by S. J. Madill
"I see," said Sadan, hanging her dripping chest armour in her station. "My apologies, Mahasa. What should we call it?"
Zura ran her fingers down her chest. The seam of her underarmour bodysuit split open, and she began to peel it off. "They say we should call it 'police action'."
"Yes, Mahasa. 'Police action'." He knelt down, gathering up the plates of her leg armour and the rumpled bodysuit. "Did the 'police action' go well, Mahasa?"
Zura pulled up her blue breeches, making sure the gold stripes were straight up the sides of her legs. "The hunt went well. Once they decided to shoot at us, matters were simplified."
She stepped into her gleaming black boots, letting them wrap themselves tight to her calves. Hunts were becoming more and more rare. Either it was the humans choosing to respect their Palani allies and their grave worlds or — more likely — the most foolhardy humans were being weeded out. It was an act of desperation for those humans to have risked trespassing today. Life, for the humans, continued to be difficult.
Zura reached into her station and pulled out her cobalt-blue uniform coat. It was heavy with gold chains and glittering medals, which jingled as she put it on. The new human-style uniforms — another 'symbol' of the much-praised alliance — were infinitely more practical than the traditional Palani robes. Possibly the only real benefit the humans had provided.
Fastening the heavy gold chain that hung from shoulder to shoulder across her chest, Zura looked around for her gloves. Sadan held them out toward her; she plucked them from his hands and pulled them on. One part of the uniform that hadn't changed: the black officers' gloves.
"Sadan. All correct?" she asked, turning to face the armourer.
He had mounted the last of her armour in her station, and was folding the bodysuit. He stopped and gave her a look up and down. "All correct, Mahasa." With the suit in his hands, he gestured toward her armour. "I will have everything cleaned today, Mahasa. And I will repair your helmet immediately."
"La," she nodded. She stepped past Sadan, following the back wall of the ready room. Her steps were heavy; the chains and medals on her uniform jangled like coins as she took noisy strides toward the door.
Pausing at the door, Zura took a deep breath and stood straighter. Shoulders back. Chin up. No signs of fatigue. All things as they should be.
She took one last, deep breath, and stepped toward the opening door. All things as they have always been.
* * *
The white corridor was gleaming and clean, and Zura's bootsteps echoed off the walls. She knew the way to the control room — the Kahala frigates were all the same — and she could make the trip in the dark. She'd done so, many times.
Soldiers and crew halted as Zura approached, bowing their heads as she passed. She kept her eyes forward, chewing absently at the inside of her cheek as she tried to remember the name of the planet. Tal Elinth.
Control room sensors chimed as she approached, sliding the doors open before her.
The white-marbled curve of Tal Elinth filled the wide, seamless window. Four white consoles flowed up from the floor, each attended by a standing crewmember. They all stopped and turned to face Zura, bowing before returning to their work.
In the middle of the control room, the ship's captain pivoted to face her. "Welcome back, Mahasa."
Captain Upara was shorter than her, and slim. Her hair was perfectly gathered and braided, except where a scar cut across the side of her head. "Did your expedition go well, Mahasa?"
"La," nodded Zura, looking around the control room. "Tell me about the thieves' ship."
"It left, Mahasa. It kept clear of us, then went to light speed." A grin crept onto the captain's porcelain-white face. "It's possible the 'pilot' had never flown a ship before."
"Probably not. Are we ready to depart?"
"We are, Mahasa. Ready to proceed, on your order."
"Good," said Zura. She respected that about Upara: always thinking of the next step. It was an all-too-rare trait. "Proceed."
"Yes, Mahasa." Upara pointed at one of the crewmembers, who nodded and began sliding their fingers across their console.
The engines made a faint hum as they engaged, and Zura felt the slight vibration in the soles of her feet. Outside, the curve of Tal Elinth slid out of view as the ship accelerated, the stars stretching into long lines.
Zura turned and walked back out the door of the control room. The first door on the left was hers, and it slid open at her touch.
