by S. J. Madill
"So?"
"So? So she's probably old enough to be my great-great-grandmother."
"Probably more 'greats' than that. But man…" Tal had an evil grin. "That's a great-grandmother who looks after herself." He nodded enthusiastically. "Eats right, works out, does weird shower rituals…"
"Damn it Tal, quit making it weird. It's a stupid idea. I gotta put it out of my mind."
Tal's grin faded. "Yeah. I've had a few people get into my mind like that. Good luck getting them out." He held up his empty mug. "I'm still lucid, so I'm gonna go fix that. You want some?"
Bucky remembered the taste of compost. "No, thanks."
"Okay then." With a nod and a flourish, Tal swung around and headed for the hatch. "Let me know if you need a hand," he called back. "You know… with stuff."
"Yeah. Thanks."
He sighed. Tal had this way of swooping in, complicating his life with some uninvited common sense, then swooping away again.
Bucky grinned and shook his head. "Screw you, Tal," he chuckled. He picked up his datapad and set about translating the first few Palani words.
Chapter Nine
The carved rock steps were wet, and Zura's boots crunched on the salt and grit as she descended toward the cliffside plaza. Below her, the dark ocean heaved and threw itself against the rocks, sending frigid spray up the cliffside. Bruised clouds churned overhead, promising rain later in the day.
This outlook was her favourite place on New Fraser, possibly in all the galaxy. Solitary and peaceful, it was where she came to be alone with the sea. To feel alive; to feel connected to the universe.
But others had found out, and now everyone wanted to use this place to meet her in secret. Conniving politicians sought to defile this peaceful place with their agendas and their deceit. From partway down the stairs, Zura could see someone waiting for her by the far railing: a lone figure in a brilliant white cloak, their head obscured by a hood.
Zura stepped onto the plaza, and started across the ancient mosaic floor.
Half an hour. That's how much notice she'd been given. She'd been in a meeting when she'd been informed of her guest's arrival. They'd flown all the way from Palani Yaal La to meet her here, in secret, alone.
Zura doubted the 'alone' part. As she crossed the plaza, walking into the wind, she scanned her surroundings. Watching for the briefest hint of—
There. A gust of wind had brought a splash of spray over the railing, droplets scattering across the plaza. Five paces to her left, the water shimmered as it fell, hinting at the outline of a person. Artahel. A temple commando, wearing their concealment cloak, allowing themselves to be seen. There would be others, of course: Artahel always worked in groups of five, the number of the Divines.
The Artahel would see that she, too, wasn't alone. Somewhere behind her were Irasa, Pelaa, and Antur. The concealment plates on their armour used the same technology as the Artahel cloaks. Two groups of hidden killers, circling each other. All part of the absurd game of politics.
She walked calmly, evenly; neither in a hurry, nor wasting time. No hint of nervousness or arrogance as she approached the white-cloaked figure at the railing. Zura bowed. "Honoured Pentarch."
Barefoot on the wet stone, the cloaked figure turned toward her. Thin white hands reached out from within the cloak and pulled back the hood.
Pentarch Ivenna's bald head was covered with intricate markings: entire passages from the Erwa, the Palani scripture. The head of the Palani Temple stared at Zura with glassy, unfocused eyes. A faltering smile crossed the woman's lips. "Mahasa Varta."
The Pentarch raised a hand, her scripture-covered palm facing Zura. "I bless you, warrior Varta. I thank the Divines that have brought us together today. May they bless our meeting with friendship and harmony."
Zura nodded. "As before, so again." It was an automatic response, natural to every Palani child from the time they could speak. She wasn't religious — never had been — but there wasn't much sense in antagonizing the head of the Temple.
Ivenna took a step back, her eyes looking Zura up and down. "It has been a long time, warrior Varta." Addressing someone by occupation was an archaic sign of familiarity, now only used by the Temple.
"It has, priestess Ivenna."
The Pentarch stepped closer to the railing and looked out to sea. Gusts of wind swirled over the precipice, bearing salt spray. When one gust tugged at the Pentarch's white cloak, Zura saw nothing but bare skin underneath, covered in the complex runes of scripture.
