proposition with an unfamiliar species. “I see. You just sort of sublimated the pain.”
“I am not familiar with this word,” Aahloh said.
“Sublimated means to take something and make it part of your inner being,” Drexler said. “To make it who you are.”
Aahloh said nothing. Drexler hoped he thought about that for a while. He caught Samuel’s eye across the medical bay.
“Please excuse me, Captain,” Drexler said. He crossed the room to find Samuel conversing with the Tonaw Doctor.
Drexler was surprised to find the Tonaw female larger, with a very different body plan. While Aahloh’s skin was smooth, and his body round, the female Tonaw was taller, more slender and had rougher sin. She also had a row of large teeth, where Aahloh’s mouth contained a ridge of sharp cartilage.
Drexler introduced himself and shook the Doctor’s four-fingered hand. He found the texture dry and cool and lingered for a moment on the hard scales of her skin. She looked very much like a Reptilian.
“Yes,” the Doctor said as if reading Drexler’s thoughts. “Tonaw females do resemble males of some Reptilian species.”
Drexler stammered and tried to formulate a response. Samuel saved him.
“They are also keenly intuitive,” Samuel said. “They tend to read human micro-expressions very well.”
“Ah,” Drexler said. “Like reading script, I’d say. I should take greater care in my courtesy then.” There was a time to stand on his Astronaut diplomatic training, and this was one of those times.
“Not at all,” the Tonaw said. “My name is Draa. It is a pleasure to meet you.”
They exchanged a few more pleasantries, until Drexler got the distinct impression that Draa indulged in small talk for human benefit and not her own.
“Doctor,” Drexler asked. “Do Tonaw ethics permit you to discuss your patient with a third party?”
“Yes,” Draa replied. “Especially in this case, where a hierarchy demands that you be party to his condition.”
“And what is his condition?” Drexler asked.
“Aahloh is suffering thought fixation. This often happens with Tonaw who experience trauma. He believes that he must kill Reptilians to save the Reptilian race as a whole.”
“That is not too far from the truth,” Drexler said. “We are fighting a war. We do have to kill some Reptilians. It is an unfortunate fact.”
“Within boundaries,” Draa replied. “Aahloh believes that he must kill every Reptilian he sees until his task is complete. But the task will never be complete. He is locked in a cycle. He will rationalize killing indiscriminately.”
“He mentioned a sickness,” Samuel added.
“That is how he accepts his actions. In his mind, he is not killing because of what he experienced, he is not killing in self-defense, but taking a rational action based on this imagined sickness that must be cured.”
“OK,” Drexler said. “Humans call that ‘delusion.’ So, we identified the problem. Now how do we fix it? Is there some medicine you can give him? Some kind of treatment?”
Draa remained silent. Drexler waited.
“Captain,” Samuel said. “I’m afraid it does not work like that. This is going to take time. Sentient minds are very complex. It’s not like fixing skin or bone.”
“That, we do not have. We need his ship, and that ship needs a captain. Jubilee cannot operate without him,” Drexler said.
“His state-of-mind is very delicate right now,” Draa replied. Samuel nodded his head in agreement.
“We don’t have time to be delicate right now,” Drexler said. Before the Doctors could stop him, he marched back over the Aahloh.
“Captain,” Drexler said. “I am going to be blunt with you. We need you back on your ship. Do you still want to be part of this Armada?”
“Yes,” Aahloh replied without hesitation.
“You are a Professional Astronaut, are you not?”
“I am,” Aahloh said. Drexler recognized the clear sign of pride in the inflation of his throat sack.
“Then you understand the importance of hierarchy,” Drexler said.
“Yes,” Aahloh replied.
“The Armada Leadership is not pleased that you took a solution upon yourself regarding the Lizard prisoners,” Drexler said. “You are to leave all Reptilian prisoners to me and General Fourseven. Do you understand?”
Aahloh hesitated. Drexler waited.