There wasn't a lot of room to spare on a frigate, and even less when a Mahasa's cabin had to be added. A desk, a chair, and a small bed. Two panels in the side wall opened into a closet and a bathing space. There was a narrow horizontal window in the rear wall, affording views of the black nothingness beyond. It was enough: all needs met, without wasting space or energy. Zura preferred it that way.
A row of gems was inlaid into the edge of the empty desktop, and several of them were glowing. One was blinking: an urgent message request. She'd been thinking of getting something to eat, but wouldn't be able to relax if she knew there was a message waiting.
Stepping behind the desk, she tapped a finger to the gem. The air over the desk flickered to life, patterns of light resolving into a symbol. Not a message, then; a call request. Someone had been waiting for her to return to the ship. She never got social calls, so it was something important. She sat down.
No sooner had she settled, then the holographic images shifted. Moving back away from her, the shape formed into the head and shoulders of a person, positioned as if seated across the desk from her. A woman, younger than Zura, with shoulder-length hair and elegant red robes. She wore the heavy amulet of the Pentarch, the five-elder council that ruled Palani space.
"Aasal," said Zura. "Honoured Pentarch."
The woman nodded in return. "Mahasa Varta. Blessings of the Divines to you."
Pentarch Threnia didn't usually use the formal greeting. "And also to you."
"I hope you are well," said the Pentarch. "The… police action… went well?"
Threnia didn't usually bother with pleasantries, either. "It did. One survivor, left to deliver a warning. Nothing unusual."
Threnia was already nodding. "Good, good. You've made grave-robbing a very rare event in your part of the Burnt Worlds. The humans fear you. Did you know their new name for you?"
Zura shrugged. "I don't have a name for them. I don't care what they call me."
Threnia smiled again. It was unsuited to her; she smiled so rarely, it looked out of place. "Some of them call you 'Executioner', you know."
"They are welcome to do so."
Threnia looked away for a moment. She appeared genuinely uncomfortable about something. There were probably politics at play. More power games among the Pentarch council.
"Mahasa," said the Pentarch. "I was at a ceremony yesterday. The First Battlefleet has been stood down. Your old flagship — Kaha Devada — is now the flagship of the Reserve Fleet."
"Understood," said Zura. That was the last of the battlefleets; all the dreadnoughts were now in reserve or deactivated. "What of Mahasa Halusa?"
"He will be retiring. That will leave you as the last Mahasa still active."
It was the mark of a long career when one's own subordinates — Halusa had been a protégé — began to retire.
"Retirement is still open to you, Mahasa Varta," said Threnia. She raised her eyebrows a little, like she was saying something new and interesting. She wasn't. "A palace awaits you on the planet of your choice. A humble gift from a grateful people—"
Zura shook her head. "With respect, Honoured Pentarch, I've repeatedly told you I do not intend to retire. There's nothing for me in retirement."
What would she do? Plant a garden? Take up art? For how long? Palani science had defeated aging itself. How many centuries would she be condemned to tending her garden and dreaming of the past?
"There are those," said the Pentarch, "who say you could enter politics."
"Of course," sighed Zura. It wa
s always 'those' who said such things. The mysterious, hypothetical people who spoke whatever a timid politician was unwilling to say. "I've said it several times, Honoured Pentarch: I do not want a Pentarch's chain. I never have."
"Some say the chain would be yours for the asking—"
"Then whoever the 'some' are, Honoured Pentarch, they don't know me."
Threnia's smile changed again, to something more sincere. Zura wondered if the Pentarch knew how much her face gave away — or if she knew full well, and merely enlisted her face to participate in communicating. "I am reassured, Mahasa, to know you are where you are most needed. In fact, I have exciting news about your sector."
Every time there had been 'exciting news', it had been to her detriment. Once, she'd had a battlefleet of dreadnoughts and frigates to keep the peace in her sector. She'd had a full staff of highly-capable officers to assist with planning and administration. Now, after a few decades of peace and 'exciting news', she had a single three-ship frigate squadron to patrol 1700 worlds. No staff, no assistants, not even a valet.