Ivenna raised her arms, as if to bless the ocean itself. "Is this not glorious, warrior Varta? This place is just like Resana." She turned, her unfocused eyes on Zura. "The sea calls to you, child; I can see it." The Pentarch lowered her arms to her sides. "A beautiful place. It speaks of tremendous strength, and an unsettled spirit. I see your soul in this place."
My soul? She once told me I needed one. Zura carefully kept her face neutral. "Priestess Ivenna," she said, trying to remember the wording. "You honour me with the gift of your vision."
Ivenna made a sweeping gesture toward the stone bench that faced the railing. "Please, warrior Varta, will you sit with me a while?"
"Of course." Zura stepped in front of the bench, giving the wet, salt-rimed seat a wipe of her gloved hand before she sat down.
The Pentarch sat next to her, closer than she'd like. The woman looked out to sea, a blissful smile on her face. Droplets of mist were already forming on the woman's scripture-covered head. Her eyes were in constant motion, with a glassiness that came and went. "Warrior Varta," she said to the wind, "I thank you for allowing me to speak to you today."
"Of course, priestess Ivenna." In truth, she was pleased for the opportunity. Perhaps she could nudge the various Pentarchs closer together, and avoid conflict. Strange that the soldier was the one trying to preserve the peace.
Pentarch Ivenna didn't blink as a gust of wind blew spray in her face. "Our blessed sister, the Pentarch Yenaara, has put you in a difficult position. You are commanded to report only to her." She turned briefly toward Zura, a warm but unsteady smile on her face, eyes never really resting on anything. "It is unfortunate. Many others, myself first among them, would wish to benefit from your wisdom."
First comes flattery.
"Warrior Varta," continued the Pentarch, "few have served the Palani people as long as you. While some may lament your past deeds, none would question your integrity."
Zura gave a brief bow of her head. "I thank you for your kind words, priestess Ivenna."
And now, she makes her case.
Glassy eyes studied hers. "Our people are adrift, warrior Varta. Do you see it?" She gestured toward the ocean. "The galaxy is a turbulent place, and its storms toss us about. But we have survived. Whatever tempest the galaxy brings, we endure. Do we not?"
A rhetorical question. "We do, priestess. We endure."
"Yes, warrior Varta." Ivenna's smile broadened, though the corners of her mouth twitched. "You see it. We endure. By the will of the Divines."
"Indeed." It was the same in every religion she had ever encountered: the faithful thanked their deities for deliverance from the suffering the same deities had cast upon them.
"It is so," said the Pentarch. "But now—" she made a wide gesture with both hands— "the path is no longer clear to us. The way to perfection is no longer certain."
Zura just nodded. The universe was always uncertain; the only difference was that now the Palani people could no longer ignore it.
"The problem," said the Pentarch, "is the humans."
Zura kept her expression neutral. "How so, priestess Ivenna?"
Ivenna ignored the water trickling down her scalp and face. "They live such short lives. They focus on short-term goals. They attempt only that which provides immediate benefit. They do not plan for a better future. Instead, they plunge headlong into the unknown while preoccupied with the better days in their past." She shook her head, but the smile remained. "Many of them are good people; this I un
derstand. But they do not see the universe as we see it."
The Pentarch paused, turning to see if Zura was still listening. Zura kept her eyes locked on the woman's wavering gaze. Behind the Pentarch, she saw the brief shimmer of blown spray. One of the Artahel had moved very close. "Go on, priestess."
Ivenna smiled, a genuine smile that didn't last long. Perhaps the Pentarch was pleased to think Zura was listening. "We have learned much from the humans. We take what we need from them. By taking some of their DNA, we have created the miracle of the hybrids. Do you see? We use their past to create our future." She nodded toward Zura. "You too have been blessed by the miracle. I understand your daughter has become a clever, independent young woman."
Zura kept her face expressionless. A reminder, as if I needed one: even at the far end of the galaxy, one of their Artahel is within easy reach of Yaella.
Ivenna raised a finger and pointed at her. "There. You see?" The smile returned for a moment. "You think of her often. She is your future."