“I understand,” Aahloh said.
“So, Doctor Abiola and I will be taking the prisoners off your ship. We will deal with them, study them safely, as you suggest. Meanwhile, we’re going to keep you and the Jubilee in reserve until you come up to speed. You are assigned to rear support. You will serve in that capacity to the best of your ability. From what I have seen, that means much.”
Aahloh seemed to agree. He remained sitting placidly on the table.
“Doctors,” Drexler turned and said. “I’d like the Captain released to duty as soon as possible.”
Drexler left the medical bay, one problem down. Now he had an entire fleet to deal with and a war to prosecute. He made his way to the bridge.
***
Margaret was surprised to see the Persian Ambassador enter the conference room. She shook her head as if casting off cobwebs. She almost didn’t recognize him at first, as he wore the traditional Persian garb of a Cleric.
“Babak?” She said, rising. “What are you doing here?”
“Are you not pleased to see me?” Babak said with a wry smile.
“Of course I am,” she said, crossing the room to take his hand. A tall, muscular man stood to his right, smiling broadly. Beside him stood a very petite woman who appeared to be in her early fifties. All three wore traditional clothes.
“Permit me to introduce my husband and my wife,” Babak said.
Margaret’s confusion increased by orders of magnitude. “What?” she asked, with embarrassing incredulity.
She had heard that the Persians were polyamorous, which was a very unusual arrangement among humans, even after centuries in space, and a population numbering in the tens of billions throughout the galaxy.
The petite woman stepped forward with the warmest smile Margaret had seen in months. “My name is Raakel. You must forgive my husbands. They are short on manners where offworld guests are concerned.”
“You are all married?” Margaret stammered. “I’m so sorry. Speaking of manners..."
“We take no offense,” the tall man said. “Babak tells me you are a woman who speaks her mind, and that your heart is strong, kind, and pure.”
Margaret felt the color in her cheeks. “I’m not so sure about that. Sounds way too poetic to describe me, but who am I to argue?”
The large man let out a booming laugh and shook Margaret’s hand. “I am Yaalon,” he said. Margaret found the large hand hard
with callous and strong, but very gentle.
“Yes,” Babak said. “To answer your question, we are all married to one another. I do look forward to discussing our traditions with you at some point. I am afraid that I am rather rushed. I just wanted to see you before we depart. I may be occupied for quite some time.”
“You made quite an impression on our Babak,” Raakel said. "He rushed here to see you."
Margaret was about to reply when Mother Parveen entered the room. Margaret’s face froze. Seeing Parveen mere minutes before launch could only mean her Mother-in-Law was along for the ride. Parveen met her eyes for a moment, then turned to the new arrivals.
“I am sorry that I wasn’t able to meet you at the ramp,” Parveen said. “Please come with me, and I will show you to your quarters. The Ambassador’s staff will inform you all of the meeting schedule.” With her last comment, Parveen made eye contact with Margaret, who took the glance as a sign of deference. Margaret did not appreciate it. She already understood that, as a consultant, she would be part of the meetings. Nod or no nod, she did not want Parveen’s patronizing deference.
“All passengers,” the Forest Child pilot called. “Prepare for orbital launch. Thirty standard minutes to departure.”
Margaret turned her attention back to the display scrolls spread out across the conference room table.
23
Drexler could not spare the time, but he had to make it back to his quarters. The ship bulkheads felt as if they were closing in on him. Events backed up, one against the other until he felt their weight like a tangible thing, squeezing pressing and crushing him. The door closed, and he let out a breath he did not realize he held.
Fumbling around in his flight jacket did not yield the object he sought. He rifled through the wall cabinets until he found the cigar box. Empty. He swore a crude oath to a forgotten human deity and looked elsewhere. He finally found a stash of tobacco hidden in an air vent above his bedroom alcove.
Rogue Messiah: Fleetfoot Interstellar Series, Book 2 Page 24