Zura waited patiently. Whatever Threnia's next 'exciting news' would be, it would begin with flattery. Just like it always did.
"Mahasa Varta, you have served the Palani people for longer than any other commander in our history. You have led our forces through countless battles. Twice, you were instrumental in saving us from the Horlan; according to Pentarch Ivenna and the Temple, you have twice saved us from the End of Days. Now, under your leadership, the Burnt Worlds are no longer a playground for alien treasure-seekers. The heritage of our people is safe in your hands."
"You have told me this before," said Zura. "The land is at peace, so I am no longer needed."
Threnia shook her head. "No, Mahasa. Never. Not so long as I breathe." She licked her lips. "The council has decided to expand the territories under your command. The Undama Expanse is being added to the Outer Frontier Territories. An additional forty-three former Palani systems for you to protect."
The look on Threnia's face said there was more. Zura waited for it.
The Pentarch looked apologetic. "One of the worlds is inhabited, Mahasa."
One blue eyebrow rose on Zura's face. "Nothing is inhabited in the Burnt Worlds, Pentarch. What do you mean?"
"A new colony has been founded, Mahasa. On Tal Felinn."
Zura remembered Tal Felinn, eight centuries ago. One of her fellow cadets had come from there; they'd gone to visit. Graceful cities, rolling fields of willa. All pummelled into dust during the First War.
"Tal Felinn? Are we…" She stopped short, staring at the Pentarch's holographic face. "A new colony?"
"Yes, Mahasa. A human colony."
Her insides clenched tighter, making it hard to breathe. Zura fought to avoid showing emotion. "A human colony in the Burnt Worlds?"
"Yes, Mahasa. To help our human allies with their ongoing refugee crisis, we continue to allow them to colonise planets in Palani space. Seventeen so far—"
"But those are all in the core worlds, near human space."
Threnia sighed. "Indeed, Mahasa. The other colonies are all in more… prosperous locations. This new colony on Tal Felinn is an experiment. It is administered by a second-tier Earth nation-state. Even among the humans, this remote location is not considered desirable."
"Someone in the Colonial Office has lost their senses."
Threnia seemed to ignore that. "Mahasa, you will be expected to make Tal Felinn — they're calling it 'New Fraser' — your sector's permanent administrative headquarters."
"My headquarters? I am to live among the humans?"
"Yes, Mahasa."
Zura looked away, at the blank walls of her cabin. Her first instinct had been right: they wanted her to retire. The snarling guard-beast was no longer needed. In the new, polite neighbourhood, it was a nuisance. Better to get rid of it. Or, better yet, convince it to get rid of itself.
She looked back at the Pentarch's image. Threnia's eyes were studying her. "Honoured Pentarch, I remain a servant of the Palani people, and go where I am ordered."
"You will?" said a surprised-sounding Threnia, before composing herself. "Of course, Mahasa. I admire your devotion to duty. I will send you the relevant files immediately."
"Yes, Pentarch. As you command."
Threnia grew a different smile on her face, and it didn't fit any better than the last one. "There are those who admire you, Mahasa."
"They shouldn't." Zura was already rolling ideas over in her head. Things that needed to be done. Arrangements to be made. Messages to send. "Are the humans expecting me?"
"They are expecting someone, Mahasa, but they do not know who."
"La. We will change course for Tal Felinn. It will take a week or more to get there."
"Of course, Mahasa." Threnia was trying to smile wider, and this time it almost looked genuine. "You've always made us proud. I know you will do so again. Blessings of the Divines be with you."
"And also with you," said Zura, already reaching to touch the gem on her desk.
As the image of the Pentarch dissolved into the air, Zura leaned back in her chair.
From killing humans to protecting them, all in one day. Politics.
Chapter Three
A chime sounded on the desk and the white gem flashed, indicating an incoming message. Zura looked up from her reading, thankful for the interruption.
She let drop the datasheet of human literature. It curled itself up into a scroll, rolling away to one side of the desk.