Zura said nothing; she just watched the Pentarch sitting next to her. Overhead, the sky briefly brightened, casting hesitant shadows on the Pentarch's face.
"Our people," continued the Pentarch, "have learned much from the humans, but they have also learned bad habits. We have become too focused on the short term. Too focused on the individual. I regret to say it, warrior Varta, but our politics have become corrupt of late."
"I see it," said Zura, nodding. It began before the humans joined the galaxy. Long before.
"I know you well, warrior Varta. It is written in your soul. You cannot abide deceit or corruption."
"You know me well indeed," said Zura. Her 'vision' allows her to see the utterly obvious. A miracle.
That smile again. That veneer of sincerity. Just below the surface, the thinly-veiled zealot: certain in her path, convinced of her righteousness.
"Warrior Varta, I intend to introduce reforms for our people and our government. I will sweep away the corruption that runs through the bureaucracy. Do you see? We must leave the humans to their own destiny. I intend them no harm. Let them live as they will, and we will do the same. As they look to their past, we will look to our future."
Ivenna's eyes were wide, but they still never seemed to focus. "Our people yearn for a return to the Divines, warrior Varta. You see it, don't you? They have a burning need to return to the correct ways. Through the Divines, we can continue to improve ourselves as we once did. We need not interfere with the lesser races; our greatness will light the way, and they will eagerly follow." She laid a thin hand on Zura's arm. "Everywhere I go, the people speak of it. They are ready for it. All it takes is the tiniest nudge, and their faith will do the rest." Her bony fingers squeezed Zura's arm. "I need your support, sister Varta. Will you stand with the Divines? Will you help me return the Palani people to greatness?"
Zura studied the Pentarch. When she looked at the rune-covered face, she saw not clarity, but a roiling chaos like the dark clouds overhead. Water ran down the bare scalp and into the Pentarch's eyes, and she didn't blink it away.
"Priestess Ivenna," she began carefully. "If the people are on the edge of rising up on their own, what do you need me for?" Or would it be nearer to say that you need my dreadnoughts? If so, why did you try to destroy one? To show me that you could?
The Pentarch squeezed her arm again. The thin hand had strength in it. "The people know you, warrior Varta. They know your integrity. Your conviction. Seeing you on the side of the Divines would bolster their conviction."
Bolster their fear, you mean. "Priestess Ivenna—"
"Stand with me, warrior sister." The Pentarch leaned closer, and held her arm even tighter.
Zura looked the Pentarch in the eyes; the glassiness came and went, and the eyes never stopped moving. "Priestess Ivenna," she said calmly. "I am a soldier. I serve at the direction of the Pentarch Council."
A last squeeze of the arm, and the Pentarch leaned away. "Blessed be the Divines," she said. "Warrior sister Varta, you are as constant as the tides. So long as you do your duty as you have always done, our future is assured."
Zura nodded. "Thank you, priestess Ivenna."
The Pentarch rose to her feet, and Zura did the same. "I must go, sister Varta." She pulled the cloak over her head. "But I go knowing that you are as you have always been. The Palani people have no more loyal a defender. When you are called, I know you will answer."
"I exist to serve, Honoured Pentarch."
Ivenna held up her hand again, palm out toward Zura. "May the Divines continue to bless you, Mahasa Varta. May they reward your loyalty." She lowered her hand. "I ask you not to speak of our conversation. Especially, I ask you not to speak to the other Pentarchs of my visit. Will you swear that?"
Zura didn't hesitate. "I swear it."
"Bless you," repeated the Pentarch. "Blessings to you and your child. May our people prosper in the light of the Divines."
"As before, so again." Zura bowed. "Aasal, Honoured Pentarch."
"Aasal, Mahasa."
Pentarch Ivenna was already moving, striding across the mosaic plaza toward the stairs. Zura saw other figures moving, revealed by the mist falling across the plaza. Behind her, the sound of the roaring sea came up from below, bringing the frigid spray.
She sighed, and looked up at the dark sky. The first drops of rain hit her shoulders, whipped sideways by the wind.
As before, so again.
Chapter Ten
"What am I doing?"
Yaella tossed the datapad on the bed, still open to the trashy romance novel she'd been reading.
They'd come back from the bar at noon, and she'd locked herself in her cabin. Partly because she wanted to talk to Mom — who wasn't available — and partly because she was frustrated. Frustrated, and more than a little annoyed at herself. She realised she'd actually been expecting the Planet Killer to be sitting here at Canteen waiting for them, and hadn't given enough thought to what she'd do otherwise. She'd picked up the novel to distract herself for a moment, and now it was the middle of the afternoon. Distracting herself was a waste of time; she needed to do something. She slid off the bed and headed out the door.
The other cabin doors were closed, except for Tal's; she looked in as she went by. He had new plants she'd never seen before; the one with bright yellow-and-blue leaves probably wasn't from Earth.
Yaella crossed through the entrance compartment. She thought she heard Tal humming in the cockpit, and Kaiser's excited barking coming from the cargo bay.
Down the starboard passageway, past the head, Yaella walked into the galley.
Dr. Munshaw was sitting at the table, his array of datapads spread out in front of him. He leaned over one of them, one hand propping up his forehead while the other tapped at the screen.
"Hey Doc," said Yaella.
"Hey."
Yaella frowned at the pile of dirty dishes in the sink, and made a note to clean it all later. She took a clean mug out of the cupboard, stuck it in the coffee machine, and pressed the button for hot chocolate. The machine groaned to life, starting its familiar series of rattles and wet gurgles. Time to wait: she leaned against the counter.
The Doctor still hadn't looked up from his datapads covered in charts and diagrams. "Hey, Doc?"
"Mmm?"
"Where is everyone?"
He sighed. "Taliesin is in the cockpit. Bucky is in the engine space. Ocean is in his escape pod, Handmaiden Lanari is in the cargo bay, and your secretary is in the galley keeping track of everyone."
Yaella scoffed. "Well, excuse me. Sorry to impose on your damn time." The guy didn't need to get snarky about it.
The Doctor resumed tapping on his datapad. "Apology accepted."
Yaella was about to tell him where to shove his datapads, when the coffee machine gave a last rattling gasp and dribbled hot chocolate into the mug. When it was done, she pulled her mug from under the nozzle and leaned back against the counter.
The Doctor was still readi
ng his datapad. What the hell was he reading all the time? Every day he was in here, reading for hour after hour. Sometimes he made notes, but mostly he just read. She wondered if he was reading a trashy novel, too.
"You know," he said quietly. "Research is not normally a spectator sport."
"Really? And the galley isn't normally a research library, either."
Dr. Munshaw slowly leaned back in the seat and clasped his hands together on the table in front of him. He took a deep breath and sighed. "That's fair."
She hadn't expected that. "I don't mean—"
"Am I being an ass?" he asked.
Yaella blinked. "I don't… No more than me, I guess."
The Doctor nodded slowly, his eyes going back down to his datapad.
Yaella shifted, drumming her fingers on the edge of the counter. "Look… you said something earlier. You mentioned living in someone's shadow. How did you—"
His eyes flicked up to meet hers. "You have no idea what to do, do you, Captain?"
"What?" She almost dropped her mug. "Excuse me? What the hell is that supposed to mean?"
Dr. Munshaw opened his hands. "I should think my meaning was quite straightforward. You were hired to take me to the Planet Killer. It's not here, and you don't know what to do now."
She put her mug down on the counter. "Sure I do. We gotta go get that droid thing it left behind. I just don't know…"
His eyes narrowed. "You don't have a plan."
Yaella felt her cheeks flush. Was it so goddamned obvious to everyone around here?
The Doctor pointed at the seat across the table from him. "Sit," he commanded.
She was going to tell him off, but instead found herself doing as she'd been told. The seat's fake leather creaked as she sat down and slid sideways along the bench. There was no room on the table, so she crossed her arms over her chest.
He watched her, and she watched right back. His white moustache and beard were perfect; she wondered how much time he spent trimming it. His white hair — it would've reached to his shoulders — was pulled back into a ponytail like hers.