Zura leaned forward and pressed the gem. Within moments, a holographic image appeared as if sitting across the desk from her. He had long blue hair past his shoulders, and the traditional robes and veil of the intelligence service. She didn't know his name; she'd only ever known him by his number.
"Four-Thirteen." Zura gestured at the rolled-up scroll. "I have spent part of the past six days reading the list you sent me."
"Aasal, Mahasa. The list of greatest human literature of all time."
Zura shook her head. "I have my doubts, Four-Thirteen."
"About the list, Mahasa?"
"No. About the humans. First, the story about that whale: at least the ending was satisfactory. Then, that story about shallow young dilettantes fretting about romance. This next one's got more dilettantes, but it's somehow even less interesting."
"Yes, Mahasa."
Zura pinched at the bridge of her nose. "Do you finally have data on New Fraser?"
"I do, Mahasa." The figure gestured toward Zura's desktop. "If I may?"
Zura nodded.
The scroll on her desk silently unrolled itself, unfurling across the desktop. The pages of translated human literature winked out, replaced by a series of diagrams and pictures taken from orbit. Near the sea, a wide circle of ground had been cleared of trees. A tiny cluster of buildings huddled in the clearing, near the cliff edge. Around the buildings was a small grid of green and brown fields, a patchwork of differently-coloured crops.
"Is this recent?" asked Zura, frowning.
"This morning, Mahasa."
She slid her fingers over the datasheet, pulling other images to the centre. She tapped on one that showed a much larger collection of buildings, laid in rows around a central square. Many more crop fields covered the landscape, stretching away from the centre of the settlement. "You sent me this version seven days ago. You are now telling me it was incorrect. Explain."
"Mahasa, the Intelligence Office regrets the inaccuracy. That previous image was provided to us by the humans. It was aspirational, representing their plans for 'Phase One' of colonial development."
Zura's eyes went back and forth between the two images. "They've built less than ten percent. And that's a very old human reactor design."
"Yes, Mahasa. Current data shows a population of one hundred and twenty."
Zura looked up. "One hundred and twenty? Their schedule says they should have over a thousand by now."
"Yes, Mahasa. Their communications indicate
repeated delays with most areas of settlement building."
"A hundred and twenty," said Zura. She drummed her fingers on the datasheet, causing it to blink where her fingers touched. "Why was this data not corrected earlier?"
"In short, Mahasa: a lack of interest."
Zura locked eyes with the agent's image. The eyes behind the veil looked away a moment before returning to hers. "Mahasa, it was assumed the humans were on schedule. We have limited resources and—"
He fell silent as she waved one hand at him. "'A lack of interest' tells me all I need to know."
"Yes, Mahasa."
Tapping at the datasheet with her left hand, Zura opened up a new window. It filled with text as she wrote, her fingers making small swirls on the datasheet surface. A hundred and twenty people. According to the image, there was barely enough housing for that many. The reactor—
"Mahasa, if I may—"
"You may not." Six days spent in careful planning, and now it had to be redone. They were scheduled to arrive tomorrow. The human leadership of the colony had sent a carefully-worded note: they were 'looking forward to welcoming her'. No, she thought, they weren't.
"Four-Thirteen," she said.
"Yes, Mahasa."
"Since the Intelligence Office's assessment of New Fraser was wrong, I assume their other data for this area is wrong. You will deploy resources to re-scan everything in the Undama Expanse. Give me a time estimate for this to be done."
"Yes, Mahasa. I will respond within the hour with an estimate."
"I also want biographies of the colonial leadership, and any security-related files for the colonists."
"Yes, Mahasa. The colonial leaders are considered low-tier civil servants. All the preferred leadership candidates had already been assigned to other colonies. I will send complete files."
"Good. And I want a list of human literature that is popular today, instead of this ancient nonsense. I want to understand the current human cultural mindset."
"Yes, Mahasa. In the meantime, I have been advised to suggest some of the literature by the human named Nietzsche. Apparently, it may be more to your taste."